Ghosts

The road ahead stretched long and empty, a ribbon of cracked pavement winding through the remnants of a world that used to be. The sun was dipping lower, washing the trees in gold, but the beauty of it felt wrong - like it didn't belong to us anymore. Nothing really did.

Rick had picked an old service station as our home for the night, half-buried in vines, its windows long shattered. It wasn't safe, not really, but it was safer than sleeping out in the open. Everyone was settling in - Michonne was checking the perimeter, Carl was rationing out what little food we had left, and Hershel was tending to a cut Sasha had gotten during our escape.

Daryl was outside, cleaning his crossbow.

I'd been holding off telling him about what Carol had found since she told me a few hours ago. I couldn't bear the thought of what it would do to him, but keeping it inside felt like holding onto something burning, he deserved to know.

Carol had given me the necklace back at the tracks. It was unmistakable - Merle never took it off, the grimy silver still stained dark with old blood. The bones in my hand had turned to ice when I saw it, and I knew that he must have fallen victim to Terminus.

Daryl deserved to hear this from me, and I'd do everything I could to support him during the fallout.

I found him sitting on an old concrete barrier behind the building, back turned to the group, his head down as he ran a rag over his weapon. The muscles in his arms flexed with the motion, the dirt and sweat on his skin painting him in the colors of survival.

I took a breath and stepped closer. "Daryl."

He looked up, smiling when he saw me.

"Can we talk?" I asked, my voice shaking.

His hands stilled for half a second before he set his crossbow aside, wiping his palms on his thighs. "'Bout what?"

I could feel his unease. He knew this couldn't be good.

I swallowed, my fingers tightening around the chain in my pocket. The weight of it was heavier than it should have been. I sat down beside him, facing him.

"Carol-she-" I hesitated, feeling his gaze finally land on me. Blue eyes, sharp as a blade, but with something softer beneath.

"She found something," I said quietly. "At Terminus. In their trophy room."

Daryl's expression barely changed, but I felt the shift in him, like the air had gone thinner. He didn't say anything, just waited.

I pulled the necklace from my pocket and held it out.

His gaze dropped to my hand. I felt him go still beside me, his breath halting for just a moment.

I wished I didn't have to say it, but I owed him the truth. "It was with-" My throat tightened. "With his metal hand."

The silence stretched so long I thought he wasn't going to say anything at all. His face gave nothing away. Just those sharp, unreadable eyes locked onto the necklace, like he was staring at something he couldn't quite make himself believe.

I felt a sting at the back of my throat. "I'm so sorry."

He took it from me slowly, like he wasn't sure if it was real. The rough pads of his fingers brushed mine, and they were cold.

He turned the necklace over in his palm, rubbing his fingers against the two rings, staring at it like it might give him an answer. But there weren't any answers left. Just pieces of what used to be.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, voice low and rough.

I sat beside him, our legs brushing, but I didn't reach for him. Not yet.

For a long time, he didn't say anything else. Just turned the necklace over and over in his hands, eyes flicking from it to the ground, like he was searching for something to hold onto.

"Always did like his trophies," Daryl finally muttered. His voice was even, but there was something off about it - something forced.

I didn't know what to say, so I just sat with him.

He let out a slow breath, then leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. The necklace dangled from his fingers, catching the last light of the sun.

"I dunno what I'm supposed to feel," he admitted, barely above a whisper.

I reached out then, resting a hand on his arm, hoping to ground him. "Whatever you feel," I said softly, "is okay."

Daryl's jaw tightened, his eyes flicking to mine. There was something raw in them, something I didn't think even he could name.

He swallowed, looking away. "Never thought-" He cut himself off, shaking his head like he didn't even want to finish the sentence.

I didn't push him. Instead, I slipped my fingers between his, but he pulled away.

He sighed and tucked the necklace into his pocket. "Need to hunt." he muttered, more to himself than to me.

"Can I come with you?" I asked, not wanting him to be alone.

"Nah." He grunted quietly. "Just me."

