You Keep Me Going
Chapter 1: An Encounter
Oh boy, my first Walking Dead fanfiction. This will be exciting...
I'm letting y'all know that this isn't a romance pairing. Sure, my character will develop some feelings for Daryl at some point, but not like that...entirely. I'm also apologizing for the insanely long chapters. If this was in a book, it'd be about twelve pages. I already have some pre-written chapters, so the next ones will be shorter. Much shorter.
I do not own the Walking Dead! I hope you like it! Kthxbai -zooms-
I was walking back to my house from scavenging whatever I could find. I found a few cans of food, medical stuff, like rubbing alcohol and bandages, and, of course, my monthly trip to the nearby fabric store to get some fabrics and sewing supplies (it may be the end of the world, but I still have a hobby). Even though I'm on the verge of death every time I leave my house, I still get some regular stuff. Hell, just the other day, I went out of my way to get an adorable stuffed animal I saw while looking for food. It. Was. Worth it.
I entered the small neighborhood where my house was. I settled down in this place a few months ago. I was, again, running away from my previous group who I stole from and came here a few days later. Since then, I've been living on my own with a cat I talk to as if it were a human. A few minutes passed and I was almost to my house. I had no idea why I chose a house so far from the border of the neighborhood, but it was a nice house. There were nice things in it and the cat was there, so it became my new home.
I stopped in my tracks as I saw the sight of my house. Well, more like the sight of a man walking into my house. My heart began to beat rapidly, each beat saying "Panic, panic, panic." I'm not saying I'm a scaredy cat, but when I get freaked out, my mind races. I've never seen this guy before. Could he be someone from one of my previous groups, and he tracked me down? I don't recognize him one bit. I carefully approached my house, trying to make sure the man couldn't see or hear me. As I came up to my door, I could tell he broke the lock, probably with a knife of some sort. I pushed my door open, praying the old hinges wouldn't creak, and slipped through the small space I made into the living room. I was an idiot for not bringing my baseball bat with me. It would've been in my hands right now, but it's leaning in the corner beside the couch. My cat wasn't in sight. That's good, I think. She's safe, I hope. I quietly took off my stuff and quickly crawled to my bat and grabbed it. I stood up, ready for a fight. I heard a noise from the kitchen. He'd better not take my cookies, I thought. I mean, they're stale, but cookies are cookies, and that man better not take them. I sneaked to the entrance to the kitchen, and I poked my head over the corner of the wall. The man's back was towards me and he was at the counter where I kept the dolls I made. He had long brown hair that went to the base of his neck. He had a bag, probably holding supplies, slung over his shoulder, and had a loaded crossbow in one hand. He was holding one of my dolls in the other hand. He had a strong build and looked like a biker, so I had to approach him carefully. One punch from him could probably kill me. I sneaked closer to him, readying my bat for a swing.
I was a couple of steps away from him. I took one more step and the floor made a loud creeeaaak. The man jolted his head up and turned. His blue eyes pierced through my head, and looking at them showed me that he was ready for a fight. Just as quickly as he turned, I smacked the middle of the baseball against the side of his head. His body collapsed on the ground and he laid there motionless. "Shit, did I kill him?" I asked myself. I knelt beside him and placed my head near his chest.
…
There was a normal beat. I put my index finger under his nose and there was a gentle breeze coming from it. That's good, I didn't kill him, but I hope I didn't give him internal bleeding and dies later. I whacked his head hard enough to give him a bad looking bruise on the side of his forehead though. It was swollen, and if I had hit him any harder, he would either be dead or the bruise would cut open and bleed severely. Nothing I haven't seen before however. Great, that means I have to take care of him. I removed a knife from his belt and checked his pockets for other weapons. I then picked up his upper body and propped him against the wall.
"Jesus, you're heavy," I grunted. I never had a problem lifting portions of full grown adults, but this guy was heavy. Either I'm tired and don't have the energy for what I'm doing (I'm always tired) or this guy's leather jacket weighed a ton. Probably both. I looked through the guy's bag to see if he had any bandages. I managed to pull out a long piece of fabric. Then I pulled out a small box of cookies. "God damn it, he took them," I said. I opened the lid. "And he ate some." I stood up and grabbed a clean hand towel from a nearby drawer and soaked it with cool water from the sink. I strapped the towel to the man's forehead with the fabric. Small streams of water ran down the side of his face, which must have been really dirty because the streaks made clean lines on his cheek.
