Live For Me

I woke up reaching for him.

My hand met empty space.

My eyes shot open, and for a moment, I was disoriented - barn walls, soft hay beneath me, the faint scent of straw and woodsmoke. It wasn't a dream. We were here. Safe. Together.

But he was gone.

I sat up too fast, my heart already pounding. The loft was quiet, the morning light spilling in through the open side. I turned, searching, but there was nothing except the faint imprint of where he'd been lying.

Then I saw it.

A scrap of paper left where he'd lain. I snatched it up, my breath catching as I unfolded it.

'I'm sorry'

That was it. No explanation. No promise to be back soon.

Just those two words. And they terrified me.

I was moving before I even thought about it, shoving my boots on, barely tying the laces as I climbed down the ladder. My hands shook as I emerged into the day, my breath sharp in the morning air.

I already knew it. He'd gone after Negan.

I turned too fast, almost colliding with Jesus. He caught my arm, steadying me.

"Whoa," he said, frowning at my expression. "You okay?"

"Have you seen Daryl?" My voice came out sharp, breathless.

Jesus tilted his head. "Yeah, just a bit ago. He and Merle said they were going hunting." He nodded toward his feet, jokily. "He even had shoes - progress, right?"

I didn't laugh.

I grabbed his arm, gripping tight. "Jesus." My voice was low, deadly serious. "It's not rabbits they're hunting."

His face dropped. "Shit. I'm sorry - I thought because he was with his brother-"

"I need a car," I said, already stepping past him toward the house.

"I'll get one," Jesus said, already moving.

I didn't stop to thank him. My legs burned as I sprinted for toward the main house. I had to find Rick. Before it was too late. My heart was racing too fast, my mind already spinning with every worst-case scenario.

The Dixon brothers weren't just out there looking for trouble - they'd gone to end it. But they weren't thinking straight. Not after everything. Not after what Negan and the Saviors done to Daryl.

I stormed into the house, barely aware of the concerned way the Hilltop residents looked at me. I felt like I was burning up, my pulse hammering as I pushed through the front door, searching for Rick.

I found him in the kitchen, standing over a half-eaten plate of food, deep in conversation with Michonne. She looked up the second I came in, smiling.

"Athena." Michonne exclaimed. "I'm so glad-"

Rick took one look at my face and straightened, cutting her off. "What's wrong?"

"They're gone." The words came out too fast, too breathless. "Daryl and Merle. They left."

Rick frowned. "Left where?"

My voice shook with certainty. "You already know."

His face dropped, and didn't miss the way Michonne's grip tightened on her katana.

Rick's expression darkened. "You sure?"

I threw the crumpled note onto the table. "He left this for me. Just 'I'm sorry.' No explanation, nothing. That's not him, Rick. He wouldn't-" My voice broke, but I swallowed it down. "They're going after him. They want revenge."

Rick cursed under his breath, running a hand through his hair. He turned to Michonne. "We need weapons."

She nodded and moved before he even finished the sentence.

I exhaled, trying to steady myself.

Rick grabbed a gun I didn't recognise off the counter. "Do you know how long they've been gone?"

"No. Jesus saw them earlier. He's getting a car. We have to go. Now."

Rick's jaw tightened. "Let's move."

I didn't wait for him to say it twice.

By the time we stepped outside, Jesus was pulling up in an old truck.

I climbed into the passenger seat without hesitation, gripping the spare gun Merle had give me tight.

Rick and Michonne jumped in the back. She had an armful of guns that weren't ours. I didn't bother asking who they belonged to. I didn't care.

The second the doors slammed shut, Jesus hit the gas, and we tore out of Hilltop. The truck roared down the road, kicking up dust behind us as we sped toward what felt like inevitable disaster. My grip tightened around my gun, my jaw clenched so hard it ached.

"One of the cars we keep outside the fence is gone." Jesus observed. "We leave them dotted around, just in case-"

"They're going straight to the Sanctuary," I said, my voice flat, certain.

He flicked a glance at me before refocusing on the road. "That's suicide."

I exhaled sharply. "You think I don't know that?"

Rick cursed under his breath. "They won't make it inside..."

