He didn't know how to get through these days.

Daryl had seen a lot in his days now. This whole entire world was full of bullshit that he was constantly facing. Ever since Rick disappeared (he still refused to say died even though it was likely), everything seemed to just get harder. And it was times like this where he wished he still lived out in the woods.

He shouldn't, really. When Carol found him in the woods that one day, he had no clue it would lead to a possible war. To the tragedy that woman experienced. To the horrors he would see. To him basically babysitting a teenager.

He shouldn't say that. Lydia was more than just some annoying teenager. She had grown up in this world and understood how it worked. Yes, she was definitely hardheaded sometimes, but she was trying to prove herself to him, and that's what mattered.

Now, all they were trying to do was save themselves. With Alpha taking more of their land after they crossed over for their own damn lives, hunting had been getting low. Carol had complained and been angry about them not going to war with them, but Daryl knew that if they even wanted to think about going against them, they would have to think strategically.

It was more than just guns and ammo. It was mental. Emotional. Physical. Daryl couldn't let them take another home away from them. They had been there for so long and if they took it away…he would fucking lose his mind. Not because anything there really made it home for him, but for the sanity of Michonne, and her family.

No, he hadn't experienced home in a long time. Honestly, he didn't think he would ever feel 'at home' in any of these safe zones. Truth be told, he only stayed for a couple of the people. For Carol's sake, for the kids so he could keep them safe, and for Lydia because if she didn't have someone on her side, who knows what some of these people might do to her.

"Daryl."

His head snaps up to see Aaron nodding at him, walking over. "What's up?" he mutters, trying to clear his head. Ever since Alpha had taken land he'd been in his head more and more, which really spelt trouble.

"The guys saw a house not that far up ahead, looked pretty untouched. You wanna check it out?" Daryl nods and follows after the man. Aaron himself had been going through it lately.

Daryl had to give it up to the man – he had really taken on a real role in keeping people safe, despite even losing his arm. He was one of the people who knew that they needed to play this strategically and not just attack. And he was also one of the ones that constantly put his life on the line. Out of everyone that's stayed alive all these years, Daryl was glad Aaron was one of the few who still remained.

"You feeling alright?" Aaron asks him lowly.

Daryl sighs and bites the tip of his thumbnail. "I'm doin' alright…just tryin' get through all this shit. Hope we can find some canned food or some shit in here."

Aaron nods. "Me too." He glances over at the hunter. "You think that will get through all this shit here?"

Daryl slowly nods. "Eventually. Ain't gonna be anytime soon, but this group been through too much shit to get taken out now." He looks over at Aaron once more. "We just gotta keep our shit together and we'll get through it."

Daryl heads into the house, seeing some of the people looking through the cabinets and the couches. He turns to Aaron.

"I'm gonna head upstairs, see if there's anythin' up there." Aaron nods and walks into the kitchen, going to look as well. Daryl heads up the stairs, each one creaking with the steps he took, sounding almost more like one of those cliché haunted houses that people would decorate during Halloween. Eventually, he arrives at the very top, glancing at the torn down walls covered in moss and what looked like very old blood stains.

He walked past a couple of bedrooms, glancing inside to see if there was anything. Couple dead bodies, but other than that, nothing that wasn't covered in shit that he could take back. When he reaches the last room, the stench is overwhelming.

Something had definitely died recently in here.

He walks in, trying to avoid the smell. Something he had realized throughout the years is that only the most recent dead smell. The ones that had been dead for years, like the bodies from before, didn't smell for shit. They were basically all dirt and blood on the ground. But the new ones? That shit smelled nasty as fuck.

He tries to find the source, and then his eyes spot a trail of blood leading into the bathroom behind him, one that was attached to the bedroom. He opens it and then instantly recoils at the sight.

There was a man, stabbed out to shit on his chest, and then once in his head. He had maggots all over his body and flies everywhere, but he was dead for sure. Not even a walker. Whoever had done this had a vendetta and wanted this dude gone.

