Chapter 2: A New Home

Daryl Dixon moved silently, crossbow at the ready, eyes scanning for movement. The world had gone to piss and shit, and trust was a rare commodity. He usually avoided paths that showed signs of the undead and the living equally, preferring to only waste the energy if he absolutely had to. Still, something about the faint trail he'd picked up intrigued him—tracks, two sets of them, small and light. Definitely not walkers.

He pushed through a thicket and froze. Ahead of him, barely visible in the dappled light, stood two figures, two young women. One, dark-haired and fierce-eyed, held a rusty machete, her stance protective. The other, blonde and wiry, kept close, clutching a small pack to her chest like it was her lifeline. They were dirty, exhausted, and obviously on edge.

Raya stood at just over five feet, her long brunette hair tied back in a messy braid, though several strands had escaped and framed her sharp, hazel eyes. Those eyes were perpetually scanning, always alert, as if the world might crumble further at any moment. Her figure, curvy and athletic. She wore a tattered tank top, stained and frayed from months of survival, paired with loose cargo pants that had seen better days. Her appearance was a testament to her resilience, a fighter who refused to let the world break her.

Jasmine, on the other hand, was taller and leaner, her silver-blonde hair a stark contrast to the dirt and grime that clung to her skin. Her deep brown eyes held a quiet strength. She wore a loose t-shirt and tight shorts, her attire practical yet somehow still reflecting the gentleness of her nature. Jasmine's demeanor was softer.

Daryl stepped forward, cautious but deliberate, his crossbow pointed downward but not entirely at ease. His rugged face, framed by unkempt hair and a scruffy beard, was as wary as his voice when he finally spoke. "Ain't smart sneakin' 'round these woods," he said, his Southern drawl low and gravelly.

Raya shifted slightly, raising her machete higher. Her knuckles were white from how tightly she gripped the handle. "We're not sneaking. We're surviving," she replied, her tone defiant but laced with exhaustion.

Daryl's sharp blue eyes studied her, noting the tension in her jaw and the fire in her hazel gaze. She was a fighter—strong, brave, and clearly the protector in this pair.

The blonde one took a step closer to Raya, her shoulders hunching defensively. Her eyes, filled with a quiet empathy as they flicked nervously to the shadows. She looked ready to run if things went south. "Ain't many people left just wanderin'," Daryl continued, his piercing gaze sizing them up. "Y'all been runnin'? Lookin' for somethin'?"

Raya held her ground, her machete still raised. "What's it to you?" she shot back, her voice sharp but steady. She wasn't about to let her guard down, not for anyone.

He admired her nerve—it reminded him of himself in his earlier days, when trust was nothing more than a liability. "Depends," he said slowly, his gaze flicking between the two women. "Y'all sick? Bitten?"

"No," Jasmine blurted, her voice trembling but earnest. "We're clean. Just… tired. Hungry."

Daryl studied the two women carefully, his sharp eyes flicking between them. They didn't look like a threat—just two people barely hanging on, their exhaustion and desperation written across their faces. But he'd learned the hard way not to trust appearances. His grip on the crossbow tightened as he let out a quiet sigh, running a hand through his messy hair.

"Before I tell you anything," he said gruffly, his voice steady but edged with caution, "I've got questions. Three of 'em. You answer straight, or this conversation's over."

Raya's grip on her machete tightened, her jaw clenching as she exchanged a wary glance with Jasmine. "What kind of questions?" she asked, her tone guarded.

Daryl didn't flinch, his gaze locked on Raya. "First: How many walkers have you killed?"

Raya's eyes flickered, her expression hardening. "Lost count," she said bluntly. "Too many to keep track."

Jasmine hesitated, her voice soft and uncertain. "A handful. Maybe five or six. I… I try to avoid them when I can."

Daryl nodded, his face giving nothing away. "Second question: How many people have you killed?"

Raya's grip on the machete tightened further, her knuckles white. She didn't answer right away, her gaze dropping to the ground. "Several," she admitted finally, her voice low and strained. The word hung heavy in the air, unspoken truths weighing her down.

Jasmine shook her head quickly, her voice trembling. "None. I've never… I couldn't…"

Daryl studied them both, his expression unreadable. "Last question: Why?"

