Summary: (Set before season 3) Despite the struggle of surviving day to day, the group finds a way to celebrate Christmas.
Author's Note: Here's a fluffy little holiday one-shot I threw together to celebrate the season! Hope you enjoy!
It was the first night since the farm fell that things had started to feel okay.
The group had found an abandoned neighborhood and decided to hole up in one of the massive houses lining the desolate street. The home stood tall and mighty, despite the deterioration edging away at the structure, wear and tear slowly claiming the land once more. The winter season had been brutal — gloomy days and bitter nights.
The weather had been an accurate representation of the group's current morale.
They'd been unable to find another place as secure as the farm had been, constantly forced to be on the move, to be on the run, to always be looking over their shoulders for the impending danger behind them.
But then they found this house, guarded by a gated community, and it was as though they could finally take a fucking breath.
You sat at the kitchen counter, perched on top of one of the stools lining the marbled surface, watching the group busy themselves throughout the room.
After making sure the home was secure, void of the dead and any unwanted company, the group had spread out and scavenged what meager means they could find. Almost everyone came up empty, the place having already been picked apart.
Carol had found some boxes in the attic — dirty and dusty and long forgotten — but after she'd spotted a worn, faded label on the outside, she couldn't resist bringing it downstairs.
You cautiously eyed the now empty box laying on its side, staring at the scrawled word etched on the outside — Xmas.
A sigh escaped your lips as you rested your elbows against the counter, chin nestled between your hands.
Carl was practically giddy with excitement, helping Carol and Lori decorate the vast living room with the contents from the box. Maggie, Beth, and Glenn sat near the roaring fire, huddled together in quiet conversation, laughing quietly amongst themselves. Hershel sat on the couch, staring off towards the burning embers, his expression more peaceful than you'd seen in a long time. T-Dog moved about the kitchen behind you, attempting to throw together some sort of meal for the group. And Rick paced back and forth the confines of the first floor, rifle in hand, scanning the outdoors through each window he passed.
The former sheriff seemed to be the only person refusing to settle — and you didn't blame him for that. After everything he'd been through, after everything he'd done to keep his people safe, he didn't want to risk anything by letting his guard down.
You pulled your eyes away from the sheriff, scanning the room once more, taking in the various Christmas decorations being propped up around the room. Lori had urged the group that this was important — a semblance of what life used to be. No one was positive if it even really was Christmas — it wasn't like the date mattered anymore. This was something good for the group, something positive, something to draw hope from. And as Lori rubbed her hand over her growing belly, no one could really find the heart to say 'no' to her.
And so they decorated.
Although you didn't say it aloud, you felt like there was something kind of sick about what was happening. You wondered who's house it was you sat in, who's decorations these used to belong to, what this family's Christmases used to look like. The thoughts formed a pit in your stomach, the room suddenly stifling hot, and you found yourself pushing away from the counter and marching towards the front door for fresh air.
You grabbed your boots by the door and slipped them on, shrugging on your jacket as you braced yourself for the frigid night air.
The moment you pushed the door open, a wave of coolness washed over you, sharpening your focus, allowing you to finally breathe. You inhaled slowly, squeezing your eyes shut as you softly shut the door behind you, leaning against the stable frame, finding calm in its solidity.
You opened your eyes, jumping slightly when you realized you weren't alone on the front porch. "Oh, hey," you greeted slightly breathless, brushing away the hair that'd fallen over your face.
Daryl stood near the opposite end of the porch, leaning coolly against the railing, a lit cigarette dangling between his lips. He eyed you for a moment, straightening slightly as he nodded once in return, taking a long drag from his cigarette as he scuffed the toe of his boot against the ground. "They start singin' carol's yet?" he gruffed, scoffing lightly.
The corner of your mouth quirked up. "Not yet. But I'd give it another ten minutes," you smirked, pushing away from the door to sit on the porch steps, sighing softly as you nestled deeper into your jacket. "Kinda stupid, don't you think?" you mused quietly, staring up at the clear night sky.
Daryl remained silent, simply taking another drag from his cigarette, toying with the stub between his fingertips.