I didn't pressure him. "Be safe. I love you."

"Love ya, Ath." He mumbled, walking toward the trees line, not kissing me like he usually would, but I got it.

My heart shattered watching him walk, alone, into the distance. I didn't know what to make of his reaction, but I knew he was hurting. The way he was walking with his head and shoulders slouched was a betrayal of his usual hunting swagger.

I wiped the stray tears that had fallen as I watched him walk away. Partly for Merle, but mainly for the man I loved who was in pain, and didn't know what to do with it.

I returned to the group. Carol saw my bleary eyes and moved over to me, making the connection for herself.

"How did he take it?" she asked, worried.

"He's Daryl." I sighed. "He shut down."

"Where is he?"

My voice cracked. "Went hunting. He wanted to be alone."

Carol pulled me into a hug. "He needs time. He'll come back soon."

"I know." I told her. "I just wish I knew what to do to help him."

"Just be you..."

I sighed again. "Let's keep this between us until he's ready to tell people."

~

Hours had passed since Daryl had ventured into the woods, and the sky was dark. Everyone apart from Tyreese - on watch at the front of the building - was asleep already. I sat on the concrete barrier from earlier, eyes fixed on the trees, awaiting his return.

I kept standing up, deciding to go in after him, but then relenting. He wanted to be alone, he could handle himself out there, he didn't want me to follow. If I'd learnt anything about Daryl, it was that he needed patience, and I'd give him it - as difficult as I was currently finding it.

Eventually, I breathed a sigh of relief as I saw his silhouette emerging into view through the dim moonlight. I was desperate to touch him, hug him, offer him some type of support.

"What ya doin' out here?" he grumbled as he came close, not looking at me directly. He wasn't carrying any kills.

"I was worried about you." I explained.

"M'fine." He snapped, but with no real bite.

"Daryl..."

"Ya shouldn't be out here. Go to sleep."

Under normal circumstances, I'd have offered him a snarky remark about how I could take care of myself, but I thought the better of it. I knew he was hurting.

"Are you coming to sleep, too?" I asked gently.

"Soon."

I didn't argue. I forced a shy smile and made my way inside, turning back briefly, "I'm here." I reassured him, but he still wouldn't look at me.

~

I laid on the makeshift bed for what felt like forever, Daryl never came. I wanted to give him the space he'd asked for, but I couldn't any longer. I loved him, and he'd just found out his brother was most likely eaten by cannibals. I was going to be there for him even if it pissed him off.

I crept out of the garage, eyes scanning for him, but he wasn't in sight.

"Tyreese, have you seen Daryl?" I asked quietly.

He eyed me suspiciously,"He went in there." He gestured to a smaller building attached to the side of the service station. "Trouble in paradise?"

I ignored Tyreese's question. I walked toward the small building, which consisted of just one room, likely used for storage when the service station was operational.

Daryl was lying on the floor facing away from me, a blanket and a makeshift pillow fashioned into a bed for the night. His crossbow perched beside him. I felt a sting of rejection that he'd chosen to sleep in here rather than with me, but let it go.

"Daryl?" I spoke quietly as I entered.

He didn't respond.

I slipped in beside him, slinking underneath the blanket.

I could tell by the way he stiffened that he wasn't asleep.

"Hey..." I whispered, reaching out to touch his arm.

He flinched, but didn't acknowledge me.

I moved closer to him, wrapping my arms around his waist, sliding my left arm beneath him so I could encapsulate him fully. I squeezed him tightly and planted a kiss to his shoulder. He might not want me here, but this was me showing him that I was, and I wasn't going anywhere.

My touch seemed to act as an emotional release valve.

Without warning, silent, heaving sobs began to rack Daryl's body. His shoulders moving heavily in reciprocating motion and his torso jerking as his pain took over.

I clenched my arms around him tighter, trying desperately to show him I was here, I had him, he was safe.