Raya's eyes met his, fierce and unflinching. "Because I had to," she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil beneath it. "To protect myself. To protect her." She glanced at Jasmine, her resolve clear. "I did what I had to do to keep us alive."

Jasmine's voice was barely above a whisper. "I… I've only killed walkers. To survive. To get away. I don't want to hurt anyone."

Daryl nodded slowly, his gaze lingering on Raya for a moment longer. He could see the weight she carried, the darkness she tried to keep at bay. He didn't trust her—not yet—but he understood her. And he respected her honesty.

Finally, he let out a quiet sigh, lowering his crossbow slightly. "Got a group back at a prison," he said, his voice steady but gruff. "Safe enough, for now. Got food. Shelter. You wanna come, you follow me. But you make one wrong move…" He raised the crossbow just slightly, the unspoken threat clear.

Raya and Jasmine exchanged a look. Jasmine's face was etched with a mix of hesitation and hope, and she gave Raya the faintest nod. Raya slowly lowered her machete, though her eyes remained locked on Daryl's. "We'll follow," she said carefully. "But if this is some kind of trap…"

"Don't care enough to trap ya," Daryl muttered, already turning back toward the direction of the prison. "Let's go."

The two women followed him, their steps cautious and their trust fragile. They didn't know if they were walking into salvation or another nightmare, but desperation had a way of making choices for you.

The walk through the woods was tense, the silence broken only by the crunch of leaves underfoot and the occasional distant groan of a walker. Daryl led the way, his crossbow slung across his back, his sharp eyes scanning the surroundings. Raya followed closely, her machete still in hand, while Jasmine trailed behind, clutching her pack like it was the only thing tethering her to sanity.

As they neared the edge of the forest, the faint outline of the prison came into view—a hulking structure of concrete and steel, its fences lined with makeshift reinforcements. Daryl stopped abruptly, turning to face the two women. His expression was unreadable, but his stance was firm, his hand resting lightly on the crossbow.

"Before we go any further," he said, his voice low and steady, "there's somethin' you need to know. We don't let just anyone in. Got rules. Got questions. You follow 'em, or you don't get through those gates."

Raya tightened her grip on the machete, her jaw clenching. Jasmine glanced nervously at her, then back at Daryl. "We'll follow the rules," Raya said, her tone steady. "Just don't give us a reason not to."

Daryl nodded, his gaze flicking briefly to Jasmine before turning back toward the prison. "Fair enough," he muttered. "Let's go."

Raya and Jasmine exchanged a glance, relief mingled with apprehension. As they reached the gates of the prison, the atmosphere shifted. The imposing steel fence loomed ahead, reinforced with barbed wire and patched sections—evidence of the group's constant vigilance. Inside, the faint hum of life could be heard, muffled conversations, tools clanging, a distant laugh—things that were rare in this new world. For Raya and Jasmine, the sight was both hopeful and intimidating.

At the gate, Carl stood watch, his rifle slung across his shoulder, his young face hardened by years of survival in a world that demanded maturity far beyond his age. His shaggy brown hair fell messily across his forehead, and the wide brim of his father's sheriff's hat cast a shadow over his determined blue eyes. Though he was still just a teenager, Carl carried himself with a quiet intensity, every movement deliberate. The rifle rested easily in his hands, but there was nothing casual about his readiness to use it.

Next to him was Michonne, her lean, muscular frame poised and alert, her katana resting lightly in her grip. Her dreadlocks framed a face that was both beautiful and intimidating, her dark eyes sharp and unyielding as they took in every detail of the approaching group. Michonne radiated strength and authority, a woman shaped by loss and survival, whose trust had to be earned the hard way. The tension in her stance made it clear that she was ready to act if things went south.

As Daryl emerged from the woods with Raya and Jasmine following close behind, Carl and Michonne's attention immediately shifted, their wariness palpable. Daryl, rugged and scruffy, with his trademark crossbow slung across his back, walked with a deliberate ease that belied the tension in his body. His dark hair stuck to his forehead, damp with sweat, and his piercing blue eyes flicked toward Michonne and Carl in silent acknowledgment.

Carl stepped forward first, his gaze flickering between the two women. He took in Raya's sharp eyes, the tight braid that barely contained her long hair, and the protective grip she had on her machete. but it was her stance—tense, defiant—that caught his attention. She looked like she was ready to fight the world if she had to.

