Summary: (Set in the beginning of Season 4) While on a hunt for supplies, the reader is forced to face a childhood fear.
A/N: Hopefully, everyone enjoys this little one-shot — the ending gave me such a tough time, you have no idea. I would love to hear some feedback from you lovely readers! Makes this whole process totally worth it.
"Shit!" you exclaimed, coming to an abrupt halt, the archer colliding into you from behind a moment later.
Daryl steadied himself, grabbing onto one of the many lockers lining the hallway for support before he sidestepped around your frozen form, his heavy breaths mirroring yours. "Shit," he reiterated with a growl, the sudden severity of the situation hitting him then.
You'd been scavenging a nearby elementary school for supplies. With all of the newcomers from Woodbury moving in with your group at the prison, the need for necessities had nearly tripled. You and Daryl — being two of the most skilled in scavenging and tracking — had begun making weekly trips around town to keep supplies in stock for the rest of the survivors.
After exhausting all local resources, you'd been forced to broaden your search perimeter — which had led you here — to this moment.
Surprisingly, the school had already been fairly wiped clean — lockers emptied, cafeteria ransacked, nurse's office barren. You and Daryl had been making your way out of the school when suddenly, the doors to the auditorium shattered open as you'd passed by them — a hoard of the dead pouring out from its confines.
So you ran, Daryl hot on your heels as you weaved throughout hallway after hallway, the herd trailing not far behind, fueled by raw and innate hunger.
And now — well, now you were trapped.
The last corner you'd rounded had turned out to be a dead-end — how morbidly ironic.
Bracing your hands against your knees, you worked on controlling your breathing, the grunts and groans coming from around the corner growing increasingly deafening as the herd began shortening the distance between them and their next meal.
You glanced up, watching Daryl begin to pace rapidly back and forth — and as though you could read his mind, you could see the wheels turning as time began to run out. For a brief moment, his gaze landed on your hunched over form, expression unreadable before he tore his eyes away. He instead lifted his crossbow, looking as though he was counting how many bolts he had left — but you could tell by the way his body stiffened, the way his features hardened, that there weren't nearly enough.
Daryl let out a stream of curses, though his voice soon became lost amongst the roar of the dead.
You straightened, wanting to say something, anything, to provide some sort of reassurance for the man — but the moment you opened your mouth, you were interrupted by a low snarl coming from behind you.
Without a second thought, you spun on your heels, coming face to face with one of the dead. There was no hesitation as you swung your arm forward, plunging your knife straight into the walker's temple, its body immediately collapsing at your feet. You yanked the blade from its skull, quickly standing upright as your sights set on three more biters rounding the corner, faster than the rest of the herd soon approaching.
You took a step forward, knife armed and ready, but before you could make a move, you felt Daryl grab onto your arm. "The hell ya doin'?" he hissed sharply, pulling you back against his chest, fingertips digging into your flesh as he began yanking you away from the advancing dead.
"What's it look like!" you shouted as you struggled against his hold, stumbling backward, unable to shake off Daryl's grasp.
"Ya gonna get yourself killed, that's what! C'mon!" he bellowed, practically carrying you down the rest of the hall, closer to the dead-end, surveying the incoming herd from over your head.
Daryl finally let go once you reached the end of the hall, a row of lockers and a brick wall trapping you there. But that was when you noticed something on the third wall you hadn't before — a door.
"Get in, Y/N," Daryl ordered as he raised his crossbow and fired at the closest nearing walker, landing a perfect headshot.
A burst of hope rushed through you as you reached for the door handle and yanked it open.
But it wasn't what you'd expected — it wasn't a stairwell or a classroom, it didn't have any windows or other doors you could climb and escape through.
It was a closet. A custodial closet filled with sprays and rags and brooms and darkness.
And you felt your chest tighten.
"Get in!" Daryl shouted once more, his fiery gaze locked on you as he reloaded his bow and fired once more.
You opened your mouth to speak, but couldn't seem to make any words come out as you stepped backward, your entire body beginning to tremble, your legs turning into mush beneath you.
When Daryl suddenly appeared behind you, his arm roughly wrapping around your waist, he began forcing you forward, closer to the closet.
