AN- I'm sorry if there are a wild amount of inaccuracies in this story. I haven't actually watched all of TWD…eeek shoot me.
Just to be clear, this is set far after the end of season 4. Like, years later. More will be revealed…Enjoy.
He quietly stalked the deer, watching his footing so he wouldn't step on a branch. The crossbow felt like an extension of his own body, as it always had. He held it to his eye and aligned the shot. The deer continued grazing, unaware it was about to meet its death.
And it did. His arrow was true and landed in the beast's neck. Daryl Dixon smirked and went to collect his prize. Approaching the animal, he withdrew his hunting knife and swiftly killed it. Just because he was hunting the deer didn't mean he wanted it to suffer any more than it had to. Dragging its carcass back to his house wouldn't be fun but it had to be done by someone.
And he was the only man around for miles.
Even though towns were slowly reforming, farms growing and buildings were rising, Daryl decided he didn't want nothing to do with it. He could hunt on his own. He never liked the company of others much before the apocalypse, and after seeing what it did to humanity he didn't particularly feel like hanging around any longer.
So he returned to where he belonged; his parents' dump of a house. In fact, when he did return there was hardly a house left to be seen. It had been raided numerous of times and Daryl laughed at the thought of strangers finding anything of value in the shithole. His old man probably had a stash of liquor somewhere.
He'd be lying if he said he loved be alone. That just wasn't true. The days passed by slowly and his nights were filled with a hundred different nightmares. They were all about walkers, or walkers getting him, or walkers getting the group. The usual post-apocalyptic nightmares.
He thought about the group so often it hurt. When he first left to be on his own, Daryl had passed the hours by building his new house. He did it the old fashioned way. He cut down trees, fashioned boards and nails and whatever he could find or make. It was hard, laboring work and it distracted him from all thoughts about his old friends. That only lasted for a few months though.
Now, he thought about them every day. He still remembers saying his last goodbye to each of them. It was the hardest thing he'd ever done, harder than killing Merle. Merle had to die, there was no choice. But Daryl chose to exile himself and it hurt like hell to do it. He remembered Michonne gripping to him almost fearfully, like she didn't know how she could fight without him beside her. He remembered Glenn whispering, "Thank you for saving my life. Not just that one time, all the times," as they hugged. He remembered Carl staring at him. Daryl couldn't for the life of him describe Carl in that moment. It was as if part of him had just been ripped off, like a walker had bitten his hand clear off or something. He remembered Rick crying and trying to hide it, remembered him saying, "Whenever you want, you come find us Daryl. We're you're family, you hear? We're you're God damn family." And he remembered Beth.
Yeah, he sure did remember Beth.
AN – So I'm thinking of making this a short story, like a few more chapters long? Would anyone want to find out what happens next?
Let me know in the reviews