The truck pulled up the pitch-black driveway, the rain hissing against the roof in loud resonating thuds. Branches scraped over the surface, grating within Daryl's skull as he stared ahead. The archer was anxious to get to the lodge, his grip so tight on the steering wheel that his knuckles were beginning to turn white. Deep trembling breaths were drawn into his lungs, his lips feeling as though he had singed them upon Jasmine's soft mouth. The cabin felt stiflingly hot, to a point where Daryl could actually feel the heat seeping out of his skin at a million degrees. The collision of their lips had set his skin ablaze and he couldn't shake it. It was as if he were sitting in a sauna, the air thick enough to choke him.
He had kissed Jasmine.
In a sense, he understood what he had been doing when he had asked her to grab the CD. It had been deliberate in order to test himself, to see if he had had the courage to actually follow through. It had been intended to work as a possible (and rather awkwardly preformed) plan. Daryl hadn't exactly thought of himself as someone who would initiate this kind of thing... in fact, it was the furthest thing from his mind. Lately though, he had been getting the sudden impulse to reach out and pull her close, even in the stupidest of moments.
Like when she would be talking with another member of the group during dinner, or when she would wash the dishes. When she would laugh at something Glenn would say, or when she would run a hand through her hair. Since the archer had gotten back on his feet, Carol's words still bounced around between his ears. "You find that girl, you find both of them... and when you find them, and they're home safe and sound, you tell Jasmine how you feel."
It had come as a shock to him, to hear Carol speak of his so-called "feelings" toward Jasmine. He had been utterly perplexed, having mulled the idea over and over within his head that there was a possibility of him being in love with Jasmine Cuckle. This was the woman who had appeared to him with barbwire caught around her ankle, trying to climb up a tree next to a smoldering building whilst in pursuit of a group of the undead.
This was the woman who he had freed from a trap by cutting her hair off with an ax and potentially taking her head off if he had been perhaps in inch too close, the woman he had fought tooth-and-nail to find after her kidnapping; the woman who had driven him to jumping in front of a bullwhip in order to save her from her possible demise. This was the woman that above all odds had managed to keep him alive, even after his body had gone into toxic shock. They had been through so many arguments and even after Rick had separated them, they had still defended each other no matter the odds.
And after days of consideration, it was clear to him that he was deeply submerged in an intense adoration for this girl.
What a cluster-fuck this was.
"...tell Jasmine how you feel..." How the fuck was he supposed to do that? He couldn't put it into words, he didn't know the right time. She had just recently split from the man whom was the father of the child she carried and he didn't want to prod an already tender wound. As the duo ascended the slope that lead them home, the archer's lips parted. He had to say something- he couldn't just leave things like that. Daryl tried to say something but the air caught in his lungs, the words locking up within his throat. Not a word could he utter he realized, and ergo the archer shut his trap and continued to drive. She couldn't even look at him, he was sure of it. Daryl swallowed what little moisture he had within his mouth down his parched throat. He had most likely just added insult to injury with that simple brush of his lips.
The archer pulled up and turned the vehicle to the left, then put it in reverse and carefully placing it back where it originally had been in the greenery behind the cabin. The truck came to a stop and even before the engine could be turned off and keys removed from ignition, Jasmine had removed her seat-belt and opened the door. "Jas, hey!" he called, as if saying something to her would fix things at the time. Daryl unfortunately watched her run away into the pitch-darkness, the light that had been bleeding from the cabin having been extinguished quite some time ago.
As quick as he could, he tore after the young woman, trying to catch her before she would be able to push her way into the cabin. Clearing the two steps, his foot landed hard on the spongy wood of the porch. Within one long stride, he cleared the distance between them and quickly grabbing her wrist. "Wait-" he pleaded, stopping her just as she had opened the door.
"Jas- please, jus'-" Jasmine quickly turned to the archer, tears welling at her dark lashes. Before he could say anything else, the brunette attempted to yank herself away from the archer's grasp and let out a whimper. "Daryl, d-don't!"
"Jus' listen for a sec-" he insisted. There was the dull popping sound of something separating, and suddenly the button of her denim jacket's sleeve gave way. Daryl stumbled and fell back on his ass with little finesse. Finally, he skidded down the steps of the deck, colliding with the soft muddy ground below. A hiss of frustration escaped him and he cringed as pain radiated up his tailbone. He looked up to see that Jasmine was no longer there, the screen door clattering close violently. Defeated, Daryl collapsed back, staring up at the pitch-black canvas above.
"Well, you certainly fucked up!" remarked a jubilant southern voice. It was clear that this on-looker was quite amused. The sound of feet hitting the squishy ground came to his attention, and before he knew it a hand reached down in order to help him up. Daryl reluctantly pulled himself to his feet with the help of Abraham Ford. With a clap on the back, he guided his mucky comrade to the base of the porch steps. Settling down upon the lip of the boards, he patted the damp surface beside him. "Take a seat, brother," he offered. Daryl, embarrassed and uncomfortable, slumped down beside the beefy man. He placed his face within his calloused mitts and let out a groan of frustration.