Beside her, Jasmine stood taller and leaner, her silver-blonde hair clinging to her face in damp strands. Her deep brown eyes darted nervously around, never settling in one place for long. She seemed fragile at first glance, but there was a quiet strength in the way she stayed close to Raya, ready to follow her lead.

"Daryl, who are they?" Carl asked, his voice calm but laced with suspicion. He kept his rifle slung over his shoulder, but his fingers hovered near the trigger.

"They're new," Daryl replied simply, his gravelly tone giving little away.

Michonne's expression hardened, her dark eyes narrowing as she stepped closer. "New?" she echoed, her voice carrying a sharp edge. Her gaze swept over Raya and Jasmine, lingering on their disheveled appearances. She didn't miss the way Jasmine's hands trembled slightly, or how Raya's knuckles had turned white from how tightly she gripped her weapon. "You know how this works, Daryl. You don't just bring strangers inside."

Daryl shrugged, his casual demeanor masking the tension in his shoulders. "I asked 'em the questions. They passed."

Michonne's lips pressed into a thin line. "That doesn't mean they're safe," she said firmly. "Or trustworthy." She gestured toward the gate. "You know we don't take chances. Take them to Rick first."

Raya's grip on her machete tightened at Michonne's words, her stance rigid with suspicion. She glanced at Daryl, who gave her a brief nod—a silent reassurance that he wasn't about to leave her and Jasmine to fend for themselves. Jasmine shifted uneasily beside her, her eyes darting between Michonne and Carl.

Carl spoke again, his voice softer now but no less cautious. "Dad needs to know about this. It's his call."

Daryl sighed and ran a hand through his damp hair. "Fine. We'll talk to Rick. But don't go actin' like I don't know what I'm doin'. I've been out there long enough to spot trouble when I see it."

Michonne didn't reply, her face unreadable but her vigilance unwavering. She stepped aside, motioning for them to pass through the gate. "C'mon then."

Daryl motioned for Raya and Jasmine to follow, leading them into the prison yard. The world within the gates was starkly different from the desolation outside. Though the walls were crumbling and patched together with makeshift repairs, there was an undeniable sense of community here. People moved with purpose, tending small gardens, repairing barricades, and watching each other's backs. It was more than just survival—it was a fragile semblance of living.

Michonne walked a few paces ahead, her katana still in hand, while Carl lingered near the gate, his blue eyes trailing after the newcomers with a lingering curiosity. Raya's sharp gaze scanned her surroundings, her mind cataloging every detail, every potential threat. Jasmine, in contrast, seemed overwhelmed, her brown eyes wide as she took in the sight of so many people in one place. As they approached the central area of the prison yard, Daryl spotted Rick standing near a makeshift table, his attention focused on a map spread across its surface. Rick looked up at Michonne's signal, his blue-gray eyes sharpening with wariness as he took in the sight of the strangers. His weathered face, framed by a beard that had grown uneven with time, was a reflection of a man who had borne too much but refused to break.

"Rick," Michonne said, her tone curt and matter-of-fact, "we've got newcomers. Daryl brought them in."

Rick straightened from where he'd been leaning over the map. His face etched with lines of stress and weariness. Rick radiated the weight of leadership like a heavy mantle, his worn sheriff's badge tucked into the pocket of his faded plaid shirt, a quiet reminder of the life he'd left behind. His eyes narrowed as he studied the two women standing behind Daryl.

"Daryl… you vouch for them?" Rick asked, his voice steady but firm. Well aware of the tension and potential threat they presented.

Daryl nodded, his piercing blue eyes meeting Rick's. His leather vest, worn from years of use, hung over a gray shirt that looked just as weathered. He wasn't one for long explanations—his actions spoke louder than words. "They're clean. Answered the questions. Probably got skills we could use."

Rick's gaze lingered on Raya first, taking in her protective stance. Her eyes, sharp and unyielding, met Rick's with defiance. Her hands gripped the rusty machete like it was an extension of herself. She exuded strength and determination, though her exhaustion was evident in the dark circles under her eyes.

Rick then turned his attention to Jasmine. The taller of the two, Jasmine had a nervous energy radiating off her. Her silver-blonde hair was tied in a loose bun, though strands clung to her face, damp from sweat. Her deep brown eyes darted around the yard, taking in every detail with equal parts curiosity and caution. Jasmine's demeanor was soft and cautious, a stark contrast to Raya's fiery defiance.

