Full Prompt (may contain story spoilers): Daryl finds a half starved puppy while on a hunt, falls in love with its cute little face, and hides it from his group for as long as he can absolutely terrified out of his mind that they're going to kill it or make him kill it. He's got a history of bringing home stray animals and his dad finding and killing them, so he's so convinced that's what they're going to do that when they find out he's all flustered and babbling and Rick has to repeat several times that it's ok, and he can keep his puppy.
Pairing: None
Wordcount: 4000
Spoilers: The story takes place after 5x09/5x10
Disclaimer: Just borrowing these awesome characters
Note: A very huge thank you goes to my lovely beta reader lotrspnfangirl ( on LJ)/ pdlessard07 (on AO3) who did an amazing and very quick job correcting the story!
He is out hunting, or whatever he wants to call it now, since nothing is there to take down anymore. No game, no birds, no squirrels. If he gets lucky, he may find some earthworms if he digs deep enough. Those little fuckers know how to avoid the long dried out soil, boring deeper and deeper into various layers of earth, trying to survive.
It's rare to find anything these days.
So it's really no surprise when he finds the deer, the long exposure to the sun having drained the skin, making it look small and vulnerable. The strong smell of decay fills his nostrils. His knees creak as he goes down next to the cadaver, inspecting it carefully. Half of it is missing, the spine clearly visible where the dermis has caved in. Flies are swarming over every inch of the body; filling the gaping socket, eating away the lips and the rest of it's remains, obviously enjoying their feast.
For a moment he thinks about just cutting off a piece, allowing hunger gaining the upper hand, but there is barely any meat left. There is nothing to salvage, the risk for any infection too high.
As he sees the rifle on the ground, his gaze wanders to the tree. A man is leaning against it, his face unrecognizable as chunks are simply missing and blood is seeping through, still reflecting the sunlight.
Desperate times, call for desperate measures. He knows these people, met several of them along the way. The one who leave the world without a fight. Just like this guy.
With one swift motion he stands up, his vision blurring for a second as he gets up too fast. He shifts his weight, trying to regain his footing. He closes his eyes for a second, the sun burning down on him. New sweat drips down onto his face, in his eyes. His tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth, he has long forgotten what water tastes like.
Almost as soon as he turns to return back to his group, he hears it.
His crossbow is up and ready, more sluggishly this time. The loss of energy and nutrients starts to nag at him and the weight of it is heavy in his hands.
But instead-
He sighs silently, cursing. He brings his crossbow down, the heavy weight resting on his shoulders now.
From the ground a brown creature is eyeing him, wiggling its tail. It's slim, starving like the rest of them. Barely half a foot high.
Adjusting the weight on his shoulders, Daryl turns on his heels without another glance at the pup, swatting the branches away that cross his path. Another deer would have been better, or a walker… At least he could have taken out his frustration on them. He wonders how it could have survived this long on it's own.
Sometimes it's the ones you least expect it who make it through.
Only two, long strides later, he knows it's following him. A hunter never misses.
"Piss off."
It's deaf apparently, because it keeps on trotting. He can hear the leaves brushing behind him. It's like this for a while, him being followed.
It picks up its speed, and the next moment it's between his feet, bumping into him. One of his boots grazes it as he makes another step forward. There is a mild resistance where he connects with the dog. Oh, for fucks sake.
The pup is all psyched up, maybe he is aware that if it's not now, he will never find any help. It's walking in front of him now, its tail wiggling enthusiastically. But it soon falls back behind, Daryl's strides too large to keep up with.
Daryl really should move on, should just leave the stupid thing. But for some fucked up reason he can't. Before he knows it, his hands are full with fur.
It's soft, despite being mostly coated with dirt.
Huge, innocent eyes are staring back at him.
"Ain't you a pain-in-the-ass."
When dawn sets in, they get visitors. Four in total. No walkers this time, no humans either. To everyone's shock, huge, lean dogs are lined up in front of them.
They are the first living animals they have seen in days. Save for the little bundle safely tucked in his large pocket, shielding it from everyone's view.
Blood drips down their teeth and front as all of them snarl and growl in warning. They are hungry, ready to pounce. It's only a matter of time before the strays jump them. All of them are easy prey now, with how vulnerable and drained out they are.
Daryl tenses his hand around the hilt of his buck knife, Rick on high alert next to him.
When they step closer, the dogs go down with a whimper. One after the other. It's Sasha who pulls the trigger.
Oddly enough, no one protests as they begin skinning off the fur.
It's eat or be eaten now. And dinner just arrived.
He looks at the little pup, then at the fried dog meat in his hand.
Well, desperate times, desperate measures.
Tara is the first that gets suspicious. She has her eyes on him the entire walk. Or so he thinks.
