DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE WALKING DEAD, ANY OF THE CHARACTERS OR THE ORIGINAL PLOT.
A/N: I'm new to this fandom, but it's been so welcoming and that made me want to write a fanfic. This part is short, but I'm only getting warmed up.
I have basically been imagining all the moments in 'Alone' that we didn't get to witness and I suddenly felt the urge to put them into words. It's going to be mostly from Beth's POV.
I hope y'all like it. I'd love to hear your feedback, so leave me a little review if you liked it or hated it or if you'd just like to read more. Thank you for reading!
Chapter 1
I'd fallen asleep somewhere around midnight. Our makeshift campsite felt safe enough, but I wasn't sure if it were the strung up empty cans that made it feel secure or something – someone – else entirely. I slept peacefully and woke up the next morning to a pair of blue eyes watching me quietly.
"Mornin'" I stretched my hands above my head. My back popped and my shoulder felt tense. The air seemed hot and humid already, even though it couldn't be later than 7 AM. My hair was plastered to my face and I tried to remember when I last had a bath, or something remotely resembling a bath, but I couldn't recall it. It must've been in the prison, some days before we were attacked.
It was vain, I know, but I worried about how much I stank.
Daryl grunted.
"Did you sleep?" my voice sounded raw and I scraped my throat.
Sometimes I wondered if he kept awake all night, or if he felt safe and protected like I did. I couldn't imagine Daryl ever being off-guard. He just seemed ready to run at all times, like a cat on high-alert.
He grunted again.
"Ever the conversationalist." I mumbled under my breath.
I went to stand up, but my legs were numb. I could really use something softer than rocks and dirt to sleep on. This arrangement was messing with my bones.
I saw Daryl stand up swiftly from the corner of my eyes. Why didn't he have a hard time getting up? He was so old, yet his body moved fluently, not missing a beat. He had his crossbow in one hand and with the other he reached for me.
I smiled as he wrapped his hand around my upper arm, just above the elbow and started pulling me to my feet. As soon as I was upright, I tugged on my top and slowly moved from my right to my left foot. I gave him another half-smile.
"Thanks."
I brushed my hair behind my ear and looked around. It was quiet and the green trees that surrounded us seemed almost soothing. Daryl started packing up.
"Where're we goin'?" I asked. I was still trying to force some life into my limbs and kept hopping from left to right.
Daryl grinned. "Told you yesterday I'd teach ya how to shoot, didn't I?"
My smile widened and we locked eyes.
"You ready, girl?" he asked.
If I didn't know any better. I'd have said his eyes sparkled.
But he was Daryl Dixon and his eyes simply do not sparkle. His eyes were rough and there was nothing soft about them, but I'd learned that sometimes – if you look close enough – you might catch a flicker of something other than toughness.
And that day Daryl Dixon might surprise you.
Much more to come soon! Leave me a review. I'd love to know what you think about it!