Disclaimer: I sadly do not own The Walking Dead. Unbeta'd.
Spoilers: References to Season 1 and 2.
Warning: Rated for themes, language, and violence.
Packages in Zombie Zone, Area S - 9
Scout wanted to run to the hospital, but Daryl grabbed his shirt and held him back, shaking his head repeatedly. They waited on the hill, listening to the screams, watching the flames eat the bricks and bodies alive. The large flames subsided after a few hours. Not a single person escaped hospital while they watched.
"This isn't right. That couldn't have been…" Scout whimpered, wiping something that looked like tears from his eyes. Probably from the smoke.
"Been what?" Daryl questioned. The signal?
Scout bit his lip. "Nothing."
"Let's go take a look," Daryl suggested with a raised brow.
"No!" Scout jumped, raising his small knife at Daryl. "Get away from me! You did this!"
"I was with your stinkin' face the whole time. How the fuck was it me?" A questioning look spread across Daryl's face. "What're you goin' to do, Paula Deen? Butter me up?"
The man glanced back and forth between his knife and Daryl's arsenal of weapons: a loaded crossbow, two blades, and a gun. He shook his head, sprinting as fast as he could, away from the hunter and into the trees, not once looking back. Daryl stood on the hill, perturbed.
"Guess I'll go check the place out myself then."
Daryl reached the hospital entrance, the sides littered with smouldering debris. The lights were broken on the floor, thin plastic melted into deformed obtuse shapes. Lying in the middle of the hall was a body that was burnt so deeply, the only thing Daryl recognized that it had the shape of a human.
The flesh was charred from the flames' intensity, searing the body's exterior. Although the flames were gone, the body still sizzled, as if it was being cooked from the inside. Daryl gritted his teeth at the smell of cooked meat—foul yet enticing. Furiously, he shook his head.
In the ward closest to the entrance, Daryl found a flaming walker chewing on a barbecued being. The fire sustained life by burning the walker's clothes and its flesh. Daryl pulled his shirt over his mouth and nose, a feeble attempt in protecting his lungs. Daryl shot it in the head, using his boots to press the head down in order to retrieve his arrow, and rushed out of the room as soon as possible, closing the door behind him.
Most of the smoke had dispersed but Daryl wasn't sure if inhaling burnt walker would cause him to turn. He held his shirt above his nose. On a small cart outside one of the rooms he found a respirator. He strapped it on tight and ventured deeper into the hospital. There were small patches of ash scattered throughout the hospital, as if something had been planted there.
He found other bodies in a similar state: burned flesh trapped in skeletons' jaws. Women and children were not spared in the fire's path and it appeared as if the walkers weren't flame-retardant either.
The ward he visited was more of the same. Each room had a burnt being lying on a metal frame of a bed while some had other bodies lying on the ground. Some had missing limbs, some were opened up and burnt on the inside as well. Daryl poked his head into the room he stayed overnight and noticed the comatose man was missing.
After completing a search throughout the hospital, Daryl reached a conclusion: there were no survivors—dead or alive.
Daryl sat on the edge of the chair, leaning back, staring at the dark sky above him. The moon's light barely pierced the thick clouds, the stars hid behind their veil. The night was cool and the window was propped open. He dipped a spoon into a warm tin of soup, making sure to savour every bite. Bringing it to his mouth, Daryl licked the spoon all over with his tongue, sucking it dry after swallowing the chunks of meat and vegetables. Aside from thinking, most of his time was spent using his tongue, licking the spoon clean.
Theo paced the Domino Block fence, shotgun in hand, searching for broken chains or suspicious walker or human activity. Someone screamed loud enough for him to hear. The voice was deep, leading Theo to believe that it belonged to a man. He pulled out a small radio, reporting the noise to the head guard before he stared out into the darkness.
Daryl called out to him. "Hey!"
Theo turned to see a roughened up redneck wave from outside the window. He strolled down the alleys behind the buildings to stare up at the man. "Dixon."
"That Korean boy. You let him in even but he doesn't live here." Daryl shouted in a neutral tone.
Theo frowned, jutting his shoulders outwards. "Just helping the kid out. It's hard to make a living these days." He looked down at his feet then shifted to look at Daryl determinedly. "It's not as easy for people who aren't like you."
"Like me? You don't know shit about me," Daryl snipped.
Theo shook his head, mumbling that he knew enough, and continued his patrol. He called out from afar, "Take a look around, man! You're the one who doesn't belong!"