He didn't make a sound despite the lamentations violently coursing through his body. Even now, in the throws of his falling apart - he tried to hide his pain. He couldn't prevent the emotion from escaping, but he still fought not to let it be audible.

I hated that he felt the need to conceal himself even at a time like this. He didn't need to put on a front for me, or anyone, but he'd spent a lifetime being taught to.

I held him there, arms coiled solidly around him, but his sobs didn't settle. They got stronger as the minutes ticked by. I clung to him desperately, pressing my lips to different areas of his back and shoulders, trying to offer him comfort without speaking.

His shirt reeked of sweat, the type that comes from raw emotion clawing its way out of your body. Tears secretly fell from my eyes now, too, but I wouldn't let him notice.

They weren't tears for Merle - not really - they were for the broken man lying in my arms as his body rocked manically with silent tears. I cared for Merle, and I was gutted about what had happened, but seeing the man I loved dissolving like this devastated me.

I'd have done anything in the moment to take his pain away. I couldn't stand it. I'd give anything to heal his hurt, but I knew that I couldn't. Instead, I just held him. Time had no meaning, but it was a while before his reverberations slowed, and I felt his body finally resting.

I stayed awake for a long time after Daryl appeared to have fallen asleep. Partly in case he woke up and needed me, but partly because I couldn't let him go. I continued to plant kisses on him, squeezing him tight. I hoped that somehow I could ease his anguish while he slept, prevent him from having to wake up in the same distressed state.

I slept lighter than I ever had in my life - my body and brain in protective mode, needing to be alert for when Daryl roused, not wanting him to wake alone.

~

The air was quiet when I opened my eyes. Not the kind of quiet that meant peace, but the kind that sat heavy on your chest, pressing down until you had no choice but to feel it.

He was still beside me, his back half-turned, his breathing slow and deep in the dim morning light. But I knew he wasn't sleeping, I could tell by how his body tensed as I rested a hand on his back that he was awake. I wondered if he'd really slept at all.

I'd felt it - how his body had trembled beneath my arms in the darkness, how his breath had hitched, silent sobs he didn't want me to hear.

I'd held him through it. Said nothing. Just wrapped my arms around him and let him grieve.

Now, as the first light stretched pale fingers across the floor, I knew we couldn't keep pretending.

I shifted, propping myself up on my elbow, whispering. "Daryl?"

He didn't answer right away. Just stared ahead, jaw tight, like he was trying to hold in everything that had already spilled over in the night.

I brushed my fingers against his arm. He flinched again, not away, just a reflex - but after a moment, he let me touch him.

"I know you don't wanna talk," I said softly, "but you don't have to go through this alone."

His throat worked as he swallowed. "Ain't nothin' to say."

I bit my lip. "There is..."

He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face like he could scrub away his emotions. He stood, and lifted his crossbow over his shoulder. "C'mon. Better get movin' again."

~

The trees pressed in around us, their gnarled branches twisting overhead, filtering what little sunlight we had left. It had been days since we left Terminus, but I could still smell the smoke, still hear the screams. Every step forward was an act of defiance against what had almost happened to us. But survival came at a cost, and I could feel the weight of it in every exhausted breath, every wary glance passed between us.

Mostly, I felt it in Daryl.

He walked a few paces ahead of me, his crossbow slung over his back, shoulders drawn tight beneath the weight of his grief.

Merle was gone, and it was like the loss had settled into his bones, thick and unshakable. And even though I was right here, within reach, he hadn't been able to let me in.

The group moved in tense silence, our footsteps barely a whisper against the forest floor. Rick led, Carl close at his side, while Michonne watched our rear, gun drawn. Tyreese carried Judith, his grip protective. Maggie and Glenn stuck close, whispering quietly, their bond a rare light in all this darkness. Carol and Sasha stayed close to Hershel, who was carrying  grief of his own - we still didn't know where Beth was.

We also had our four new friends. The butch, redheaded man had turned out to be called Abraham. He had been travelling with his girlfriend Rosita and a less attractive Billy Ray Cyrus lookalike named Eugene. The girl from the Governor's group was Tara. I liked her already.

