The Streets

Premise: NonZA AU. A homeless man and a runaway girl cross paths in a bad side of town. (Might do an expansion fic of this in the future.)

Genre: Angst/Drama


Daryl had been living in the streets for almost two years. He was more of a redneck, a country boy if anything, but things went to to sh*t after his brother wound up in prison again and now he was stranded in the big city trying to scrounge for money however he could. On an average day, he could manage to get maybe a few bucks from recycling cans. On a lucky day, he would get enough to buy a pack of smokes.

He knew that hunting in the city park was every bit of illegal but it was better food in his mind than digging trash bins. Hell, squirrel meat was much more preferable than the food at the men's shelter.

His hunting would take place late at night when the police were less likely to keep a good watch. He knew every square inch of the park and often hid secret stashes throughout for when he needed them. Tonight would be the last good night of hunting for a while. It was going to be the first freeze of the season and Daryl was ready to practically hibernate in his winter home underneath the old railway station.

He made his rounds collecting his stashes and his squirrels and storing whatever he could in his grocery cart. What few people had the courage to walk about at night, paid him no need and Daryl was treated as the typical inner-city bum that he was. In a way, no matter how miserable and terrifying it seemed, Daryl didn't mind it. He liked the quiet and the loneliness.

Of course, it wasn't always liked that, not in the part of the city where he lived. He had to be cautious of the gangs that often came out at night and most of the time out of nowhere. The largest and most dangerous of these gangs were known to most people as "The Walkers" or "The Walking Dead" because they often walked the worst part of the cities late at night where police never bothered with them. Their trade was mostly in drugs, but they were also notorious for their vicious murders. Their victims weren't shot but rather it seemed like they were eaten alive. And the gang members never showed their faces, but instead wore masks that made them looked like zombies. Daryl had a few close calls with the notorious gang in the past but it wasn't anything he couldn't handle.

He always tried to make sure that he finished his business in the park in a short time. The Walkers didn't come to the park every night as they were unpredictable. Daryl could never be too careful.

He had a special stash of blankets and food under one of the old bridges in the park. None of the other bums would bother with it as the under-bridges provided none of the comfort or warmth that most people believed.

But as Daryl got closer he could see movement under the bridge. The person, whoever it was, had pulled out a trash bag and was digging through it.

The fury began to build. Someone had found his stash and was now digging through it. It wasn't late enough in the night be one of The Walkers but Daryl didn't care. A thief is a thief and he wasn't going to tolerate this. He pulled out his crossbow from his grocery cart and cautiously made his way over, not making his presence known until he jumped out in surprise.

"Best you stay away from that!"

The bag dropped to the ground. Daryl only flinched a little upon realizing that the thief was just some skinny blonde chick but he was still angry about the situation. The girl put her hands up and was shaking from both the cold and the fear.

"I'm sor-ry...," she stuttered. "I...I thought it wa-as trash."

Daryl believed none of it. "Yeah, I bet you did."

"Sorry. Pl-ease let me go."

"I don't need some cheapskate trying to steal from me and you sure don't look like no bum. I have half a mind to call the police on your ass."

"No, don't! I'll give you what you want. Just please, don't call the police!" The girl was panicking and crying. Jesus, Daryl thought. The police threat was merely an empty threat. It wasn't like they were gonna give a sh*t if some girl tried to steal from a homeless man. If anything, SHE would be the assumed victim of an assumed crime in this situation.

Daryl lowered his crossbow. "Go on. Get outta here."

He kept his eyes on her as she dropped down from the under bridge and walked past him. Her presence in this park, let alone this area of the city, seemed very unusual as she was by herself, late at night, and carried only a small backpack. She wore a jacket and a white beanie but it barely enough to stave off the cold front that was coming in.

She stopped but didn't look back at him. "Do you...know a place around here where I can sleep tonight? An empty place?"

Was this girl serious? Didn't she have her own place or something? Because she was sure dressed like she did. This was no bum he was dealing with. Female bums, if they weren't prostitutes, they were crackheads who had aged terribly.

"Get yourself a bed at the women's shelter. What use is it bein' around here?"

"I can't go there. I'm trying to hide," she said.

A runaway, Daryl thought. It was the best explanation for a girl in her situation. But why runaway to the worst part of the city without any safe haven? She freaked out a bit at his threat to call the cops. She had to have committed a crime. "What d'ya do?" he asked. "Steal a scrunchie or somethin'?"

"It was something I didn't do...," she said. "...and something I wouldn't do."

So it really was that bad, Daryl thought. "You're outta your damn mind bein' around here. You never heard of The Walkers?"

The girl shook her head.

"This area here's part of their turf. You stick around here, you're gonna lose your skin...for real."

"Y-you...," she gave a nervous chuckle. "You can't be serious."

"Haven't you seen the sh*t on the news? Bodies found with their flesh torn out, like they were bit? That was them. The Walkers."