"What did you find?" Her voice is cheerful as she approaches him, trying to catch up with his long strides. He quickens his pace, her smaller feet having difficulty adjusting to his. "You know, whatever you have in your pocket." When he doesn't answer, she points at his jacket.
"Nothin'." He gruffs. He fights the urge to tell her to mind her own damn business, that sniffing around wouldn't bring her anything as she continues to look at him with curious eyes.
She takes a step towards him, but he turns sideways, looking at her with angry eyes.
He hopes it is enough.
It is. She raises an eyebrow at him, before she is stepping back. "Alright."
He continues walking then, ignoring the look of hurt and disappointment he saw in her eyes before she turned away.
He pretends it doesn't get to him.
A water bottle is thrusted in his direction. Rick gives him a side glance. "You need to drink." Is all he says, his voice sounds hoarse, strained. Sweat is coating his friends face. They are running low on supplies again.
He nods his thanks and takes it without hesitation.
It's not intended to be for him.
As he lay down on the forest floor, his gaze wanders to the lush canopy of leaves. The sky is drenched in a deep blue, stars sprinkled around on the night blanket like diamonds.
The air is humid, as he takes in a deep breath, trying to match his with the others.
It takes a long time, before the rustling of leaves and the night sky vanishes and blur together, before he finally lets his guard down.
"But Daryl, you said there was a dog." A high pitched voice echoes in his ears. A smile so bright it nearly hurt to look at. Unconsciously, his insides lit up in pure delight, a smile tugging at his lips. She could do something like that. Change people.
She looks at him with surprise, as he tries to deliver the message to her. Her eyes reflecting the candle-light as she sits there, touched by the new realization.
There is a rustle on the door. Without hesitation he is up and opens it.
She is standing there, looking back at him, smiling. He wonders how she could get up so fast and move outside. But she looks unharmed. Unchanged... Except for her eyes. They're glassy, unfocused. A strand of blond hair falls in her face- but it's dirty, soaked with blood. As he reaches out, trying to pull it away, he notices his hand are dripping wet.
He looks at her in confusion just as bloods start to drop down her face. A wound getting bigger and bigger, just above her brow. New scars start framing her face, looking as if stiches were pulled.
The voice in his ears is loud, as it echoes through the empty house.
"Run!"
"I'm not leaving you!"
His eyes fly open. His spine is arching where Beth knives digs deep into it. He leaves them, strongly believing he deserves the pain. There is another feeling on his hand, wet and textured. He flinches away, his mind still fogged.
Then he recognizes it, the soft fur as a head presses against him, bringing him back.
"Hey." He murmurs, scratching it behind its ear. He wasn't sure how long he'd fallen asleep, but it couldn't have been long.
He pets it one more time, before he lets go. He takes in a long and steady breath, trying to calm his wild, beating heart. Exhales deeply. The memories slowly drift away. His forehead is damp with cold sweat when he touches it.
The pup continues nudging him, harder. He pushes it away from him, only a little, but it's back in a second, continues pumping its little head into his side.
Something is wrong.
Daryl strains his ears, trying to catch something luring in the dark among the shadows of the dense forest. A movement. The rustling of leaves. But there is nothing.
Still…
"We need to move." Daryl says.
Noah is startled by the sound. Save for Abraham, he thought he was the only one awake keeping watch. He stares at Daryl's direction in disbelief.
"What? Why?"
Daryl just grabs his crossbow, stepping over to them as he reloads a bolt.
It's only a few minutes later, when the hunter finally hears them. Deep, rich moans.
But they are already up and moving, the moon dimly illuminating their path. Besides that they are blind.
His eyes burn in the murkiness as he tries to make out any motion ahead, his thumb hovering over the trigger, ready to launch an arrow if he needs to. The groaning behind, gradually fading with every step they take.
Abraham is marching close, looking over to him with a puzzled expression.
He had listened, the soldier was on watch after all. And an army sergeant usually doesn't miss either, Daryl had learned.
"How did you know?"
Daryl just shrugs. The weight of the whelp heavy on his side.
Abraham doesn't buy it.
"Dude." The voice is calling him out, coming closer as it shouts out another time. Glenn.
Daryl lets out a growl. Huddled into his vest lies the little bundle, looking better now with every passing day. He scratches it behind it's ear, before he sets it down on the ground.
"C'mon." He nudges his ally, encouraging him to move forward. The first steps are kind of unsteady, then it wanders off, talking a scroll.
It's behind a tree when the other man reaches him, getting away unnoticed.
"What are you doing?"
"Business." To prove his point, he moves his hand to his crotch and pulls down his zipper. "Y' wanna watch?" He adds, unbuckling the belt completely.
Glenn looks at him with disgust and vanishes.
The bundle moves out then, jumps over the leaves as if it sensed that the coast was clear.
Daryl is slowly running out of ideas.
They are taking goddamn turns now, because it's Eugene who snooping around next.