"No!" you shrieked, feeling your heart begin to pound inside your chest as your flailed against the archer, turning around in his grip so you were face to face. "N-No, no! I can't! Stop, damn it!"
"The fuck's the matter with ya! We ain't gonna make it, Y/N!" Daryl growled through his teeth as he struggled to maneuver you into the closet, his expression wild as the clock began to run out, the herd now only a few feet away.
"Just let me go! I can take the herd! I-I can handle it!" you stammered, pounding your fists against the archer's chest, trying to create some sort of space between you.
"Are ya fuckin' crazy?"
"Let me —"
"— gonna do is get us both killed —"
"— take care of myself, please —"
"— an' get your ass in —"
"Get off me, you —"
"Now!" Daryl roared, swiftly grabbing both of your wrists with one hand, the other wrapping tightly around your waist as he hefted you up, trapping you against his chest before he lunged forward into the darkness.
Your body crashed against the back wall of the closet, briefly knocking the wind out of you before Daryl released you. You spun around just in time to see the archer deliver a powerful kick into the gut of a walker that'd attempted to push its way into the closet after you — the biter stumbling backward, knocking over a mass of the dead in the process.
Then Daryl grabbed onto the doorknob, the last shred of light disintegrating as he yanked the closet door shut until you were enveloped in nothing but darkness.
You couldn't move.
It was as though your feet had molded into the foundation below, like the floor was clawing it's way up your body, seeping into your bones, running through your veins until it consumed you altogether.
You couldn't breathe.
It was as though every last breath had been forced from your lungs, leaving you desperate for another gasp, for the sweet relief of air to ease the burning pain growing in your chest.
The walls were closing in on you — you were sure of it. The ceiling was collapsing, the floor rising, threatening to crush you until you were nothing but ash. The darkness around you was somehow getting darker — more vast, more void — and had it not been for the wall pressed up against your back, you feared the blackness would swallow you entirely.
Through the foggy ringing in your ears, you could just barely make out the sound of sporadic thuds and incessant growls — but the sound seemed far away, muddled and lost against the drumming of your rapid heartbeat.
And then you felt pressure.
Dull at first, but getting increasingly sharper. First on your shoulders, followed by a quick shake. Then grasping onto the sides of your arms, the squeezing becoming more intense before the heaviness dissipated, reappearing around your neck.
But the touch was different this time — it was gentle, it was grounding.
And that was when you finally heard it.
Through the darkness around you, the ringing in your ears, the cloudiness of your mind — you finally heard him.
You couldn't see his face, but you could feel his breath tickle across your skin, his calloused fingertips brushing the hair from your face, grounding you further. You suddenly began to feel faint, wobbly even, your rapid breathing making you lightheaded, your legs trembling beneath you before giving out altogether.
But the ground never rushed up to meet you — instead, a pair of strong arms wrapped around your middle, holding you upright for a moment before slowly lowering you to the floor.
You still felt paralyzed — by the darkness, the confinement, the fear. No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn't seem to catch your breath, to calm your racing heart.
But then you felt a hand gently grab the back of your head, pushing you down until your face rested against your curled knees. Your arms automatically snaked around your shins, coiling yourself into a tight ball. The world still sounded muddled, though you could still vaguely hear distant pounding, low snarls, fading growls, and then suddenly —
"Breathe."
Your breath caught in your throat — you knew that voice.
That voice was safe. That voice was home.
"C'mon, girl. I need ya ta' breathe, alright?"
You wanted to breathe — you needed to breathe. Why couldn't you breathe? Why did it feel as though you were trapped underwater suddenly? Why did it seem like —
"I got ya, alright? I got ya."
You couldn't see him, but you knew he was there — kneeling in front of you, brow furrowed, hands gripping tightly onto your elbows, reeling you back from the dark recesses of your mind.
You felt him draw nearer then, his body practically enveloping yours as you felt the stubble of his cheek press against the side of your head.
"Breathe," came a soft whisper, low and guttural, his lips directly next to your ear.
The tightness in your chest lessened, allowing you to inhale a deeper breath.
