Fanfiction: Echoes 1/2 (The Walking Dead)
Title: "Echoes"
Status: WIP; 1/2
Fandom: The Walking Dead
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes; Lori Grimes, Carl Grimes, Glenn Rhee, Carol Peletier, Maggie Greene, Hershel Greene, Beth Greene, Theodore 'T-Dog' Douglas
Disclaimer: The Walking Dead belongs to AMC and Robert Kirkman; no copyright infringement intended.
Rating: M
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Season 2, H/C, friends to lovers, pre-slash/slash, family/friendship, action, adventure, survival horror, traces of humor, angst, disability
Warnings: unbeta'ed, language, violence, mild gore, major character death
Summary: Running from a herd of geeks, Daryl triggered a trap. The shock wave of the explosion knocked him out. Coming to missing one of his five senses, Daryl has to adapt in order to survive. The group and Rick have his back, maybe that will be enough...
Note1: twd_kinkmeme fill, but I lost the prompt. Whoops!
Note2: The 'major character death' warning does not apply to the pairing characters!
Note3: Thank you to both shadownashira and acidgreenflames for their constant poking, encouragement and feedback on this FF! The two of you are beyond awesome! :)
Echo
Daryl felt it, the second of resistance as something scraped over his jeans at knee-height, right before the tripwire gave way.
"Fuck!"
The derelict building behind him was torn to shreds in the explosion that followed, dirt and wood went flying everywhere; orange bloomed up towards a night sky that reeked of gasoline.
"Daryl!" Rick's voice, the call urgent and wild.
The shock wave knocked him over, smashed his face into stones and brown grass, rattling his brain like a pea in a pot. Daryl tasted blood on his tongue as the clearing blurred to smudged colors before his eyes. Hot air burned its way down his throat.
The roar of the blast and clatter of falling debris turned into a high whine, pulsing in time with his stuttering heartbeat. He coughed another curse, tried to get up, knowing that the noise would attract geeks, but his attempts were feeble.
The sound in his ears faded to a dull hum and nothing as Daryl lost consciousness.
XXX
He came to the first time, body aching and muscles stiff, staring blankly up at the starry sky. No worried faces hovering nearby, but seconds could have passed just as easy as hours.
A sudden spell of vertigo made Daryl gag and grit his teeth. He was alert enough to roll over before he puked his guts out; what was left of his breakfast seeped into the dry earth and his own shirt.
He couldn't breathe.
XXX
The second time was a jumble of movement, jerky enough to make his stomach roil uneasily, a constant up and down in the dark, like a ship in a storm. The world was upside down, or maybe he was, and a hand gripped both his leg and wrist tight.
Daryl smelled the sour sweat of a body too close for his liking. He slipped away again before being carried like a sack of potatoes over Rick's shoulder started to make sense.
XXX
The third time was charm, 'cause consciousness stuck to him, no matter how cold and numb he felt as he realized the truth, long before the others that hoovered over him.
Daryl wanted to snap at them, their calloused hands trying to be gentle, searching for injuries despite the obvious, and finally they left him be. He breathed for a moment, trying to keep himself from flying apart, while they gathered together, those not on guard duty anyway, and whispered among themselves.
No need for that anymore, Daryl didn't say.
He stared right back and was glad that Rick wasn't among them. The sheriff knew him well enough to give him a wide berth to get a grip. Of course that might not be the only reason why Rick wasn't there when his 'right-hand man' came around...
Daryl let his head thump against the wooden wall, shoulders hunching, and scratched the finger-shaped bruise around his wrist absently. He breathed in deep.
He smelled plaster, rot and mold. Saw the outlines of shelves and broken chairs in what must have been some kind of storm shelter. Felt the draft coming in from outside that sent goosebumps down his arms and chilled his sweat soaked clothes. He tasted the bitter fur of medicine on his tongue and bile at the back of his throat.
He couldn't hear a thing.
His ears itched with drying blood that had run down and soaked into his collar; Carol had tried to force him to change but he had slapped her hands away. Daryl reached up and rubbed at the flaking bits.
Glenn glanced over, then away. Beth was crying on Maggie's shoulder. Lori was arguing with Hershel, who looked like someone trying to squirm his way out from being pinned on saying 'yes' or 'no.'
Daryl couldn't sleep that night, because you heard the geeks long before you saw them. And he couldn't. Not anymore. He turned to face away from the others. Their stares were just too fucking heavy and backed into a corner, he had nowhere to run.
XXX
The next day Daryl watched Hershel write the words 'tympanic membrane perforation', 'conductive hearing loss' and 'trauma' on a dirty napkin they had found wrapped around an empty marmalade jar. The tiny scrawl got even more shaky and harder to read when Doc added 'can heal within weeks or months'.
Daryl didn't comment. If the others wanted to cling to a hope he had given up right at the start, who was he to destroy that? But no Dixon's a spineless dreamer, that's for sure.
