We've All Got Our Ghosts

I woke to the sound of his breathing - harsh and laboured in the dark.

At first, I thought Daryl was just shifting in his sleep, but then his body jerked beside me, his hand clenching tight in the sheets. A low, strangled sound escaped his throat, so full of distress that it made my stomach twist.

I turned toward him, pressing a hand to his arm. “Daryl?” I whispered, but he didn’t wake.

His face was tense, his brow furrowed, sweat gathering at his temples. Whatever he was seeing in his dreams had its claws in deep. I reached for him again, rubbing slow circles over his shoulder, but the nightmare didn’t break.

“Daryl, wake up,” I murmured, giving him a gentle shake.

He flinched, his whole body going rigid. His breath hitched, and for a split second, he looked ready to fight - like I wasn’t even here, like he was still trapped in whatever hell his mind had conjured up.

I sat up, curling around him, one hand on his chest, the other smoothing over his hair. “Come on, sweetheart. It’s me. You’re safe. Wake up.”

I knew what it was. It had happened most nights since he’d been back, he’d flinch, mutter, sometimes jolt upright, but this one seemed especially horrific – no doubt increased by the stress of having to face Dwight.

It was taking too long to rouse him. My heart pounded, watching him struggle, caught in something too dark and deep for me to pull him out of. I cupped his face, thumbs stroking along his jaw. “Daryl,” I said again, firmer this time.

His whole body jolted as he woke, gasping like he’d just surfaced from drowning. His  eyes darted around, unfocused, before they finally landed on me.

He didn’t say anything. Just let out a shuddering breath and collapsed into me, burying his face against my chest.

I held him tight, one hand slipping into his hair, the other tracing soothing lines down his back. His breath was still ragged, his grip on me almost too tight, but I didn’t care.

“I’m here,” I whispered against his temple. “I’ve got you.”

He didn’t answer - just curled closer, pressing his weight into me like I was the only thing tethering him to this world. So I held him, running my fingers through his hair, whispering soft reassurances into the quiet.

No matter what the nightmare had been, it couldn’t have him now. I wouldn’t let it.

~

The sun looked strange today, bleeding red across the horizon, like a forewarning of the blood that would spill tomorrow – hopefully more of the Savior’s than ours.

We needed more guns. Even with what Tara had negotiated from Oceanside, it wasn’t enough. We’d hit two spots already - one was completely stripped, the other had a few handguns and some ammo, but nothing that would shift the odds in our favor.

Now we were at our third location, a boarded-up hunting shop on the outskirts of an old town about an hour from Alexandria. We moved in cautiously as always, weapons raised. Fortunately, the shelves still held a few items. Not much - just a handful of rifles, some boxes of shells - but it was something.

Daryl moved with tense, precise motions, his shoulders wound tight. He had been like this all day. Restless. On edge.

I knew why.

It wasn’t just the upcoming battle - it was Dwight - the same reason he’d been so restless in his sleep last night.

Seeing the asshole at Alexandria. Being expected to believe he suddenly wanted to be on our side... that he hadn’t killed the bastard already.

Daryl didn’t trust him. I didn’t either, but Rick said we needed him, that it was worth the risk.

Right now, I didn’t care about any of that. I cared about him.

He hadn’t spoken much, just short, clipped sentences. His eyes kept darting to the door, like he was waiting for something bad to happen. Like he expected it.

I watched him as we cleared the back of the shop. He was moving faster now, less careful, yanking drawers open, shoving supplies into his pack. His breathing was off. A little too shallow, a little too quick.

Then Aaron reached for his shoulder.

A simple touch. Nothing more.

And Daryl snapped.

It happened too fast to stop. He swung - wild, defensive - grabbed Aaron by the collar and slammed him against the wall. His knife was already drawn, held in the exact same position as it was after he lunged for Dwight yesterday.

“Daryl!” Carl yelled, moving forward.

I moved faster. “Daryl...”

His breath was frantic, his grip tight, his eyes - wrong. He wasn’t here.

“Aaron, don’t move,” I said quickly.

Aaron didn’t. He stayed frozen, hands raised.

“Daryl,” I whispered, stepping into his line of sight. “It’s me, Ath. Look at me.”

He didn’t blink.

I took a slow breath. “It’s just Aaron.”

Something sparked in his eyes.

“You can let go,” I whispered. “Everything’s okay.”

A sharp inhale, then his grip loosened.

Aaron stumbled, coughing, and Daryl staggered like the floor had just shifted beneath him, his knife dropping from his hand. He looked at me. And I watched the horror hit him like a freight train.

“It’s okay,” Aaron tried to reassure him, seeing the shock in his eyes. “It’s fine.”

