AN: Going a bit off memory here. Season 6. Episode 6
Daryl/General POV
All Daryl knew was that he had to stick to the plan to get split up the massive herd of walkers. Abraham and Sasha had chosen their own paths, but Malcolm had chosen to stay by Daryl's side, riding alongside him on his own motorcycle. Daryl had a decent read on Malcolm; he seemed like a good kid, although this was their first time alone together. Daryl made a mental note to find an opportunity to get to know him better.
Daryl couldn't help but notice the blossoming connection between Malcolm and Brady. It was a delicate situation in Daryl's eyes. He cared deeply for Brady and didn't want to see her endure any more pain after all she had been through. He saw her slowly regaining her sense of self, and it brought a sense of relief to him. If only he could convince her to sleep in her own bed instead of the couch, he thought to himself.
Ultimately, deep down, Daryl recognized that Malcolm played a part in Brady's happiness. Daryl and her often had nightly talks if they didn't see each other during the day. It was during these moments that Daryl witnessed the positive impact Malcolm had on Brady. He saw the spark in her eyes and the genuine smiles that graced her face when she talked about him.
While Daryl couldn't shake off his protective instincts and concerns for Brady's well-being, he couldn't deny the joy he saw in her when she was with Malcolm, lately. Their budding relationship seemed to bring out a side of Brady that Daryl had missed—a sense of hope and warmth that reminded him of when they first met and he thought she was way too bubbly and annoying.
At some point, fate seemed to conspire against them as Daryl and Malcolm found themselves driven off the road by, who the fuck knows. The sudden turn of events sent Daryl's bike skidding, leaving his arm scraped and stinging from the impact. Meanwhile, Malcolm was sent ass over tea kettle, practically doing somersaults, all while being shot at.
With adrenaline pumping through his veins, Daryl wasted no time. Ignoring his own discomfort, he swiftly picked up his bike and quickly assessed the situation. Malcolm's bike was a complete wreck, and the young man held his left arm protectively, likely injured. But they couldn't afford to pause and attend to wounds just yet.
"Get on!" Daryl called to Malcolm, his voice gruff. Without a moment's hesitation, Malcolm hopped onto the back of Daryl's bike, wrapping his good arm around Daryl's waist stiffly.
They sped away from the danger, Daryl expertly maneuvering through the debris and overgrown terrain and into the bush.
Once they were in deep, they stopped from exhaustion. Malcolm was the first to dismount, followed by Daryl, both weary from the adrenaline-fueled escape. Malcolm looked a bit worse for wear, but it was Daryl who laid down on the ground to recover, closing his eyes in exhaustion.
"Well, that was a little too close for comfort," Malcolm remarked, his voice tense as he winced, attempting to lower his injured arm.
Daryl held back a sigh when he said he'd like to get to know the kid, Daryl didn't mean when they were in the middle of the bush potentially failing their mission of moving a hoard of walkers. He meant on his own terms when he felt like it and Daryl wasn't always up for talking and getting to know people. He wasn't in the mood for idle chit-chat and making new connections. He knew he had to get up and concentrate on where his people were at, where the hoard was. And he'd never admit this but where the fuck were they?
As they caught their breath, Daryl opened his eyes and glanced at Malcolm's injured arm with a raised eyebrow. "Y'okay?" he asked, more out of duty than genuine concern.
"Could be better," Malcolm replied, trying to downplay the pain.
Daryl huffed, looking around for something to help stabilize the arm. He pulled his red bandana from his back pocket, now clean thanks to Brady's thoughtful act of religiously washing it for him. It was a useful piece of cloth, so he grabbed it and started fashioning a makeshift sling without saying a word.
"Here," Daryl said curtly, handing Malcolm the improvised sling. "Wrap this around your arm to keep it steady."
Malcolm did as instructed, grateful for the assistance despite Daryl's gruff demeanor. It wasn't the friendliest interaction but Malcolm expected this kind of behavior aware that they didn't really know each other.
Daryl's attempt at radioing back to his people was met with frustrating static, leaving him more agitated than before. He had no idea where they were, and he sure as hell wasn't about to admit that to Malcolm.
"So, do you have any idea where we are?" Malcolm broke the silence, trying to fill the void with conversation.