"No. They won't." I muttered, unable believe this was happening. I'd only just got him back - and Merle, he'd spent the last few weeks with me learning just how fucking impossible it was to get anywhere near Negan's compound. I was so angry at him.

Michonne leaned forward from the backseat, addressing Jesus. "How did you get in?"

"Supply truck, same as Carl."

My eyes widened. "Carl?"

"Later." Rick answered. "I'll explain."

I didn't have the headspace to push it. "We don't have time to be waiting for supply trucks. We need to find them before they get there."

Jesus gripped the wheel tighter. "And what do we do if we don't find them on the way?"

I stared out at the empty road ahead, trying to think of a response, but coming up empty. "I don't know."

Jesus pressed the gas harder, the trees blurring past, my heart pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears.

I knew Daryl. I knew how he thought, how he moved, how his anger worked. But this - this was desperation. He blamed himself for me being taken, for Hershel, for being broken by the Saviors. I knew those things were a weight pressing down on him with every breath. It was making him reckless. And Merle - he'd always been the type to go down swinging. If they thought they had a shot at taking Negan out, even if it meant dying for it, they'd take it

After driving for what felt like forever, eyes sharp, Michonne spotted a body slumped over a rusted-out pickup, the blood still wet against the cracked windshield.

Jesus slowed the truck, eyes scanning the roadside. "That's fresh."

I was already moving before the truck came to a full stop. My boots hit the pavement hard, rifle raised as I moved toward the body. The others followed, silent and tense.

Rick flipped the corpse over; it hadn't turned yet. It was obvious the man's throat had been slashed, clean and deep. His rifle was missing.

"Shit," Rick muttered. "It's a Savior."

I exhaled sharply, my gut twisting. "This is them."

Jesus knelt, checking the man's pockets. "Daryl and Merle?"

I nodded. "They're taking down the lookouts, trying to approach quietly." I glanced at the blood pooled beneath the body. "This didn't happen long ago."

Rick stood, his gaze sweeping the road ahead. "Then we're right behind them."

I turned, scanning the tree line. The road was empty, the world too quiet. I could feel it in my bones - we weren't just chasing them. We were walking straight into the storm they were kicking up.

Jesus climbed back into the driver's seat. "Let's keep moving."

We drove in silence, the tension thick in the air.

Then, a mile up the road, we saw the next one.

A small guard station sat just off the highway, a makeshift checkpoint with a wooden booth and a barricade of metal scraps. The guards inside hadn't fared any better.

One man lay sprawled beside the booth, his head twisted at an unnatural angle. Another had been shoved up against the barricade, a hunting knife buried to the hilt in his throat. I pulled it out. I knew it belonged to Merle.

Michonne let out a slow breath. "They're cutting through everyone."

Rick checked the bodies, then the dirt around them. "They took their weapons."

"But they're not using them. They're using their knives..?" Michonne pointed out.

"Saving ammo?" Rick wondered.

"No." I answered plainly. "They're angry. They want them to feel it. Guns don't have the same effect."

"That's dark." Jesus said.

"Yup. So is what they did to him."

The tension in the truck was even thicker as we approached the next checkpoint, the unmistakable sounds of a struggle reached our ears - grunts, the clash of metal, and the sickening thud of flesh meeting concrete.

My pulse quickened. They were here.

We rounded the corner to find Daryl and Merle engaged in a brutal assault on the remaining Saviors at the post. Daryl, a vision of ferocity, was drenched in blood - some of it his own. His eyes burned with a wild intensity, his movements erratic and driven by raw emotion.

He looked feral. Like a rabid animal.

Without hesitation, we joined the fray, our weapons finding their marks with practiced ease. As the last Savior fell to his knees, Daryl's rage didn't subside. He continued to pummel the man, each strike fuelled by an unspoken torment.

"Daryl!" I shouted, rushing to his side and gripping his arm to pull him away. "Stop! He's down!"

But he ignored me, his face a mask of fury, his knuckles connecting with the Savior's face in a relentless rhythm.

We heard the roar of a vehicle. Rick and Michonne turned to investigate, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from my husband, who still hadn't relented.

"They know." Michonne breathed, her voice steady but laced with concern.

More Saviors were headed our way. They knew something was happening.

Rick nodded grimly, his eyes scanning the horizon. "We deal with them - then we need to get out of here."