"Here, have a swig o' this," he suggested. The archer raised his head and turned his slate-blue gaze to rest upon the thermos that Abraham was offering. Retrieving the container, he unscrewed the cap, the delicious steamy aroma wafting up out of the aluminum bottle. Taking a swig, the smooth liquid danced over his tongue and down his throat, allowing it even as it singed his taste buds. Daryl couldn't give two shits at this point; the pain was an old friend that was welcome at any time. Coffee and bourbon. It reminded him of late nights with his brother. It had always been a good treat after a drug exchange gone well.
He could never handle bourbon, yet he kept chugging. Letting out a dry, raspy cough, he blinked furiously as the beefy man snatched it away. "Woah there, don't hog it all!" he laughed. "What've you got to forget?"
"What?" he breathed, still recovering from the heavy drink.
"No one drinks bourbon that fast withou' a reason!"
Daryl scrunched up his nose and shook his head. "I dunno. I gotta forget 'bout a lot of things..." he grumbled, running his hands over his face. "What 'bout you?" The wind began to moan softly as it hit the side of the cabin. Abraham took an audible breath, clearly preparing to tell the story of a lifetime. A grin played at the redhead's lips.
"Well, th' war wasn't all peaches n' cream..." Abraham began gently. "Every day you'd be draggin' your friends back behind cover, dead 'r alive... not knowin' whether today was gonna be your last 'r not." The trees creaked and complained in the heavy breeze, swaying to-and-fro. "Watchin' your friend get blown t' shit... I'd say that's drink-worthy." Daryl sat there in total shock, blown away by how harrowing his past had been. He had almost forgotten that the auburn-crowned man had fought in the war. "Whether its witnessin' someone you've known for months drown to death in his own blood or someone you've survived up until now with be eaten alive by blood-thirsty corpses... There ain't much of a difference. It gets to you though."
Daryl sat there in stunned silence, feeling as though his chest were ready to cave inward. Christ, he had a way of cheering folks up! Old war stories- there was no better way. "'Course Sasha helps too..." finished the hulking man. Abraham brought the thermos to his lips. There was a pause as he took a swallow of the alcoholic delight. Daryl stared out toward the treeline, his eyes trailing carefully along the damaged alabaster complexion.
"Is that what Jasmine does for you?" The question came out of nowhere, stopping Daryl's heart in its tracks. His head turned and looked over at Abraham. Silence filled the gap between them for a long time. Daryl's eyes dropped to stare at his boots and the grain of the wood beneath them. "I get it..."
"I fucked up," he croaked softly, unable to really still his wagging tongue. "It ain't like I wanted to rush things... after..."
"After what happened with Rick, she was devastated, yeah. I think you helped her through a lot of it," Abraham pointed out, handing him the thermos. Daryl gratefully retrieved it and took a swig, no longer acute to the burn it gave his esophagus as it traveled to his gut. Returning the bottle, Abraham hummed, the sound resonating out of the inside of the aluminum and creating a sort of hollow sound.
"She had Carol, Maggie-"
"Y'er right, but whether you think so or not, you gave that girl something to hold onto," Abraham explained. "You're a big part of her life, and you've become an even bigger part lately." Daryl could feel the buzz beginning in his head. Even as he turned his cranium, it felt as if his mind were ahead of his actions and his actual physical being was just lagging behind.
"Yeah? N' if that's th' case, why'd she run off like that after I-" The archer swallowed his words and bit his tongue, holding back the urge to growl in frustration. "After I kissed her." Now it was Abraham's turn to fall silent, clearly baffled by the sudden confession. "You tell me how I'm supposed t' make up f'r that... what I'm supposed t' tell her when she asks me 'bout it." Running his fingers up into his hair, he scraped his scalp with his nails.
"You kissed Jasmine?" asked Abraham. Daryl gritted his teeth. "Ain't that music to the ears. Was startin' to think nothin' was ever gonna happen between you two!" His words were coated with honey and lovingly draped with adoration, and yet these exact things were what drove him up the wall. The archer bounced to his feet and turned to Abraham, just being able to make him out in the lamp light he had brought outside with him. The flame flickered in the wind as it howled.
"This some sort of game y'all bet on?!" barked Daryl. "Some kind of joke? Y'think y'all can jus' treat this like some kind'ov gamble?"
"I ain't saying that, Daryl. I'm jus' saying..."
"Yeah, well, it ain't funny!" growled the archer. He shook his head and curled his lip, eyes falling to the ground. "If I hadn't had been so God-" Daryl suddenly swung his foot back and kicked the porch step, mud flying up. "Damn-" Again, he slammed his boot into the wood, and then once more for good measure, each more violent than the last. "Stupid!" Rocking back on his heels, he felt the weight of Abraham's probing eyes searching him for some sort rational thought within him. Bringing his hands up, he cradled the back of his head and turned, stepping out into the rain. "n' now she won't even talk t' me..."
"That ain't true. You two are like magnets... she's bound to come around. Just let the dust settle and maybe tomorrow she'll be in a better state of mind to discuss it," the stocky man explained, grunting as he too pulled himself to his feet. A strong hand landed upon his shoulder, the two of them now standing out in the freezing-cold rain storm. "Women are weird things, but they're also powerful as shit. If they can change a man- for better or worse- then that's something worth waitin' for."