"Jesus," he mutters, crouching down and looking at the damage. His eyes scan over the floor before something stops him. A mask lay on the floor in the far corner. Daryl reaches over and picks it up, and instantly felt goose bumps trail the back of his neck.

This had been a Whisperer.

"Fuck," he mutters, pushing the mask into his back pocket. If they were caught here, they would get blamed for this, and he couldn't have that shit.

He quickly stands up and looks outside, making sure there were no walkers close by, before taking a deep breath. They needed to get out.

He scans the room again, trying to find something, before moving over to the closet in the far right. When he tried to open it though, he saw it was locked. His brow furrows.

How the fuck can a closet lock?

He tries to shake it open, but doesn't get anything. Losing patience, he uses his leg to kick the door open, and then as soon as it flies close to off the hinges, he hears something back up into closet and shout. Daryl jumps up in surprise, seeing just a sharp object being pointed at him.

"Whoa, calm down," Daryl instantly says, not moving. "It's alright…I didn't know someone was in here."

The person doesn't respond. He couldn't even see whoever it was. He gently pulls out his lighter and lights up the darkness of the closet. As soon as he sees whoever it was pointing something sharp at him, he felt his guard drop a little.

It looked to be a young woman, but she was completely and utterly covered in muck, dirt, and grime. Her hair was so dirty he couldn't tell what color it was. She had marks and scratches across her face, and dried blood on her clothes. What stood out to him though was the large gash that was across her stomach that she was holding. Blood had soaked her fingers before. She was hurt. Badly.

"Yer hurt real bad," he says softly, his eyes not straying from her other hand. He realized it was a piece of glass, and he glances over at the broken mirror in the corner, the parts of the room starting to make sense. He turns back to her. "Ya kill that Whisperer over there?"

She doesn't respond, and doesn't lower her shard, her hand shaking.

"We aint' a part of 'em," he whispers to her. "We hate 'em too. If that was ya, ya have to tell me."

She doesn't speak, but then slowly nods.

"He do that gash to ya?"

She slowly nods her head again. The shard lowers just a little.

Daryl's eyes glance to her gash, and then back to her scared eyes. "Ma name's Daryl. What's yer name?"

She instantly shakes her head, shrinking back further into the closet. Daryl extends his hands out in defense, trying to calm her down.

"Alright, ya don't have to say yer name," he says instantly. "But I gotta call ya somethin' so I ain't talkin' to a brick wall."

The girl doesn't respond.

Daryl glances at her and sighs. "Alright, listen here." He nods towards the stairs. "I got a group of people downstairs. They're good people. They ain't gonna hurt ya. I can tell ya ain't a part of that group cause ya killed the fuck outta that Whisperer, and yer hurt real bad. If ya stay here, without gettin' help, yer gonna die and be just as dead as that guy. So ya can come back with me and get healed, or ya can stay here and die, or get found by them Whisperers. We can help ya."

She looks at him, holding her side, shard still held tightly in her hands. Her eyes glance at him, and then outside, and then at him again. She swallows and then finally, finally, lowers her shard.

"Yer gonna come?" he asks her quietly.

She nods, he lets out a sigh of relief. He hadn't been worried about her hurting him – she was definitely less than half his size and wouldn't hold a fight against him – but he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he left this poor girl hurt all alone with the fucking Whisperers after her.

'Pussy,' Merle's voice mutters in his head. Daryl shakes it away.

"Do ya need help gettin' up?" She looks at him quietly before nodding. Daryl reaches out his hand and helps her stand, looking down at her dirt-covered form. She needed a shower, badly. "Come on…let's get ya outta here."

She nods softly, leaning into him as he helped her out of the room, her hand grabbing her injured side.

Thanks for reading! Leave a review to let me know what you think and don't forget to follow or favorite. This is my first piece in a while but I wanted to write a little for the new season. Thanks again :)