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Survival Instincts (Teen Wolf/The Walking Dead crossover) 489 wordssimplyn2deepJanuary 5 2025, 00:29:22 UTC
Daryl Dixon crouched low beside the rusted-out truck, his crossbow drawn and ready. He motioned for the others to hold their positions. Beside him, Derek Hale’s sharp eyes scanned the gas station parking lot, nostrils flaring.
“Two walkers near the pumps, three inside,” Derek said quietly. “And something else-alive. Hiding in the back.”
“Another survivor?” Daryl asked, his voice rough and skeptical.
“Maybe,” Derek replied. “But they’re terrified. Smells like fear.”
“Great,” Stiles muttered from his spot behind a barricade. “Because what we need right now is another scared human to babysit.”
“Shut it, kid,” Daryl snapped, his eyes narrowing. “We don’t leave people behind.”
Glenn Rhee crouched near the edge of the building and gave Daryl a quick nod. “We need those supplies. If someone’s inside, we’ll figure it out. Let’s stay quiet and move fast.”
“Fast. Right. Totally my strong suit,” Stiles quipped under his breath, earning a glare from Derek.
“Stay behind me,” Derek growled.
The group moved as one, slipping through the shadows toward the gas station. Derek took point, his heightened senses guiding them. Daryl followed closely, his crossbow trained on the walkers, who were shuffling near the pumps.
Derek struck first, claws flashing as he tore through one walker’s throat. Daryl loosed a bolt, dropping the second before it could turn. Inside the building, muffled groans grew louder.
“Three more,” Derek said, his voice low.
“I got this,” Daryl replied, reloading his crossbow. Glenn slipped past him, bat in hand, ready to finish off any stragglers.
As the group entered the gas station, Derek’s head snapped toward the storage room at the back. He could hear frantic breathing, the faint scrape of someone shifting their weight.
“Survivor’s in there,” he said.
“Stay sharp,” Daryl warned, moving toward the door.
Stiles lingered near the shelves, grabbing anything useful-half-empty boxes of granola bars, a dusty first-aid kit, a single can of peaches. “We’re gonna live like kings,” he muttered sarcastically.
“Focus,” Derek snapped.
Daryl pushed the door open with his crossbow raised. Inside, a young woman with a knife stood frozen, her wide eyes darting between him and Derek.
“It’s okay,” Daryl said gruffly. “We ain’t gonna hurt you.”
She hesitated, her grip on the knife trembling.
“I’m Lydia,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “Please don’t leave me.”
A sudden crash echoed from outside. Glenn rushed to the window.
“More walkers. A lot more,” he said urgently.
“Time to move!” Daryl barked, grabbing Lydia’s arm.
The group burst out of the gas station, fighting their way through the growing horde. Derek’s claws tore through the undead while Daryl’s crossbow and Glenn’s bat held their flank. Stiles, panicking but determined, swung his bat wildly.
When they finally reached the woods, panting and bloodied, Daryl looked at Derek. “You weren’t wrong about instincts.”
Derek nodded. “And I’m never wrong about the pack.”
“Two walkers near the pumps, three inside,” Derek said quietly. “And something else-alive. Hiding in the back.”
“Another survivor?” Daryl asked, his voice rough and skeptical.
“Maybe,” Derek replied. “But they’re terrified. Smells like fear.”
“Great,” Stiles muttered from his spot behind a barricade. “Because what we need right now is another scared human to babysit.”
“Shut it, kid,” Daryl snapped, his eyes narrowing. “We don’t leave people behind.”
Glenn Rhee crouched near the edge of the building and gave Daryl a quick nod. “We need those supplies. If someone’s inside, we’ll figure it out. Let’s stay quiet and move fast.”
“Fast. Right. Totally my strong suit,” Stiles quipped under his breath, earning a glare from Derek.
“Stay behind me,” Derek growled.
The group moved as one, slipping through the shadows toward the gas station. Derek took point, his heightened senses guiding them. Daryl followed closely, his crossbow trained on the walkers, who were shuffling near the pumps.
Derek struck first, claws flashing as he tore through one walker’s throat. Daryl loosed a bolt, dropping the second before it could turn. Inside the building, muffled groans grew louder.
“Three more,” Derek said, his voice low.
“I got this,” Daryl replied, reloading his crossbow. Glenn slipped past him, bat in hand, ready to finish off any stragglers.
As the group entered the gas station, Derek’s head snapped toward the storage room at the back. He could hear frantic breathing, the faint scrape of someone shifting their weight.
“Survivor’s in there,” he said.
“Stay sharp,” Daryl warned, moving toward the door.
Stiles lingered near the shelves, grabbing anything useful-half-empty boxes of granola bars, a dusty first-aid kit, a single can of peaches. “We’re gonna live like kings,” he muttered sarcastically.
“Focus,” Derek snapped.
Daryl pushed the door open with his crossbow raised. Inside, a young woman with a knife stood frozen, her wide eyes darting between him and Derek.
“It’s okay,” Daryl said gruffly. “We ain’t gonna hurt you.”
She hesitated, her grip on the knife trembling.
“I’m Lydia,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “Please don’t leave me.”
Derek stepped forward, his expression softening. “We won’t. You’re safe now.”
A sudden crash echoed from outside. Glenn rushed to the window.
“More walkers. A lot more,” he said urgently.
“Time to move!” Daryl barked, grabbing Lydia’s arm.
The group burst out of the gas station, fighting their way through the growing horde. Derek’s claws tore through the undead while Daryl’s crossbow and Glenn’s bat held their flank. Stiles, panicking but determined, swung his bat wildly.
When they finally reached the woods, panting and bloodied, Daryl looked at Derek. “You weren’t wrong about instincts.”
Derek nodded. “And I’m never wrong about the pack.”
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