Rick's gaze didn't waver as he addressed them. "Alright," he said finally, his tone decisive. "But you don't stay without proving yourselves." He lookded back to Daryl. "You know how it works."

Raya's eyes locked onto his, her voice steady and firm. "We're not looking for handouts. We'll earn our place."

Beside her, Jasmine forced herself to speak, though her voice was softer and tinged with nerves. "We just… need a chance."

Rick studied them for another moment, weighing their words and the energy they carried. Finally, he nodded. "We'll see."

Rick stepped closer to Daryl, lowering his voice so only he could hear. "Take them to Glenn and Maggie," he instructed, his tone sharp and deliberate. "Figure out what they're good at, see where they can help. They're your responsibility—we can't afford dead weight."

Daryl tilted his head slightly, his expression hardening as he shifted on his feet. "They screw up, they're gone. Simple," he muttered, but the tension in his jaw hinted at his unease.

Rick's eyes narrowed, his tone growing firmer as he added, "They stay in the cell next to yours until we're sure about them. You brought them in, Daryl. You've got the best instincts here, and if there's a problem, I want you to catch it first."

Daryl's lips pressed into a thin line, his irritation bubbling to the surface. "Why's it gotta be near me?" he shot back, his voice low but edged with frustration. "We got other empty cells on the block. Put 'em there."

Rick's gaze stayed steady, unwavering. "Because you're the one who brought them here," he reminded him calmly but firmly. "That makes them your responsibility. That's how it's always been, Daryl—you bring someone in, you're accountable for them."

Daryl huffed, his hand instinctively moving to rest on the strap of his crossbow. "I ain't got time to be watchin' over people," he muttered, shaking his head. "Already got enough to deal with."

Rick took a small step closer, his tone dropping to ensure only Daryl could hear him. "It's not about babysitting," he said firmly. "It's about making sure they're not a threat to the rest of us. You're the one who vouched for them by bringing them in. We trust your gut, Daryl. But until we're sure, you're the first line of defense if something goes wrong."

Daryl's jaw worked as he clenched his teeth, he didn't like the arrangement—it felt like being saddled with something he hadn't signed up for. But deep down, he knew Rick wasn't wrong. Finally, he let out a sharp breath, nodding reluctantly. "Fine," he muttered. "But if they step outta line, it's on you when I kick 'em out."

Rick smirked faintly, though his tone remained serious. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

Satisfied, Rick stepped back, his attention shifting to Raya and Jasmine. His voice was calm but firm as he addressed them. "You'll meet Glenn and Maggie next. Show 'em what you can do. Everyone pulls their weight here. No exceptions."

Raya nodded sharply, her protective instincts remaining on high alert. "We'll earn our place," she said firmly.

Jasmine hesitated, then managed a small nod of agreement.

Daryl motioned for them to follow him, his movements brisk and purposeful. He led them across the yard, the tension in his posture betraying his irritation with the situation, despite being the one to present it. As they walked, Raya's sharp gaze scanned every inch of their surroundings, cataloging faces, movements, and potential escape routes. Jasmine, meanwhile, seemed overwhelmed, her brown eyes wide as she took in the sight of so many people working together.

When they reached a makeshift work area, Glenn and Maggie looked up from their tasks. Glenn's dark hair was slightly disheveled, his face smudged with grease from working on some mechanical part. His warm, intelligent eyes studied the newcomers, his curiosity tempered by caution. Maggie stood nearby, her arms crossed over her chest, her honey-colored hair tied back in a loose ponytail. Sharp green eyes flicked between Raya and Jasmine, assessing them with a mixture of skepticism and curiosity.

"Rick sent us," Daryl said bluntly. "These two are new. Gotta figure out what they can do."

Glenn wiped his hands on a rag, his gaze thoughtful as he spoke. "What are your skills?" he asked.

Raya stepped forward, her voice unwavering and confident. "I can fight. I've survived this long for a reason."

Jasmine hesitated before answering, her voice softer but steady. "I was a medic before all this. I know how to treat injuries. I've helped people."

Glenn and Maggie exchanged a look, silently evaluating the pair. Daryl leaned against the wall, his posture relaxed but his watchful eyes betraying his vigilance. He studied Raya and Jasmine closely, his instinct telling him there was more to these women than met the eye.