Now, the next step: bringing this guy on the couch…
I took his torso from behind and hooked my arms under his. I began walking backwards towards the living room. As I approached the couch, I saw my cat walk in through the hallway.
"Ella, help me," I sarcastically begged, but her answer was a bleating meow, and she walked passed me to the kitchen.
After a few minutes of work, I got this man to lie down on the couch, propping his head up with a couple of pillows. I then grabbed some rope and tied his hands and feet with a line of rope connecting the two. So, if his feet move, his hands go with them, and vice versa. I sat on an adjacent reclining chair and looked at the man. He looked middle-aged, probably mid-40's. It's been a while since someone wandered into my house. The last person who came in here ended up dead, because she tried to kill me, and I bashed her brains out with my baseball bat. I buried her outside of the neighborhood, if you're wondering, but having this unconscious dude with me is some form of good company.
Ella walked up to the couch and jumped on the couch. She smelled the man's face and climbed up on his chest. She lied down and tucked her limbs under her body so she would look like a ball of fluff with a head and a tail. "Ain't that precious." I stood up and grabbed a camera from off the coffee table. It was one of those cameras which you took the picture and a sheet of film paper would come out and the image would show up some time later. I snapped a photo of Ella and the man, and the whirring of the camera slowly spat a photo. I took it and watched the image pop up. It was a cute picture. I put both the camera and picture down on the coffee table and sat on the floor beside the couch. I watched Ella and the man's chest slowly go up and down. I felt for a beat with my fingers against his neck. There was a normal beat. Maybe this man won't die of a concussion.
A couple of hours passed and this man wasn't awake yet. I managed to fix the lock of the front door, and I would re-soak the hand towel every now and then. I took Ella off his chest, because I assumed he had a hard time breathing. He seemed to be sleeping rather than being unconscious. He would mumble some inaudible words every now and then. It was funny, I thought. I began making another doll on the coffee table. I had no particular design for this doll, but seeing how the man was dressed inspired me for a sinister-looking doll of some sort. It only took me thirty minutes to finish, and I put it away in the kitchen after I finished it.
Another hour passed, and he wasn't awake yet. He was still breathing. He still had a normal heart beat. He was still mumbling in his sleep. I guess I did a number on him. I checked the clock that was on the wall. I know it doesn't work, but I still looked at it when I'm wondering what time it was. At least it's telling the correct time twice a day. It'll be getting dark soon, and this guy probably has a group waiting on him. They could get worried. They could somehow track him down and check these houses until they see him here. They could ask me questions like "What did you do to him?" or "Do you have a group?" and stuff like that. They could probably kill me. I decided to soak the towel again. It got dry since the last time I soaked it. I took the towel off and examined the bruise. The swelling was gone and the color was a light purple. How much longer will this guy stay knocked out, I thought. I don't mind him staying for the night, but at least wake up so I can have someone to talk to.
I walked to the kitchen, turned on the sink, and I ringed the towel under the flowing water. After cleaning it out, I turned off the sink and hung the towel on the edge of the counter. If he woke up, he's got to be hungry, so I decided to make him a peanut butter sandwich. I put together one in a minute on a plate (which I assumed was cleaned), grabbed the wet towel, and walked back to the living room. I placed the plate on the table and placed the towel on the man's forehead. I removed the strip of fabric a while ago, so the cloth just rested there. I turned for a bit to close the curtains of the windows of the living room. Light still seeped through, but that will leave soon. I heard groaning all of a sudden. I turned and saw the man stirring his head. I walked beside his legs and stared at him. He opened his eyes slowly, and he took a look around, the wet towel falling to the side. He stopped and looked at me. His blue eyes pierced through my head again. He was still alive.
There was a long silence. He looked down at his tied hands and feet, and then he looked at me. He seemed pissed. I can understand why. I knocked him out and tied him up. I would be pissed too. I was the first to speak.
"Sorry… that I hit your head with a baseball bat," I tried to say kindly. He scoffed softly.
"T's alright," he spoke sarcastically in a scratchy voice. I knew damn well it wasn't alright. I scooted the plate closer to him. He looked at it, then back at me. I took out my pocket knife and flipped the blade out. I held it up.
