Product of prompt.
Warning: very angst. I love happy endings, but this is an apocalypse and I wanted to try my hand at angst, so I hope it's ok.
Set at the prison, in the yard, night of daryl/carol bus scene
Daryl glanced at the sleeping form next to him. She was curled up into herself dreamily murmuring. Daryl felt his heart twinge but quickly growled at himself and rolled over so his back was to her.
He hated feelings. Feelings were a distraction. Feelings were a liability. Feelings got you killed.
Not to mention the fact that he didn't have a fucking clue how to handle them. In the past, feelings got you beat. Feelings got you hurt. Feelings got you crushed.
Like Merle always said, feelings were for pussies. Feelings were just a bunch of mushy crap that you could go your whole life without.
Feelings made Daryl uneasy. He fought them. Daryl had seen feelings and emotions possess people, overpower them.
Feelings made you do stupid things.
Feelings gave you scars. Daryl had learned years ago to bottle up his feelings, lock them away. It was just better that way. It was better to be numb.
Feelings clouded your judgment, got in your head. He could think of at least a dozen situations where feelings changed the outcome.
Daryl Dixon didn't do feelings and emotions.
And he couldn't change. Not for anyone.