A battered Savior truck moved closer, its tires screeching as it barrelled toward us. Gunfire erupted, bullets whizzing past us and embedding themselves into the surrounding terrain.

We instinctively returned fire, but the truck's erratic movements and the cloud of dust it stirred made our shots largely ineffective. Daryl finally backed away from the mess he'd made of the guard, panting heavily. His eyes burned with determination as he spotted the truck - gripping his knife tighter - ready to charge headfirst into the fray. He wasn't interested in shooting back - he wanted blood.

He growled, and began sprinting toward the vehicle with reckless abandon. "Daryl, no!" I shouted, my voice laced with panic. Ignoring my plea, he charged further forward.

The truck screeched to a halt, and armed Saviors spilled out, guns blazing. Daryl lunged, taking down one assailant, but another tackled him to the ground, the two struggling in a deadly embrace.

I didn't hesitate. Rushing forward, I fired, taking down the Savior on top of him. He scrambled to his feet, breathless, he eyes still wild. He looked furious with me. But I didn't care.

Rick, Jesus and Michonne successfully took down the remaining Saviors, and the area fell eerily silent.

Rick turned to Daryl and Merle - his expression a mix of concern and exasperation. "What the hell were you thinking?" he said firmly, trying hard to keep his temper in check.

"Y'already know." Daryl spat. His tone laced with bitterness, while Merle shot Rick a dirty glare - his mouth remaining clamped shut for one.

I didn't have the same decorum as Rick. I was furious.

"You're going to get yourself killed!" I screamed at Daryl as I marched closer, my heart still racing. "What the fuck were you thinking!?"

He didn't respond, but his eyes burned into mine in defiance.

"Tell me!" I continued yelling, my face now just inches from his. "Tell me why you did something so fucking stupid when I only just got you back!"

His chest heaved, but he didn't say anything, but a slight flicker of regret crossed his face.

"We need to move. Now." Rick interrupted us.

He was right. We couldn't do this now. More Saviors would be here soon. We had to go.

But Daryl wasn't moving. Neither was Merle.

"Get in the damn car!" I roared at both of them, not one inch of patience left. "Don't you even think about still trying this shit!"

I couldn't bear to look at either of the Dixon brother's right now. I was raging. But wasn't taking the chance - I needed to make sure they made their way back to Hilltop instead of continuing on their warpath.

I climbed into the back of their car. Steam practically coming out of my ears, as Jesus, Rick and Michonne climbed into theirs.

The journey back was beyond tense. Nobody spoke in the couple of hours we spent in the car. Not even Merle. The time passed quickly, though, my mind racing with everything I wanted to yell at them: how ridiculous they'd been, how damn stupid, how fucking reckless.

I'd just got Daryl back. I knew he wasn't thinking straight. But it didn't make this okay.

The last thing I wanted to do within twenty-four hours of us being reunited was fight with him, but I had to shake this desire to take Negan on haphazardly out of him - before I lost him for good.

By the time we arrived at Hilltop, Daryl's adrenaline had faded. The way he held himself seemed regretful, remorseful, and as he climbed from the car, he turned to me.

"Ath..." He started.

"Not here." I cut him off sharply. "I'll meet you back at the room, soon." There was finality in my tone, and he didn't argue. Just dropped his head and skulked in the direction of Barrington House, not meeting anyone's gaze.

I strode after Merle as he traipsed away from the car. I wasn't ready to deal with Daryl yet, but Merle was about to get a piece of myself mind.

I couldn't shake the image of Daryl, consumed by rage, charging into danger without a second thought. Beside him, Merle had been equally reckless, feeding into Daryl's fury rather than tempering it.

I kept my voice low, but it was seething with anger. "Stop."

He did, then I saw his shoulders rise and fall as he took a deep breath, before turning to face me.

The Merle smirk was missing, he looked apprehensive.

"You and Daryl," I began, my words clipped, "That was reckless and selfish."

Merle glanced up, his expression unreadable. "We were doin' what we all should be," he replied gruffly, no longer meeting my gaze.

"No," I retorted, stepping closer, "You did what you wanted to do, without taking a damn minute to think about it."

"I thought about it." He shot back. "Right when I found your husband sneakin' outta here this mornin'.

