I've always wanted to write a daemon fic, and I was looking at info about Californian condors one afternoon when it hit me: this really fits for Daryl.
Daemons (in order of appearance)
Daryl - California condor
Merle - hunting dog
T-Dog - calico cat
Rick - gray wolf
Carol -stoat
Hershel - capuchin monkey
Shane - German shepard
Lori - cottontail rabbit
Beth -bluebird
Dale - barn owl
The first time Merle sees them after Nora Settles, his face screws up in disgust.
"What kinda ugly-ass shit is this?" he asks, but with a sort of fond edge to his voice, and Sadie woofs low, butts forward hard enough that Nora shuffles back to keep from falling over. "Huge fuckin' bald bird, this ain't the time for that shit little brother. Switch."
He does that. Orders a change whenever he doesn't like the form they're in now. Tells them, "ain't no Dixon gonna be a weak little mouse – switch," or "Pops sees a spider, I guarantee ya he's gonna swat it – switch," and they always do, right away.
This time, they don't.
"Hey," Merle hisses, and Nora's head sinks low into the ruffly feathers around her neck. Sadie growls, leaning in to sniff at her beak. "I said switch."
Daryl chews on his thumbnail for a minute, looking down at his sneakers. There's a spot of something dark on the right one; he thinks it's ash.
"Mm-mn," he mumbles. Glances up at his big brother and then back down quick. "We're not doing that anymore."
It's not something he's had to think about. Nora hasn't tried to change yet, even though it's been days now and plenty of time. There's no point – they both knew it, as soon as it happened. She was flying high up, chasing the ambulance, and she saw the fire first, with those sharp vulture eyes and that was it.
Huddled at his feet, Nora hisses miserably. Daryl lets one hand drop, and she shoves her ugly bald head into it, feet clacking on the tile as she shuffles right up against the edge of his seat.
"Aw, hell," Merle says, very quietly.
He sits down, his side pressed up against Daryl's, and drags one arm around to tug his head close. Something between choking and a hug.
Down on the floor, Sadie lays flat on her belly and slowly scoots in close, nose twitching. When she gets close enough that her paws are going across Nora's feet, she starts to whisper something real low, just for daemons. Whatever it is, it sounds a lot softer than usual.
"We-ell," Merle drawls, and his arm locks tighter when Daryl starts to pull back. "Your soul sure got beat by the ugly stick, huh?"
Daryl doesn't answer. He's crying, quiet as he can, into his big brother's shirt. For once, Merle doesn't say a thing about it.
They stay that way until the funeral ends, and Merle's escort tells him it's time to get back to the detention center.
Daryl is eight years old.
-xxx-
Nora's never talked much.
That isn't too unusual, except that Daryl has always been quiet as well, and usually one of the two will carry on conversations. Typically it'd be the person, but it's not unheard of for a daemon to be more talkative than their human. Not unheard of for a daemon to hardly talk, either, but.
Nora's just never liked words very much. She tends to stick to the sounds of whatever her form could make, in the wild. She takes it to an extent that's not often seen – she's never spoken to another human of course, but even with other daemons, she's only ever really talked to Sadie. And even then, not much. Even with Daryl himself, she's always been quiet. She just, she doesn't like words mostly, they make her feel exposed and it annoys Daryl, sometimes, but he gets it. He's always been kinda a freak anyway, Settled too soon and Settled fuckin' weird at that and to top it off she's antisocial as all hell, but – so is he, anyway, or near enough so as it makes no difference.
Nora shuffles around, big wings hunched up and feet flat on the floor, ducks her big bald head low and hisses other daemons away, makes these stupid grunting squawking noises when she's really pissed off, and doesn't say a word.
"You're a piece of work, baby sis," Sadie tells her, and darts in to clamp sharp teeth around her leg. Nora huffs and swats at her with a stupid-huge wing but the hunting dog's got a grip made for shit like this and starts to drag her in towards the center of the room, tail wagging wildly.