Across the alley and a floor above, Daryl spied Andrea and Amy scurrying about in their room. Andrea hoisted a rifle pretending to shoot a target across the room. Amy ruffled her hair in front of a mirror. The Eye was nowhere to be seen.
Naked, Daryl slid onto his bed, revelling in fact that this was the first night he didn't hear sniffles coming from the next apartment over.
The morning came with an intense heat that made Daryl feel uncomfortable. The blanket was wet and sticky. The mattress damp, bent under Daryl's weight. He swung his legs off the bed, scratched his balls, and then pulled on the cleanest pair of pants he could find. Daryl slipped on the pair of socks he swiped from the broken building, surprised at the softness.
A quick count of inventory showed that Daryl was missing a few cans of food and an older brother. Merle's bag was missing, which only meant he had vanished once again. Daryl sighed, shaking his head, and wondered how long it would take this time before his brother returned.
He stepped outside his apartment and locked the door behind him. There, standing at Room 201 with a baseball cap on his head and a cardboard box in hand was not Glenn, but the brown-haired boy, Miguel.
"Open up!"
The door opened and the boy was yanked inside by the front of his shirt. Daryl caught his eye and glared.
Hard.
After he explained how the hospital was on fire when he arrived, Amy suggested another job for him. He quickly accepted the police's request for help shooting down some walkers spotted in a small neighbourhood a short walk away from the Helm. Amy was twisting something around her neck, and when Daryl nodded at it, she explained the mermaid necklace was something Andrea found her a while back. Against a stall on the other side of the aisle was a shady character staring at Amy, par for the day. Daryl brushed a thought aside and warned her not to walk home alone.
The police station was a large building nearby the Wall. Men and women in deputy outfits scurried inside the building, some holding paper, others guiding people in handcuffs around. Each had a gun on their belt.
He notified the clerk he was there to assist on the walker hunt. The woman smiled at him, instructing that he'd be seen soon. He sat on one of the chairs, spreading his legs wide open. One of the Clear residents waiting nearby gawked at him, so he gritted his teeth in return. He scowled at another, telling them to take a picture.
Hanging on the wall was a group of pictures. Fallen comrades, he supposed. One of them, a man with steely eyes seemed vaguely familiar to Daryl. Daryl looked at the hat and deputy outfit long, staring enough to realize he didn't give a crap. His ears were barraged with complaints of recently missing persons, especially children and adolescents. He disregarded the pleas for search parties to be sent out. So he closed his eyes, hoping he'd be called upon soon.
Daryl waited what felt like hours. To make his stay productive, Daryl requested that he be brought food and water, to prepare himself for the job. He received a delicious but pitiful amount of food: a few cracker sandwiches with peanut butter layered between each, and a bowl of stewed collard greens. Taking his time, Daryl chewed, savouring each bite. He received a bottle of water and sipped from it every so often, hoping to save the rest for after he finished the mission.
He spotted Carl, with the sheriff hat that was too big for his head, and the skinny brunette past a few desks. The boy hounded a large man, the one who often flirted with the boy's mother, the one who the woman next door followed. The man laughed, ruffling Carl's hair before turning to the woman. He touched her hand lightly before escorting them outside the building. They were too busy enjoying each other's company to notice Daryl watching them.
The cops gave him a jar of peanut butter for his efforts. Swirling his finger, Daryl skimmed the top of the jar, scraping some off as if his finger was a knife. He licked the chunk of peanut butter on his finger while twisting the lid closed. Daryl shoved other cans over, making room for the new delight in his cupboard. If only he had bread to make sandwiches.
After ensuring her husband wasn't in the vicinity, Daryl managed to recruit the woman next door to clean up the mess Merle left. She introduced herself as Carol. Her daughter, Sophia, sat on the broken couch while her mother scrubbed the floors. Daryl gave her a colouring book he found while helping the cops clear the land of walkers.
Daryl looked away as he spoke to her. "Don't have any crayons or whatever. But the pictures are nice to look at."
Sophia gave a small smile and held the book close to her chest. They sat on the springy couch together, watching Carol wash the floor of stale vomit. Carol noticed how dirty it was and offered washed Daryl's shirt. Daryl refused at first, but gave in to her barrage of offers. She even said she'd clean the chicken coop and feed them if he ever needed her to. He slipped into his room before taking the shirt off and put another one on before handing the dirty thing over.
"Thank you," Carol whispered warmly, taking the dirty shirt from him. He told her to come by and clean the apartment, subtly implying that he didn't mind if she took some food every now and then. "You must be tired. Come along, Sophia."