"I mean, it's not like we're staying or anything," you continued when the archer didn't respond. "It's kinda twisted, actually — I mean, these were people's belongings, you know? And we're just, like, making ourselves real homey in there. And the people, the familythat used to live here are — hell, who knows what even happened to them," you finished your tangent with a huff, having worked yourself up.
Daryl was quiet for another long moment before he shrugged slightly, pushing off from the railing and walking towards you. He took a final drag from his cigarette before stomping it out with the heel of his boot, sighing as he turned to rest his forearms against the railing. "Ain't hurtin' nobody, I guess," he finally rumbled, eyes trained ahead as he clasped his hands together.
"Yeah, I guess," you exhaled heavily, pinching the bridge of your nose.
The archer regarded you carefully before he straightened, making his way towards the steps. "What's goin' on with ya?" he murmured, taking a seat beside you, leaning against the pillar built against the structure.
You narrowed your eyes at the archer, turning to face him, resting your back against the opposite pillar. "What'd you mean?"
Daryl shrugged, slipping his crossbow off his shoulder and setting it down beside him. "I don't know — ya ain't usually like this."
"Like what?" you shot back, feigning offense.
The archer rolled his eyes slightly. "C'mon. Ya know what I mean," he pressed, his piercing gaze boring into yours.
You sighed, shoving your hands into the pockets of your coat, shaking your head slightly. "I don't know," you shrugged. "Guess I'm not really feeling the Christmas spirit this year," you spat out sarcastically.
Daryl hummed lowly, lowering his gaze as he absently picked at the frayed ends of a hole that'd formed in his jeans. "Don't blame ya," he murmured faintly.
You peeked a glance at the archer before you focused back on the starry night sky. "It used to be my favorite holiday, you know?" you confessed softly, clearing your throat. "My sister and I used to stay up all night — we were so determined to, like, catch Santa or something," you smiled fondly at the memory. "We'd stay up all night — or at least try to. And then we'd wake up at the crack of dawn, force our parents to get up, and go see what Santa brought us. It was just — it was so magical, you know?" you whispered, feeling your throat constrict at the memory of your long since departed family. "The tree, the lights, the snow — up North we always had white Christmases. It was — it was just the best," you sighed longingly.
Your gaze suddenly swiveled over towards the archer, who was now carefully watching you under hooded eyes.
You felt your cheeks redden, embarrassed at how vulnerable you'd suddenly made yourself. "What about you? What were your Christmases like?" you murmured, determined to remove the focus from yourself.
Daryl held your gaze a moment longer before he shrugged, the corners of his mouth turning downward as he brought his hand up, absently gnawing on the side of his thumbnail. "Ain't never really celebrated nothin'," he grumbled.
"Even when you were a kid?" you asked softly, brows furrowed.
The archer shook his head. "Nah," he huffed, pulling his hand away from his face, a sadness hidden in his gaze that damn near broke your heart.
Your lips formed into a pout, a soft sigh escaping your lips as you studied the archer's expression. "I'm sorry."
"Ain't nothin' ta' be sorry for," Daryl immediately shot back, shrugging once more. "Wasn't your fault."
"I know," you nodded, pulling your knees to your chest, a chill coursing through you. "But still," you murmured softly, lowering your gaze.
A silence settled throughout the night, both you and Daryl trapped in your own thoughts. You snuck another glance at the archer, feeling your stomach flip when you realized he was already looking at you, an odd expression flashing across his features.
You cleared your throat, breaking the quiet. "I miss the snow — it was the best part of Christmas," you sighed, staring up at the clear sky. "Looks like we'll be missing out this year."
Daryl's head cocked to the side ever so slightly, opening his mouth to respond — but before he could get the words out, the front door opened. You craned your neck, spotting Rick standing in the doorway. "Sorry to interrupt," the sheriff drawled, nodding once in your direction before his heavy gaze settled on the archer. "Daryl, I need ya to take a look at somethin' I found on the map — a complex down the road. Could have some supplies for us to make it through the winter."
Daryl was on his feet before Rick even finished the sentence, his loyalty to the sheriff unwavering.
"Y/N, ya good to keep watch?" Rick asked, scanning the darkened front yard warily.
"I'm good," you nodded quickly, shooting Daryl an encouraging nod when he faltered. "I'm good," you reiterated, directing your words solely towards the archer, your words doing little to ease his apprehensive expression.
