Don't Look

Daryl had gone out on a run without me for the first time since the explosion.

It felt strange being in Alexandria without him, but we'd finally both agreed it wasn't sustainable for us to be together at all times - we both had shit to do. We'd always have each other's back on missions, and do runs together whenever possible, but for today, we were apart.

He kissed me like he'd never see me again before he left. It was overdramatic, but I loved it. My knees almost buckled at the intensity and I had to lean against a fence to catch my breath as I watched him leave.

I wasn't worried. He was only taking Denise to a nearby apothecary for meds - the two had formed a cute awkward friendship now, and she'd talked him into accompanying her despite his reluctance. Denise hadn't been outside of Alexandria's walls since she arrived and she was clueless when it came to walkers.

Rosita had gone with them too. Her and Abraham had broken up, and she seemed devastated. I hoped some time outside the walls would cheer her up.

Abraham on the other hand was waltzing about the place like he didn't have a care in the world, and definitely flirting with Sasha. They looked very snug this morning before he left on his own run with Eugene.

I wiped the sweat from my forehead, smudging a streak of grease across my skin. The day had passed quickly, but I wasn't done yet. There was always something that needed fixing - right now, it was a busted rifle that had jammed up during our last supply run. I had it spread out in pieces on the hood of an old truck, hands working through the motions, cleaning and oiling each part like second nature.

The familiar routine kept my mind busy, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't quite right.

When I looked up, my eyes landed on Carol.

She was sitting on her porch swing, rocking back and forth just enough to keep it moving, a cigarette dangling from her fingers. She'd taken up the habit recently, often bumming them from Daryl.

I might not have noticed anything strange if it weren't for the way her other hand clutched at something - rosary beads, turning them over and over between her fingers.

Carol wasn't much of a church-going woman, not anymore. The sight of those beads in her hand was enough to set off alarm bells in my head.

I finished reassembling the rifle, testing the bolt before slinging it over my shoulder and crossing the street toward her.

She didn't look up when I climbed the steps onto the porch. Just kept smoking, kept rolling those beads between her fingers.

I hesitated before sitting beside her on the swing, letting it creak under my weight.

"You alright?" I asked.

Carol exhaled, the smoke curling around her face before disappearing into the evening air.

She didn't answer.

I frowned. "Carol..."

"I've think I've killed eighteen people."

I stared at her, but she just kept looking ahead, fingers still rolling the beads. Then, after a beat, she corrected herself.

"Twenty."

A chill ran through me - not at the number itself, but at the way she said it. Regretful, unsure, like she was having a sudden crisis of conscience.

I shifted slightly, resting my arms on my knees. "That bother you?"

She let out a breath that could've been a laugh, but there wasn't any humor in it. "I don't know."

I studied her, taking in the exhaustion, the weight in her eyes. She'd been different since the Saviors. Or maybe before that. Maybe I just hadn't seen it until now.

"We've all done things," I said finally.

Carol turned her head to look at me, her expression troubled. "Yeah," she murmured. "We have."

I would have sat with her longer, but the gate swinging open caught my eye.

Daryl was back, climbing out of the truck - and he was holding his crossbow.

My heart leapt, and a huge smile graced my face as I stood. I knew he'd find a way to get it back, but wait... how?

I started toward him, relief at seeing him back - toting his beloved weapon - twisting into concern as I got closer. His face was hard, his jaw tight, and his eyes - burning with something dark.

I saw Abraham and Rosita helping Eugene out of the truck, his face pale, his hand pressed against a bloody wound. My stomach clenched, my pace quickening.

Then I noticed the body, wrapped in a blanket. The world seemed to slow, my breath catching in my throat as I realized - Denise. It had to be.

I started running.

Daryl hadn't noticed me yet, not until I was nearly on him. His crossbow hung loose in his grip, the very one D had stolen from him.

D. Sherry. Him having his crossbow back. It all clicked in an instant, but none of it mattered more than the way Daryl looked at me as I reached him. His eyes weren't just filled with rage. They held regret. Pain. Something raw that went deeper than words.

"What happened?" I asked, my voice tight, desperate.

He didn't answer. Didn't even try.

Instead, his crossbow slipped from his grasp, clattering against the ground, and before I could say another word, he melted into me.

I caught him, arms wrapping around his back, feeling the tension in every muscle, the way he gripped me - tight, unyielding, like I was the only thing keeping him from shattering completely.