Nora's a lot bigger, and she's got those wings she could really put to work if she wanted, she's got that sharp curve to her beak and she's clever when she wants, more than Daryl, he's pretty sure she could get away if she really tried. But she just lets Sadie drag her, lets her feathers get all dirty and bent up wrong even though Daryl knows she hates that, always just lets it happen and looks silently at Daryl, doesn't say a word. Hasn't said a word, even to him, in a few years now, and he pretends it's still her just being the quiet type, pretends he doesn't even notice.
Daryl sits on a grimy couch in a stranger's basement, smoking his way through a pack of cigarettes. Merle throws an arm around his neck, shoves a beer into his hand; he's high, drunk too, manic and happy and dangerous and Sadie is barking, darting back and forth between Nora and the pile of her friends' daemons wrestling on the floor.
Nora hunches down low, lets herself be dragged around, glares at Daryl.
He aims his middle finger at her. Reaches for another beer.
-xxx-
Daryl's been pacing around, screaming out a horrible repetitive protest, ever since seeing that hand on the ground. He can feel Grimes and T-Dog staring at him, but he can't see them. Can't see anything, really, can't hear but for this awful sorta buzz in his head, can't think at all, he's just – Merle. Merle's hand.
His chest feels tight, he stops shouting and falls still, hands clutching into fists at his sides and trembling because he's feeling an ache that's as physical as it is emotional – some sorta whimper forces its way out of his mouth and he grits his teeth down hard on his lip. He's trembling all over, his vision is spotting black.
Then there's a soft whumf next to him, and all of his symptoms pretty much instantly start to feel better. Daryl jerks awake, spins wildly to look at Nora by his side. It's been so long since she's really Tugged that he didn't even recognize the sensation for what it was at first, not when their leash has always been so long. Maybe it wasn't even that she was trying to escape this – maybe their tether just got that much shorter in the wake of Merle's – of Merle's – maybe he just needed her more.
She turns her head to look at him, red eyes deep and looking almost wise for a second, and Daryl stares down, chest heaving.
Then she opens her beak and the sound that comes out is a goddamn fucking bird noise.
"Fuck you," Daryl snarls. Feels tears catching in his throat, changing the way his voice sounds. It's coming out all high and broken, but somehow especially vicious for it. "Fuck you, you mangy piece'o'shit!"
He aims a kick at Nora but she hops out of the way just in time. Growls at him, sounding just as furious as he feels. He stomps after her, and she hops back again, ends up next to Merle's hand on the ground, turns and looks at it with her buzzard eyes, and Daryl loses his shit entirely.
"Get the hell away," he's roaring, and "you always hated him anyway," and "fucking hate you," and "don't you ever fucking touch him, don't touch me, just – get! As far as you can fuckin' go, I never wanna see your asshole face again!"
One of his kicks actually connects, and he can feel it all through himself in that way with daemon-pain, and he shudders but it doesn't lessen his desire to kick her again any. She's looking mighty inclined to fight back, wings flaring wide and beak clacking, back hunching, neck flushed red. She's hissing horrible loud, it's an awful sound.
In the end, Rick Grimes and T-Dog break them up. Nora snaps her beak at him one last time, and takes flight off the side of the building while the sheriff's still holding him back from hurting her any more. She rises on an updraft and takes to her usual circling. She's higher above though, this time.
"What the hell is wrong with you, man?" T-Dog asks in horror. He's got his cat clutched in his arms, stroking repeatedly across her fur. "Abusing your own daemon, who does that?"
Rick Grimes just watches, expression unreadable. His wolf stands tall by his hip, ears pricked forward alertly.
Daryl smears a wrist across his eyes. Spits sideways. Picks up Merle's hand and tucks it away.
"Don't matter," he says. "Piece of shit's no use for tracking anyway. Can't smell worth a damn."
He hates Nora, hates her hates her hates her, that stupid old vulture. Useful only for cleaning up other folks' mess, never any good on their own, ugly as sin, and dumb. His own goddamn daemon hasn't talked to him in years, and now not even Merle's maybe-death is enough to change that? He needed her, so she came, but still refused to so much as whisper even a single word.
