SUMMARY : (Set in the beginning of Season 5) After the Governor attacked the prison, you were separated from the rest of your group. Now on your own, you face the true struggles of survival.
TRIGGER WARNING : Dark/suicidal thoughts.
A/N : Thank you for the request! I hope I didn't disappoint! Would really appreciate any feedback on what you guys thought about part 1!
You'd lost track of the days.
Time seemed to come and go without much notice, slipping through your fingers like sand from an hourglass.
You had no purpose, no direction, no hope — all you were focused on was survival, day in and day out. You'd fallen into a routine of sorts.
Wake.
Walk.
Kill.
Eat.
Walk.
Kill.
Scavenge.
Walk.
Kill.
And then you fell asleep, woke up the next day, and started all over.
It was as if a switch had turned off. Who you used to be faded with each day that passed, with each moment that went by and you still had not found your family.
You'd been separated from your group after your home was overrun — by walkers, by bad people, by life refusing to give you any kind of solace.
You had no idea what happened to them — to any of them. The last thing you remembered was the Governor standing outside the fence talking to Rick and then suddenly, he was lifting Michonne's katana and everyone was screaming and Hershel was…
No, a sharp voice inside your head snapped at you. You are not allowed to go there.
You sighed, shaking away the grief you refused to acknowledge as you pushed forward — not that you had any idea where you were exactly going.
The road ahead of you was barren. Not even the dead roamed it. Just you.
It was always just you.
You reached behind you for your canteen, pulling it out from the side of your backpack. Supplies were running dangerously low and you had been putting off drinking any of your little remaining water, but you just couldn't take the thirst any longer.
You paused in the middle of the road, unscrewing the cap of your canteen and taking a small sip, savoring every last drop.
You closed your eyes, rolling the water around on your tongue, trying to make the most of one sip. But soon enough, the water was gone and you were aching for more. Licking your cracked lips, you opened your eyes.
There had to be something coming up soon — a house, a store, even a shack, for god's sake.
You'd been walking for days.
You were drenched head to toe in sweat — the Georgian heat proving to be quite a force. Dirt was smeared over your exposed skin and clothing — you'd taken to sleeping on the forrest floor or up in a tree most nights. And you were covered in blood.
It wasn't yours. At least not all of it.
The amount of walkers roaming around had seemed to double — triple — as the days passed. You had killed more walkers since the prison fell than you had in all the time before that.
But it wasn't just walker blood.
It was human, also.
Two people. You had killed two human beings.
You just didn't think you could ever come back from something like that. It was a part of your existence now. A part of who you were.
Every time you closed your eyes, you saw them.
Circling around you like lions stalking their prey, eyes wandering every inch of your body, laughing at the way you trembled under their stare.
The moment you felt their hands grab you, that was when you lost it. You yanked out the knife you kept hidden in your boot and slashed — you slashed and slashed and slashed until the night was as still as everything else around you.
They were bad people. They were going to hurt you — or worse. You did what you had to do to survive. Just like Daryl taught —
Your breath suddenly hitched in your throat, his face quickly flashing through your mind.
After losing contact with him during the fall of the prison, you'd learned how to force all thoughts of him into the deep, dark, recesses of your mind.
You didn't want to think about him. You couldn't afford to think about him. He was gone. You were never going to see him again. And the sooner you realized that, the better off you'd be.
A sudden wave of emotion came over you, tightening your chest as a lump formed in your throat. Your legs began to shake under you, your body slowly giving out and before you knew it, you were kneeling on the hot pavement.
All the feelings you kept at bay were threatening to take over and make you vulnerable — to make you weak.
You had done everything in your power to survive after the prison.
But you were starting to question what exactly you were surviving for.
Since you had lost your group, you had run into other survivors. Some seemed like decent people, wary of you and that emptiness in your eyes, but still willing to help how they could.
You didn't have much to offer anyone — you didn't have many supplies or a camp they could go back to. All you had was your knowledge of this new world and experience in how to take care of yourself.
It proved to be enough for most groups.
You volunteered to go on supply runs, knew how to handle a firearm well, and provided protection for the camp — even teaching a couple people how to defend themselves in hand to hand combat. In return, you received supplies and had people to watch your back.
You kept your distance though — afraid to open up, afraid to get too close. The last thing you wanted was to get attached, to finally feel safe, and then have that ripped away from you too.
So you did your job. You went on runs, you killed the dead, and when nightfall came, you stayed on watch.
It never lasted though.
One of two things usually happened — a herd would appear and you would get separated from everyone. Or the entire group was killed off. Just like that.
But not you. Never you. You weren't lucky enough to be a casualty.
You were a survivor.
"Jesus, Daryl, are you actually trying to kill me here?" you groaned, the back of your head throbbing as you stared up at the sky.
You heard Daryl snort lightly as you slowly sat up, rubbing the sore spot. "Again," the archer rumbled, motioning for you to stand up.
