Hello everyone. Yes, this story is mpreg. No, this story will not have lemons or smut. Just like the show with sex scenes, it will not be explicit. You'll know what's going on, but I'd like to keep this story at T, not M.

I have been writing for years. Have been on this website for 8 years. But you'll never know my other accounts.

I saw a picture, and that's what sparked this idea. I thought I should try to write something long, detailed, and grand. I'll do my best to keep every character as they are.

One other thing. Lori is dead, and they are at the prison. This starts before the Governor and will continue long after. However, I'm not sure how I feel about Judith, and honestly, I don't know how to write about a baby that has no personality otherwise. I understand her importance to Rick and Carl, but eh. Call me heartless.

Anyway, please feel free to leave a review, but only if it is constructive. Like I said, I want to remain as close to the actual characters and story universe as possible, while touching on fear and fake prospects. If this story should take off, I'll be sure to link the inspiring picture.

Otherwise... adeau.

Chapter 1: Chained

What time is it..? Where am I? He awoke on the floor, his head aching and his limbs stiff. Blue eyes scanned their surroundings, showing the brain a dark, empty room, and a pole. A thick, wooden pole with black stains on it. Damn... Daryl let out a loud groan, slowly trying to move his aching arm. A metal-on-metal chime sounded, and his left arm followed his right. He held his breath and tried to move again. This time, the sound of chain links slapping each other played clearly against his ear drums. Handcuffed...

His cheek lay against the cold, cement floor. A chilling pain in his pelvis, and a dull ache in his skull told him he lay where he had fallen several hours earlier. "Ugh." Daryl heaved, flopping back against the pole that he was chained to. A small lurch in his stomach told him everything was well, for now. But he had to get out of...wherever he was. He had to find Carol...Rick...Maggie...Glenn, the people who were with him just hours before.

A run... it was only a run. He thought to himself, moving his head in such a manor to crack his neck. Where are they? Did they get supplies? Are they safe? The real question was, what happened? Why was he alone? Who chained him here and why?

He sat on his knees, his tongue dry. It seemed like days since he had last drank something. Or was that...?

His eyes rolled into the back of his head, and his body started shaking uncontrollably. A seizure. The first one he ever had. But, he wasn't in that room anymore, and he wasn't in his body. Memories flashed in front of his vision, throwing him back to those times.

That time in the prison...

"Daryl!" a gruff and scragly Rick Grims had called for him frantically. "Brother, please! I'm sorry!"

Daryl laid hidden under the bed in his cell, holding his breath as Rick's footsteps brushed passed. Rick wasn't sorry. How could Rick be sorry? It was Rick's fault, but was it really?

"Daryl-"

"Shut the hell up, Rick!" Merle's voice now. "He's a pansy-assed little prick. Can't face the consequences of his actions. Boy's runnin' from ya."

"DARYL!" Rick yelled again.

Daryl closed his eyes, hiding his face in his bent arm. It had all been a mistake. One he didn't want to deal with... one he didn't know why he had to deal with.

The seizure ended with Daryl vomiting on his legs, eyes shooting open as he gagged. Another wave of nausea shook through him, and the last bit of anything in his stomach quickly escaped his mouth. Great. Now he was thirsty, starving, and too sick to eat anything, as well as chained in a dark room in the middle of nowhere. He kept himself sitting up as best he could, but his legs were starting to go numb. It wasn't easy for a man of his weight to sit on himself for so long. But he didn't want to lay back down. The ground was cold, and he could feel it chilling him to the core.

"Daryl!" A long, drawn out whisper caught his attention. The sound came from the left. His ears perked up, but he kept as still as possible. "DARYL!" It was Carol. She had found him.

"Carol!" he hissed in her general direction, keeping his voice at a loud whisper as well. "I'm here! I'm chained!"

"Daryl?" This time, it was Rick's voice. Shit. Daryl really didn't want to hear Rick's voice. But that's how a separation situation went. As many people as possible went out to look for the missing link. Or rather, the whacko with a crossbow and greasy hair.

"Rick, I'm chained!" He called out, moving his arms as best he could, causing the metal between the cuffs to scrape across itself.

Carol ran in, her pistol held in both hands, ready to aim and fire whenever necessary. She ran to Daryl, stopping when she was within a safe distance between him and anything that might try to harm him. "Clear!"