I could feel it in the way he held me, in the way his chest rose and fell against mine, like he was barely keeping it together.

I closed my eyes, holding him just as tightly.

"Baby, what happened?" I breathed, squeezing him harder.

"Shoulda killed 'em when I had the chance." He replied after a little while, his voice strained against my shoulder.

"D? And Sherry?"

He didn't answer, but it didn't matter right now. He just needed me to hold him. I did.

After a few minutes, he lifted his head, straightening himself. "Gotta bury her."

"Can I help?"

I expected him to resist, but he nodded once. We lifted Denise from the vehicle and carried her to the ever-growing graveyard, setting her on the floor and starting to dig.

The fact that we kept shovels resting against the fence showed just how often we had to do this.

Daryl didn't speak. Just dug - sweat pouring from his brow and soaking his hair.

"You need to take a break?"

"Nah." He grunted, pulling a miniature bottle of whiskey from his pocket and downing it in one.

That wasn't like Daryl. We buried people all the time, lost them even more often. He took it in his stride, we all did, we had to. But this was more, and I already knew why.

He blamed himself.

He thought Denise's death was his fault for not killing D and Sherry that day in the woods.

I knew how he worked.

When we finished burying Denise, we stood in silence for a while, before I gently took his hand and led him back home. He didn't fight it. Just let me take him. He didn't know what to do with himself.

His crossbow still lay strewn on the ground by the cars, I scooped it up as we passed.

"Hey little broth-" Merle cut himself off as he saw us entering the house. "What happened?"

I shook my head.

Merle, Hershel and Beth looked between each other, faces somber.

They knew it was bad.

I gripped his hand tighter, taking him to the room that had become ours.

Once inside, he sat on the edge of the bed, his elbows on his knees, his head low. I set his crossbow - the one that should have never been in D's hands to begin with - against the wall.

"You wanna shower?" I asked quietly, stroking his damp hair.

No response. He didn't even look at me.

I grabbed a washcloth and a cup of warm water from the sink, then knelt in front of him. He didn't resist as I cupped his face, tilting it up just enough so I could clean him off. His skin was warm under my fingertips, but cold at the same time.

I started with his face, wiping away the sweat, the dirt. The blood that wasn't his.

"It's not on you," I said softly.

His jaw tensed. He scoffed, shaking his head slightly.

"It isn't," I told him again, firmer this time, moving the cloth down his neck.

I moved to his hands, fingers brushing over the dried blood on his knuckles, the smudges of dirt ground into his palms. My touch was slow, careful, trying to peel back the tension that kept him locked up inside himself.

A long silence stretched between us before I pressed again. "Talk to me."

He took a breath. "We were talkin'," he said, voice gruff. "By the tracks. She was - we was just talkin'."

My hands stilled for a moment. I knew who she was.

He took a breath, but it barely reached his lungs. "Bolt went straight through her damn eye." His voice was raw, like it hurt to get the words out. "Didn't even see it comin'."

I blinked back the burn in my eyes and kept going, moving the washcloth along his wrist, over his fingers. "D?" I asked gently.

He nodded. "Came outta the woods. "Bunch of 'em. Had Eugene. Said he wanted me 'n' Rosita to bring 'em back here." His lip curled. "Fought. Got a lot of 'em. Eugene got shot." He swallowed hard. "Asshole ran."

I finished wiping his hands, letting the damp cloth fall into my lap. I reached up, cupping his face again, brushing my thumbs against the sharp planes of his cheekbones.

"This wasn't on you," I said, even softer now. "None of it."

His eyes finally met mine, glassy with the emotion he wouldn't let spill over.

I leaned forward, pressing my forehead to his. "You hear me?"

He didn't answer. But his hands found my waist, pulling me closer, holding on like he needed something to stabilize him.

~

Daryl didn't sleep.

I didn't either. I couldn't bear how he was feeling - the unwarranted guilt, the anger - I wished I could take it from him, but I couldn't. I could only lay with him as he stared at the ceiling all night, his face hard.

I climbed out of bed when I heard the others starting to move around upstairs, pressing a kiss to his head before getting in the shower.

When I got out. He was gone.

I tried not to worry straight away. He could be upstairs, outside for a cigarette... but my gut told me he wasn't. I threw on the first clothing I found, pulling it over my still damp skin before making my way outside, my eyes searching for him, for his bike.

I heard the engine revving before I saw the car. The moment Rosita spotted me, she threw open the door.