Daryl swayed. His breath was labored, his hands shaking.

I stepped forward, taking his hand as softly as I could, and led him outside. His jaw was clamped, his body locked up. But he let me guide him out.

I led him to a wall, positioning him with his back against it so he could feel something solid behind him. He slid down it almost immediately, pulling his legs up, his head in his hands.

I dropped down beside him, pulling him gently into me.

His breath was still stunted against me, his whole body shaking. I didn’t say anything yet - I just held him, running my fingers through his hair, waiting.

After a while, his breathing slowed, but he didn’t move, his hands staying curled into the back of my jacket.

“Fuckin’ hate this.” His voice came quietly. “I ain’t right.”

I pulled back and tilted his chin up so I could see his face. His eyes were raw, rimmed with guilt and embarrassment.

“It's gonna take time,” I told him softly. “It’s not your fault.”

His expression tightened. “Coulda hurt him.”

“But you didn’t.”

He let out a slow, shuddering breath and dragged a hand down his face. “Sick of this shit.”

I knew he was.

I knew how frustrating he found it when he didn’t feel like he was in control, couldn’t catch his breath, couldn’t steady himself.

“Today’s tougher, huh?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

He paused, then finally muttered, “Shoulda killed him.”

Daryl looked away, like saying it out loud was worse than keeping it in. “He knows we’re back at Alexandria..."

“He won’t say anything,” I tried to reassure him, but neither of us could know that for sure, and the words felt empty.

“Don’t know that.” His voice was hoarse, tight with something deeper than anger – fear. “Could tell Negan... I know he'll see us anyway when shit goes down, but if he knows before, he'll already be gunnin' for us."

“Daryl, I won’t let him touch you. Not again.”

“Ain’t worried about me.” He muttered, clenching his fists.

I reached over and placed a hand on his cheek, forcing him to look at me again. His skin was warm beneath my fingers, but he was still trembling.

“He’s not taking us away from each other,” I promised.

His breath shuddered, and his forehead dropped against mine.

“We don’t know that,” he whispered.

I tightened my grip on him. “Yeah, we do.”

I didn’t. Not really. But I’d die before I let it happen.

Even when he seemed more settled, I could tell didn’t want to face the others. He was embarrassed, ashamed everyone had seen him in that state. He didn’t need to be - every single person in there loved him. They understood – but that didn’t make him feel any better.

I was about to reassure him, when Rick emerged.

“Can I sit?” he asked Daryl, who paused for a moment before giving one nod, eyes trained on the ground.

As Rick parked himself on the other side of him. He gave me a look.

I’ve got this.

I took Daryl’s hand and gave it a squeeze, before standing up and moving back inside, giving them privacy - or what they thought was privacy... I was still listening.

Rick’s voice was calm. “How you doing?”

Daryl was silent for a while, then dodged Rick’s question completely. “Aaron okay?”

“He’s fine,” Rick assured him. “He knows that wasn’t you.” A pause. “He's not scared of you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Daryl let out a shaky breath. “Yeah, well, maybe he should be.”

“No, he shouldn’t.” Rick’s voice was firm. “And you shouldn’t be either.”

Daryl didn’t respond, but I heard him shuffling to his feet.

“We’ve all got our ghosts, man.” Rick reminded him, rising to his feet also. “I’ve been there. Losing time. Seeing things that aren’t real. Thinking I was back in it.” He paused. “It doesn’t make you weak, you hear me? It means you made it through something you weren’t supposed to.”

“Yeah?” Daryl breathed, his voice heavy. “Then why’s it feel like I didn’t?”

My heart hurt.

It must've hurt Rick's too, because I could feel the way the air shifted as he ambushed Daryl, pulling him into a tight hug.

Daryl made a startled sound, but I knew how much the embrace would've meant to him.

Rick was quiet for a moment. Then, in a steady voice, he said, “Because the fight ain’t over yet.”

“Mhmh.”

“I’m proud of you, brother... for how you dealt with stuff yesterday.”

“He better not make me regret it.”

“I hope he doesn’t.” Rick said, then more lightly. “I think you’ll struggle to get to him before your wife does though... or Merle.”

“Yeah.” Daryl snorted quietly, pausing before adding., “Don’t know what I did to deserve her.”

“You were you.”

There was silence for a few moments before he replied, voice quieter than before. “Feel like a burden on her all the time since... shit.”

“Daryl. That woman loves you. All of you. You’re not a burden... to anyone.”

“Must be crazy.”

Rick clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Oh, she is.” Both of them chuckled a little. “Come on. Let’s head back in.”

A/N: A shorter chapter as I had to split the original in two and ending there was the only place that made sense. 🫠

Next part coming straight up! ❤️