"Promise you won't hurt me or run away if I take these ropes off," I said. He nodded.
"Yeah, I promise," he answered. It still sounded like sarcasm, but I wasn't going to feed the sandwich to him. Plus, there was that little angel in my heart telling me to trust him a bit. I sat on the edge of the couch.
"Cross your heart?"
The man tried to move his hands, showing me that they were still tied. "Can't really cross my heart like this, now can I?" he asked sarcastically. I moved my index finger towards his chest, and I made a cross over his heart. "Okay, you crossed my heart yourself, so I can't break it."
Fix that sarcastic-sounding voice, dude.
I nodded my head and smiled slightly. "Okay." I cut his ropes off his hands and feet and stood up so he could sit up at the edge of the couch. The man rubbed his wrists. There were rope burns. He took the sandwich and took a bite. He eyed me bit, probably making sure I wouldn't do anything stupid. I just looked at him. I was making sure that he wouldn't do anything stupid. The man looked away. "How's your head?"
"Alright. Still hurts a bit."
"That's good, um, I guess," I said awkwardly.
There was a long silence.
"Thanks for the sandwich," the man said, trying to sound polite.
"You're welcome," I said. I sat down a couple of feet away from him on the couch. I thought an introduction would be appropriate right now. "I'm Becca," I said. I held my hand out for a handshake. He looked at my hand, at me, then back at my hand. The man licked his fingers from extra peanut butter and shook my hand.
"I'm Daryl," he said gruffly. His hand was cold and slightly wet from his spit. He also had a strong grip, so he could have crushed my hand or neck with one hand anytime he wanted. Even so, he looked friendly enough, I guess, so I retracted the blade and put the knife back in my pocket.
"Are you thirsty?" I asked.
"I'm good," he replied. I gave him a stern look, and he darted his eyes at me.
"C'mon. You can't have a sandwich like that and not wash it down with something," I retorted while forcing a smile.
He groaned and took another bite of the sandwich. "I said I'm fine, Sunshine," he said.
Sunshine? Why the hell did he call me that?
I stood up, walked to the kitchen, and opened one of the cabinets. I took out a half filled bottle of soda, which I know for a fact is flat, and brought it back to Daryl. I held the drink in front of him. "I'm not letting you break the laws of peanut butter sandwich eating," I said jokingly, but I was serious. He needed something to drink. He snatched the bottle, and I sat back down beside him, still keeping my distance, just in case. He finished the sandwich and took a sip from the bottle.
"Shit, that's flat," he said quietly. "Can't even tell what kind of soda it was before." He took another sip and set the bottle down on the coffee table.
"The bottle had a Pepsi label on it before I tore it off," I said.
He just made a grunting noise, showing me that he at least heard me. He scanned the coffee table and picked up a picture. It was a picture of his unconscious body with Ella half asleep on his chest. He looked at me with a very confused expression, and he put the photo down. "Cute," he said. The light stopped shining through the curtains, so the living room became dim. Daryl noticed, got up, and moved the curtains slightly to look outside. "Fuck…how long was I out?"
"A few hours," I answered. Daryl put the curtains back to their original position and rubbed the spot where I hit him with his hand. He was thinking of something, I could tell. I stood up. "You're not planning to go back out there right now, are you?" Daryl looked at me, as if I knew what he was thinking of. He looked back at the window.
"Normally I would be going, even around this time of day, but the walkers are already out, and there's a lot of them," he said. He turned to face me again. "Plus, my head still hurts. I think you owe me." I looked to the side and sputtered my lip. "Do you mind if I stay here tonight?" I looked back at Daryl. His eyes were looking through me again, but they seemed calmer than the other times I looked at them for some reason. His eyes actually stood out more than anything else from his grungy appearance. They were…pretty.
"No. After all, it's the least I could do, since, you know… I knocked you out," I chuckled.
"Thanks, Sunshine," he said in a nicer tone of voice.
He called me that again. What the hell?
He walked up to me and placed a hand on my shoulder. "About that blow to the head…it's okay. I would've done the same thing with the end of my crossbow." I looked up at him and smiled slightly. "Speaking of which, where's my crossbow?" he asked as he let go of my shoulder.