That caught me off guard, words escaping me for a moment. I'd assumed it had been more planned on Merle's part.

"Yur lucky I caught 'im," he continued. "Convinced him to let me go with 'im. Gave Jesus a bullshit story about hunting so we could borrow weapons... Ya oughta be thankin me that I wasn't letting 'im go alone."

"Thanking you!?" I spat, a humorless laugh escaping me. "You encouraged him... You armed him!"

His jaw tightened, and I expected him argue back, but, instead, he let out a breath, his shoulders sagging slightly. "Yeah..." he muttered, more to himself than to me. "Yeah s'pose I did."

I wasn't about to let him off that easily. "He needs you to look out for him" I shot. "He's not thinking straight."

Merle finally met my gaze, his eyes hard but tinged with something else. "I was lookin' out for 'im," he said, his voice rough. "Negan has to die."

I shook my head, frustration boiling over. "Yes. He does. A million percent. But that's not the way... You were there with me, Merle... You know how many times we tried to get in there... You would both have been shot on sight."

"Mhmh"

I took a deep breath. "Do you not think I want him dead? Look at what he's done to my husband... Fuck... If I thought there was any chance he could be taken down that way, then I'd already have done it myself. Made it slow and then put his head on the fucking fence."

"I know."

"Then why did you go with him? Why didn't you come and get me?" I asked.

All the fight visibly drained from Merle at once. His voice cracked, and it unnerved me to hear. I saw tears welling in his eyes. "Because he's my baby brother."

I didn't know what to say.

"He tortured 'im - fucked 'im up real good." He continued. "Seein' 'im like that last night - fuckin' gone..." I'd rather 'im die tryna get the bastard than have to see 'im like that."

A single tear slipped from Merle's eye at the realization of what he'd said. He swiped it away instantly - conjuring a scowl in attempt to cover the pain he saw as weakness. "He has to die for what he's done. I shouldn't've just gone along - I should've already bein' on my way to do it myself."

My anger dissipated completely. Merle looked broken too.

We all were.

Just like Negan wanted us to be.

I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him forcefully, sending him teetering backwards for a moment. He didn't embrace me back, but I didn't care - I didn't let go.

Merle had probably needed a consoling hug his whole life and never got one. I was giving him it whether he wanted me to or not. After a few moments, I let go, rubbing the top of his arm as I did so.

"I get it. I do." I told him.

"Yeah."

"We're gonna get him."

"Yeah."

"We are. But I'm not losing you two in the process. Not my husband... and not my damn brother."

I saw something in Merle's eyes at my last word that I couldn't quite describe, but he played it off, wiping at his face.

"How?" he asked.

"I don't know, but I'm sure as shit going to figure it out."

~

I headed straight for the bedroom after leaving Merle - ready to see Daryl now I was feeling a bit more in control of myself.

My earlier anger had been valid, but it had been massively intensified by the fear of losing him out there... I shouldn't have yelled at him. He'd been through so much. He wasn't thinking straight. He didn't need me to lose it like that.

I approached the door to our room with my heart heavy, the weight of my outburst pressing on me. He'd acted recklessly, put himself at risk - but this wasn't on him. It was on Negan. He'd done this to him.

I found Daryl sitting on the bed, his posture slumped, eyes fixed on the floor like a child about to be reprimanded. The evidence of today's searing rage still coated his skin and clothing, and he looked every bit the man consumed by his turmoil.

I hated that I had added to his torment.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped into the room, closing the door softly behind me. I didn't know what to say - how to start this conversation. There was so much to it.

His voice came after a few moments of silence, quiet, his head still down. "M'sorry."

My stomach sank. I moved closer, perching on the bed in between him and a pile of fresh clothes and towels somebody had kindly left for us.

"Me too... I shouldn't have lost my temper with you. I was scared."

"I know." He sighed deeply. "Was stupid."

"Yeah, you were... But I do get it, Daryl."

His gaze flicked to me for a moment - surprised I wasn't tearing into him as he'd been expecting - before dropping down to his lap again.

I reached out, lifting his chin gently so our eyes met properly. His were filled with a storm of emotions - guilt, anger, pain - but no words came.

"Talk to me," I pleaded, my voice breaking. "Please."