Rick clapped Daryl once on the shoulder, motioning for him to follow suit as he turned to head back into the house. The archer tore his gaze from yours, exiting without another word, leaving you alone with your thoughts.
You didn't mind staying on watch — it gave you an excuse as to why you weren't inside with the rest of the group, throwing together a mock Christmas. The cold night air bit at your exposed flesh, keeping you awake and alert. Your mind wouldn't stop racing with thoughts of the past and your family, of Daryl and his disheartening childhood.
You weren't sure how long you sat on those front steps, eyes glazed over as you stared over the still yard, the darkened neighborhood. But eventually, you heard the front door creak open — you didn't bother turning around to see who it was. Somehow, you already knew.
"Welcome back," you murmured, keeping your gaze focused ahead as someone sat beside you.
And sure enough, Daryl's gruff voice answered. "Gonna head out on a supply run tomorrow — there's a couple stores hidden behind the plaza that might've been missed."
You nodded absently, peeking a glance at the archer. "Be careful," you murmured softly.
Daryl cleared his throat, lowering his gaze. "Always am."
You studied the archer's pensive features for a moment — the way his eyes narrowed, his brow furrowed, his lips tightened. His mind always seemed to be ticking and you wondered what he was thinking about at that moment. He was a mystery — maybe that was why you were so drawn towards him.
"Got a present for ya," he suddenly mumbled, sneaking a look at you from the corner of his eye.
A disbelieving laugh bubbled out of you. "What?" you chuckled, completely caught off guard.
Daryl didn't respond, instead shoving his hand deep inside the front pocket of his jeans. He pulled his hand out, now curled into a fist and shot you a look, quirking his brow. And then suddenly, he was throwing whatever he held in his hand up into the air.
It took a moment for you to process what was happening — but then it registered. Tiny, shredded pieces of white paper came raining down in front of you like confetti, flittering slowly back and forth until they settled in front of you on the ground. A confused laugh slipped through your lips once more, your expression bewildered as you leaned forward to pick up one of the scrap pieces, bringing it close to your face to study it. "What the hell is this?" you laughed, examining the object.
Daryl hummed softly. "It's, uh —" he fumbled for the right words before shrugging a shoulder up. "I don't know — wanted ta' give ya a white Christmas, I guess."
Your body stilled as you turned to take in the archer, feeling a warmth spread throughout you.
When you didn't respond, Daryl cleared his throat, stiffening slightly. "I, uh — I found some notebook paper upstairs an' shredded it up," he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Kinda looked like snow," he mumbled, looking down at the scraps of paper covering the steps. "Ain't lookin' like that now, though," he grunted. "Now it looks like someone missed the fuckin' dumpster."
A laugh bursted out of you from deep within, the feeling lightening the ever looming pressure on your chest. "Daryl," you shook your head fondly, unable to stop the smile widening across your face, another laugh bubbling out of you. "This is — well, this is littering, first of all," you teased, a smile ghosting across Daryl's lips before you turned to look down at the shredded paper in front of you, the kindness of his small act tugging at your heartstrings. "But it's beautiful," you murmured, feeling a pinprick of tears form at the corner of your eyes.
"Yeah, it is," Daryl rumbled softly from beside you.
You turned to look at the archer, faltering when you realized he was no longer looking at the scraps of paper — but at you.
Feeling self-conscious, you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, stilling when Daryl slowly reached towards you. It felt as though your flesh had caught on fire, your breath coming out slightly faster, mirroring his, as he gently ran his fingers through your hair.
But as quickly as he reached out, he pulled away, a small piece of paper now caught between his fingertips. A small laugh slipped between your lips as Daryl let the paper slip from his grasp and collect with the others below.
"Merry Christmas, Daryl," you murmured after a long moment of quiet stretched between you.
The corner of his mouth quirked up, making him look like the weight of the world no longer rested on his shoulders. "Merry Christmas, Y/N," he rumbled huskily, his expression softening as the two of you locked eyes once more.
A/N: D'aww… the fluff…it bURNSSSSS. Hahaha I hope y'all enjoyed this short little one-shot! And I hope you had a happy holiday season!
I love and appreciate each and every one of you.