I jutted my head in the direction to the kitchen. "It's still in the kitchen, along with your other supplies. I'll go get them," I said and turned, but then I turned slightly to look at Daryl. "Next time, don't take my cookies." I turned again and walked to the kitchen to retrieve Daryl's stuff. I came back in a few seconds and placed his bag and crossbow on the coffee table. I heard a series of scratchy meows, and I turned around to see Ella walking in from the hallway.
"Aw," Daryl said. He knelt on knee and held his hand out. "C'mere," he whispered and made kissy sounds. Ella saw him and walked quickly to his hand, and Daryl began scratching the back of her head. She sat down and purred loudly. "Aren't you loud?" Daryl asked the cat. He sat crisscrossed on the floor and petted Ella more. "Did you enjoy sleeping on my chest?"
Seriously, what the hell? This guy was a quiet ass a couple of minutes ago. Now he's all sweet and talking to animals, but I couldn't help but smile a bit. Daryl quickly took his hand away from Ella as she snapped as his fingers and ran away to the kitchen in a flash.
"Crap, did she get you?" I asked, crossing my mental fingers that she didn't. Daryl looked at his finger. There was just a tiny stream of blood running from his index finger. "Shit, she did. I'm so sorry!" I said. Daryl grinned and wiped the blood from his finger with his shirt.
"T's alright. It's just a little bite. I've lived with worse," he said, but blood still ran down his finger from the cut. I knelt beside him and examined the cut Ella left him. It was small, but it was deep, and it was bleeding badly. I shook my head, walked to my backpack, and grabbed the small first aid kit I carried around. I came back to Daryl and sat down beside him.
"Little bite, my ass. I'm not letting that thing get infected," I said. I took out some sterilizing wipes and rubbed the cut with them. He winced a bit at the sudden small pain he might have been experiencing. I took out a needle and some thread, and I began sewing up the cut. He grunted in pain as I did so. When I finished, I wrapped the tip of his finger with a colorful Hello Kitty Band-Aid and a small gauze. "There, that should do something for a while," I said as I cleaned up. Daryl examined his now fixed finger, and then he looked at me.
"You work fast, kid," he said. I sputtered my lip.
"It was just a cut. It was deep, but it doesn't take a surgeon to stitch it up," I replied. I pulled up my pant leg a bit to show Daryl my calf that had a healing cut on it. It was mostly a large scar, but there were still a few scabs that I picked. "I cut my leg on some glass the other week. It didn't take too long to stitch it up and what not. I'm glad I had some sewing stuff and bandages with me at the time," I said as I covered my leg back up. "Because that happened, I always carry sewing supplies with me." Daryl looked at me with concern.
"How deep was the cut if you had to stitch it up?"
I looked up to think. "About a centimeter deep?" I asked myself. I wasn't really sure, but it was really deep.
"Was anyone with you?" he asked me. I looked into his blue eyes again. He seemed worried.
"No," I answered, "No one was with me. I actually haven't been with anyone in a few months."
"You've just been by yourself?" I nodded. "How old are you?"
"Does it really matter how old I am?" I asked sternly. Daryl sighed.
"I guess not," he replied.
I readjusted my glasses. "But…I'm sixteen, since you asked."
Daryl looked to the side, then back at me. "Have you ever been in a group?"
"Yeah. Five."
"What happened to them?" I gave him a blank expression. He waved his hand. "Forget about it. Sorry that I asked."
I chuckled. "No, it's alright. I wasn't too attached them," I said. "Every single group I joined turned into a bunch of shitheads. I either killed, stole, or ran from them in the end."
"Oh," Daryl said. "Is that all you did?"
"Yeah. They were all dicks. I kind of knew that they would turn bad on me at some point. I just don't trust groups anymore. Fuck, I don't even trust people." I gave him a look.
"Then why did you join them?" he asked me.
I thought for a bit. "For a selfish reason. I didn't want to be alone..."
Daryl just groaned in response, and there was another short silence. I know, it was a stupid reason, but it was true. I hated to be alone, but I also hate losing people I cared for. That's why I wasn't attached to any of my groups. That and I hate assholes.
"Do you have a group?" I asked. Daryl looked at me.
"No," he said. My gut told me he was lying, but I couldn't accuse of him of it and arguing wouldn't lead me anywhere. I just nodded my head.