Daryl could see the girl get really shaken by what he was saying. She was looking all around in a bit of a panic now. But Daryl had enough of it. If this girl wanted to hang around here and get herself killed, that definitely wasn't his problem. It would be her own damn fault for running away to the worst part of the city in the first place.

He went to pick up the trash can she dropped and put it in his grocery cart. She was just standing there as he pushed the thing past her. It was definitely nearing the hour. There was poor lighting in this area of the park and it was now just them. The noises of nearby traffic were now dead. He took his time walking away from her but he didn't know why. Clearly he was in a hurry to get back to his place, less some other bum came across it and took his for his own for the winter. That would suck.

Only after pushing his cart for a minute did he take one back glance at her. She was now sitting on a concrete bench, hugging her knees close to her while she tried to stave off the night cold.

'Son of a bitch,' he grumbled. "Don't got any idea what you're doin', do ya, girl?"

She seem confused now and that just made Daryl agitated. "Well come on, then. Less you wanna stay out here."

The girl cautiously got to her feet and picked up her bag. She trailed behind Daryl. The old railway station was just a couple of block away from the park and it was indeed like entering a different world. Many chain-link fences, but Daryl already knew the tricks in getting past them. The structures in this part of town were crumbling, the only color that stood out was the graffiti.

They stopped at the entrance of a tunnel that was clearly pitch black from within. Daryl took all his stuff out from the grocery cart.

"I ain't the only one who lives around here," he told her. "And they don't take kindly to being woken up. So stay close and stay quiet."

Daryl made his way in but the girl was hesitant about entering the dark abyss. Not that it matter anymore. Lucky for her, Daryl was more patient than he wanted to be right now and didn't walk too far ahead. He stuck to the old railroad tracks as they were the best path. Even in the darkness, the girl could make out the shadows of sleeping figures against the walls, covered in sleeping bags, tarps, whatever they had to find warmth in their rest. There were likely others in the tunnel that she couldn't see but they were getting less frequent as they ventured further in. She tried to hold her breath to keep herself from making noise but it was ruined by the loud growling of her stomach. She flinched but nothing. The figures were thankfully unstirred from their rest.

They stopped at what seemed like a small pile of rubble blocking the path but Daryl crawled over it with ease so the girl followed. The tunnel ended on the other side of the rubble just a dozen feet away. The only thing between the rubble and the wall was a sewer lid that Daryl removed with ease. "Down here."

Daryl led her down the sewer hole while battling the smells that overtook them. The sewage drain at the bottom was no longer functioning but it didn't stop the garbage or the rats from coming in.

"Home sweet home," he tells her. They turned a corner into a hollow concrete room. There was a small light seeping from the cracks above, likely from a streetlight. Aside from that, the room was dingy, with only a broken couch, a bean bag chair, and a sorry excuse of a mattress as the only pieces of furniture. Discarded cigarette cartons and trashbags were everywhere.

From one of the piles of junk, Daryl pulled out an old pot and started a small fire in it. He topped it with a broken stove grate.

"What do you eat down here?" the girl asked him.

"I don't eat rat if that's what you're thinkin'," Daryl said. "Not unless it's all I got. You live down here...sometimes it's what you gotta do...to survive." He opened up one of the trash bags he had brought down and pulled out a can of corn to warm up. "This stuff ain't my thing," he said as he opened the can with his knife. To the girl's surprise he handed the open can to her as well as a plastic fork. And she didn't hesitate to scarf that can down, a testament to how little she had eaten since she wound up in her god-forsaken situation.

Noises from above alerted them. It was the sounds of yelling and in some cases screaming. The light from above seemed to be flashing from the movement of persons above them. It didn't shake Daryl. He knew what it was.

"Walker night. Looks like you were wise to come down here."

"Will it be like that every night?"

"Not all the time. You just gotta be smart...stay out of their hair. Cops can't do nuthin' about them, so everyone justs let 'em have at it."

She started to realize for the first time how surprisingly warm it was in the sewers compared the world above. She could see why he would want to live down here, but she wasn't so sure if this would seal the deal on a new lifestyle. Given her situation though, her options were limited.

"Do you think you could teach me...what I'd haveta do? I have people people looking for me. I'm trying to keep a low profile."

"For starters, need to lose that get-up. Might be fine if you're tryin' to blend in with normal people but if you plan on livin' out here...outta sight, you gotta dress the part." Daryl reached over and tossed her a worn out jean jacket. It definitely smelled of something foul, some form of drugs no doubt. He also took the blue baseball cap he had been wearing and put it on top of her head. "Now you're lookin' like a real hobo."

The clothes were definitely not fit for her small frame but she supposed that was the point. The man knew and lived this life, so maybe this could work. Maybe she could adapt. It was the only thing she had now.

"I'm Beth...," she said. "Thank you."

"Daryl," he said. He hadn't prepared for a winter with other people, unless it was his brother. He wasn't good around people outside of his blood. It didn't seem like he and Beth could get along without one of them cracking under the pressure. Only time could tell now. "You're welcome."