Daryl remained silent, his eyes scanning their surroundings, searching for any familiar landmarks. He hated feeling lost, especially with an injured companion by his side, but he wasn't about to show any signs of uncertainty.
"Right..." Malcolm said awkwardly, picking up on Daryl's reluctance to share information. "So, what's the plan then, doc? We should probably get back. I think the horde is far enough away."
Daryl only hmmed in response, still biting his inner cheek. He didn't like being questioned, especially not by someone he barely knew. But he had to admit, Malcolm seemed level-headed considering the situation which he appreciated.
"We'll head east," Daryl finally spoke up, deciding to share a fraction of his plan. "There's a ridge a couple of miles from here. Good vantage point.."
Malcolm nodded, appreciating the small bit of information. "Sounds like a plan. Lead the way, boss."
Daryl smirked at the nickname, though he didn't show it. "Just follow my lead, and don't fall behind."
Malcolm chuckled, "Wouldn't dream of it."
Before they had a chance to gather their things or the bike, there was a sudden snap of a twig, catching both men's attention. Daryl's instincts kicked in, and he pried his crossbow off the side of his bike, while Malcolm swiftly grabbed his pistol from his waistband.
Together, they moved toward the source of the noise, their movements silent and cautious. However, before they could even react, another man came up behind Daryl, delivering a swift blow that knocked him out cold.
Malcolm's eyes widened in shock, and he reacted instinctively, raising his pistol and aiming it at the assailant. But before he could pull the trigger, two women appeared out of nowhere and swiftly struck him over the head, rendering him unconscious as well.
The world spun for a moment before darkness consumed him, and Malcolm's last fleeting thought was that he had underestimated the danger they were in. The women must have been watching them, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
Malcolm's eyes fluttered open, the haze of sleep slowly receding as he became aware of his surroundings. His head throbbed, and his arm felt like it had been through a fucking meat grinder. As he blinked to clear his vision, he realized his arm was no longer in a sling but instead tied tightly behind his back. Panic washed over him as he realized he and Daryl were both bound to the same tree trunk.
He looked around, trying to make sense of the situation. Three figures loomed nearby, one man and two women. The man's blond hair and half-burnt face stood out, but the women remained obscured in the shadows.
In that tense moment, Malcolm's mind raced with a whirlwind of thoughts. First and foremost, he realized his captors hadn't noticed that he was awake, giving him a slight advantage. He tried to keep his breathing steady and feigned grogginess, hoping to maintain the illusion that he was still unconscious.
Next, he desperately tried to recall if his trusty knife was still tucked away in his boot. If he could get to it, he might have a chance to cut the ropes binding him and Daryl. But with his injured arm, it seemed like a daunting task. He gingerly shifted his leg, feeling for the familiar handle of the knife, and relief washed over him when he still felt it at the back of his heel in his boot.
Despite his predicament, his thoughts turned to Brady. He was suddenly grateful that she had decided to stay behind and wasn't in this dangerous situation with him and Daryl. She was strong, but she didn't need to be dragged into this mess.
The blond man noticed Malcolm stirring and approached them.
"Wake up," he kicked Malcolm in the foot, the same one with the knife in it.
Malcolm faked a groan, "Is it time to wake up already?" he said, trying to be cheeky. It was in his nature, and he knew it annoyed some people to no end.
The man scowled at him, not appreciating the humor. "Shut your mouth. You're in no position to be smart."
Malcolm smirked, refusing to let fear show on his face. "Wouldn't want to disappoint you," he retorted, fully aware of the dangerous game he was playing. He honestly couldn't help him sometimes, it was also partially a defense mechanism.
The man's eyes narrowed, promptly ignoring Malcolm and taking out his pistol before yelling, "Get up." Into Daryl's face.
"Hey, get up!" The man repeated, pointing his gun in Daryl's face as Daryl slowly opened his eyes, glaring at the man. Malcolm's nerves heightened slightly, while Daryl's expression remained gloomy, dark, and annoyed.
"We're moving. Here's the deal," the blond continued, "Neither of you say shit, and I don't kill you."
"We ain't who you think," Daryl grumbled. His pride was stung, he was pissed at himself for letting these people get the better of him and Malcolm.
That was clearly not the thing to say as the man cocked his gun, his voice steady, "Say something else."