Abraham sounded as if he knew what he was talking about. Daryl just couldn't fight the feeling that he was just talkin' out of his ass, so that he would feel better. The archer knew Jasmine, and he understood that she would need her space. With a heavy sigh, Daryl turned around and ascended the staircase. Judging by the heavy foot-falls on the hardwood, Daryl knew that Abraham was following behind him. The screen door closed behind the two and the heavy egress was then shut. Daryl shivered as the warmth of the lodge wrapped him in its velvety arms, warming him up quickly. He had been soaked to the bone out there, and there was no doubt in his mind that Abraham had been drenched just the same.
"Just think about what I said, okay?" murmured Ford. He was given another clap on the back, just as he would any other time, and then passed as the gunman headed for the stairs. The wooden case creaked as he disappeared up into the second floor loft. A hollow reticence filled the foyer, the distant sound of the wind buffeting the side of the lodge the only interruption. Deciding that it would be best if he took off the mucky clothes he was wearing, the archer followed in Abraham's footsteps, running a hand over his face with a sigh. Traveling down the hall, Daryl could hear soft conversations from a few of the bedrooms, candle light leaking in through the cracks of the doors.
Finally he made it to his own quarters, placed his hand on the door knob and then turned. The light washed over the inside of the dark room, illuminating his empty sheets and the pictures strewn across his mattress from the night before. A few laid upon the floor, which he crossed over to and knelt beside, picking them up. Putting them in order, he placed them back inside of the book of wildflowers. Daryl, holding the weight of the memory-filled novella, returned it to the bedside table.
The archer was quick to change into a clean pair of jeans and then head back down the stairs, his mind reaching for anything but the idea of Jasmine. Unfortunately, it was all he really could think of. As he made it back down to the den, his eyes trained upon the crackling flames, his own frustration grew and grew. Daryl wrung his hands, approaching the couch settled directly across from the hearth, hovering behind it for a moment. The archer's nose wrinkled and he glowered at the floor, skirting around the side of the sofa before sinking down onto the plush surface. His bones ached and his mind was reeling from the hysteria of the day. With a heavy sigh, the rugged lone-wolf swept his legs up onto the couch, spreading himself out and crossing his ankles up on top of the furthest arm-rest. Daryl's head rested back upon one of the throw-pillows, draping one arm over his tired eyes. As if made of jello, the archer relaxed and allowed every limb to go slack, releasing all the tension within himself. The silence was filled with the pop and hiss of the wood within the fireplace, the aroma of wood-smoke coiling to his nose.
His mouth still burned and all he could think about was how supple her rosy lips had been… it had been like his first sip of a sugary sweet drink- something he knew he would drink too much of and get sick to his stomach, puking up his guts 'till it hurt. Similar to when Merle had gotten him to drink some of that apple-pie moonshine, and how he had said two distinct words that now shown within his memories. Daryl had taken the shot like a champ, feeling it scream down his throat like tires on a hot dry Georgia road, hitting his gut like a train. After feeling the heat scorch his insides and his face set ablaze, he had grinned wickedly and looked up at his brother with a devilish gleam in his eye. "Oooh, that's dangerous!"
And holy hell, was it ever dangerous.
He had fucked up- he had fucked up- he had fucked up! Daryl let out an elongated groan and stared up into the darkness of the ceiling above.
Jasmine's heart was skittering up in her throat when she woke up to Maggie's wail from downstairs. The young woman practically scrambled from where she had been resting in her bed, rushing out her bedroom door wearing only her boy-short undergarments and an over-sized football jersey. Her feet hit the hardwood and the brunette flower moved so quickly down the steps that she could have sworn she was flying rather than running. Before she knew it, she was down the stairs and standing in the middle of the kitchen, completely at a loss as to what had happened. Maggie was curled into her husband, sobbing into his chest, whilst Rick was standing there with a sheet of paper in his hands. On the kitchen table was Carl's stetson, neatly placed and untouched. The basement door opened and Michonne appeared, crossing over to her companion with great tears in her eyes. "He's gone…" she whimpered, immediately captured by Rick as he wrapped his arms around her. Jasmine felt realization wash over her in great tidal waves.
"W-Who's gone…?" But she already knew. She already understood. Rick's eyes fell upon her and he went to open his mouth, but then he fell apart, shaking his head.
"Carl… Carl and Fallon. They left during the night," replied Carol, her voice rasping in her throat. It was obvious that the older woman was trying to hold back her own emotions. She was holding together fairly well. To hear this in words, it was gratifying. Fallon and Carl? Together? Why would they have wanted to leave here?
Rick piped up. "Daryl didn' even hear 'em go out the front door." Anger overwhelmed Jasmine. Daryl, of all people, had been completely unaware?
"Shouldn't we be going out and looking?" she demanded.
"Daryl is already out there… he went as soon as Maggie woke him up," replied Carol, her voice soft. She then turned to look among the group. "There's nothing to worry about… we'll figure out where they're heading, and we'll find them. We just need to remain calm… they might come back."