"I couldn't stop him!" Her voice was sharp with frustration, with worry.

Daryl.

The second it registered in my mind, I was moving. I climbed in without question, slamming the door behind me.

"Make room for my freckled ass." Abraham hollered, making his way to the car.

Rosita shut him down. "Cover my watch. I know where Daryl's going."

"Glenn, drive." I instructed desperately.

He threw the car into gear, tires kicking up dust as we sped toward the railway tracks.

Michonne twisted in her seat to look at me, her expression tense. "We think he's gone after D."

My stomach turned. I already knew it, but hearing it out loud made it worse. "I know."

Rosita was seething, arms crossed tight over her chest. "I tried to talk him down. He wouldn't listen."

Because of course he wouldn't. He wasn't thinking straight.

"He blames himself," I muttered, eyes fixed on the road ahead. "Drive faster."

"Yeah," Michonne said. "We have to find him, he's going to..." She trailed off as she caught my eye

I swallowed against the lump in my throat. I didn't have to hear the rest. I knew what she was thinking.

Daryl was going to get himself killed.

I turned toward the window, breathing through the tightness in my chest. I understood why he was doing this, but that didn't make it any easier to accept. He was hurt. He was angry. And that anger was going to put him in the ground if we didn't stop him.

My hands curled into fists in my lap, my nails digging into my palms.

When Glenn finally skidded to a stop near the railway tracks, I was out of the car before the engine had even shut off.

The air was heavy, thick with the smell of decay and something metallic.

Denise's blood was still there, dark and soaked into the ground.

My chest ached.

Rosita moved toward a pile of brush, lifting a few thick branches, and my breath caught when I saw what was beneath them.

Daryl's motorcycle.

Abandoned.

My voice cracked. "He's not thinking straight."

Glenn stepped beside me, putting a hand on my shoulder. "That's why we have to find him before he does something he can't come back from."

I pressed my lips together, forcing down the emotion that threatened to break loose.

"Which direction was D headed when he ran?" I asked, turning to Rosita.

She didn't answer.

She stood stiffly, arms crossed, her eyes distant like she wasn't really here. Like she was still back there, by the tracks, watching Denise fall all over again.

"Rosita!" I pressed, stepping closer.

Her gaze flickered, finally meeting mine, but her face conflicted. And then, quietly, she said, "Maybe we should let him do this."

"No." I snapped.

Glenn shook his head instantly. "No. We're stopping him."

Rosita sighed, but relented, motioning toward the woods. "That way."

Without another word, we moved.

The woods felt heavier than usual, like the air itself carried the weight of what was coming. I pushed through the brush faster, my heart hammering with every step.

We found Daryl quickly, too quickly - like he hadn't even tried to cover his trail. He only did that when his head was gone. He had his crossbow slung over his shoulder, his whole body tensed like he was ready for war.

I ran toward him.

"Ya shouldn't have come," he muttered angrily when his eyes met mine.

"You shouldn't have left," I shot back, though not able to hide my relief at finding him.

His jaw tightened.

"Daryl." Michonne tried. "This isn't the way. You can't do this."

"When we split off from Sasha and Abraham, he was out here," Daryl said, directing it at Glenn, Michonne, and Rosita. "In that forest with them girls. Put a gun to our heads. Tied us up." His voice was low, rough, full of something dangerous.

I already knew all of this. But hearing him say it again, with that look in his eyes...

"If Ath had been with us yesterday, it coulda been her he killed." He continued before he turned back to me. "Go home."

"No." I didn't hesitate.

"Ath..."

"I get it." I stepped to his side, my voice steady. "I'm going with you."

"Nah." He shot at me.

Glenn sighed heavily, stepping forward. "Guys, listen to me. You can't do this."

Daryl scoffed.

"So, you think it's your fault?" Glenn asked.

Daryl's jaw clenched. "Yeah, I know it is. I'm gonna go do what I shoulda done before."

"For Athena?" Glenn asked, gesturing to me. "She doesn't want you to... You're doing this for you."

I stayed silent. I didn't want him to do this. But I knew him. Knew he had to.

Daryl's expression darkened. "Man, I don't give a shit."

Michonne tried again. "Daryl... we need to get back there. We need to figure this out from home."

Glenn nodded. "Alexandria needs us right now. We need you guys."

Daryl's shoulders stiffened, like the weight of it all was pressing in, threatening to break him. He turned to me again. "Ath, please. Just go back."