It was just a moment where he laid down the duffel, containing his pup, among the other bags, as the group gathered to eat their little findings of the day. Eugene was looking over in his direction every now and then, eating his share in silence. Somewhere in between bites he must have crept away unnoticed, because the next time Daryl gazes in Eugene's direction, the place is empty.
It's only when he hears a rustle that he turns and sees Eugene picking at the backpacks, searching for something. Right at his feet is the duffel with his fosterling.
"Hey!" the hunter barks, pushing off the ground in seconds, his meal forgotten.
The fake scientist freezes like a deer caught in headlights as soon as he hears Daryl's scowl. It would be hilarious, really, if he wasn't so furious right now. Daryl has him by his collar in no time and pushes him back.
"What the fuck are you doin'?" he spits, looking down right pissed, and yanks the duffel out of his hands.
Eugene is stuttering, gulping for air. Daryl thinks he is moments before fainting, but he doesn't care, he only wants an answer.
"I thought…I thought I heard something."
"Ain't nothing here." His voice sounds strange, even to his own ears. Dangerous, taunting.
Suddenly, a hand lands on his, wrenching him away. He lets go of Eugene immediately.
Her eyes are hard and full of confusion as Michonne looks at him, titling her head to one side.
"What's the matter with you?"
When he turns, everyone's eyes are staring back at him.
He looks at Eugene again, notices he's pale as a sheet. He storms of, the little bundle squirming in his duffel.
It's late in November when he can see the first snowflakes. It's pretty. He has waited for this the whole summer. It's felt like ages, but it's finally happened. Once it has stared, it doesn't seem to stop. Soon the tips of the houses are smothered in white coats, the trees and landscapes vanishing under the beautiful blanket with them.
It's only naturally that he runs out, taking an annoyed Merle with him.
Only a mile away from their house, he finds them. Tiny imprints in the snow. They are from an animal, a small one. A fox, a marten. Or maybe a raccoon. He heard that they are becoming an infestation.
But the prints are smaller, different.
"You see that?"
His brother just stands beside him, not interested at all. Curiosity takes over and he follows the trail. It disappears underneath a dumpster. He is surprised, when he finds two black puppies curled close together, severely shaking.
Merle is next to him all of a sudden, crunching down and looking at the little creatures. They have only been outside for about half an hour, but the bitter cold already has seeped to Daryl's bones. He has long started trembling.
"We should help them."
"You know what happened to Roger."
Roger. It was the stray cat he had found over a year ago. It was dumped on the street, just after Christmas and he had taken it in and kept it for a week. Then, all of the sudden, it was gone.
"Leave them."
"But the they'll freeze to death."
Merle doesn't hear him, he's already turned, making his way home. Without another thought, Daryl bends down and holds his hand carefully stretched out in front of their noses. They aren't even reacting to him, one of them hardly moving now.
His decision is made in seconds.
As he opens the door, a wall of cigarette smoke greats him. It's making him nauseous and he has to fight against the raising bile in his throat. It's wrong, though, and he knows it. It's only his imagination, it happened a long time ago. The fire. It's only the three of them now. Still, the smell is lingering in nostrils.
He gets to the faucet, cleaning out a soup plate from leftover oatmeal and fills it with water. It comes out slow, the pipes having trouble with the cold as well. The winter is always hard up here... As he stands there, Merle eyes is bulky jacket pockets suspiciously. He doesn't say anything.
Daryl turns, his heart in his throat when he looks directly at his older brother. Even though he seems like it most of the time, his brother isn't stupid.
"Don't tell Dad."
With that, he walks into his room and pulls out his box containing his most precious things, dumping it onto his bed. Soon a cushion fills the box. He puts down the plate, careful to not spill any water. Then, he carefully pulls out the pups.
They are so cold, he thinks his hand might freeze any moment. But he doesn't care. One after the other, he puts them in the box, their new home from now on.
When it's later that night and they haven't warmed up and aren't moving at all in their box, he takes them into bed with him, covering them with his blanket and pulling them close.
Soon they are warmed up and little tongues are nudging him, as if they're offering their thanks.
It's becoming a routine now; Him coming home from school and spending the rest of the day with his new friends. They are frightened at first, but soon they start to enjoy playing with him. He feeds him, giving them a share of his meal. His Dad doesn't seem to notice that he always saves something. He keeps them well hidden. Merle is the only one who gives him weird looks and knows what's up, what the food is really for.
One day, when he gets home and runs to his room, something is missing.
There is no wailing, no shuffling. Nothing.
He is on all fours in seconds, getting the box out from under his bed where he keeps them safely hidden from everyone's eyes.
It's empty.
He is up and in the living room in record time.
Merle is watching TV, some stupid cartoon, slumped in the ugliest armchair. He hates it. Without any hesitation he is in his brother's line of sight, blocking the view. He is full of hatred as he speaks.
"You told him."