"They're still kids.. Why would they leave like this?" Sasha inquired, completely baffled. She had just given a voice to the group's thoughts. "They even told us not to follow them, so why-"
The front door flew open and Daryl Dixon stepped inside. His coat and gang-style vest were slick from the rain that fell in sheets outside, his hair plastered to his head. The archer's eyes were wide and alert, obviously high-strung from the sudden drama and panic of the moment. Everyone looked to him, putting him on the spot and waiting for him to speak. "The rain's ruinin' the tracks 'round front," he explained, then he swallowed hastily, trying to catch his breath. "What's worse? Th' truck's gone…"
The entire group gawked at the archer in dismay, all hope dying from their eyes. As Daryl noticed this, his eyes fell and he seemed to deflate, all tension leaving his shoulders as they gradually slumped. The archer's head slowly fell until it was bowed and his eyes squeezed shut as he held back his own tears. Jasmine ached to cross the foyer in order to comfort him. She would brush the hair from his face and hold him, reassuring him that he had done his best, or that it was simply going to be okay. Instead of doing so, though, her eyes flashed in frustration and she felt a sob throb tighten in her throat, abruptly closing her airway. Daryl's head shot up as soon as he heard the young woman stir, his glossy gaze following her as she turned on her heels and tentatively walked to the stairs. Jasmine's head shook in thought, her bare feet once again returning to their path from earlier, ascending the wooden case to the hall.
She quickly made it to her bedroom and allowed the door to close behind her, her delicate hand remaining upon her mouth. As soon as the door clicked behind her, Jasmine took a few more steps, and then let out a sob. Her entire world crashed down around her. This was her fault. Even as she looked out at such a peaceful morning, the dawn's heavy sunshine sparkling and turning the rain to liquid silver, she couldn't help but imagine the horror that Carl could possibly be going through. Jasmine wept for what felt like hours, until she was unable to even breathe. Perhaps if she had kept a better eye on the boy, even after what his father had put her through… perhaps if she had been more accepting of Fallon, perhaps if she had-
There was a soft knock at her bedroom door. She held her breath, nervous that Carol might see her at her worst once more. The latch clicked and the egress creaked on its hinges. Jasmine's head rose from where it rested against the window pane as the floorboards stirred.
"Jas…" Daryl's defeated tone hit the air in place of Carol's gentle coo. The anger returned and she cringed, her nose wrinkling and her teeth grating. "Jas, I-"
"You could have found them.." Her voice sounded alien, hoarse from sobbing. Jasmine hugged herself, her fingers digging into her lean biceps. "Why didn't you try?"
"I did, it jus'- the tracks-" he stammered, his vocals broken in his throat.
"You… you couldn't have checked disturbances in the leaves?"
"It ain't that easy-"
"The tire tracks?"
"The rain-"
"Fuck the rain!" she erupted, turning to him. Daryl stood in her bedroom for the first time in a long time, his eyes wide and his lips slightly parted. It was obvious that he was at a loss for words. He was trying to be angry, it was also very prominent, but she was pushing all the right buttons and he had no clap-back to fall back on. "You could have tracked the tire tracks- hell, you could have turned around and- and-"
"I ain't a blue tick, it don't work that way!" the archer retaliated, finally speaking up.
"Oh please, Daryl! You always act like you have your ass in gear and that you know what you're doing, but now all you do is just tuck your fucking tail between your legs and run to hide!" she hissed. Her voice began to rise in volume, yet nonetheless trembled as she tried to keep herself composed. "Don't tell me you couldn't have somehow figured out at least what direction they were heading in! You could have easily done that, but instead you let your emotions get in your head!" She took a step towards him, her throat becoming tight once more as images of Daryl possibly catching Carl filled her mind, causing her to become even more angry, to a point where she was seething venom. "You could've gotten on your bike and followed the tire tracks, but instead you came back here like the fucking coward you are!" She looked up at him with burning shamrock eyes, then removed her gaze, gesturing with her free hand, the other clutching her opposing limb.
"What's more? You're supposed to be Rick's brother.. You should have given him a wake-up call, you should have snapped him out of it!" Jasmine continued, the words falling from her mouth like a quavering waterfall. "He needed you, so why haven't you gotten him to send out a search party yet? Hell! Why haven't you sent out a search party yet?"
"They might come back…" Daryl pointed out softly, his voice crackling in his throat.
"We shouldn't be waiting!" Jasmine shouted, gaze latching onto him once more. The young woman then trailed off, trying to catch her breath. She partially expected him to say something to her in return, but instead he just stood there, staring at her with such a wounded expression.
The silence was heavy upon her shoulders. Her breath stirred within her chest and she opened her mouth. "Perhaps if I hadn't have gotten in between you two…" Jasmine croaked. Daryl stiffened and she took a step back, her eyes remaining averted. "Maybe if I hadn't accepted Rick's advances… maybe if I hadn't- then you two wouldn't be-"
"Don't…" Daryl scowled, shaking his head and wrinkling his nose.
"You know it's true! You two were-"
"Jasmine, don't…"
Despite his pleas, Jasmine proceeded to speak so negatively. She couldn't help that her own resentment was growing in her belly. The tears were flowing heavily now, her entire body wracked with sobs. "If you hadn't have kissed me last night, then you would have been awake when they had left.."
The archer suddenly cleared the distance between the two in a single step, and in one sweeping movement, he captured her wrist in his grip. It was tight enough to startle her, causing her to let out a gasp. "Let me go!" she bleated.
"Listen-" Dixon began.
"Get your filthy hands off me!"
"Listen, girl! I-"
Jasmine's fists collided with his chest, yet still he remained unmoved. "You stupid dumbass hick- you yellow-bellied son of a-"
Daryl swiftly had pulled her closer, his breath warm as it danced across her cheeks. "I wouldn't change any of it, y'hear me?!" he barked, having finally losing his temper. The air that scraped its way in through her choked throat stilled and her movements weakened, her balled fists coming to a stop and her head bowing into his chest. A few whimpers escaped her.