Daryl would rather be entirely alone than be rejected by his own soul like that. He'd rather not even have a soul at all.
-xxx-
Things don't get better between them. Don't get better at all, in any way – camp's overrun, people dying, CDC's a bust and then to top it all off that little girl goes missing and the sheriff's kid gets shot. It all seems about right. Daryl knew from day one this group wasn't fit to last long, they don't have that survival instinct. They don't know what the hell they're doing, just a bunch of losers fumblin' around aimlessly.
He guesses he's no better though. Without Merle he can't even do better than to follow the blind all 'round the countryside. Maybe, if Nora was different, he could've done it. Struck out on his own, robbed the wreckage of whatever civilization this group had been aiming for, and hid out in the woods or something. He could've stayed in the city maybe, kept looking for Merle.
But Nora's quiet and disapproving and Daryl's weak. Always has been. He couldn't head out on his own, not if it meant he was truly alone and with his daemon he would be. So he tags along, silent and sullen as the bird overhead, and nothing gets better at all.
Then come the long, long days, looking for a lost girl. Nora circles high above. She rides on the wind, doesn't come down at all unless she has to. Spends the nights sleeping as far away from his tent as doesn't hurt, which is pretty damn far for the pair of them. Birds can always go further. Daryl used to think their long leash was 'cause she was such a big bird, or maybe 'cause he was so in tune with himself or some shit but he's learned better: Nora just doesn't like him one bit, so she gets as far as she can.
Comes back sometimes, though. Outside that house, she lands on the grass and starts preening her feathers, shining them in the sun. She used to do that for hours, most days. Made Merle laugh when he caught her at it, got him to cuff Daryl round the head and tell him to take a hint, he's startin' to stink again.
The memory stings like a popped blister, and he turns to snarl at her to quit it when he sees the flower on the bush behind her. Nora shifts then, lifts her head and meets his eyes.
"Aw, shut the hell up," he tells her, but takes the Cherokee rose to Carol anyway. Tries not to notice the way her stoat daemon twines desperately round Nora's feet – not quite touching, but close, and the vulture lets him. Stares Daryl down the whole while, like she's trying to make a point.
Seems she cares about finding Sophia just as much as he does. It's maybe the first time they've ever been so united, coming in the middle of the worst days they've ever had. It shouldn't make Daryl feel better, especially since he still hates Nora and knows she feels the same, but somehow, he can't help but find it a comfort. Kinda reminds him of when they were little and she changed all the time, more than any of the other kids he knew. More than Merle said he ever did. Nora had imagination, for a while there, she was different, and that's why she Settled different from the rest of the Dixon hound dogs, or even the common varieties of other creatures around him. When he was a kid, for a while Daryl had been proud of that, before his dad had really taken it in mind to bring him back to earth.
He learned better right quick, but he doesn't think Nora ever did.
-xxx-
When he wakes up – really wakes up, to that walker chowing down on his boot – it doesn't occur to Daryl at all to look for Nora. He doesn't think of her one bit through the whole fight, doesn't wonder where she is and why she ain't helping, doesn't really remember her at all until he's panting in the aftermath, fresh hole in his side and corpses around him. Slowly, he looks around for her, half-expecting to see nothing at all. Sure as hell feels like he's almost dead.
But she's there.
She's there, just a few feet away, lying still in the water. She's got her eyes closed and her wings all crumpled up, half-folded and half-crushed under her, and she looks dead but when Daryl heaves himself a little closer she tilts her head to look at him. Opens one eye, then the other. Her neck's gone this mottled sort of yellow, but she stretches it out and very gently deposits Sophia's dollie into his outstretched hand.
"Nor," Daryl croaks, and before he can think why he's got his arms round her, tugging her out of the water. He can't tell if it's her wings hurting or his side, but it's enough to make him stop twice on the way, and he curses her fat old self all the while. Her feathers are all wet and clumped up together like she hates, and he's started sliding his fingers through before he remembers she wouldn't want that.
