The blood that had covered his body was beginning to cool, plastering to a quivering body. The binds that held him tightly was also splattered the liquid; he could feel the cooling drops against his wrists, ankles, and felt the iron taste in his mouth. The gag tasted more like dirty socks just pulled out of the swamp, and the smell alone made him close to gagging, quite strange especially when he was known to gut twitching deers without so much as a blink.
The black blindfold didn't really have to be there, not as his eyes were screwed tightly shut as if he was chasing away the visions of what he had just witnessed. His tears was making the fabric wet, further clinging to his slick skin. His teeth grinded against the gag, only to receive a smack to the side of the head and the command to stop. He could barely help it, though. They hadn't just had their entire life deflated within a night. They hadn't watched close friends being smashed to pieces. They didn't cause the death of someone who had so much to live for...
They didn't watch Rick fall to pieces before him, commanded and conquered by a man that showed no mercy.
His thoughts were jerked out of place by the movement of the vehicle he was still stuffed away inside, being unprepared to steady himself as his shoulder once again bashed against the blood-coated wall, barely able to let out a grunt of pain any longer. They grunted to each other, arguing to who was the one who was supposed to keep him from rolling around, as they didn't want him to die on the way over.
Already he felt the fresh blood split out of the dried crust of the wound, dripping down his chest and his scarred back. He was already losing too much blood, and every drop made his chest grow tighter and his anxiety rose. How much farther were they going... Or was this all just to make sure no one heard the sound of his death.
He may end up dying in the back of this truck, in constant pain, constant anguish, and constant fear. For the first time in his life since the apocalypse began, Daryl Dixon was at the mercy of someone else.
A piercing pain in his other shoulder took him by surprise, and instinct managed to kick in just for a moment as he blindly tried to shove his body weight towards whoever had pierced him, but hands had already grabbed him and held him steady, and his efforts resorted in nothing more than a whine of pain, of all things.
"Settle down, Negan's gonna take real good care of yah," was the wicked chuckle in his ear, dripping with poison and the knowledge of what lied ahead. Almost right after those words, the hunter felt the world begin to sway about him, and the pain was fading into coldness. Panic rushed into his body to fight against the sensation, but that soon turned into an odd calmness, almost acceptance.
This wasn't how he wanted to die. He needed to see Rick. Maggie. Hell, he just wanted to see home... There was still too much he had to do, and he couldn't die now. He couldn't just lay down and die when he had so much to fight for.
But in the end, that was exactly what he did. His broad shoulders began to sag, pressing against the unforgiving metal along with his side. His head slowly lulled down, and he could feel his greasy hair falling as if to cover his face of the pain that twisted it. For the first time in his life... He didn't want to die...
He didn't want to die...
Agonizing burning was the next thing he felt, as if his shoulder was being stabbed with white hot iron pokers. The body jolted, and muscles groaned with the sensation of being moved after being cramped together for so long. Cold floor was the only sensation beside the burning, but it did nothing to soothe it.
Daryl hissed in soft pain, even as his heart twisted to give such obvious weakness. His fingers grasped through the darkness as if searching for his own body that was no longer a part of him, only to finally find his own flesh. Only then was he aware of the raw burning tight around his wrists and ankles, but they were no longer bound. The gag was out of his mouth, and there was nothing to cover his eyes.
Two things came through his mind at once. Where was he, and where was Rick.
Not even the blistering pain managed to keep the hunter from scrambling to his feet, almost to nearly collapse as the floor felt as if it had fallen out from under him. The drugs, whatever they had put in him... They were doing a damn good job of making him look like an idiot. His cheek was pressed into the stone and his head rattled with the soft collision and throbbed. Even that little movement made every part of his body scream for surrender.
As he listened to the throbbing of his own blood pulsing through his ears, he realized something.
He couldn't see.
Everything was black, darker than the darkest night with no moon. Darker than the closet he hid himself when Pa got mad. Darker than any parts of his mind allowed him to go. Darker than the horror that managed to sweep into his body.
Immediately his hands swarmed to his face, and he was relieved to find that he had nearly poked out his own eyes with the sudden frantic pace. He still had them... He couldn't feel any scratches, gouges or burns on his face, so he wasn't blinded by any weapon. But he needed to find a light, any light, anything to chase away the darkness.
His body managed to move again, and his head continued to protest harshly, but he was determined to find where he was. He wasn't outside, as there was no sound of wind, birds, nothing. It was too cold, too, as his entire body felt chilled to the touch. His flailing hands finally felt purchase against a flat surface, standing straight up, and he soon approved that it was indeed a wall. Keeping his fingers grazing across the surface as if to not become lost, he began to slowly walk, or as much as he could without his head practically drowning itself in pain and dizziness.
There was one wall. Then another. His fingers were caressing against the third as a cold chill began to curl up his spine. There was an echo, but sharp. There wasn't much room between the first three walls. Dread pooled within him as his outstretched hand came in contact with the final wall, and his entire exploration only took seconds.
He was trapped. There was nothing on the ground, nothing on the walls... There was no light, no sound... His imprisonment was within walls so small he didn't know if he could even lay down within its confines.
The deafness of his discovery made him nearly beg for something to make a noise, but he couldn't bring himself to utter a sound, as if the darkness would swallow him whole if he dared to disturb it.
It was only when the wall seemed to disappear beneath his fingertips on the fourth wall that he allowed some kind of hope. He flocked to the lack of wall, as if it was some kind of passage, only to slam face first into what seemed like... another wall. The hard protrusion he had nearly broken his hip with told him that this was not actually a wall, but a door.
A door. Freedom.
But no hope fluttered in his chest, only the growing sense of doom as his quivering large hands found the round knob and violently pulled, push, turned and yanked, yet he could barely feel the knob even move. It was locked, further confirming that he wouldn't be leaving this place anytime soon.
There he stood at the door, the cold knob still within his trembling hands. He stood cold, wet with what he eventually realized was his own blood from his wound on his shoulder, and trapped. He'd later realize that he was naked, something that took longer than any would think of noticing.
The man stood in that spot for what felt like hours, only to numbly begin to walk against the wall, mumbling and counting steps to the length of each wall. He turned and repeated to the next wall, then the next, and the next... Walking in circles while his mind remained blank. This continued until exhaustion had finally made his legs collapse beneath him, cringing as he hit the ground onto his stomach. Instinctually, his arms pulled tight against his torso, his teeth grimacing. No, he couldn't let anything touch it. Not even the floor. He rolled onto his side, trembling with a wave of emotions that were still swirling throughout his body, yet there was still no words.
Pain, fear, anxiety, worry, dread, rinse and repeat.
Pain, fear, anxiety, worry, dread. Rinse and repeat.
Pain.
His shoulder was on fire.
Fear.
He didn't know where he was or what would happen to him.
Anxiety.
There was no way that this could lead to anything good.
Worry.
Was Rick okay? Was he okay? Was anyone okay?
Dread.
He was alone. He had nothing to protect himself. Nothing to cling to, nothing to give him comfort... Except for...
His arms tightened, his body flinching in realization. No, he wasn't alone. Not yet.
And he would rather die than to be truly alone again.