"'Atta' girl," he murmured, his exhale tickling your cheek. "Jus' like that."
You inhaled once more, melting into the warmth of his body shielding yours.
"Alright, alright, it's alright," he rumbled and you weren't sure if he was speaking to you or himself in that moment — either way, you couldn't focus on that. Breathing — that's what you could focus on.
You felt him shift, pulling himself away from you then — and you couldn't stop the soft noise that slipped past your lips in protest, your voice still lost somewhere in your chest.
"M' here, it's okay," he suddenly mumbled as if reading your mind, before you felt him reposition himself beside you, the sides of your bodies just barely touching.
You exhaled shakily, feeling some of the fog finally lifting, finding strength in the presence beside you. If you just focused on that, focused on him, you didn't have to think about the way your body was twisted and cramped inside the darkness — you didn't have to think about the reason why you were so damn scared.
You kept your eyes closed, forehead still resting against your knees, taking slow and steady deep breaths.
"Jus' gotta wait 'em out," he whispered, voice gruff and deep in his chest. "Ain't too long now, alright? I'll get ya outta here — promise ya that."
You nodded your head once — not that he could see it anyways — but it was all you could muster at that moment.
Silence stretched on between you then, save for the steady pounding and groans coming from outside the closet door — but just like Daryl had predicted, gradually they started to fade, drawn away by outside noises or sudden lack of interest until eventually, the noises stopped completely.
The stillness was deafening — even Daryl stopped breathing, the two of you waiting with bated breath, waiting for the herd to come back, for them to somehow tear down the closet door and steal away your existence.
But when the quiet stretched on, the archer began to shift, pushing himself up off the floor.
Your head snapped up at his movements, his sudden absence sending a jolt of unease through you as you fumbled in the dark, grabbing onto his wrist.
Daryl stilled but didn't pull away. "Hey, it's okay, alright? M' gettin' us outta here," he murmured, his voice softer than you'd ever heard it before.
You let your hand fall away, inhaling shakily as you sat up straighter, resting the back of your head against the wall, arms still wrapped around your legs. The side of Daryl's boot scuffed against yours as he maneuvered his way around you, feeling for the doorknob.
It was silent for a moment more before you heard a soft click, a slow creak, and then a sliver of light appeared.
You brought your hand up to shield your eyes, wincing slightly as the door opened further. Squinting through your fingers, you watched Daryl peek his head out into the hallway, sneaking a glance in both directions before an audible sigh slipped from his lips.
He pushed the door open all the way, light pouring over your cowering form — and every ounce of fear, of trauma, of weakness you had felt moments ago dissipated.
And in its place — shame.
You exhaled softly, feeling a pinprick of tears form as you unwound your arms from around your legs, your muscles sore and tender from rigidity. And even though you were safe now, even though you could walk right out of that closet, you just suddenly couldn't find it in you to stand up.
You could practically feel Daryl's eyes on you, no doubt wondering what in the fuck just happened to you — and you felt your cheeks flush, humiliated that he'd been forced to witness your unexpected nervous breakdown. You'd never wanted anyone to see you like that — you'd never wanted him to see you like that.
"Wanna talk 'bout it?" came Daryl's gruff voice suddenly, like he'd read your mind once more — his words were soft, though. Understanding, almost.
You took a breath, wiping away the sweat that had formed on your brow before you glanced up at the archer. He stood still, almost statuesque, leaning coolly against the doorframe, crossbow dangling at his side, gaze locked on yours. You sighed once more, lowering your eyes to stare at your clasped hands. "Not really," you whispered, voice thick.
Daryl grunted softly, shifting slightly, but didn't make a move to leave. He was giving you time, you realized then — and you felt a warmth spread through your worn body.
You cleared your throat, wringing your hands together in your lap. "My stepdad used to lock me in the trunk of our car," you murmured so quietly you weren't even sure Daryl could hear you. The words had just tumbled out of you, desperate to be heard, out in the open for the first time in your entire life.
The quiet that stretched on seemed endless and you found yourself pressing on. "He wasn't a bad person — he just, uh — he was Marine Corps," you shrugged, clearing your throat once more. "He was a hard ass, you know? But I guess after all the shit he'd seen…I mean, I didn't blame him for being the way he was."