But when he pauses, she just shivers and drops her head against his leg, so Daryl does it again a few more times. Feels her up while he's at it, finds the worst of it ain't that bad – her wings aren't broken. She's all scuffed up and the right one's got a big bruise but she's gonna be fine. She's gonna be just fine so long as he doesn't die on her.
He offers her the squirrel but she refuses, so he eats it instead. Makes more sense, the energy you get from your daemon eating comes slow and never is as good as what you eat yourself. He needs the boost right now, needs to get back, to give Carol that doll and get some stitches and get back out here again. He needs to bring that little girl back. He needs to move, he can't stop here. Ain't nobody to rescue him.
He feels hot and heavy, can't think straight. Got Merle talking shit at him again. Nora's gone off somewhere, trying to pick her way up the hillside when she can't fly because he sure as hell's not gonna be able to carry her, and besides, maybe she just doesn't wanna look at him. Wouldn't stick around at all if she didn't have to. No one would, no one did. Merle's gone.
Merle's gone, and still tearing him down, filling him up with a kind of rage he's forgotten how to handle anymore, if he ever knew. Maybe he didn't. He always had Nora for that, she's the one that did the hating for him and Daryl just shut up and followed his brother but he can't see her and he can see Merle at the hilltop, laughing, and he can feel the anger burning all through him and it's terrifying because if he doesn't make it up this hill Merle's right. He doesn't want Merle to be right. He doesn't want to die here. He doesn't want to die alone without even his daemon for company, lost in the woods with not a soul to care. He doesn't want to be nothing. He can't be, he won't be, not anymore.
Nora makes it up somehow. Meets him a bit away from the hill, leaves all dragged in her feathers and head hanging low. For the first time in a long while, he can feel how bad she wants to fly.
They stagger through the woods together for miles. Don't talk, but it's the closest they've been for ages. He knows she'd leave in an instant if only she could, but – still, there's a comfort to having her by his side that he can't explain.
When he gets shot, he thinks for a second he hears her say his name.
-xxx-
In the bedroom, for the first time, they touch. Carol kisses Daryl's forehead before she leaves, but it's kind of redundant. Her stoat's been wrapped around Nora since the moment the door opened; he's been makin' these little soft sounds and keeps nosing at the edge of the bandage on her wing before retreating to wind round her legs again. Nora's sat like a statue, watching him, not getting closer but not attempting to move away either.
When Carol leaves the room, her daemon doesn't follow. It's not until she calls him, twice, that he finally turns away after one last reluctant lick to the edge of Nora's hurt wing.
The door shuts behind the daemon Daryl now knows is named Alex, and he's left alone finally. He closes his eyes, bites his lip, tries real damn hard to erase Carol's words from his memory, because he didn't find Sophia and a dollie's no substitute really. He knows he didn't do good today – at least, not enough to make a difference, not enough to matter.
But he remembers seeing Merle in the woods and that furious determination that came over him, that rush of joy when Nora came back to him, that half-heard whisper of her voice. And – he feels something almost like bravery, then.
"Nor. C'mere." He keeps his eyes closed, but tugs a hand out from under the covers and lays it across the open space on the bed next to him. Waits, heart pounding and lip aching between his teeth.
A few minutes later, the bed shifts. He hears the blankets rustling, can feel stray edges of feathers brushing his arm as she settles in. She doesn't touch him, and she doesn't talk – but she's close, so close, and it feels something almost like forgiveness.
Daryl doesn't open his eyes for a long time. When he wakes up it's to Hershel at the door, his monkey daemon making scolding clicks with her tongue. Nora's already across the room by the window, but she's watching, meets his eyes as he tries to sit, doesn't look away.
-xxx-
Things are different after that.
