"Hey." You say as you hear the door of your bedroom open. You were stretched out on the bed and didn't want to look up from the book you were absorbed in as you quickly tried to find a stopping point. "How was your run with Denise?" Daryl didn't say anything as he sat down slowly on the edge of the bed next to you, staring out the window and placing his hand on your outstretched knees. You look up from your book. Something was wrong. "Babe?" You toss the book aside and reach out to touch his arm.

Without warning, he falls sideways, landing in your lap with a choked sob. Startled, you freeze. Something was very wrong. You'd only seen Daryl cry twice: after coming home from chasing his brother and Michonne down, and in the parking lot of Grady Memorial Hospital.

There were three possibilities that immediately came to mind to explain why your husband was sobbing into your jeans:

1. Rosita had died.

2. Denise had died.

3. Daryl had been bitten

The last possibility floods your veins with lead and ice. You take a deep breath, and slowly begin to comb your fingers through Daryl's dirty, sweaty hair. You tried to push your panic away until Daryl had calmed down enough to speak, but it was getting harder. Finally, he calmed down and began to relax a bit. "Daryl?" You say quietly, wiping tears and dirt from his face as he looks up into your eyes. The sorrow in those blue eyes seeped in behind yours, and suddenly, you were crying, too. "Daryl, please." You whisper. "Were you bit?"

He shook his head 'no', before laying his head back down into your lap and looking out the window. It was quiet for a while, and the anguish and anticipation in the room bit at your skin like little mosquitos. After a few minutes, Daryl spoke. His voice sounded far away. "Denise was trynna prove that she had it in her to be outside the walls. She took down a walker by herself, and Rosita was pissed. Denise just… started yellin at as. Then, she got shot. Mid-sentence." He went quiet again.

"Who shot her?" It was your turn to cry now. Denise had been such a good friend to her.

"Name's Dwight. He stole my bike and bow when I was out leadin them walkers away from here." He closed his eyes. "Y/N, he shot her with my bow." You could see the anger of that fact etch briefly across his face, before it was replaced with sadness once more. "I just… I just told Tara."

"C'mere." You say, tugging his shoulders until he was lying next to you on the bed. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him close to your chest.

"She was my friend." He whispered. "Everyone dies, 'specially in this world. I know that. But I can't keep pretending like it don't matter." He paused. "A lot of my friends are dead, Y/N." He was speaking more freely than you'd ever heard before, and you knew he was exhausted from all the grief and death.

"You never did have to pretend like none of those deaths mattered." I was combing through his hair again. "Sophia, Dale, T-Dog, Lori, Beth, Merle, Tyrese, Hershel. Denise. All of the people we've lost meant something to you, and it's OK to admit it." You planted a kiss on his forehead. "You don't have to be strong all of the time. That's what you have me for. And Rick. And Carol. And Glenn and Maggie. Hell, even Carl."

Daryl laughed a bit, the sound muffled by your tshirt. "I ain't telling Carl shit."

"I'm just sayin. Kid worships the ground you walk on. He'd listen to you if you needed him to." You both fell silent for a long while, Daryl running his fingers up and down your back absently, you still running yours through his hair.

"I'm scared." He whispered after a while, the confession barely audible.

"I'm scared, too."

"I'm worried about this war with Negan. I'm scared that someone will have to stand in our living room and deliver the same speech to me that I just gave Tara." Silence.

You were crying again. "I worry about getting that speech, too. I have nightmares where Rick comes home alone from a run, and I just know. I—" You swallow the lump in your throat and whisper, "I just know."

"That ain't gonna happen." He started placing little kisses on the inside of your bicep. "I'll never leave ya."

You stay like that until the sun starts to go down outside. Then Daryl sat up. "Feeling better?" You ask.

"Yeah." He wandered into the bathroom and turned on the shower. He paused before closing the door. "Y/N?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

You smile. "I love you, too."

Someone had suggested doing a small service in the church before burying Denise. The chapel was full of flowers and sage, and everyone was silent throughout the service, burning holes into air with unspoken grief from everyone they'd ever lost.

Daryl dug the grave. He'd insisted. Tara wanted to help fill it in, so you sat a little ways away, watching as they silently shoveled mounds of dirt onto the good doctor.

Carol came to sit next to you after a while, passing you a cigarette as she lit one of her own.

You decline. "Daryl and I don't like it when the other one smokes. We agreed to quit together." You continued to watch him shovel dirt across the street. "Plus, I think I might be pregnant, so it wouldn't be good for the baby."

Carol sighed out a large puff of cigarette smoke. "Does Daryl know?"

You shake your head. "I was going to tell him yesterday, but the Denise thing happened, and I'm going to wait a while. That way we can both enjoy it."

"I envy you." Carol stated after a beat.

You snort incredulously. "Why's that?"

"You're generally happy. Not today, obviously, no one is." She nodded in the direction of the shoveling. "But in life. You're happy." She stamped out her cigarette.

"You're not?"

"No." It was quiet for a bit before Carol stood up. "I don't think I can do this anymore." And she walked away.

I stole the title of this fic from Nicole Dollanganger's song "Chapel". A.K.A. the song they played at the end of the episode A.K.A. the song that haunts me now forever. You can listen to the song here: watch?v=ilocvPFpv_E

I do requests! Just send me an ask on Tumblr (username: poetanddidntknowit34) or PM me with a request!