"You're lying.."
"I ain't…" he countered, his voice low and hushed. The archer hadn't spoken in such a calm manner in what felt close to an eternity. He was speaking so softly to her, yet she still felt anger twisting within her heart, causing her own frustration to creep its way back up her spine. Jasmine finally wrenched herself away from the archer.
"This is all your fault," she growled, her voice low. "You could have done more."
Daryl Dixon stilled, his brows rising and his expression softening. She had struck not just one nerve, but a bundle, and he now stared at her like he would a monster. Jasmine had cut him open and now he was bleeding out for all the world to see. Once again, he nodded and bowed his head. Daryl then turned away from her, his trademark fallen angel wings flashing in the golden morning wash. That was when it struck her, what she had just admitted to him, what she had just said to the archer. She felt awful.
Jasmine had always known that the archer tended to take the blame upon himself, even when it wasn't his fault. It was an impulse he couldn't control, which frightened her, for blame could take a heavy toll on one's mental health. He wasn't the most stable of people, yes, but he always had someone to lean on. The family that had manifested out of those who had survived together, molding each of them into who they were today- they were his sanctuary. Jasmine had been one of those, and now, she had just turned into one of those dancing devils within his head. Those voices who told him that it was always his fault, somehow.
Jasmine and the archer were settled up in the loft, watching the forest line with attentive eyes. The young woman held a thermos of coffee in her hands, the rifle she bore resting across her jean-clad legs. "Its fuckin' freezin' out," Daryl mumbled from beneath the large poncho he was buried in, trying to keep himself warm. Despite the fact that they were both wearing at least three layers, it was bitter and brisk as ever. The winter was mean this year, especially so far off in the woods with barely any sunshine at times. The lodge had its own heating system, but it had long since died after the loss of electricity.
"You're going to be up here for another three hours until Glenn comes up, so just try and avoid complaining now… if you think this is cold, then you really haven't been to Canada," she responded, chortling softly.
"I've never been outta Georgia, so can't say that I have…" Daryl mumbled, shooting her a glance.
The treeline stirred and she caught sight of a roamer breaking through the bare brush. It was a young boy in a baseball cap, his tee torn and jeans bloodied. The young child's intestines dragged at the ground, from what she could see, and his tongue lolled from his mouth, his jaw absent. "Daryl…" she warned softly.
"I see 'im…" The archer adjusted his Valmet M88 and peered through the scope, his sight training on him. Jasmine, feeling an overwhelming sense of emotion, turned her head away. It was strange, seeing as usually she wasn't as sensitive to this type of situation. Tears burned her beautiful emerald gaze and she took a trembling breath inward. The muffled explosion of the M88 caused her to flinch, even when she had prepared herself, and she could almost feel the remnants of the little boy hit the ground. "Better mark that down…"
Jasmine swallowed heavily and nodded, sniffling as she reached for the notepad at her feet. As she was scratching down the small report, she suddenly felt Daryl's eyes upon her, and became self-conscious. "You alright?" he asked, causing her attention to move from what she was writing. Jasmine paused for a moment, then her eyes drifted from him and she nodded, shifting beneath her blanket. "You sure?"
With the pen shaking in her hand, she finished up the report and closed the book. Jasmine then tilted herself to look out at the moon-lit white marshmallow world. Her lips remained glued shut as she nestled underneath the blanket, covering her shoulders and arms. There was a pause. Daryl then shifted and stood, picking up his bow and swinging it up over his head and shoulder. "C'mon… watch my back," he murmured. Confused at first, Jasmine looked up at him with a perplexed look. He then reached over and moved the blanket off of her. "C'mon." Hesitant at first, she glanced out over her shoulder. Jasmine knew that if they left their post, Rick would have a canary, but instead she decided to let her curiosity get the better of her. The young woman finally nodded and then took his outstretched hand, allowing him to help her to her feet. She didn't quite understand, but she would find out eventually.
The two traipsed down the stairs as quietly as possible and down to the hall, carefully stepping so that they could make it to the staircase at the end of the isle that lead to the bedrooms. They then took to the steps and slipped down onto the third floor, heading straight for the door. Soon they were outside and crossing silently through the snow. The crunching underfoot was so satisfying, yet troubling as Jasmine realized that the fresh surface of the alabaster powder would now be damaged. "Ain't no reason why this kid shouldn' have a proper burial," Daryl rumbled, continuing to lead the way. No wonder he had grabbed the shovel on the way out.
The cold nipped through Jasmine's jeans and nylons beneath, her legs chilly from the breeze that cut into the two. Daryl's cheeks were pinched and rosy, and his hair was ruffling in the breeze. He would need a trim soon, if he would let her.
The duo eventually made it to the treeline, the smell of the child's decomposing body filling Jasmine's nose. It didn't take them long. Daryl lifted the young boy and they quietly plodded deeper into the woods. Beneath the thick Georgian pines, they buried the child. Jasmine and he stood there for a while longer, silently look upon the mouth of disturbed dirt. The trees creaked and complained as a breeze swept through the woods. All was silent. The young woman eventually knelt and rest a hand upon the grave. "I'm sorry," was all she managed to say. Tears flooded her eyes and she allowed her head to fall.