Daryl and his daemon still aren't like anyone else; they don't sit and whisper together by the fire, they don't reach out to anyone else. He's not like Shane, who has to keep a hand in his German Shepard's ruff whenever he's near Lori so that she doesn't forget to keep her affection for the lady's rabbit in check. He's not like T-Dog, cat always either in his arms or twining round his legs. Even the other birds are different: Beth's bluebird is always flitting close around her, and Dale's never without his owl on his shoulder, the damn thing has never even flown that Daryl's seen. Neither of them are anything like Nora, who will soar high above the trees for hours at a time without any concern for what she's left on the ground.
But she comes back now. More often than before, and closer too. Sometimes she'll walk around camp with Daryl, still a few feet away but clearly going where he does. She still doesn't talk but at night she goes inside the tent now, sets herself down next to Daryl and sometimes her feathers brush his arm. He always wants to reach out, dig his fingers into them like he used to, wants to tug her close and feel how big she is, how heavy in his lap and how warm her bald head is when she tucks it into the crook of his neck. Wants to whisper her name and hear her say his back.
He still thinks she's stupid, she doesn't understand and never has, the way things are. But he's stopped telling himself he hates her, at least. Nora's – Merle once joked that she was sweet, and she'd retaliated by biting a hole right through Sadie's ear, but he wasn't really wrong. Nora flies so high, she must think she's better than everyone else – better than him, at least, and it shows. She wants more than any daemon belonging to a Dixon ever should, always has, but down under the silence and the hunched-up shoulders and the stupid red-eyed glares, she's kind. She lets Alex cuddle up to her all the time now. She hissed to alert Lori's rabbit when Carl's daemon shifted out of wolf form into a fox. It was the first shift in days and Lori'd started crying as her daemon hopped around excitedly. She stays hunched down low around the smaller daemons, ducks her head and cleans her feathers like that's the reason why. Nora sleeps so close to Daryl, lets his fingers skim the edges of her feathers, even though he knows she hates him.
She spends the entire time he's in the barn with that kid soaring at the uppermost limit of their tether, far enough that Daryl finds it hard to breathe, feels like he's gonna start crying any second. She shifts uncomfortably in place when Dale pleads with them to take his side about Randall, hisses but doesn't speak up, and bites Daryl on the hand that night when he stretches it closer to her.
Nora's an idiot. She doesn't understand how they have to be, she wants something more, something Daryl's never been capable of giving. Sometimes he wishes he could, but he knows the score.
When Sophia comes out of that barn, she swoops down to the ground and wraps Alex up in her huge wings, closes him off so he can't see a bit of what the world's become. Daryl holds Carol back, but he doesn't try to stop her from watching.
You can't hide from something like this. And pretending ain't kind for long.
-xxx-
He holds a tailfeather between two fingers, gentle as can be.
Hundreds of years ago, Californian natives used to sacrifice condors and collect their feathers. The huge birds were supposed to be good at finding what's been lost, and wearing their feathers would give a shaman those powers too. The Chumash used them to find missing people. Daryl thinks Nora's like that: always looking for something long gone. The difference is that the things she looks for can't be found anymore – Sophia should be proof enough of that.
He thinks about explaining that: telling his soul how she's dumb in every sense of the word, and doing no one any favors. But Daryl's no better in the end, has always been worse in the ways that should've mattered most, if only the world were better. And it's not kinder, he knows it's not, but when he thinks about the things Nora would see down here on the ground –
He's selfish. Can't hold her close, can't let her go. Can't do the hard thing, doesn't even want to despite all he says. He doesn't want to see what Nora would be like grounded. But he's not like her, he can't escape the reality down here.
All he can do is hold on to the tiny bit of her that she'll let him have, and listen to the sound of her breathing in the dark.
"G'night, Nor," he whispers deep in his throat. Dreams that night of Nora's sharp beak stabbing into Sophia's corpse, ripping out her guts and swallowing them down, blood everywhere. Her wings dangle, broken, in the dirt.
If you have any questions about a daemon choice, hit me up and I'll happily explain! I tend to overthink and get symbolic with a lot of them so it should be fun.
I may or may not be continuing this on through canon for at least a few more seasons. I've got some ideas for S3/4, but I'm not certain about further ones.