"Okay." My eyes started to hurt. The living room was getting dark, and my eyes were having a hard time adjusting to the little light the curtains gave. I stood up and began lighting up a few candles with a lighter. "I swear, I feel like it's getting darker quicker nowadays," I said.
"Yeah, same here," Daryl said has he got up. He looked out the corner of the window again. I walked up beside him.
"How many are out there?" I asked. Daryl fixed the curtains and groaned.
"Just a few walkers now," he replied.
"Ah. So," I continued and he looked at me, "you call them walkers?"
Daryl nodded a bit. "Yeah. What do you call them?"
"I call them drunkies," I answered. Daryl chuckled a bit.
"Why?"
"Well, they look like really drunk people. They look less scary if you imagine them like that."
"Heh, I guess you're right."
"But, the name you call them sounds better. It sounds both cool and menacing," I smiled.
"You can call them whatever, Sunshine, but I'll always see them as flesh-eating fuckers," he said in a cold voice. I stopped smiling and just looked at him.
"Why do you call me that?" I asked.
Daryl looked at me funny. "Call you what?" he said as he crossed his arms.
"Sunshine, what else?" I barked, "That was the only name you called me by ever since I told you my name." It really was irritating me.
"I don't know," Daryl answered, "I just call girls that sometimes." I groaned in disgust.
"Just girls? Do you give little pet names to guys too?" Daryl just looked at me with anger in his eyes.
"I just call people names. Would you prefer me calling you a bitch, because you're acting like one right now." I walked up to him to look at him dead in the eye.
"I prefer you calling me by my fucking name!" I backed off and turned to face the couch. "I hate pet names…fucking ass…," I mumbled. I heard Daryl walk up behind me.
"I'm not giving you any god damn pet name!" he snapped. I turned to face him again.
"Then what hell is it?" I asked, "Why do you call girls that?" Daryl just looked at me. He looked down and shook his head. "Well?"
He looked at me again. "I don't fucking know, Bec," he said calmly, emphasizing the name. "I just call them that." At least he called me a nickname of my nickname.
"Okay," I sighed. Daryl turned and looked through the peephole of the front door.
"Good, they didn't hear us," he said. He faced me. "I reckoned they did."
"Mm," I groaned. Daryl walked passed me and I heard the crushing sound of the couch cushions. I just stood where I was, staring at the door.
"Hey," I heard Daryl say. I turned my head a bit to look at him. "Sorry." It sounded forced, but the way he said it made me feel better. It's been a while since I heard that word from someone besides myself.
"It's okay…Sunshine," I smirked. I saw him leaned forward and bury his face in his hand and shake his head. I could tell he was smiling, because his cheeks rose to his eyes. And I was right. He uncovered his face, and he was smiling. Not as much as I thought, but he was smiling. It was more of a half-assed smirk, and that made me happy. I looked at the clock, which still had the same time it always had. "I think we should get some sleep. You especially if you want to leave early," I suggested.
Daryl nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I think we should, even though I slept most of the time I was here." I chuckled and sat down in the chair beside the couch and reclined it.
"Goodnight," I said as I turned over to my side to face the man.
"G'night," there was a pause before he said, "Becca." He turned so his back was toward me. I couldn't help but smile. He called me by my name. Well, not really my name.
"Hey, Daryl?" I called out.
"Yeah?" he muffled.
"My name is Rebecca. I just thought I'd let you know," I said quietly. He turned a bit so he could see me.
"I prefer Becca," he said. He went back into his original position. I didn't fall asleep yet. I watched him until I heard him snore lightly. I watched Daryl sleep a little more until I finally drifted off to sleep.
I woke up to a beam light stabbing me through my eyelids. I hate it when the sun finds the smallest opening between my curtains and gets me. I got up from the recliner and opened the curtains a bit to let in the morning light. The road was clear of Walkers, and from what I could tell from the position of the sun, I could say it was around ten o'clock. I turned towards the couch. Daryl was still there, the front of his body facing towards the ceiling. His arms were crossed, and they slowly went up and down along with his chest. Ella was curled up beside the couch, and I could hear her wheezing snores. I reached inside my back and pulled out a can of tomato soup. As soon as I opened it, Ella woke up and ran up to me. I poured a little into my hand and sat down for her to drink from as I drank the rest. She licked what was left and ran to the kitchen to eat what I assumed was cat food, because I heard crunching from there.