You mimicked him softly under your breath, making a face as you stood up. Daryl raised both his hands, each curled into a fist, holding them near his face.
You took a deep breath, imitating his stance as the two of you circled each other, waiting for someone to make the first move.
Movement in the distance drew your attention. You could see Carl and Lori sitting by the fence near the cell block, watching the scene intently, each looking extremely entertained at you getting your ass kicked.
All it took was that one second of you looking away and then suddenly, you were flat on your back again. "Dammit!" you shouted, slamming your fists into the grass.
"Ya need ta' focus, Y/N," Daryl snapped, almost scolding you as he wiped the sweat forming on his brow with the back of his hand.
"I am focused!" you shot back, feeling your anger spike. "How about you take it a little easy on me, Hulk," you muttered, wiping the dirt off your hands as you stood up once again.
Daryl's eyes turned into slits as he took a step towards you. "Ya think any asshole out there's gonna 'take it easy on ya'? Huh?" he growled, getting in your face slightly.
"I'm not saying — "
"Again!" he barked, cutting you off as he raised his fists.
You clenched your jaw, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. Daryl had insisted on teaching you how to fight — and you wanted to learn, you did — but this was getting ridiculous.
Daryl suddenly threw a punch, which you quickly dodged, bouncing off to the side. He obviously wasn't using full force — he didn't actually want to hurt you — but he used enough to get the message across.
You kept your eyes trained on him, rocking back and forth on your toes, waiting for him to strike again.
He came at you a second time and you jumped back, quickly turning on your heel and landing a swift kick to his side. The corner of Daryl's mouth quirked up as he nodded in approval.
Distracted by the first inkling of praise you received from him, you didn't pay attention to his next move.
And for what felt like the hundredth time that day, you suddenly found yourself lying flat on your back, the wind efficiently knocked out of you.
You groaned, draping one arm over your eyes, blocking the sun.
"Again," Daryl demanded and you could clearly hear his patience running thin.
"I'm done for today," you shook your head, wincing as you pulled yourself up.
"Again," he repeated, a little more forceful.
"I said I'm done!" you spit out, just as fierce, as you rose to your feet. "Why are you being like this?" you suddenly demanded, rubbing your tender ribs absentmindedly. "You're not out here forcing anyone else to get the shit kicked out of them by you!"
You saw Daryl's jaw clench and unclench as his eyes narrowed. "Again."
You couldn't help but laugh in disbelief. The man was as stubborn as they come.
"The hell ya laughin' at, woman? Ya think this is funny?" he snarled, shifting his weight back and forth on his feet.
"No, it's not funny. Not at all, actually," you snapped, crossing your arms over your chest. "Look, I'm sore and tired and I'm done for today, alright? We can practice again tomorrow — what is the big deal with that?"
"Ain't no damn time for tomorrow! We ain't stoppin' til ya get this!"
"Newsflash, Dixon! I'm not going to magically turn into the karate kid in one day!" you shouted, waving your hands around exasperatedly.
"An' I ain't gonna be around forever, Y/N!"
You stopped yourself from yelling whatever it was you were about to as your stomach sunk a little.
The words seemed to surprise even Daryl — like he'd said more than he meant to, like he'd voiced a thought he wanted to keep to himself. He scoffed lightly, shaking his head as he gazed off somewhere behind you, chewing absently on the side of his thumb.
"Don't say that," you murmured softly, feeling your throat constrict with emotion.
"Ya know it's true."
"Daryl —"
"An' I need ya ta' know how ta' protect yourself. I need ta' know that you're gonna be okay," he finished, the fire behind his eyes dying out a little.
You paused, a mix of feelings coursing through you. "First of all, you're gonna live forever, you hear me? You are not allowed to die, Daryl Dixon," you demanded, wagging a finger at him as he rolled his eyes.
"Y/N —"
"Second of all, I'm gonna be fine," you continued, your voice softening a bit as you took a step towards him. "I'm okay, D. We're okay. No matter what."
Daryl stared down at you, not looking like he totally believed you. "Jus' do what ya gotta do ta' survive, alright? Jus' gimme a lil' peace of mind, will ya?"
A sad smile graced your lips as you nodded once, taking another step closer to him so you were almost toe to toe. "I'll do what I have to," you whispered, reaching a hand up and placing it lightly on the side of his face.
Daryl stiffened slightly, before leaning into your touch, still looking distressed.
And then, before he had a chance to do anything, you stretched your foot out behind his legs and shoved him backwards, effectively knocking him off his feet and onto his back.
"Yes! Yes! Hah! Did you see that! I did it!" you screamed in triumph, laughing gleefully as you jumped around the archer in celebration.
Daryl just propped himself up onto his elbows and watched you dance around, a rare, small smile creeping up on his face.
