Disclaimer: I don't own The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.
Authors Note #1: This is a 'soul bond' or 'soul mate' style story. To my knowledge no one has taken a crack at this particular trope in the fandom, so this is more an experiment than anything. In this particular version, I am using a 'tattoo' or 'mark' to show how a soul bond presents itself.
Warnings: *Contains: soul bond/true mates/soul mate trope, illusions to domestic violence, spoilers for the first three seasons, adult language, adult content, violence, blood, gore, AU after the fall of Atlanta, angst, UST and more.
Tied
Chapter Two
Modern medical science had never really been able to explain it. And personally, he didn't think they were trying too hard, either. It edged just a bit too far into that pseudo-spiritual bullshit that science had spent most of the dark ages actively trying to avoid.
It just kinda, well, happened.
Soul bonds were rare, but not unheard of. As far as he understood it, back when royalty and powerful families were more of a thing, soul bonds were often present. They followed some of the better known bloodlines through the ages, coupling together powerful houses and helping form alliances outside of kin and country.
The only thing was that soul bonds didn't just stay up in rich town. Sometimes they struck at random and you ended up having a prince – picture some pompous asshat with a narcissistic complex bonding with the lovely peasant girl that mucked out his horse's stables. Other times you were left with some something a bit more complicated. The recent scandal in the White House for example – a president soul-bonding with his new male chief of staff on live television was definitely one for the history books, if you were askin' his opinion.
Maybe now they'd pass that stupid law everywhere and just be done with it.
A bond didn't appear until you were in the presence of your true mate and not everyone had one. That was pretty much it as far as he knew. Either way, it was a crap-shoot. There was no rhyme or reason to it. And if anyone told you different, they were probably selling something.
He didn't realize the bastard was laying his hands on her until one morning, about a week later, when he woke up to a handful of bruises splayed across his chest and the span of his hips. They were fresh, red and angry and he went from being half-awake to half-homicidal in about three point eight seconds flat.
Rage had burned quick and high as he'd kicked himself out of his blankets. He was yanking on his jeans and throwing yesterday's shirt over his head before he'd even made the conscious decision to move, bile threatening to rise in the back of his throat as he all but threw himself out of his tent.
Carol was nowhere to be seen when he kicked himself free, untangling himself from the cheap vinyl as Lori and Jacqui tended to something around the fire. But her husband was, smoking one of those nasty ass hand-rolled cig's he mainlined like oxygen, leaning up against the back of their station wagon. And for the first time since he'd arrived, he was grateful for it.
He hit Ed running, taking him down in a tangle of wind-milling arms and flailing feet. The stupid ass hadn't seen it coming, he hadn't even been looking. He felt the heat of the man's cigarette sear across his cheek as they rolled part way down an embankment.
He got in a solid hit before Ed kicked him away, clumsy but built, enough to make him pause and reassess. His lip curled when the man levered himself up, swearing, fists up like he was lookin' for a fight. He spat on the ground, tipping back his head and gesturing for the man to do his worst. He'd grown up with Merle for an older brother. This shithead was child's play.
And just like he knew he would, Ed took the bait, hook, line and sinker. It was like watching a train wreck in slow motion as the man flew at him – zero finesse and brute strength all jumbled up into one very unattractive package. But instead of stepping out of the way, he absorbed it, using the man's momentum to flip them both backwards.
His bare feet curled in the dirt as he skidded, one hand shooting out for balance before he was on him again. He dug his knee into the man's soft gut, pinning him down as he started laying in on him. Ed's face split under his fists, malleable and soft, a churning mess of blood, teeth, and snot as the man whimpered somewhere underneath him.
Feels different, don't it? Being on the other end of the fist?
He figured it was a testament to everyone's feelings when no one pulled him off right away. He could feel the others closing in, skirting around the backdrop – yelling. Shane, Morales Jim, even the kid, Glenn. But no one made a move to stop him. He bared his teeth, knocking Ed's head against the ground, hissing as he felt one of the bones in his cheek snap.
They were waiting.
They knew the bastard deserved this.
And honestly, he couldn't seem to stop himself.
He raised the man up by the collar, hands slick with red as Ed's faced dipped and weaved – going in and out of focus as a strange fog rose up in the back of his mind. It felt like blood lust, like the right decision but an overreaction. Confusion rose up, questioning even as Ed muttered something unintelligible. But then Carol's face flittered through his mind's eye and he remembered.
"You don't touch her, you hear me!" he snarled, "one more bruise, one more fucking scrape and I'm comin' for you, understand?" Ed's head bobbled, automatic despite the fact that the bastard's eyes were tightly closed.
"Look at me you little bitch!" he growled, crooked fingers curling around the man's windpipe as bloodshot red fastened on his face, pleading and unworthy. His fingers tightened, biting down on the inside of his cheek as the man gurgled, hands slapping at him desperately.
She isn't yours.
You don't deserve her.
Mine.
"Christ, alright, he's had enough!"
"Daryl, stop!"
Shane and Morales hauled him off, dragging him a few meters away before he kicked out and shook himself free. He rolled his shoulders, shrugging off any unwanted hands as Jim and Glenn kept their distance, looking sick and conflicted as Ed coughed up a mouthful of blood behind him, moaning.
He sneered. Pathetic.
The others just watched, wary as he turned around, glaring right back at them. Daring them to say he hadn't done anything they hadn't thought about doing a hundred times. It had been a long time comin' and not one of them could deny it. They'd needed someone to take out the trash, someone who wasn't afraid of getting their hands dirty. And if that meant it came down on him, so-fucking-be-it.
He wasn't sure if he was disappointed or relieved when they let him go, saying nothing when he snorted and stalked off, grabbing his shoes and crossbow before disappearing into the treeline.
Fuck 'em.
A/N #1: Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – I'm so glad everyone is enjoying! There will be more to come.