Daryl woke up about thirty minutes after I did. I gave him a can of soup, and he couldn't help but give a little to Ella from his hand. After he finished the soup, he got up from the couch, grabbed his bag and crossbow, and stood in front of the door. I opened it and walked him to the middle of the front yard.
"Hey, thanks for letting me stay here for the night," Daryl said.
"You're welcome," I said back with a small smile. "Is your head okay?" His bruise was just a small spot of a light purple color. He nodded a bit.
"Yeah, it's okay," he answered back.
"That's good," I said. There was another silence. "You know you don't have to go. You can bunker down here."
A walker was seen in the distance. "No. I should get going. I have a goal to get to," Daryl said. I nodded.
"Okay then," I said. "Good luck out there." Daryl readjusted his crossbow that was slung over his back.
"I'll be alright," he said, "You keep yourself out of trouble, okay?" I chuckled.
"I will, Daryl."
"Okay then. See you around," he said as he turned. I grabbed his arm, and he flinched and turned back around to face me.
"Wait, I have something for you! Be right back," I said as I ran into the house before he could say another word. I ran to the kitchen and grabbed the little doll I made yesterday. I ran back outside, and Daryl was still in the middle of the yard. I stopped in front of him and held up the doll. "I made this yesterday," I panted, "After seeing how you looked, I put this little guy together." Daryl took the small doll slowly. It rested perfectly in his hand. "It looks like a piece of crap, I know." Daryl shook his head.
"Naw, it looks nice." I smiled. "I like it," he said as he placed it inside his bag. "Thanks."
"You're welcome," I said. I gave Daryl a hug, and he wrapped his free arm around me and patted my head. I let go. "Please be careful," I said with concern. The man just grinned.
"I will," he said. He turned around and started to walk away. I stood still as I watched his body fade. He never looked back at me. I just watched him walk out of the neighborhood. When he was out of my sight, I went back inside the house, locked the door behind me, and sat down at a table in the kitchen. I started to work with a doll I started a couple of weeks ago. Ella jumped onto the table and began to mess around with a square of fabric. All was quiet.
"This sucks," I said to Ella. "I actually miss him." He was actually the best company I've had in a long time. Despite the fact I had Ella with me, I was alone. I had no one to look up to or to take care of me or have me take care of him or her. I stopped working and rested my head in my arms on the table. I sighed solemnly and looked at the front door. I shook my head and continued working on my doll. About an hour of slow progress passed. I nearly jumped out of my chair when I heard a knock at my door. I slowly stood up and walked quietly to the front door, a ready-to-stab knife in my hand. I looked through the peephole. "Jesus fuck," I said to myself. I opened the door to get a full view of Daryl. "What the hell are you doing here?" Daryl just sighed.
"Do you want to come with me?"
Without giving it a second thought (not even thinking actually), I said "Yes!" I guess I said it a bit too eagerly, because Daryl widened his eyes and gave me a funny look of confusion. I cleared my throat. "Um, I'll go pack my stuff," I said.
"Okay. Don't take too long," he said, "I'll wait out here." Before I closed the door, Ella slipped out, and Daryl caught her before she could run to far away. "We'll take this piece of fur with us." I chuckled and closed the door. I just packed my essentials in my backpack: food, water, some clothes, and medical supplies. I placed my baseball bat inside the holding strap on the side of my bag. I put on my backpack and grabbed my satchel, which has a few miscellaneous items in it and my gun. The only thing I had to leave behind were my dolls, which were just stuffed piece of crap. I came back outside and locked the front door behind me with a key. Daryl passed me Ella, and I cradled her in my arms. "You ready?" he asked in a slight southern accent I realized he had.
"Yeah," I nodded, "I'm ready." Daryl nodded his head, turned around, and started walking in the direction he was before. I followed close behind him. We walked in silence for the first couple of miles. There were no walkers to deal with and all was peaceful. I was the one who broke the silence. "Daryl?" I said. He kept walking, but he turned his head a bit. I shrugged my shoulders. "Why did you come back?" He stopped walking. I stopped in my tracks, and the man turned more to face me. I was just standing there, waiting for his answer.
To be continued…