You came to a halt in front of Daryl, unable to stop yourself from grinning ear to ear. "I'm sorry, are you okay?" you asked, slightly breathless.
Daryl just grunted, scoffing a bit. "Yeah, yeah," he mumbled, extending his hand up.
You bit back another laugh as you reached down to help him up. But as soon as your hand wrapped around his, he yanked you to the ground beside him. "Hey!" you protested, shoving him lightly.
But Daryl just looked at you, a small laugh bubbling out of him, and you cherished that moment — it was rare to see him smile, but to hear him laugh…now that was a novelty.
You couldn't help but giggle as you laid on your back and stared up at the clear blue sky, taking a big breath in.
Daryl sat up next to you, elbows resting on his knees, exhaling heavily.
The two of you sat like that for a while, side by side, embracing the comfortable silence.
A pang in your heart jolted you back to reality as an unexpected sob rose to your throat.
You had spent all your time trying to forget about Daryl…trying to forget about all of them.
Your group was gone — lost, dead, or worse and letting those thoughts consume you would lead you to the same exact fate.
But as you sat there, kneeling on the pavement, you realized it was too late.
You had already opened that wound. You opened a door you knew you couldn't close again.
You let him in.
The ache in your chest grew, expanding sharp and vast, stealing your breath and causing you to double over. Your breath came out in short gasps as you rested your forehead against the pavement, ignoring the way it burned.
Tears fell from your eyes, landing directly on the asphalt and you could've sworn you were having a heart attack from the tightness in your chest.
You didn't know how long you sat like that, folded over, weeping through all the loss you so badly wanted to forget.
A growl suddenly sounded from the woods and you quickly sat up, hiccuping slightly as you scanned the area. One lone walker emerged from the trees, limping its way towards you.
You sighed, a small whimper escaping your lips as you wiped the tears from your face and shakily stood up. Grabbing the hunting knife you kept strapped to your thigh, you took a couple steps back, trying to lure the biter to the middle of the road for better vantage.
"C'mon, you son of a bitch," you hissed, waiting until the walker was right in front of you to make your move.
As soon as the monster was within arms length, you threw a hard kick to its kneecaps, knocking it off its feet. While it was down, you grabbed the back of its head, yanking it by the hair and stabbing your knife into its forehead in one swift motion.
Chest heaving, you wrenched your knife out of the walkers skull.
This was it. This is what the rest of your life looked like. And for what?
You glanced down at the knife you held in your hands, knuckles turning white around the hilt.
All it takes is one slash. One stab, one cut, one slit and this could be all over. The pain, the loss, the suffering, a small voice spoke in your mind, a voice that had been frequenting your thoughts.
Head, heart, wrist…it spoke again, sending a shiver through you.
You turned the knife over in your hand, walker blood dripping from the blade and onto the road beneath you. Bringing the blade closer to your face, you inspected it, a single tear gliding down your cheek.
"Head, heart, wrist," you whispered brokenly, squeezing your eyes shut.
All you had to do was —
Stop.
Your eyes shot open, a strangled cry escaping your lips as a new voice spoke up — a different voice.
I told ya…jus' do what ya have ta' do ta' survive. This ain't the way an' ya know it.
"Daryl," you cried softly, hearing him as clear as day in your mind as the knife slid from your hand and clattered on the ground.
Pick up the knife. Put it away. An' keep walkin'.
"I can't," you mumbled, shaking your head solemnly. "I can't keep doing this."
Yes, ya can. An' ya have ta'. Damn stubborn woman.
A laugh suddenly bubbled out of you, hearing that snark in Daryl's voice.
You took a deep breath, suddenly realizing that you were standing in the middle of the road, completely alone, laughing at the voices in your head.
"I've truly lost it," you muttered, shaking away the dark thoughts as you picked up your knife and shoved it back into its sheath.
You took another big breath, deciding to continue your trek forward. There had to be a shelter or somewhere to find supplies coming up — there had to be.
But as soon as you took one step, a sudden explosion rang through the sky.
Jumping at how loud it was, you pulled out your knife once again, scanning the area intently. You knew you were close to the explosion because you could already smell the fire. Looking up at the sky, you could see a cloud of billowing smoke from beyond the trees.
Your curiosity was peeked — this was the first sign of anything in days. An explosion could mean people nearby…but what kind of people? Explosions didn't exactly scream "safety".
What if it was an accident? What if there were people trapped somewhere that needed help? Good people?
The distinct sound of gunfire suddenly sounded, scratching your theory of the explosion being an accident.
There was a battle going on. And a big one from the sound of it.
You knew you shouldn't get involved. This wasn't your fight. This had nothing to do with you. People may die, but that wasn't your problem. You can't save everyone. You should just keep walking.
But yet, you couldn't seem to stop yourself from stepping closer to the trees. You knew all too well what it was like to lose everything because of gunfire.
And before you could stop yourself, you took off running into the forrest towards the sound of gunshots.