Although Carol was thin, she managed to lug the large cans Daryl shoved in her hands. Carol was almost at Daryl's front door when he asked, "Seen Jackie Chan around?"
"Not recently. Did you two have a fight?" Carol beamed weakly.
Daryl glared at the woman, who slightly quivered at the sight. Carol shook her head, whispered apologies, and closed the door softly behind her and Sophia, who waved goodbye with her doll.
Daryl glanced at the presently clean floor for a few moments, stomping on the spot where Merle puked. He walked away and stared out the window. It was another hot night in the Borderlands.
Across the alley, he saw Andrea wave around her arms, pacing her room back and forth. The Eye shook his head at her, took his hat off and pressed it against his chest. He reached out for her arm, but she snapped it back, probably shouting profanities Daryl couldn't hear. The old man backed down slowly stepping away, leaving Andrea alone to throw her arms up at the ceiling.
He saw three walkers amble in the distance, making their way towards the Domino Block fence. Two guards from the closest watchtower used blunt weapons to beat the walkers down, targeting their knees and arms before going for the head. After knocking them out—assuming you could hit the dead unconscious—they returned to their post. It was protocol to burn the bodies in the morning.
After pulling his blinds and closing the bedroom door, Daryl unbuttoned his shirt one button at a time. Daryl tossed his shirt aside, aiming for the pile of somewhat dirty clothes. It flew, falling on top of the rest. He let his pants slide to the ground, resulting his cock to flop around. He slid onto his bed on top of his blanket. The heat intensified as he thought. He reached for his little friend and woke him up, thinking of things he knows he shouldn't be thinking. He stopped when feelings of guilt outweighed the pleasure.
Although the night was quiet, Daryl had trouble sleeping, unused to the silence coming from the apartments around his.
Daryl rustled in his sleep.
He twisted himself in his sheets, covering his torso with his thin blanket. Slightly opening his eyes, he squinted at the piercing daylight before realized he was in his room. He relaxed, allowing his head to lie down on hit shitty pillow. Daryl scratched his thigh absently.
Daryl snored lightly, returning to dreams of the mission with Miguel, an uneasiness of being watched. He spread his legs unintentionally, ready to run at the sight of walkers. He sighed at the coolness when his blanket slid up his stomach. A gasp. Daryl furrowed his brows, kicking his legs as if he was stomping on a walker's crunchy head.
Daryl felt a new warmth on his dick. He felt the blood rush to his cock and this time he didn't try to restrain himself. He twitched, turning to his side. Glenn's name escaped via a moan from his lips. His hands unconsciously roamed his body, his hips thrusting the air. Release was within reach.
Sweet, sweet, release.
He went back to sleep.
He opened his eyes. A sudden gust of wind woke Daryl, blowing the shirt he was drying on the windowsill onto the floor. He opened his eyes and found his bedroom door open. Feeling the cum on his skin, Daryl grabbed an old pillowcase and wiped his stomach and sheets. He sighed, rubbing his brow and shaking his head.
"Well, looky here, lil brother!" Merle announced. Daryl shot straight up at the sound of his brother's voice. "It looks like we got us a little thief!"
Quickly, Daryl pulled up his jeans, buttoning up a sleeveless shirt to hide his scars. He rubbed his hair, trying to rid it of the bed head that cursed him since he was a child. He grabbed his bow, loading it with a yawn. Apparently, Merle had discovered who was the one sneaking into their apartment and stealing their food.
"Found the little bugger in the closet!"
Daryl walked out of his room to find Merle in the kitchen laughing above cans of food that rolled away from him. From that angle, Daryl couldn't be sure, but it appeared as if Merle was holding something against the wall. So he continued to walk, dropping his jaw when he saw what Merle was shoving against the kitchen counter: Glenn.
Glenn squirmed in Merle's grasp, writhing as if he'd been infected with something just by touching him. Merle tried to stare Glenn down but the boy refused to meet his eye, turning his head whenever Merle tried to get in his view. Merle managed to stop him by grabbing a hold of his jaw. Glenn bared his teeth and shut his eyes tight when Merle's breath invaded his nostrils. He looked to Daryl for help.
"Tryin' to steal our food supply, little man?" Merle scoffed, throwing Glenn onto the floor. "No one steals from a Dixon."
Daryl stood behind Merle, helplessly watching his brother kick Glenn in the stomach over and over and over.