Jasmine rose, only to find that she was suddenly alone. Her heart leaped and she felt her entire body tense. Her hands and nails were crusted with blood, her arms cradling her own child, screaming into the night without any control. Jasmine's clothes were gone and she was bare, standing far from the lodge. Deep in the dark woods that reached toward her spine with clawing hands, she could feel the dead creeping toward her, their gurgles and growls growing louder until they filled her ears, drowning out the wind. There was the sound of a gunfire-
Jasmine jolted awake and bolted upright like a rake. It was nearly dusk, and she was wondering what the commotion was. More gunshots exploded overhead and she shot up out of her tangled sheets. They were real. They were so fucking real, and Jasmin's heart was now in her throat, beating out of control. This time, Jasmine was sure to throw on her jeans and a clean shirt, not thinking to grab her ronin from the side closet. "Miss Jasmine!" Jordan wailed from down the hall, her voice rising above the shots. The young girl was what drew her out of her bedroom. The young redhead emerged from the dark hall, rushing to Jasmine in a panic. Tears bubbled at her red lashes, her freckled face flushed from crying. Jasmine quickly knelt and placed her hands on either side of her face. "Shhh…" she hushed. "Its okay, alright? We have it covered…" There was a bellow from downstairs, most likely from Rick. Something about the sofa-
"Jasmine, what's gonna happen?" whimpered Jordan. "Reese is scared…"
"Hey, hey, it's going to be alright. I promise… I need you to go get Judith like we practiced. Go into the closet at the end of the hall and stay there until someone comes to get you," explained Jasmine. The two flinched as there was a burst of artillery once again. "Don't answer it if they sound unfamiliar, okay? You can do this Jordan, you've gotta protect what's ours." Jordan nodded and reached up, and Jasmine placed a kiss on top of her forehead. "Thatagirl!" praised the matron. The two parted ways, Jordan heading to grab Judith from her crib, who was already baying in fear. The sound of the toddler's whimpers and wails faded as she soared down the steps, only to come to a stop at the bottom of the stairs. The sofa was tipped over and Maggie and Carol were facing the side door, Michonne trapped at the edge of the archway, firing bullets on the occasion outside. Abraham and Sasha must have been upstairs, defending the front of the house as best they could.
There was only one explanation. Fallon.
The front door suddenly slammed shut, revealing that Glenn and Rick were finally inside, both crouched beneath the shattered glass window. The regal leader's attention fell upon her and he suddenly barked, his nose wrinkled in anger. "Jasmine!" The young girl raced for the wall as suddenly bullets flew into the side of the house, shaking the entire building. Shouts were bleeding through the walls and windows. Panic flooded through her, and even despite the entire argument, Jasmine desperately searched for any sign of Daryl Dixon.
"What's going on?!" Jasmine demanded, covering her head as there was the sudden detonation of a grenade thrown.
Michonne was quick to answer her from across the room. Her gun still smoked, her back pressed to the wall just as she was. "It's those assholes from Hatchback Grove! Ronnie took Emma hostage after she refused to go with him… they left together just as they started shooting the front of the lodge."
"They must want to weaken us so that they can bring us out, slaughter us-"
"How th' fuck do they expect us to come out if they keep firin' at our only two exits?!" growled Rick, cutting Jasmine off. The young woman glanced around.
"Where's Daryl? Upstairs?"
"We have no idea- after you two had your spat, he left without a word," Carol recounted, glancing over between everyone. There was another burst of gunfire, and then, a crash at the front door, as if someone were trying to use a battering ram to get inside. The air within her throat stilled and the entire group froze, tension rising in the air as the moments drew on and on. "Fuck!" Glenn cussed. The two men rose and held the door shut, even as it shook under the heavy collisions.
Jasmine ducked her head as a bullet or two broke through one of the panes of glass, exposing the final sheet that faced inside the lodge. The sheets let in dim light, the cold beginning to seep in. She prepared herself, quickly bolted to her feet and finally came to help Glenn and Rick keep the door shut. "Jas-" Rick began to protest. There was the sound of splitting grain, and suddenly the hinge was beginning to bend.
"I'm part of this group, I can keep up with all of you. Now shut up, and let me-" Jasmine slammed herself up against the door as the purser attempted to break in once again. "-fuckin' help!" Rick seemed to hesitate next to her, even as they pressed to the door.
"We can't let you get hurt-"
The leader was about to bicker, only to be cut off by Maggie, who retaliated in her stead. "Oh, just let her help, goddamnit!"
Everyone seemed to be a bit surprised by this, but they had no time to argue. The door suddenly cracked again, which startled everybody back to reality. "The door isn't gonna hold!" yelled Michonne, shooting the trio at the egress a side-glance after a few shots of her gun. Her gun then sputtered and clicked. "I'm almost out of ammo!" Jasmine's head was teetering like a top, her entire body in a cold sweat and her gut twisting. The door jolted on its hinges and suddenly she stumbled forward, caught off guard by the men booting the egress in. The brunette scrambled to her feet, the moment seeming to slow as suddenly the latch gave way, as did one of the hinges, the door jarring open a few centimeters. "Oh Christ!" Glenn shrilled. The two men tried to push, a glimpse of the person behind suddenly causing Jasmine a moment of panic. She raced to grab the nob and force it shut, when Rick and Glenn suddenly leaped from the surface of the egress and drew their guns. "Get ready!" roared the leader. Jasmine stumbled back a few steps, staggering from the sight before her.