He swallowed, his throat working as if the words were lodged there, unwilling to come out. Finally, he spoke again, his voice hoarse as his eyes drifted downwards once more."

"He ain't gonna let us get away with..." He trailed off, his fists clenching at his sides. "He'll make us pay."

I knew what he was saying - I'd been thinking it myself. I'd escaped the Sanctuary, and now so had Daryl.

Negan wasn't going to let that slide.

"So you thought taking the fight to him was going to help that?" I asked, with the tiniest hint of sarcasm.

"Yeah."

"What? So you go for him first and almost certainly be killed?"

He exhaled sharply. "I had to try."

I reached for his hand, touching it delicately. "They'd have killed you..."

"Probably." His fingers curled around mine gently, hesitantly. "But if there was a chance I coulda taken him down in the process... would be worth it."

"It would be for nothing." I told him steadily. "You'd be gone."

His eyes lifted to mine again, something resolute in them. "Ain't about me."

My stomach dropped. Despite it all, despite what he'd been through - he was trying to protect me, still.

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. "Daryl." I breathed. "We're always going to want to keep each other safe. But you can't keep sacrificing yourself for me. I would never want you to."

"Mhmh."

I squeezed his hand tighter. "Giving yourself to Negan in the first place - I appreciate what you were trying to do, getting me out, really, I do, but you shouldn't have... Look what he did to you... He could've killed you."

"Yur my wife," He pressed his lips into a thin line. Keeping his eyes on mine. "If it meant keepin' ya safe - 'Course I'd die for ya."

I couldn't hold my tears back. I knew that he meant it.

"Daryl," I breathed out as I wiped at the wetness on my face. "I don't want you to die for me - ever... I need you to goddamn live for me."

He took a moment to absorb my words, then gave a reluctant nod, but his heart wasn't in it. He'd done it as reassurance for my sake - not because he agreed.

I understood. Because I'd always choose to die for him, too.

Silence stretched between us, and as my eyes traced the bloodstains that coated his skin, and the tautness with which he was holding himself - I had an idea.

I thought about the comfort we'd shared when we cleaned each other up after Nicholas - how much it had soothed him. Being taken care of like that.

"Shower with me?" I asked him softly.

He took a deep breath, but didn't answer. He was unsure, and I knew why.

"I don't care about the bruises."

"Ain't just that." He just about whispered after a few seconds.

And I remembered how he'd jerked back like I'd burned him when I'd first reached for him last night. It was as if the contact physically hurt him.

He'd let me hold him after, was letting me hold his hand right now, but I knew it wasn't that simple. He worried about being triggered.

"Is it about being touched?"

After a few beats, he nodded slowly, followed by, "Stupid."

"It's not." I tried to reassure him. "But you're safe with me... I know what you're worried about, and if you freak out - it's fine. I'll help you through it."

He still looked hesitant.

"There's no pressure." I assured him gently. "We don't have to. It was just an idea... I'm going to shower either way..."

He looked at me, his eyes scanning the gore on me from today's antics - though it was nowhere near as bad as what covered him.

"Ya should." He gave me the tiniest of smirks. "Yur gross."

I couldn't help but beam. That was the first notion of a smile I'd seen from him since all of this started. Since before we lost Denise, since before Negan ruined everything. The way it lifted his eyes just ever so slightly made my heart soar.

"Okay." I huffed a small laugh. "Grossness being taken care of... you'll be here when I get out?"

"Yeah."

"Okay." I traced my thumb along his jaw. "But then you have to clean up... You're grosser than me."

He gave me that tiny smirk again as I stood and grabbed a towel. "Deal."

I moved into the bathroom, my own eyes sensitive to the light tonight. I undressed myself, feeling the ache that was settling into my body after the days events.

The warm water from the shower cascaded over my shoulders, easing the tension in my muscles, but my thoughts remained tangled. Today had been hell - again -but we were still here. Daryl was still here.

Those two tiny smirks - they'd seem insignificant in any other context - but to me, right now, they meant the world. I'd seen a tiny sliver of normalcy in him - the real Daryl breaking through the trauma for a moment.

I felt so much fresher for cleansing my skin, and as I ran my hands through my hair, working the lather into my scalp, the sound of the bathroom door creaking open drew my attention. I turned, blinking through the steam, and there he was.