Of course acceptance didn't come that easy.
XXX
Rick wanted to move on the day after. No surprise there, what with the explosion drawing in a fuckload of geeks that wandered the streets, shuffling over the debris and losing pieces of flaking flesh with each step.
That wasn't the nasty bit, though.
"Give me my fucking weapon! And you get off my ride!"
Daryl knew he shouted the words into T-Dog's face with the same certainty that Glenn tried to restrain him, but he couldn't hear it. Hershel's placating gestures made more sense, as did Maggie sitting on the saddle of his bro's bike.
Was this what he had come to? Sitting in the back with Carl, no longer trusted to scout ahead or cover their six or his own damn weapon?
Lori and Carol stopped packing up the cars and came over too, crowding him with fake smiles that twitched nervously around the corners and Daryl clenched his hands into fists. All he heard was silence as they flapped their useless mouths at him.
"I can't hear you, remember?"
He hoped what he felt as vibration deep down his throat did sound vicious, and judging by their stricken faces, it had. Good. Only it wasn't and the fight went out of him.
He ended up riding shotgun with Rick, who was as no-nonsense as ever; focus firmly on the bigger picture of their groups continued survival. Daryl watched Maggie’s back grow smaller down the road. Merle's Bonneville gleamed silver in the rising sun.
He wanted to punch someone.
XXX
Turned out he would.
48 hours of being stuck in the car, forcing down canned food instead of fresh game, with nothing to do aside from keeping out of everyone's hair, was enough to make Daryl's skin crawl.
He felt walled-in, disconnected from his surroundings, as if everything out of his sight simply ceased to exist. There was nothing left of the world beyond this empty street right before him, with its rusty bloodstains, dust devils and the remains of white picket fence lives; no sound, no nothing.
Except for Lori, who came up from behind and touched him unexpectedly.
Daryl didn't think. He reacted - and got her good. He felt the grind of bones and the sting in his knuckles, how the impact shuddered up into his shoulder and then warm blood on his balled fist.
He didn't hear her scream.
She looked like a beached fish for a sec, red on her tattered shirt, hands cupping her nose; gasping for air. He felt the tiny shock wave under the soles of his feet as she fell flat on her ass.
The sight was familiar, made shame burn deep in his gut. Daryl had tried to forget them, those nights when he was a little kid and his dad came home drunk: How he would hide in the cupboard and peek through the gap to see him towering over his helpless mum. She would lie on the floor, hiccuping as tears streamed down her pale face.
"Shit! Lori!"
Daryl wanted to help but Rick got to him first, crowding him away from her, towards the parked cars.
"What are you doing?!"
Daryl struggled against his grip, trying to get to her, but Rick pushed back, not moving an inch. He gave him a warning look Daryl knew all too well. At least this time no gun was aiming at his head.
"What the fuck-?!"
Trying to make sense of it Daryl looked past the car to the general store and saw that no one else had moved: Carol smiled reassuringly, but kept holding the door open for T-Dog, Glenn and the big box with supplies they carried, while Maggie and Beth secured the perimeter. They wouldn't do that without good reason.
Turning back to look over Rick's shoulder, Daryl spotted Hershel at Lori's side, first aid kit in hand. It made Daryl's head reel, how much had gone right past him, just 'cause he couldn't hear a damn sound.
"Professional already at work. Got it."
Rick nodded and let go with a final squeeze. His half-smile didn't quite reach his eyes, but anyways, it was no secret to Daryl that the sheriff was worried.
Hershel pulled Lori's blood-stained fingers away to get a good look at the damage, then felt for a fracture. Seemed like the verdict was open, since he shook his head when Lori asked him something, but he stuffed her nostrils with gauze, to stop the bleeding.
Daryl crouched down beside her. “I'm real sorry 'bout this, Lori. You'll be alright?”
She let him dangle a bit, prodding her padded nose delicately, but then Lori grinned and held up her hand, thumb and forefinger forming the okay-sign.
XXX
Daryl cursed his inner clock for waking him, each day without fucking fail, before sunrise. For a second he would think everything was alright and get up to prepare for his hunt, only for reality to hit.
Daryl pulled his blanket up over his head with a disgusted sigh. Determined not to dwell on it he focused on his daydream, all naked skin, musk and the thrill of the forbidden that ran straight to his groin. But before he could reach for his half-hard cock he felt the light tread of someone coming closer and his shoulder was shaken.
Lucky for Rick, after three days of feeling like an animal in a children's zoo, Daryl had memorized the whole group by their hands - their different sizes, calluses, the strength and touch they used to get his attention. Had been awkward as hell, trying to be stoic about it with Beth nearly choking on a giggling fit, but better that than everyone ending up looking like raccoons.