I didn't justify it without a response. He knew I wouldn't leave him just as much as I knew he wasn't giving in.

Glenn took another step. "It's gonna go wrong out here. We both know that." He met Daryl's eyes, then mine. "Just come back."

Daryl's jaw twitched. He shook his head. "I can't."

"Daryl-"

"Man, I can't!" His voice cracked just slightly, just enough to make my chest tighten. He was already turning, already walking away. I followed him without a word.

Rosita glanced back at Glenn and Michonne, her expression unreadable. Then she sighed. "I can't either."

The three of us disappeared into the trees, Glenn and Michonne reluctantly heading back to Alexandria.

We moved through the woods, following the tracks D and his men had left behind. The only sounds were our footsteps, the occasional rustle of leaves. The silence was deafening. This was reckless and we all knew it.

Daryl's voice was the first to break it. Low. Rough.

"Ya shouldn't be here."

I glanced at him, saw the tension in his shoulders, the way his grip tightened around his crossbow.

I didn't answer.

"I gotta do this."

I nodded. "I know."

He let out a breath, shaking his head. "Can't stop thinking... if it'd been you on the run. If it'd been you who got killed." His voice caught slightly, his throat working as he swallowed. "Told you before - I'd kill anybody who tried to take you away from me."

I felt those words settle deep in my chest.

"They wanted us to take them back to Alexandria." Daryl continued, his grip tightening around his crossbow. "Ain't lettin' that happen, Ath. I can't."

I reached for his hand and squeezed it twice. Our code. He did the same.

Love ya.

I'm here.

Daryl stopped as a rustling noise cut through the air. Rosita and I did too, immediately pressing ourselves behind the nearest tree. I held my breath, heart pounding.

"Hi, Daryl."

A familiar voice.

The sound of a rifle cocking.

I turned my head, barely glimpsing the figure stepping out of the trees before a gunshot rang out.

Daryl jerked, his body twisting as he stumbled. Blood splattered the tree bark, hit my skin, warm and wet...

No. No. No. No.

A strangled sound ripped from my throat as I lunged for him, catching him just before he hit the ground.

He gasped, fingers twitching against my arm. His weight slumped into me, heavy and wrong.

"Daryl," I choked, pressing my hands to his chest. Blood soaked through my fingers instantly, thick and hot, spilling over like I couldn't hold it back. Like I could do nothing to stop it.

D's voice came from somewhere, but I wasn't listening.

"You'll be all right." He mocked.

The hell he would.

Tears blurred my vision. My breath came too fast, too shallow, and I pressed my hands harder against the wound, like I could physically hold him together.

This couldn't be happening.

Daryl's eyes stared into mine - their fierceness unwavering. He pushed himself up against my weight, struggling to his feet, trying to lunge for D, but he staggered.

Even now. Even with a hole in his chest. He was a fighter.

I did it for him. Throwing myself into Dwight with incredible force. A rage I hadn't felt since my sister died. My hands wrapped around his neck. I dug my knee hard into his chest.

I barely registered Rosita moving. There was a snarl of rage, the sound of a struggle - more footsteps, more voices, more men.

Rough hands yanked me away from D. I struggled to grasp Daryl's hand but I couldn't reach him.

I screamed, fought, but there were too many of them. I was being dragged away, thrown toward a waiting van.

Somebody grabbed my arms and twisted them behind my back. I thrashed wildly, barely feeling the sharp pain that shot through my shoulder.

"No!" My voice was raw, broken. "No, please." They couldn't take me away from Daryl. He needed me.

I hit the van's floor, instantly trying to claw my way back out I growled in rage.

Daryl was on his feet again, throwing punches despite the blood seeping from his chest.

Rosita was thrown in next, kicking and yelling as the men pushed me backwards yet again. I couldn't get past them. Couldn't get to Daryl.

The cold metal of the van pressed against my back as two men held me down. My wrists ached from how hard they gripped me, my nails digging uselessly into their arms. Every breath was ragged, my chest tight with panic. Across from me, Rosita thrashed against her captors, teeth bared, but she wasn't getting anywhere either.

They were dragging Daryl toward us now, toward me. His boots scraped against the dirt as he fought, his arms straining against their hold. Blood leaked from his gunshot wound, his shirt turning crimson.