I quickened my pace, closing the space between Daryl and I, until I was walking beside him. His eyes flicked to me once, then forward again. No words. But I didn't need them to know he was still hurting. I reached out, brushing my fingers against his - just enough to let him know I was here. For a second, he didn't move. Then, slowly, his pinky curled around mine.

A sudden cry for help had us all snapping to attention. Daryl's hand jerked away as he raised his crossbow, and I mirrored him, knife already in hand. The group fanned out, weapons ready.

And then we saw him.

A man dressed as a preacher was perched atop a tall rock, flailing like a newborn deer, surrounded by walkers with outstretched arms. The second he saw us, his hands shot up in surrender.

"Please!" he wheezed, voice thick with panic. "Help me!"

Rick stepped forward, knife steady.

The man's wide, terrified eyes darted between us. He swallowed hard, sweat beading along his dark brow.

The sound of the dead echoed - low, guttural groans. They noticed our arrival now, some abandoning the trapped man in favour of new meat - rotten, hollow-eyed, shambling toward us with the mindless hunger we knew too well.

I moved before I could think, stepping into the fight like second nature. My blade sank deep into the first walker's skull, gore spurting against my wrist. Daryl's crossbow fired beside me, taking another down cleanly. Michonne's knife flashed, her katana lost to Terminus, while Tyreese shifted Judith behind him.

It was over in seconds.

Silence settled, broken only by the heavy breathing of the stranger who still perched there, shaking like a leaf. He hadn't even tried to fight.

Rick stared at him, knife still raised. "Who the hell are you?"

The man hesitated, then slowly lowered his hands, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed.

"I - I'm Father Gabriel," he stammered, voice trembling. He glanced at the bodies at our feet, his face twisting in horror.

I frowned. "You don't have weapons?"

"The Word of God is the only protection I need." He replied.

Daryl scoffed. "Sure didn't look like it."

Gabriel's eyes darted to him, and I watched as he took in Daryl's worn leather vest, the dirt and dried blood on his skin, the way he carried himself like a man ready for war. Like the rest of us.

"I called for help. Help came." He spoke passionately.

"How many walkers have you killed?" Rick asked the apparent preacher.

"Not any, actually." He revealed.

"How many people have you killed?" Rick continued.

"None."

"Why?"

"Because the Lord abhors violence."

I rolled my eyes so far back in my head, I'm surprised they didn't get stuck.

"I have food," Gabriel blurted, desperation seeping into his voice. "A church. Shelter."

The group exchanged wary glances. A church? Shelter? It sounded too good to be true.

Rick studied him, unreadable. Then, finally, he holstered his knife. "Show us the way."

With a tad of reluctance, Gabriel turned and started walking. People followed, our group falling back into formation. Daryl didn't move right away, still watching the man with sharp, sceptical eyes.

I touched his arm. "You okay?"

His jaw worked, tension radiating off him. Then, finally, he let out a slow breath. "Yeah," he muttered.

It wasn't the truth. Not really.

I took his hand, squeezing it tight as we followed the others to a potential haven.

~

The church was small, isolated. It nestled within a wooded area, partially hidden by thick trees and overgrown brush. The exterior was weathered, peeling white paint and a sagging roof, but the tall steeple still stood, topped with a rusting cross. Vines crept up the stone foundation, giving the place an abandoned, almost eerie feel.

Inside, the air was musty, thick with dust and the faint scent of candle wax. Wooden pews lined the nave, still intact. A simple pulpit stood at the front, behind it a large stained-glass window depicting a biblical scene - though grime and neglect had dulled its once-vivid colors. Religious texts and hymnals lay scattered all over the place.

The preacher revealed that he'd been living off canned food from a drive before the fall, occasionally scavenging places nearby. There was one place he hadn't hit yet, and Michonne decided that we should go there straight away, not risking letting anybody else getting there first.

