I'm very flattered at the interest this story has garnered. Of course there is a legion of eager Daryl fans, but I know a lot of you were nervous whether this would be a Mary-Sue story or a plot that's been done before. I truly have taken all of these things into consideration, especially before beginning this story. But, like I've said before, I hope to make this story in a realm of its own, be it through plot or character development. Which is a word that scares me because I've had trouble with it. Character development. *Shudders* Anywho, thank you very much for the kind reviews and story alerts/favorites. Sorry it took so long to upload, but know that I appreciate everyone's interest so far. Don't forget, this is my interpretation of events and characters. So, if you're freaked out about how Daryl is acting, you don't have to read on. Hope you enjoy!
Chapter 2 - I Ain't Jesus
Paige's stomach growled for the twentieth time that evening and rather than shrugging it off like she'd done every other time, the girl decided to stop for the moment, focusing on adjusting her sight to the darkness. Night had descended far too quickly, and unfortunately, the temperature refused to lower along with it. This made it disgustingly easy for mosquitos and other insects to become stuck to the sweat trickling over her neck and arms, making everything slick and sticky.
I should have taken that man's offer.
But a stubborn shake of the head soon followed this thought. She had known virtually nothing about him and trusting her instincts in a world where survival overruled compassion, could have lead to a very dangerous situation.
So, no matter how desperately she needed food inside her, the chronic pangs causing her knees to wobble being clear signs of this, Paige knew better. In the end, denying the request had been in her best interest.
Seconds later, however, she reconsidered.
Each step she took became slower than the last and breathing was becoming intensely difficult. Her lungs felt constructed, as if not enough oxygen could move out of them and the heat made her vision blurry and unfocused. A few times, her fingers threatened to lose their grip on Winston completely while the beat of her pulse receded to nearly a snail's pace.
But none of this could beat the frustrating realization that she'd abandoned her path back to the grass lands somewhere half a mile back, too disoriented to realize where the turn off point would be.
Ceasing in her footsteps again, Paige attempted to scan the area quickly, but this only made her head spin. And every second or so, back spots popped up in her vision, blocking out the moon light scattered through the trees.
Definitely not how I'd envisioned my death. Heat stroke and starvation. How...uneventful.
Her stomach pushed a violent convulsion through her, momentarily paralyzing both legs in place.
But Paige forced her feet to move ahead, fighting back the agony and heaviness of each step.
Other than her labored breathing, the night laid dormant and could almost be mistaken for any other one prior to the apocalypse. Relatively peaceful, insect infested, and insufferably humid.
"Ugh," she suddenly groaned, squeezing her eyes shut as another series of pangs shot through her.
In the midst of the cramped pains, her fingers finally loosened completely around Winston, dropping the weapon near a group of mossy rocks sheltered within a tree's root.
Half of her consciously comprehended this loss, but it couldn't command her brain to kneel down and search for it. Instead, the only instinct it followed was survival, draining the last of her energy in the process
So, Paige continued forward, beating back the submission her body wished to concede in.
Until about a quarter mile. Then, her legs simply gave out.
A last second prayer for a painless death remained unheard by the indifferent trees.
DPDDPDDPDDPD
Daryl woke up just as the sun broke the horizon and fled the camp with crossbow at his side before anyone could question him. He was sure they were all curious about his mentionin' of the Grass Fox (the nickname just stuck), but he didn't have the patience to discuss her anymore. She'd even followed him into his damn dreams and he knew enough of this infrequent occurrence that it wasn't a good sign.
This morning, he was gonna take a nice long walk and put some arrows into a few squirrels. Nothing like huntin' to rid a person of pesterin' thoughts.
But almost right away, his hunt didn't go quite as planned.
This time 'round, he was far more vigilant of his surroundings. Sure as hell didn't want a repeat of yesterday, 'specially since no one had his back.
It seemed like with every step he took, however, some critter scampered off. He tried lowering his feet carefully and quietly, knowing how he planted his foot determined whether an animal would pick him up, but it was like the rodents had super sonic hearing that morning. As soon as his foot came down in the dirt, away went another animal.
It got to the point where Daryl shot an arrow at a rabbit long after it'd scurried off, just for the sake of releasin' some steam.
When he stomped to the area he'd shot it, the arrow was nowhere to be found.
He cursed constantly throughout his failed hunt, wondering why the hell he was so on edge. He'd gotten in at least six hours of sleep, a pretty big accomplishment considerin' the state of the world. But for some reason or other, his nerves were shot.