"Don't," I pleaded, already knowing what was coming. "Please-"

One of them yanked Daryl back by his hair, forcing him onto his knees just outside the van, it took three of them to hold him there as he struggled against them.

"Hold him still," a tall man ordered, amusement laced in his voice.

Another man pressed a gun against Daryl's head.

Sobs tore through me. "No! No, please! Please, don't!" I fought against the hands pinning me, kicking out, but it didn't matter. They wanted me to watch. They wanted me to suffer.

Daryl gritted his teeth, muscles flexing as he tried to get up, but one of the men holding him slammed a knee into his spine, keeping him down.

Rosita's hand clamped around mine. I hadn't even realized she'd gotten close enough. "Don't look," she whispered, voice shaking.

But I couldn't look away.

Then, Rosita was hit over the head with the butt of a gun. Her body stilled. The grip on my hand loosened as she slumped unconscious.

I didn't have time to think about her. I screamed Daryl's name, watching as he still writhed desperately.

The men laughed, watching as I broke apart. "Ain't this sweet?" one of them mocked. "Maybe we should put her outta her misery first."

"Don't ya fuckin' touch her!" Daryl growled, exhaustion evident in his voice as he continued to thrash.

More laughter from the men. More taunts.

I was still struggling against my captors when the man with the gun let out an exaggerated sigh. "Nah. Ain't worth the bullet."

And shoved Daryl forward into the van.

He stumbled, collapsing into me, and I caught him. My arms locked around him tight, hands gripping at his vest, his shirt - anywhere, just to make sure he was really here. His breathing was labored against my neck, his hands shaking as he pulled me closer.

The doors slammed and we were plunged into near darkness. The only light filtering through bullet holes in the van's sides - remnants of earlier battles.

We lurched forward, the van's tires grinding against the road. Daryl's weight sagged into me, his body unnaturally heavy.

The blood. His blood. There was so much of it.

His neck, his chest, his arms - everywhere. It coated his skin, soaked into his shirt, smeared onto my hands as I tried to hold him sitting upright. He'd fought them so hard despite the agony he must be in. It had only hurt him more.

"Daryl," I choked out, unable to stop pressing kisses to his face, his hair.

His breathing was rough, shallow.

With a weak groan, he reached out, fingers trembling, and pressed them against Rosita's wrist. He stilled for a second, then exhaled a breath of relief. "Just out," he mumbled, voice barely there.

But he seemed like he was fading.

I didn't think. I just moved.

Fumbling, I pulled at his vest, his shirt, forcing them aside, searching for the wound. My hands were slick with his blood when I found it - just beneath his collarbone, close to his heart. But there was another wet warmth against my palm as I felt along his back.

Exit wound.

A shaky breath left me. "It went through," I whispered, more to myself than him. "That's good. That's-"

"M'so sorry," He breathed. "M'so sorry."

Tears blurred my vision, but I tried not to let more fall. "Stop."

I found a dirty, tattered blanket shoved in the corner of the van and pressed it against both wounds, holding as much pressure as I could. Daryl hissed but didn't fight me.

His skin was pale. Too pale. I could tell even in the low light.

"You're gonna be okay," I told him, my voice cracking. "Just hold on. We'll get out of this, and I'll-"

He cut me off with a breathy. "Ath..." His fingers curled weakly around my wrist.

"No." My voice was firm, but my hands trembled.

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "I love ya," he said, his voice determined. "I love ya so much."

Tears spilled down my cheeks. "Don't," I begged. "Don't talk like that. You're not going anywhere."

But he just looked at me, eyes soft despite the pain. "Yur the most amazin' person I ever met," he murmured. "Never understood how I got ya."

A sob ripped through me. "Baby," I choked out. "You're the incredible one."

His fingers tightened. "Ya loved me," he whispered. "Made me feel like I was worth somethin'." His breathing hitched. "Wanted more time with ya."

I broke.

The tears wouldn't stop. My whole body shook as I pressed my forehead against his. "You're not dying," I whispered, desperate. "You hear me, Dixon? You're not leaving me."

He sighed, tired, content in a way that made my heart stop. "I'm so in love with ya," he mumbled against my lips, voice so quiet I barely heard it.

I gripped him tighter, rocking with him as the van bumped along the road.

"I love you," I sobbed. "So fucking much."

His breathing slowed.

And for a few seconds, I thought he was gone.

A/N: This was sooo emotional to write. I hope it gave you the feels.

Thank you so much for your votes and comments. ❤️