Daryl and I started preparing to join the small group venturing out, but Rick caught my eye, tipping his head to ask me to follow him. I did.

"How's he doing?" Rick asked once we were out of earshot. He knew about Merle now. Everybody did. Daryl hadn't protested when I said we should tell them, as long as nobody tried to talk to him about it.

"I don't know." I answered honestly. "He's not good, but he won't talk to me."

"He definitely ain't right." Rick agreed. "But we're gonna need him on his game if this goes south."

"I agree. But he's going through some shit. Maybe the rest of us will just have to pick up the slack while he processes. He's only human, Rick."

Rick looked at me sympathetically. "I know."

"I am worried about him." I confessed.

"We have enough people to head on the run. You guys sit this one out. Go hunting. It might help."

"Maybe." I mused.

I ventured back to Daryl, who was leaning over a pew, checking his bolts. He eyed me suspiciously.

"Talkin' 'bout me?" He huffed.

"Rick wants us to go hunt while they're on the run."

"Fine." He agreed, lacklustre. "Ya don't need to come. Rest."

"I want to."

"Nah."

The familiar pang of rejection hit me. It was becoming an all too common feeling since Daryl learned about Merle's untimely end.

"Be safe, then." I told him. Edging away to escape the awkwardness I felt.

This was the side of Daryl I hadn't made my peace with yet. The shutdown mechanism he implored when he didn't know how to process his emotions. It wasn't his fault, but it frustrated me. I wished he could open up, or at least be less distant with me in the process.

I went on the run with the others afterall, not wanting to sit at the church twiddling my thumbs. Rick, Father Gabriel, Sasha, Michonne, Glenn and I made our way to what the preacher told us was a food bank that served half the county.

It was an eventful run, to say the least.

The place was crawling with walkers, both inside and out. We split up to gather supplies once we'd taken most of them down.

It was then, that Glenn provided me my first real, hearty laugh since the discovery of Merle's passing, and the sensation made it fade like a weight had been lifted, at least for a while.

I was searching through cabinets in a kitchen type room when I heard a crash, followed by a thud and a deep moan. I pulled out my knife, moving toward the door the sound had emanated from behind, but Glenn emerged, flustered, before I reached it. He looked embarrassed.

"Was it a walker?" I asked, looking him up and down.

"Uh, yeah. It was a walker." He spoke unconvincingly.

"Really?" I folded my arms and pursed my lips, trying not to laugh at his blatant lie. We stared at each other for a few seconds.

Glenn sighed. "It was a stack of boxes and a mop. I tripped."

It probably shouldn't have been as funny as it was, but the dire situation we'd been living in prompted me to find as much humor as I could in the situation. I erupted into loud cackles, bending double as the laughter hurt my stomach.

Glenn chuckled too, nervously at first, but then it turned into full-on, booming laughter. That made me laugh more, and in turn he found more amusement in the choked snorts that escaped my nose. We were stuck in a cycle of hilarity - dissolving into deeper fits of giggles each time we'd looked at each other. It felt good. Like just hanging out with a clumsy friend.

"You good?" Sasha asked, peering into the room.

"Yeah." I wheezed. "Glenn just got attacked by a mop."

Glenn looked ashamed for a second before wiping his eyes. We were both bright red, tears streaming down our faces, and our jaws aching from the exertion.

"O...kay." Sasha replied with a smile. "We got a bit wet." She gestured to her filty, sodden, clothes, "But we got a bunch of stuff. Rick wants to head back."

I piled my pack high with spoils from the cabinets - cereal, chips, more cans - and we followed her out, feeling successful in our mission.

~

Spirits were high as we returned. We had food, shelter and more safety than in recent days. Things were looking up. I just wanted Daryl to be okay now.

Feeling motivated by the relief of our successful run, and much lighter after my giggling session with Glenn, I ventured into the woods. I was going to find Daryl, squeeze him as tightly as I could. Remind him I was there for him. I didn't question the reaction he'd have to my arrival, or worry about his response. I just walked, following his tracks.