Daryl stood in the doorway, his expression tight, his posture stiff, like he was caught between two urges - fight or flight. His eyes flicked to mine, then away just as fast, hesitation making his fingers twitch at his sides.

I knew this wasn't easy for him. He seemed as though he was on the edge of some invisible cliff.

I offered him a small smile, trying to ease the weight pressing down on him. He didn't return it, but after a long moment, his fingers moved to the hem of his shirt. Slowly, he pulled it over his head, revealing again the extent of what Negan and his men had done to him.

I swallowed hard, my throat tight with emotion.

His body was a roadmap of pain.

I didn't know what was worse - the injuries themselves or the way he wouldn't meet my eyes, as if ashamed of them. As if ashamed of what had been done to him. I turned away slightly, making him feel less watched over.

He peeled away the rest of his clothes, his movements rigid, and stepped toward me. When he reached the edge of the tub and lifted a foot, he let it hover, and for a second, I thought he was going to change his mind.

I wasn't letting it happen. I extended a hand to him.

He stared at it, his knuckles white from how tightly he was clenching his fists, his breathing shallow, and his face unreadable. But after a long, hesitant moment, he took my hand.

His palm was rough, calloused - as always - but his fingers shook in my grasp.

I tugged him gently into the spray, letting the warm water rush over both of us. He stiffened the moment it touched him, his whole body locking up.

The second my hands skimmed his chest, I felt it - the way his heart pounded against his ribs, the way his muscles coiled beneath my touch. His breath hitched, his eyes darting wildly to mine.

Panic. Just like he'd expected.

It flared in his gaze, raw and unguarded, the same way it had the previous night. It was the kind of panic that wasn't rational, the kind that gripped tight and refused to let go.

He swayed slightly, unsteady, his chest rising and falling too fast.

"Hey," I murmured, cupping his face gently. "Look at me."

His eyes flickered between mine, his breath still shallow, his hands twitching at his sides like he didn't know what to do with them.

I stroked my thumb along his jaw. "You're safe."

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and I felt the tension thrumming through him, the silent war waging beneath his skin.

I inched closer, not pressing, just letting my warmth surround him. "I'm here," I whispered. "I've got you."

His chest heaved once, twice. Then, slowly - so slowly - it began to ease. His shoulders slumped just a little, his hands unclenching.

I ran my fingers through his wet hair, watching as the water beaded along his lashes. He stood still, letting me touch him, but I could tell he was still on edge.

So I took my time.

I reached for the shampoo, working the foam between my fingers before carefully threading them through his hair. He shuddered slightly, his eyes fluttering shut, but he didn't pull away.

I massaged his scalp gently, letting the suds run down his neck and shoulders. I knew how much he hated feeling trapped, so I kept my movements slow, deliberate, making sure he knew he was in control.

His breathing evened out.

By the time I rinsed the soap from his hair, he was no longer trembling.

I moved down to his shoulders, careful of the bruises, my hands gliding over the ridges of muscle and scar. I felt the way he exhaled sharply when my fingers traced a particularly deep welt, but he didn't stop me.

I grabbed the washcloth, lathering it up before running it gently over his skin.

His chest. His arms. His hands.

I kissed his knuckles as I washed them - raw and reopened from today's punches - and his fingers twitched, curling slightly like he wanted to hold onto something but didn't know how.

When I reached his back, he tensed again.

The scars there were the worst. Not just from the Sanctuary, but from long before. The past and present overlapped, weaving a painful history into his skin.

I pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades, my lips lingering there, before I carefully ran the cloth over his back. I felt him breathe, slow and deep, the heat of the water mixing with the warmth of my touch.

By the time I rinsed the soap from his skin, he was no longer holding himself so tightly.

I turned him toward me, cupping his jaw once more, and he finally met my eyes.

He looked... exhausted. Vulnerable.

But he was here.

With me.

And that was all that mattered.

I rested my forehead against his, our breaths mingling in the steam.

He swallowed, his throat bobbing, and after a long pause, his hands finally lifted, settling lightly on my waist.

"I love ya," he whispered.

A/N: Thank you so much for voting and commenting. I really appreciate each and every one. ❤️