Rick ran in, holding a hand out behind him, signalling the others to stay behind. When he got to Daryl, his darkness-adjusted eyes saw the vomit. Even if he hadn't seen, he could smell, and he knew Carol could too. He reached behind Daryl's body, patting down his arm until he reached the handcuffs. No gooey wetness met his touch. No blood had been drawn from Daryl's wrists. There hadn't been a struggle to get the man chained to where he was.

Daryl felt his eyes growing heavy, and the room started spinning. He opened his mouth to say something, but landed face-first on the floor instead, having been knocked out by his own exhaustion before ever hitting the floor.

"I didn't do this to use you, Daryl."

"Then why did you do it?" He glared back at Rick, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

"You told me you wanted it." the man growled back, his eyes on fire. "That you loved me. And I told you that I loved you!"

"I lied." Daryl hissed out, his hands falling to fists at his sides. "Come on, man, I didn't think you'd really do it! And with Carl and Judith to think about? Humph!" Rick reached his arms out, putting his hands on both of Daryl's shoulders. The touch lasted for only a moment before Daryl ripped himself away. "And what about Lori, man? She's only been dead a few months."

The taller of the two looked down, his hands on his hips as he caught his breath. This was frustrating on so many levels for the both of them. Especially when one thought the other did something wrong, and the other thought neither did anything wrong. Rick looked up, his fists still on his hips, making eye contact with the younger Dixon. "Look, I did it because I wanted to. And deny it as you will, you wanted to, too."

"But Merle-!"

"I don't care if Merle finds out!" Rick yelled at him. "I want this... I wanted this with you!"

"Lori's dead, Rick!" Daryl yelled back, his body shaking in fear and rage. "What made you think I'd be ok with dying, too?"

"I didn't know-"

"Yeah, well, I didn't either." Daryl spit on the ground at Rick's feet and shook his head. "Just leave me alone."

The next time he awoke, the pounding in his head had subsided, and the blood that had dried on his face was scrubbed off. He laid on the bed in his cell, with Carol sitting by his side, her arms crossed as she watched him move. Pain ripped through his wrists, and when he looked down, he saw that both of them had been cut in several places. It was accidental, of course. All signs of the struggle his group went through to get him out of those cuffs. But the dull ache in his ankles told him that what had happened with his feet was much less destructive.

Carol cleared her throat, looking at Daryl as he examined his wrists. "What made you think it was safe for you to go into that camp alone?" She hissed dangerously. "When we saw them holding guns to your back, we knew there was nothing we could do."

"What do you mean, noth-"

She cut him off, leaning forward with an angry glare. "We sat and watched as they beat the hell out of you. Taking turns hitting your head with their gun stocks, taking jabs at your stomach and arms with knives. Or didn't you realize you were covered in blood?"

He shook his head, grabbing his shirt with his hand and slowly pulling it up. There was a gash right at the base of his rib cage, another at his side, and one that ripped from his belly button down to his pubis. They were not deep, but they were bleeders, and they were sure to hurt at any attempted move he made. "Guess that explains the body ache." he growled back sarcastically. "But the cold floor definitely kept the swelling down."

Carol rolled her eyes, reaching forward and flicking his forehead. Before he could protest, she held up her hand to silence him. "It's fine, Hershel said. You're not dead yet. The heart is still beating."

"I wish I were dead." He spat, crossing his arms and glaring back at the wall. "I'm going to die anyway."

"Don't talk like that." Carol commanded, standing up from her chair and forcing his head down on the pillow. "Lay there and recover. I'm not the only one who will restrain you to that bed if you try to move."

"Grrr." Daryl growled, taking a fake bite at her hand. "Get your hands off me, woman. I don't care what you or anyone here thinks! I may not be bit, but I'm still living on borrowed time."

"Aren't we all?" she shot back, taking her hand off his head. "You're not feverish. I'll bring you some water soon-" his mind wandered before she could even finish her sentence. The sandpaper feeling in his throat reminded him that he was so thirsty. "But not if you leave your bed." She winked, walked out of the cell, and closed the door shut behind her.

"Bitch." he snorted, rolling up onto his side and facing the back wall. A shaking hand made its way down to his stomach, where he held it a few moments before feeling a little jump. It's not dead. Daryl thought to himself. At least he wasn't going to be eaten alive today.

Ok chapter 1. I realize it was short, but I'm tired. If you read it, I'm sorry about all the grammatical errors and lack of description. That's why I'm trying to write again.

Leave a comment and let me know how to improve, or just let me know how the story is going in general and what you'd like to see.

Thanks, Reso