As I'd almost caught up to him, I squinted through the branches. I saw him sitting with his back against a tree, his knees bent and his crossbow discarded at his side. Even from here, I could see the pain in his face, the streaks in the dirt on his cheeks.

I emerged from the trees, walking toward him silently. He bent his head, but I knew he felt me approaching.

"Hey, you." I said quietly as I knelt in front of him, positioning myself between his knees but not touching him, yet.

He didn't look up, but I could see the wetness on his face, the evidence of his emotions escaping.

His hand caught my eye, more specifically, a fresh, raw burn that sat painfully between his thumb and forefinger. A discarded cigarette lay on the ground nearby, barely even smoked.

I took his injured hand, and he didn't pull away. I pressed my lips to the area next to the sore-looking wound, taking care to avoid catching it and hurting him further. Daryl didn't look at me, but I could sense his shame.

He'd done it on purpose.

I let go of his hand and wrapped my arms around his neck, crawling into his lap and coiling my legs around his waist.

"I love you." I whispered.

Silence.

"I'm sorry you're hurting. I wish I knew what to do."

No response.

I stroked the hair that rested at the back of his neck. "Tell me what to do, Daryl. Tell me how to help you. Please."

He finally raised his eyes to meet mine, the small distance between our faces magnifying the anguish within them. Tears crept in again, but he tried to hold them back, blinking rapidly without breaking our gaze.

"Don't know what to do." He sighed, his voice cracking. "Don't feel real."

"I know." I whispered, cupping his face as a stray tear slipped. I caught it with my thumb, brushing it away, only for it to be replaced by more.

He leant forward and buried his head into my chest, letting himself fall apart. He snaked his arms around my waist and held on tightly, as if trying to steady himself.

This wasn't like at the service station, when he'd fought to hide it, lost control against his will. This was honest, raw, a show of his trust in me, that he felt safe.

The low sounds of his sobs rumbled against my chest as his shoulders heaved, and I felt the salty liquid seeping through my shirt.

"Let it out, baby." I reassured him, kissing his head and stroking his hair.

"It's the way-" He choked out, his voice half-muffled by my clothing.

"Hmm?" I encouraged him to elaborate.

"Damn, Ath. They fuckin' ate him."

I nodded, not that he could see it, as I didn't bother trying to hide my own tears. I couldn't bear seeing him like this. My strong, brave redneck, completely exhausted and emotionally drained.

"It ain't that he's gone. It is - but it ain't. If it were walkers, I coulda got it." He forced out. "But people did this."

I didn't know what to say. Merle's death had been undeniably cruel. In a world where the dead ate people, you still didn't expect other humans to do the same.

"Wasn't supposed to be like this," he rasped. His voice was rough, edged with something brittle. "I-" He stopped, his jaw tightening again.

I waited. Gave him the space to find the words, even if they hurt.

"Shoulda done somethin'," he mumbled.

I shook my head. "You didn't even know where he was. Before that, you did everything you could."

"Not enough."

I tightened my grasp on him. "Daryl, this isn't your fault."

His breath hitched, and for a second, I thought he'd argue. But he didn't.

"He's my brother," he said, voice barely above a whisper.

"I know." I murmured. "I'm here. I've got you."

I held him as he continued breaking down, kissing his head as my own tears fell into his hair. We stayed there until dark, not caring if the others noted our long absence. This was more important.

"I love ya." He mumbled when he finally lifted his head from my chest. "M'sorry."

"Shhhh." I reassured, cupping his face and lifting it so we looked at each other. "You have nothing to be sorry for. I love you."

I leant in and found his lips, his mouth instantly responding to mine. I kissed him gently, lovingly, showing him how much I cared for him, that I'd help him be okay.

His tongue dipped into my mouth softly. Showing me that he loved me too, that he was grateful, that he knew now we could get through anything together.

We always had, and we always would.

A/N: Well, that was an emotional one.

I thought it was time we saw Daryl's more vulnerable side properly. I'd love to know what you thought.