"Go ahead," Daryl retorted, remaining unfazed.
The unknown man untied Daryl and Malcolm from the tree but kept their hands tied, pushing them towards the women and saying, "Follow them."
Malcolm was trying to figure out Daryl's game plan but ultimately wasn't sure and decided to trust his lead. After all, Aaron and Brady spoke highly of Daryl, which gave Malcolm some reassurance not to act hastily. He stayed close to Daryl, keeping an eye on their captors and trying to assess the situation as they followed the women, unsure of what was waiting for them ahead.
They had been walking through a burnt forest for over an hour, the silence hanging heavily between them. Both Malcolm and Daryl had been assessing the trio, instinctively sizing them up as they would when deciding whether to let someone into Alexandria or not. Malcolm felt like he might have been inclined to accept the women if he met them under different circumstances, but the man gave him the wrong vibes—call it his sixth sense. He couldn't help but wonder if Daryl felt the same way.
As they continued to trudge forward, Malcolm kept a close eye on their captors, trying to read their intentions. The women seemed more guarded as if they were following the man's lead, while the man himself exuded an air of unpredictability and danger. Daryl's expressions were hard to read, but Malcolm noticed the subtle tension in his shoulders, a sign that he was also on high alert.
At one point, Daryl attempted to reason with the blond man, offering to help them out, but it was clear the strangers didn't trust them. And honestly, Daryl couldn't blame them. In this post-apocalyptic world, everyone had to be on guard, and strangers were often more dangerous than they seemed.
Eventually, the group arrived at a fenced-in town area, supposedly holding supplies, but it was evident that the place had been overrun with walkers. Daryl's instincts kicked in when he saw an opportunity to escape when the strangers' backs were turned.
Without hesitation, Daryl made a split-second decision. He motioned to Malcolm, indicating their plan, and they both sprang into action. Even with their hands still tied, they knew they had to take the risk. Stealing a moment of distraction, Daryl swiftly snatched their captors' bags, and Malcolm followed suit.
With the stolen bags in hand, they ran off without looking back, adrenaline coursing through their veins as they dashed through the burnt forest, desperate to put as much distance between themselves and the strangers as possible. Daryl's heart pounded in his chest.
Malcolm kept pace with Daryl, his injured arm throbbing with each step, but he pushed through the pain, driven by the urgency to escape. As they ran, Malcolm couldn't help but feel a mix of fear and exhilaration.
The burnt forest blurred past them as they kept running, their breaths coming out in ragged gasps.
In the midst of their escape, Malcolm's mind wandered back to Alexandria and to Brady, wondering if she was safe, hoping she didn't worry about them. But he couldn't allow himself to be consumed by those thoughts now.
When they finally felt they had put a safe distance between themselves and the strangers, Daryl and Malcolm slowed down, both panting from the adrenaline-fueled escape. Malcolm gave a knowing look, indicating that he had a knife hidden in his boot, and without hesitation, Daryl made use of it to free their bound hands.
As they caught their breath, Malcolm couldn't help but voice his curiosity, "Do you think it's weird that they didn't shoot after us?"
Daryl grunted a taciturn response that Malcolm had come to expect from the seasoned survivor.
"Yeah, you're probably right," Malcolm continued, undeterred by the lack of conversation, "conserve bullets and all."
Daryl resumed rummaging through the stolen pack, searching for anything useful, while Malcolm found the silence in the forest almost unbearable. He was naturally talkative and chatty, and the quietness seemed to gnaw at him.
"Have you been kidnapped before?" Malcolm finally asked, feeling the need to break the silence. He figured they were past the immediate danger now, and maybe Daryl would be willing to share a bit more about himself.
Daryl paused his search, giving Malcolm a serious look, and for a moment, Malcolm thought he wouldn't get an answer. But after a brief moment of silence, Daryl spoke, "Yeah, once or twice."
Malcolm nodded, satisfied with the response. "That was actually my first, kind of, well, like that anyway," he admitted, shifting uncomfortably as he put his arm back into a makeshift sling.
"Didn't take you for the nervous type," Daryl observed, his tone still gruff but not unkind.
"I'm not," Malcolm replied, trying to sound more confident than he felt, "just don't like not having control."
Daryl seemed to nod in understanding, neither did he.
AN: To be continued.