He stands tall in front of his brother. Still, he is more than one head shorter than Merle, even though he is sitting. It doesn't matter, right now he doesn't notice the difference. He blocks out everything else, his hand is quivering with rage as it is tugged in a fist at his side, he can barely contain is anger.
Merle looks at him, his eyes glassy, unfazed by the confrontation.
"So?"
It takes everything he has not to punch his brother in the face. Instead, his palms draws blood where fingernails dug deep inside his skin.
"I told you not to!"
He is shouting now, not caring that he might alert the neighbors.
It's escalating instantly. He's yelling at his brother, his brother yelling back that if he doesn't move out of his fucking sight he will make him do so.
It ends when Daryl crashes the door closed, leaving to look for his missing friends in the cold. Its hours before he returns… He didn't find a trail or any track. They are just gone.
He is freezing to the bone, a deep tremble hammering through him. He would've gone on, but it started snowing so badly that he couldn't see his own hand is front of his face.
He's surprised when he walks inside to see Merle standing, grasping his coat and stepping outside.
His brother is gone for a while then.
Daryl sprints to the door, as he hears it opening. Merle is back. He can tell by his build, the way he carries himself, his steps, his posture. He is full of hope as his brother finally returns shaking snow out of his hood.
"Did you find them?"
His heart begins to sink when his Merle shakes his head and goes straight to his room.
Moments pass before Daryl finds his way to his own room. He is devastated. He will try to find them tomorrow. And the day after. He will look for them 'til he finds them he promises to himself as much as to them.
What he doesn't know is that Merle already has found them dumped in the trashcan, lying among the rotten bones. Silent and unmoving. Dead.
Daryl looks at the ceiling, his eyes filling with moisture. His hand automatically lands in the box, like it would every night before he went to sleep, where they would lick his palm and the back of his hand, tickling him. Nudging him with their soft noses.
There is nothing now.
Hot tears begin to stream down his face.
He can hear Merle's shouting from next door to shut the hell up and to not be such a damn girl.
He doesn't. Tears continue to fall. For a brief moment he thinks of Roger, wondering what had happened to him… If it had left him on its own.
He stars to sob. Something crashes against the wall next door.
This night, he won't be able to find sleep.
Two hours before sunset, they stop for a short break and it's Maggie who comes over to him. She doesn't say anything as she sits down. Moments pass as they are sitting in silence, then she slides over a bone.
"It's for your little hitchhiker."
Daryl's throat cords up. His crossbow awkwardly slides next to him, for a moment he is completely frozen. He doesn't pick it up.
He tries to ignore her comment and turns to face her. But he is at loss for words.
"Oh, we noticed." A grin is tugging at her lips as she leans over, her head resting on her arm. "Can I see it?"
Daryl hesitates. Then, clears his throat. He stares down at his boots and nods.
"Sure."
His gut makes this weird twist as he scoops his squirmy pal out of his pocket, a strange tension rising inside of him as he hands it over. Like a package, some fragile good ready to be tossed around and manhandled.
He just observes. Doesn't say anything as the woman takes the pup out of his hand, very, very carefully. His hands look suddenly wrong; too rough, too big in comparison with her tender, slim ones.
Nothing happens, though.
She lets it take in her scent before she strokes him on his head, delicately moving to his back. His small tail begins to wiggle. Her grin widens. Tears well up in her eyes as she strokes the head again, stretching just the right spot behind its ears. She laughs as it pushes his tongue against her fingers, tickling her. It's warm and lovely.
His tight throat begins to loosen. Somehow, he forces that doubtful feeling deep inside his gut. There are tears on her eyelashes, when she turns to him.
"You know, we could use a companion."
The little ball of fur is becoming everyone's favorite.
They are making jokes now, how Fluffy would be a good name considering their situation and how handy it might become in future hunts once it's older. Rick walks over to him once, clasping his shoulder.
"It's good we have him."
Every now and then he catches Carl playing with the little bundle, Judith joining. Baby cries of joy mixing with heart-melting barks. And oddly enough Rick crouches down, pets the spot behind its ears, a small smile forming on his face, the grim line between his eyes disappearing.
Things really seem to be lightening up.
Fluffy gets nervous from time to time, alerting them to walkers, long before they notice themselves.
It gets dangerous once when it is strolling around and doesn't see a trap, but Daryl does. Tan cowgirl boots flash before his eyes, trapped by the claw. The loud snap still ringing in his ears.
The memories begin to lessen. He forces his mind to be occupied by the new fellow he needs to look out for now. Still, he sees her in his dreams. Feels the weight of her body in his arms. Slack. Quiet. So very different when he carried her around in the house. When they both met their first dog in a very long time. When he opened the door without thinking. When he was the one who killed her.
She would have loved it.
But he has only three weeks.
Three more weeks before the dead claim it too.
The end
I hope you liked it!