Worse still, after an hour had gone by, he realized his feet were negating toward the grass lands he'd been at yesterday. And somewhere in his head, a plan was formulatin' without his consent.
By the time noon had arrived, Daryl's feet were pushin' him down the same trail he'd followed yesterday after catchin' up with the Grass Fox.
"The fuck am I doin'?" he muttered to himself, pausing suddenly.
A few birds chirped in reply, the leaves rustled their acknowledgement, and even the sun offered up a glaring nod, but otherwise, Daryl couldn't come up with a sound excuse.
At the moment, he was following the girl's trail. Or at least determining which way she'd swerved after she left the area. It took him a moment to realize she'd been throwin' him off and for some reason or other, this made him even more determined to find her.
What would he do once he found her?
He hadn't a clue in hell.
But the thought of owing somebody somethin', 'specially after them monumentally savin' your ass, pressed down upon him without mercy.
And so he returned to his reluctant tracking.
The Grass Fox had indeed wound a sophisticated path, focusing on a veer off that would eventually lead to the other end of the grass lands he'd first been crouching in. That way, the familiar area would serve as a reference point to where she actually wanted to go.
But for some reason or other, the twigs breaking apart on the forest floor were forming into swerves, as if she couldn't decide which way to go.
Coulda gotten lost.
But this made no sense to him. She knew the woods as well as the area, that much was obvious from her confident stroll.
So, this sudden stumbling didn't add up, 'specially since it looked like she never made it back to the grass lands.
Briefly, he wondered if a walker could have intercepted her path, but as far as his squinted stare could tell, no other prints interrupted her own.
"Where were you goin'?" he mumbled, glancing around his feet at the bent vegetation.
The trees didn't answer, nor did they appear familiar from the evening before. So on top of branching off from the grass lands, the Grass Fox's path appeared to go on without destination. It just kept on zig zaggin' around until-.
Daryl abruptly ceased in his steps, eyes struggling to pick out the unfamiliar form slumped over a log approximately 100 yards out ahead. Immediately, his crossbow pointed up and with an unnatural gracefulness, he tip toed his way forward, holding his breath.
Almost instantly he realized it to be a human, but whether they were walker or otherwise, remained to be seen. In fact, all he could see from his angle in between the trees was the back of the figure, a white t-shirt glued to their back. Like the person simply fell over the log in exhaustion.
For the moment, he forgot the sweat gathering at his neck or the gnats buzzing past his ear. The heat melted away as he kept moving forward, fingers gripping his crossbow painfully.
It only took a careful minute of silent gliding and passing through a particularly thick section of woodland before he finally processed what he was seeing.
"Shit."
Against his better judgment, Daryl lowered the crossbow to his side and jogged the remaining yards forward.
Slumped over the dry log was none other than the Grass Fox, hanging limp and seemingly lifeless, hair matted and full of leaves, white t-shirt torn at and stained with dry blood.
For a fleeting moment, Daryl didn't know what to do. Yeah, he had tracked her, but a part of him reasoned that she'd probably fled the area. Or maybe hoped she had so a confrontation wouldn't occur.
Actually findin' her, 'specially in such a terrible shape, momentarily made him freeze up.
She saved my ass. Am I really gonna just let her die?
And this final thought was enough to spur him into action.
Setting his weapon down, but not so it'd be out of reach, Daryl knelt beside the body and swiftly scooped her off the log, pulling her over one forearm.
One hand moved to her forehead, nearly recoilin' at how hot the skin felt, then moved down to her mouth, frownin' when ragged breathing blew into his fingers, slower than even his own when he was pursuin' an animal.
Spreading his knees apart, Daryl descended from a kneeling position to a sitting one on the forest floor, not liking how vulnerable of a position he'd taken on, but knowing it to be necessary so he could allow the girl's body to slump back into his.
Her head lolled on to his right shoulder and with a fumble, Daryl pulled out a rag from his right pocket.
Her lips were dry and chapped, cheeks nearly gaunt like, would be if another week passed by of starvation. But Daryl ignored all these warnin' signs that on any other occasion, could probably unease his stomach a little, as another hand worked at uncapping the canteen at his side.
Once this task was successful, he sloshed some cold water over the rag and re-capped the canteen.
With a deep exhale, his hand moved up to her forehead, patting down over the heated flesh quickly, making a path down around her cheeks and falling beneath the curve of her jaw. There was enough cold water to effectively bring back any person caught in a heat stroke.
However, his method hardly stirred the girl.