All sound around her became muffled and her ears began to ring, her eyes glued to the towering figure that stepped in through the door. Patches of yellowed and leathery skin from all human races were stitched together in a mask, gloves and two-piece suit covered the man's body, two slits placed within the facial area for charcoal-smeared eyes. It all made sense, why she had seen the skinwalker that day that Daryl and she had merely escaped with their lives. A shutter rushed through her and suddenly, before she could control her own reaction, her voice rose in a shrill cry and she began to panic. Jasmine watched as Rick fired, the entire situation returning to its natural speed, the bullets cutting into the man's ribs. There was a muffled thunder that tore from inside the mask and he gripped at his wound, which followed Glenn tackling him. A brawl began, Maggie crying out for her loved one as suddenly he was grasped by the throat. The entire while, Jasmine was struggling to keep her breathing under control, tears rushing from her eyes like a briny waterfall. The regal leader swept in as quick as he could, the butt of his gun coming down on the towering skinwalker's wrist in order to get him to let the young man go. His elbow then swung up and collided with the side of the skinwalker's face.
It seemed as though the skinwalker was down for the count, when suddenly Rick was socked in the gut, sending him to the floor not far from Glenn. Grimes was given a kick to the rib-cage, jolting her out of the frozen state of fear. "Rick-" Jasmine turned to face the skinwalker, who was now staring right at her. Anger grew molten within her chest, followed by fear, and she rushed to grab the coal poker. Before she could capture the handle in her grasp, her arm was snatched by the skinwalker. She was dragged backward; once again, after she felt as though that would be the end of this monster's presence in her life, she was pulled up against his rock-solid body and hoisted up off the ground by her belly. As Jasmine was swung around, her eyes fell upon Rick, who lunged toward her. "Rick!" she shrieked, their fingers just narrowly missing one another's. In a last ditch effort, Jasmine twisted and bit down on the skinwalker's bicep, then reeled her legs up, kicking herself away. She felt her knees collide with the floor, and then shot up, crawling quickly across the floor with little finesse.
"Block the door-"
"Jasmine, get up!"
Jasmine spiraled around and scooted back on her backside, the skinwalker having recovered by now and grabbing for her ankles. She felt his fingers grace her leg, then watched him stand from where he was in the doorway, which she matched in her own time. By time she was on trembling legs, she was feeling as if she were going to fall over, all strength leaving her limbs. She was falling apart at the seams, her nose running and her face damp with everlasting tears. "Leave me alone!" she screamed. The skinwalker stepped toward her and reached-
Green feathers flashed in the dimming dusk, an arrow slicing into the creature's temple so quickly that it ended up pinning the man to the side of the archway. The skinwalker's entire body went limp and soon he was just hanging there, suspended only by the bow in his skull. Blood was prominent from the wound, oozing out between the parted, dried flesh. Jasmine's knees gave out finally, and just before she felt her knees collide with the hardwood, a strong arm wound around her swollen waist and held her up. Sobs wracked through her as suddenly the gunfire began to dwindle. Daryl Dixon had gallantly soared through the side-door ordering the girls to shut the door and shut the drapes as quick as they could… and finally fired an arrow into the monster before them all. He gently cooed and comforted Jasmine, holding her up against his body; his torso was firm and yet familiar, comforting her in a moment of such fear. The tightened anxiety within her chest unwound and suddenly all drained from her body as she stared at what lay before her. The egress hung there on its hinges, creaking in the gusts of wind. Glenn and Rick slowly approached the body in the archway with apprehension, when finally the regal leader abruptly strode forward and tore the mask from the man's face. Beneath the woven patchwork of leathery hide was someone she had never wished to see. Hazel eyes stared lifelessly out at the world, blood leaking down the stranger's temple and sprayed across his left ocular so grotesquely. "Oh god- no, no- B-Blake- no, god-" wailed Jasmine. The archer followed her as she sank to the ground completely, at a loss for words as she blubbered hysterically. She attempted to move from his arms, but then fell back into place, too weak.
Rick stood there, staring as the gratifying moment passed second by second, before he finally turned to Glenn. They stood there, speechless for a moment, until suddenly the call for retreat brought relief among the group. "Is everyone okay?!" called Carol, rising from behind the makeshift bunker they had created out of some of the furniture. Stuffing was scattered all across the room, bullet shells gleaming and glinting in the dying light that filtered in from the candles lit upstairs-
The group could not see what she saw. All sound died once more and she felt her face pale completely, her eyes burning into the person within her vision. Barking out an order and readying to turn, was a tall, lanky man with long, greasy hair and an unkempt beard.
Someone she had wish to never see ever again, in her entire life on this goddamn earth.
Matthias.