"All right," Glenn said finally, looking at Daryl. "We'll work with them, see how they fit in."

Maggie raised an eyebrow shooting Daryl an amused look knowing he must have brought them in and Rick would have made them his charges. "Guess you've got new neighbors."

Daryl grunted, motioning for Raya and Jasmine to follow him once again. "Come on. I'll show ya where you're stayin'."

The trio walked toward the cell block. When they reached Daryl's section, he pointed to the empty cell next to his. "This one's yours. Don't mess it up."

Raya stepped inside, her sharp eyes scanning the space quickly. Jasmine followed, placing her pack carefully on the cot.

"Thanks," Jasmine said softly, though her gratitude was met with only a grunt from Daryl.

He stepped back into his own cell, clearly eager to reclaim his solitude. But as he sank down against the wall, he couldn't help but, wonder if bringing these two in would prove to be more trouble than it was worth. The cells were quiet, save for the occasional echo of footsteps in the halls beyond. The dim light filtering through the narrow windows cast soft shadows across the walls, adding to the oppressive atmosphere of the prison. Daryl, reclining against the wall, was keenly aware of the hushed voices coming from the next cell. The steel bars didn't do much to muffle sound, and while he wasn't trying to eavesdrop, the whispered tension drew his attention.

"I don't like this, Raya," Jasmine murmured, her voice shaking. "It's too… closed in. What if something goes wrong? What if—what if we can't escape?"

Raya's response was immediate, her tone steady and firm. "It's not like last time, Jas. These people aren't like them." She said it with conviction, but Daryl could pick up the subtle undertone of doubt beneath her words.

"You don't know that," Jasmine whispered, her panic bubbling to the surface. "The last group promised safety too. They promised everything would be okay. And then—then they turned on us. You barely got us out of there alive."

Daryl listened, his interest sharpening. He didn't know their story, but their words carried weight—and pain.

"We're smarter now," Raya replied, keeping her voice low but firm. "I know what to look for. The signs. The lies. I'll see it coming if it happens. And you—" Her tone softened just slightly. "You don't have to worry about escaping. I'll keep you safe, Jasmine. I always do."

"But this place…" Jasmine's voice broke, and she paused before continuing. "It's a prison, Raya. What if they lock us in? What if they don't let us go?"

Raya let out a quiet sigh, her confidence unwavering—or at least, that's how it seemed. "That's not gonna happen. They don't seem like those kinds of people. And if I'm wrong—if this goes south—I'll figure it out. You trust me, don't you?"

There was a pause, heavy with emotion, and then Jasmine's faint, trembling reply. "I do."

"Then stop worrying," Raya said gently but firmly. "We've made it this far because we're strong, Jas. Because we don't quit, and we don't give up. You have me, and I have you. That's all we need."

The conversation faded into silence, but Daryl couldn't ignore the words that lingered in the air. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze fixed on the ground as he processed what he'd overheard. He had questions—who were they running from? What had happened with the last group? But he knew better than to pry. He'd learned long ago that trust had to be earned, not demanded.

Still, something about Raya's words stuck with him. She was confident, sure—but it felt more like armor than truth. Beneath her tough exterior, Daryl suspected there was more fear, doubt, and a weight she silently carried. And Jasmine, for all her nerves and vulnerability, seemed to ground Raya in a way that Daryl couldn't help but respect. It reminded him of his own unspoken need for connection, even when he tried to keep himself apart from everyone.

He let out a quiet sigh, retreating further into his cell. Whatever their story was, they weren't about to share it. For now, he'd keep his distance and watch. If they were as strong as Raya claimed, time would prove it. And if not, well… Daryl knew how to deal with trouble when it came knocking. But he couldn't shake the nagging thought that maybe—just maybe—these two might be worth the risk after all.

Chapter 3-5 coming soon

Chapter 3: Chores

Chapter 4: Survival

Chapter 5: Unexpected Confessions

Summary:

Raya struggles to integrate into the prison group, lingering mistrust making it difficult to navigate the group's intricate dynamics while proving her worth in a community hardened by loss and betrayal. As tempers flare, Raya finds herself drawn to the quiet strength of an unlikely ally. Can Raya find her place—or will the walls meant for protection become her cage?