"C'mon," he muttered, forcing the girl's body even tighter to his own, allowing easier access to the opposite side of her face.
One hand continued the patting, far more insistent now, making sure to soak and neutralize the heated skin until his knuckles could brush across the slipperiness of her forehead.
And yet, the Grass Fox still failed to respond.
Briefly pausing, Daryl placed two fingers to the pulse in her neck.
"Shit," he growled again.
The low beat told him she may have been lying on the log for hours prior to his stumble upon her.
So, he returned to the remedy, making sure to work his way 'specially around the crown of her head.
An unexpected flinch passed through her so quickly that for a moment, Daryl wasn't sure if he saw right.
But he persisted with patting the cloth over her face until he could force a response from her again.
It only took a minute and a half before her eyes wearily opened up, aiming a blood shot hazel gaze directly at him.
The odd mix of color momentarily caught him off guard, rag slipping from his fingers as the reddish, nearly auric, hazel flickered in between awareness and wherever the hell she'd been before he'd brought her back.
She looked like she'd just fought off death and grasped what little of life remained. She looked...raw and naked. And that, for some incredibly fucked up reason, fascinated Daryl.
"Jesus, it's you," she croaked unexpectedly, one hand shooting out, attempting to grasp the side of his face. The weight of her arm, however, forced the limb to drop like an anchor, over her chest.
"I ain't Jesus," Daryl murmured, senses returning to him.
A dry grin cracked over her lips.
"If you're not Jesus, will you let me rest till I meet him?"
Slowly, her hand clenched into a fist and for a second, her eyes grew unfocused.
"Certainly ain't gonna let you die just cause you're tired," he ended up responding gruffly, unsure where the hell his compassion was comin' from. Or why he felt like he was channelin' Dale.
"Not trying to kill myself," she defended lightly, hand skipping to her stomach. "Just anticipating a peaceful end. Wouldn't be so cruel to deny me that, would you?"
Daryl didn't speak for a moment, unnerved at the consideration he was taking over the question.
"You...wanna die?"
She tried laughing, but all that came out was a raspy cough.
"I'm dying of heat stroke," she voiced, trying to wet her lips. "Compared to the other ways I could die, this is mercy."
Again, that faraway look settled down in her eyes, and for a moment, Daryl truly did imagine leavin' her just where he found her, forgettin' about the debt he felt he owed her. And he knew in a way, that her words held reason. It was either die now, quick and probably painless, or get torn apart by a walker, or worse - becomin' one.
That's fucked up, lettin' her die. And you'd be a sunofabitch if you didn't know that. Shit, you may not have been able to save Merle, but that don't mean another person's gotta die.
Without warnin', Daryl sprang to his knees, one hand slipping underneath the Grass Fox's back and the other moving beneath her jean-clad legs.
He then lifted her up with unnatural ease and silently promised himself to make sure she got lots of food in her. He wanted to actually break a sweat the next time he had to lift her up.
A little bit of awareness sank into the Grass Fox's hazel eyes as she peered down from her heightened position, nose scrunched up in a curious crinkle.
Then, ever so leisurely, her eyes met Daryl's.
"You're really doing this?"
Despite claimin' to want to meet Jesus, Daryl could hear the faint hope in her voice.
"You're surprise is just as clear as mine," he informed, securing his arms underneath her.
"I'll be dead by the time you get me to your camp," she tried pointing out, as if she didn't trust their position.
Hell, she probably didn't trust him. Even if she knew what he planned on doin'.
"That a bet?" he threatened.
But she didn't cave underneath the level of his stare like most people did. In fact, something inside her eyes seemed to soften at the answer.
That is until she suddenly grabbed a hold of his shirt with one hand, fingers tugging desperately at the fabric.
"You have to get Winston," she commanded hoarsely, still unable to pronounce words clearly. "Please. If you-d-do this, you have to get him."
Confused, Daryl lifted up an eyebrow.
"Winston a brother or somethin'?" he asked, wondering if she looked after another person. Which didn't seem right considerin' the nature of her exits.
Shaking her head as best as she could, the Grass Fox made eye contact with him, the locked gaze nearly forcin' Daryl to forget the following words.
"Snipe-r."
And that was the last word she was able to get out before passing out, head slumping back in an unnatural angle, leaving Daryl to only stare dumbly down at her, wondering who the hell gave their weapon a name.
DPDDPDDPDDPD
"Uh...guys?"
"Not right now, Glenn," Lori brushed off, tending to Carl's bloodied knee. "You have got to listen to Dale when you and Sophia play by the fire pit. The ground isn't as steady there."