You weren't sure why you were defending him — you'd hated the man growing up, hated your mother even more for marrying him. But still, you felt the need to explain yourself.
"I just — I was young. Really young. And too afraid to sleep in my own bed, I was — uh, I was scared, you know? The dark, the boogeyman, whatever," you continued to ramble, digging your fingernails into the skin on your palm. "And he wanted me to be brave — wanted me to 'face my fear', I guess."
You sighed, peeking up at Daryl from under your eyelashes. He remained in the doorway, still as stone, you weren't even sure he was breathing. His gaze remained locked on yours, unfazed, and you almost felt stupid for speaking at all.
"Ain't no way ta' treat a kid, Y/N," the archer simply murmured, his words carrying a heaviness to them.
You pursued your lips, lowering your gaze once more. "I'm sorry," you exhaled quietly, the words, the guilt, bubbling out of you. "I-I almost got us killed — I almost got you killed. What would — what would I have done, huh? I could've gotten you —"
"Hey," Daryl cut you off sharply, pushing off the doorframe. "Stop, alright? Ain't your fault."
You shook your head, wiping away a tear that snaked down your cheek. "I just — I-I don't know what I'm doing. I'm not — I'm not brave, Daryl. I'm not brave like you are. I mean, for fuck's sake!" you snapped, your humiliation quickly morphing into anger. "How pathetic can —"
"Hey!" Daryl hissed, cutting you off once more, dropping down into a low crouch in front of you, his eyes ablaze, boring into yours. "Bullshit — it's fuckin' bullshit, Y/N. Not brave?" he scoffed incredulously. "Ya were gonna take on that whole damn herd all by yourself — jus' you an' that lil' pig stick a' yours," he pointed out, nodding towards the knife strewn by your side.
"But —"
"Nah, that's enough," the archer interrupted, holding a hand out in front of him. A beat passed before you saw his eyes soften. "Ya made it this far, didn't ya? An' ya made it for a reason," he urged firmly, though his tone was noticeably gentler. "Not brave?" he reiterated as if it were the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. "You're a fuckin' force, Y/N."
You let his words sink in — the passion behind them striking you — and felt another wave of emotion wash over you. "Thank you," you whispered, holding his gaze for a moment longer before looking away. "I guess I should probably be thanking my stepdad — he was an asshole, but he also taught me how to survive."
Daryl grunted once. "Still an asshole," he grumbled dryly under his breath before he rose to his feet, extending his hand down towards you.
You grabbed his hand, allowing him to pull you up off the floor, your body swaying slightly as you maneuvered out of the closet. You inhaled deeply, sweet, fresh air filling your lungs, feeling the last remnants of your panic attack fade away.
You glanced up at the archer, surprised to see his gaze already locked on yours. "Ya good?" he asked softly.
"Yeah," you nodded, giving Daryl's hand a gentle squeeze before pulling away, feeling your cheeks flush suddenly. "Yeah, I'm okay," you breathed, brushing the hair back from your face.
"C'mon then," the archer rumbled, jerking his head, motioning for the two of you to start heading back.
You took a step forward but then paused, glancing behind you, sparing the closet one last look.
A moment later, you felt Daryl reach out from beside you, squeezing your shoulder gently. "Hey, let's go home," he murmured, drawing your attention back to him, his normally hardened features softening.
You quirked a small, somewhat sad smile, before nodding, Daryl's expression mirroring yours as he let go of your shoulder and instead lightly cupped the side of your face. You leaned into his touch, surprised at the rare showing of affection from the archer, before he pulled away, the tips of his ears turning pink as he nudged you forward.
And as you navigated your way back through the abandoned elementary school, winding down hallway after hallway, you began to realize that 'home' didn't always have to mean place.
Sometimes, incredibly, a home could become a person.
A/N: OK SO LIKE THIS ENDING ANNOYS ME LOL. But I tried to come up with something better for DAYS and it just didn't want to manifest haha anywho, hope you all enjoyed anyways! Onto the next! Let me hear your thoughts!