Rage blinded her and she suddenly wrenched herself out of Daryl's arms with a shrill battle cry. Tearing the arrow from Blake's skull with little remorse, she charged out into the grass barefoot. "Jasmine!" shouted Glenn, but she didn't hear him. She leaped off the porch in one bound and cleared the distance between the two. When Matthias suddenly turned, he looked at her with wide eyes, knowing for a split second that he was vulnerable. "You did this to me, you slimy pig!" He brought his gun up and as Jasmine came flying down upon him, the barrel collided with her torso in an attempt to block her from assaulting him further. In turn, the arrow came flying down and with a sickening pop, submerged itself into his eye. They landed upon the ground with a wet slap, the snow and mud breaking Matthias's fall as Jasmine brought her knee down and pinned him by the chest. Garbled cries and screams escaped Matthias as the young matron brought the arrow up into the air once more, a string of blood following in its path. She stabbed and mauled, the tip of the bolt sinking deep into his cheeks, broke teeth, and scrambled his nose. Blood sprayed across her face and crusted her nails, smearing up her forearms. The body had long since stilled before suddenly Rick's arms enveloped her and she was torn away from the body, sobbing and kicking, and screaming. "No, no, no! Let me go, he did this to me! He fucking did this to me!"
Daryl simultaneously dragged the body away and out of sight, trying to diffuse the situation. She was brought to the porch and handed off to Carol, who brought her inside and up to the bathroom while the rest of the group cleaned up. Her entire body shook… yet she felt nothing.
No fear, no anger, no sadness.
Nothing.
Daryl, after washing the blood from his hands and assisting the group in barricading the windows and doors, crept upstairs. He didn't know quite yet what he was going to say to Jasmine after their argument, nor after she had gone ballistic on a total stranger. Who was the archer to judge, though? It brought him back three years prior, when he had found Merle feasting on the innards of a fallen Woodburian. The look in his brother's eyes was harrowing, those milky depths deep enough to drown in, for there was no thought or emotion behind that could keep him afloat.
When he was finished his tasks, he was left peering around as the others were cleaning up. Abraham and Rick had headed upstairs to the loft and the radios had been set out, just as they would have been every morning… back when they thought the world would catch up to them as quick as the virus had spread. This dead world never waited for anybody, no how. The archer had only one goal now, and that was to figure out where the woman in question had been taken. Daryl hated to admit it sometimes, but yeah… he was worried about Jasmine. So what did he do? He approached the only person he knew would know her whereabouts. Hopefully.
Daryl moved toward Maggie Rhee, whom was sweeping the floor. The taller girl stood with her back to him, her slim form covered in a long tasseled blanket that they had kept on the back of the couch. He wasn't exactly sure hot to get her attention, so he awkwardly stuffed a hand in his pocket and glanced off toward the kitchen for a moment, peering at Glenn and Michonne as they nursed bruises and cuts from the glass. "Daryl?" she murmured. "Are you okay?" Her soft southern voice was a gentle hug from a loved one. The archer turned his head to look at her, his brows risen and a look of question upon his face for a moment. He then nodded and cleared his throat.
"Yeah, jus'-"
A tender smile laced her supple lips and her dimples became prominent. She was beautiful, in a girlish sort of way. Maggie answered his question even before he asked. "Jasmine's upstairs… Carol took her to the bathroom t' clean her up.." It must have been amusing to see him so concerned over some girl. He couldn't help but feel his ears burn in shame.
"Thanks," he replied gently, taking to the loft. The staircase was longer than Daryl remembered, his legs feeling as though he were moving through molasses. Finally, his feet found carpet and he had reached his destination. The hall was a shorter trip, thankfully. The bathroom door was slightly ajar, light streaming out into the dimly lit aisle. Carol's soft voice and the sound of sloshing water drifted to his ears. Daryl's eyes fell to the soft off-white carpet, easily picking out the specks of blood spattered across the surface. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he allowed his head to bow. What if she were hurt? The archer's pace slowed and eventually he paused at the entrance. Much like a dog unsure of whether it was allowed to enter, he stepped into the open and peer inside with caution. The lip of the tub was smeared with crimson, Jasmine's clothes in a muddled heap not far from where Carol rested. The older woman was perched on a footstool, her sleeves rolled up and her hands busy as she rubbed the stains from Jasmine's extended arm.
The older woman was thankfully in the way, yet he still kept his eyes averted, not wanting to take any chances as he stood there, his neck began to burn in shame. Perhaps this was all his doing… The archer hovered where he stood, staying silent as he listened to Carol calm the hiccuping girl. How was he supposed to handle this situation? What was he supposed to say? His hand adjusted from where it gripped the strap of his crossbow. "It's going to be alright… we're going to clean you up, okay?" Carol hummed. "Get you some fresh clothes.." The sound of pit-pattering water hit the air as the cloth was lifted from the swirling scarlet water. Mixed in with the coiling wall of moisture was the familiar tang of blood. Daryl stepped from the entrance and turned on his heels, heading back down toward the staircase. He would speak with her later-
"He…" Jasmine's voice croaked. The sound was so familiar that it stood out above the sound of the creaking pipes and running water. The archer stopped in his tracks. At first, Daryl wasn't sure if he had heard the next few words correctly. It didn't make sense, yet as soon as he heard them, they gushed with truth. "He raped me." The world had been yanked out from beneath his feet. Daryl staggered, catching himself on the wall. The sloshing of the drenched cloth ceased. "Jasmine, honey… I'm… I…"
"This is his baby. Not Rick's … and certainly not Daryl's," rasped the gore-smeared woman. She sounded so hollow. "So you all can stop looking at me like I'm just some whore."