"Sorry," Carl mumbled, flinching at the dabs of peroxide.
"Guys?" Glenn tried again, a little louder, peering into the woods.
"I'm just saying," Andrea spoke from behind, landing her eyes on Dale, "that Carol should learn to defend herself. Have Rick or Shane teach her how to shoot a gun."
"When she's comfortable with that sort of responsibility, we'll talk about it with her. But she just lost her husband, Andrea," Dale noted.
"Of course she has!" Andrea exclaimed, throwing both hands from her hips in agitation. "But if she would have known how to use a gun in the first place, her husband would have never been a problem for her or Sophia. Plus, it's been a month. Sooner or later, survival is going to have to override whatever pain she's got left inside her."
"That mean you're over Amy yet?" Shane input, wiping at his gun with a dirty rag.
Andrea's eyes narrowed into angry slits, body spinning toward him.
"Don't you dare bring her into this," she seethed.
"Shane's just trying to put it into perspective," Rick mentioned, shifting through the medical supplies. "That pain of losing someone is still raw. It affects people in different ways. Just because you chose to throw up arms doesn't mean Carol will do so as well. Everyone handles pain in their own ways."
The explanation seemed to calm Andrea down for the moment.
"I'm still talking to her about it," she declared. "She may be in pain, but that doesn't mean she has to be defenseless."
"Guys!" Glenn yelled, eyes glued to the approaching figure.
All eyes shot to him, and on any other occasion, Glenn might have been a bit nervous about speaking up to the group.
But his gaze remained focused up ahead and only his confusion gave him the confidence to speak.
"Either I'm seeing Daryl Dixon carrying a woman in his arms...or there was something seriously screwed up with that river water we found," Glenn voiced aloud.
A second later and the group found what Glenn had been staring at.
"It's gotta be the water," Andrea noted in disbelief.
Dale pawed at his binoculars, nearly smacking himself in the head before taking a long look through them.
"I do believe Daryl has found his Grass Fox," he answered a moment later.
The hunter approached like he'd just stepped out of a Steven Spielberg film, the front half of a sniper poking out from behind one side of his back and the tip of his crossbow from the other, both securely strapped in with thin, tan rope. And in his arms, he carried a person, obviously passed out, and desperately in need of medical attention.
No one said a word when Daryl finally stopped, lifting the girl higher up to his upper abdomen.
"Y'all just gonna stare or actually do somethin'?" he demanded roughly.
His words were like a cannon shot fired into a silent night.
"I'll go get Carol," Lori stated immediately. "She fixed Rick up. She's the closest we have to a doctor."
It seemed like she was looking to Daryl for assurance because she only left when he nodded.
"I'll get the cot cleared off," Andrea offered, already moving to the camper. "Is she bleeding?"
"No bites," Daryl confirmed quickly.
No one asked if he was sure.
"She needs water," the hunter continued. "Strip as much clothes as you can, soak some rags and put 'em 'round the areas where the most blood circulates. Make sure her whole body gets cooled down."
"Aren't you going to do it?" Shane asked, stepping beside him.
Daryl turned to the cop.
"Take her," he motioned.
Shane didn't argue the demand, extending his arms out and accepting the girl's frail form.
"She hardly weighs anything," he acknowledged, making his way into the camper. "Hot as hell too."
Dale and Glenn followed after, but not before grabbing handfuls of canteens and rags.
Daryl only stared after them, his heart beating harder than it'd been in a long while. Not even his near death experience, which actually managed to stop his heart, came close to this.
Carol arrived shortly after, followed by Sophia and T-Dog as Rick informed them of the situation.
Time to go.
Daryl nodded at this thought, even if it felt wrong. He didn't know if the girl would survive. Her temperature had to have been nearly hittin' 110.
Leavin' now wasn't what he wanted, but like other times in his life, he felt this pressure of havin' to do so even when his mind considered the exact opposite.
So, Daryl casted the closed screen door one last look before making his way to the familiar trail of his tent.
However, halfway to the walk, a hand circled around his elbow, effectively holding him in place.
He didn't have to know what Rick wanted. The puzzlement and hidden gratitude reflected in his eyes, just as well as the silent question.
Why.
"We're even now," was Daryl's only retort.
With that, Rick released him and the hunter retreated back into his tent, head seemingly buzzing ten times faster than it'd been the night before.
So Daryl saves the day. In his usual anti-hero way, which is what we all love about him so much. But will this be enough for him? Hope you enjoyed that. Let me know your thoughts in a review.