Daryl felt his vertebra pop as he pushed himself up. He cast a quick glance around their makeshift camping ground, three tents in a corral of run-down cars, but couldn't see any cause for alarm. The guards were doing rounds and the rest was still asleep, despite the noise of birds he knew was there but couldn't hear.
Lori was up too, still having trouble sleeping with her stuffed nose, most like. She was stoking the fire for a rare treat: coffee. After more than a year it would taste like shit, rank and bitter, but Glenn was blissed out with anticipation ever since he had found a farmer's secret stash. The walkers hadn't been the only ones nearly taking his head off for going after it alone; Maggie could be a scary bitch.
His eyes returning to Rick, Daryl was surprised to see him smiling. “What's going on?”
Since writing stuff down took too long and Morse code was a hassle, what with them having to expect an attack anytime, Daryl had gotten used to being grabbed and dragged along. He knew if Merle were there he would mock him for it, calling him a sissy. But if Daryl was honest with himself he had to admit that their touch was mostly welcome, 'cause for the first time ever, feeling alone set his teeth on edge.
Rick led him to their rusty Chevy and rapped his knuckles on the trunk. Daryl pushed the lid up. He had to lean close to see the contents, 'cause they had parked in the shadow of a massive oak. He knew he made some noise of surprise and was glad that Rick couldn't see his face.
Daryl cleared his throat and looked over his shoulder. “So I finally get it back, huh?”
Rick nodded and poked him; his smile teasing. They had gotten better at talking with gestures only. Wasn't really a surprise - for all that they were a small town goody two-shoes sheriff and a delinquent redneck, they had been on the same page pretty often so far.
Daryl snorted. “Damn straight it's mine.”
The weight of the Horton in his hands felt good. His fingers found the scratches on the stock with familiar ease and he gave the crossbow a quick once over, checking cable, wheels and strings. One screw was a bit loose and the barrel needed to be waxed, but Rick had cleaned it.
"Feeling up to go for a hunt?"
Rick nodded. Good, 'cause he was starting to look too skinny for Daryl's taste; they all were. Couldn't have them city folks wasting away, so squirrel it was.
XXX
Finding gray squirrels usually didn't take much effort: set your sight on a deer and a bunch of the little critters was bound to show up and ruin it all with their barks and chittering; scolding you for trespassing on their territory. Or so the story was told by hunters.
Now that Daryl could no longer hear their calls and movement in the treetops it would take a bit more effort. Besides, he wanted to make this quick. And he would, 'cause the forest was filled with oaks, their branches heavy with acorns, and the ground was mostly free of moss and grass, providing him with ideal conditions to track them down.
Placing his feet carefully to avoid making noise Daryl followed the signs they came across as soon as they left the camp behind: nutshells and gnawed off bark. Rick followed, sticking close while managing to keep out of the way, alert and on the look-out for walkers.
Daryl pushed some twigs aside with his free hand before they could get caught in his shirt. The smell of flowers and rotting mushrooms was thick in the moist air; a look to the darkening sky promised rain in the afternoon.
"Here," Daryl said, voice low, and crouched down. He felt Rick come up behind him, cutting off the breeze, and gestured towards the tracks he had found. "See that? Four toes on the front foot and five behind. And that here is from it dragging its tail."
Rick's shadow nodded dutifully but they both knew he was shit at tracking anything that wasn't wearing shoes. Then his shape looked up sharply, hand moving closer to the holster at his hip.
Daryl's pulse sped up, but instead of a geek he saw moving leaves and Rick tapped his shoulder, giving the all-clear. He realized that Rick must have heard the squirrels right from the start. Of course. This time of the year they bounced on the tree's limbs to get the nuts to drop and the noise carried on the wind.
Daryl appreciated that Rick hadn't said anything, even though it stung his pride a little. It might take more than this hunt but he wanted to get back into his game as soon as possible and the best way to do that was to not rely on the others more than he had to. He would get over how weird it felt, having lost one sense he had relied on heavily before the explosion; it's what he did.
"They are busy collecting. Makes it easy for us."
Daryl studied the sun's position for a moment, then picked out the place with the best cover; his Horton at the ready. “Just you watch. We'll have some nice stew later.”
XXX
They came back to the camp without having seen a single geek shuffling around between the trees. Daryl knew that meant that Rick would lead the others to search the rest of the nearby farms. They needed more supplies, not to forget a place to stay over the winter, but things didn't look too well on that front yet.
Them being gone suited Daryl just fine; he had his own work to do. The squirrels needed to be soaked in water, then skinned and dressed. A bloody work no one else was too keen on doing, not even Beth and Maggie who had grown up on a farm. Apparently squirrels were too cute to be killed but tasty enough on an empty stomach.
It had been a good hunt. Daryl and Rick carried ten squirrels each, tied together by their bushy tails and thrown over their shoulders. It was enough for a decent meal, though the skinny critters wouldn't exactly make a feast.
The others had started to get a bit twitchy waiting for them. Entering the clearing Daryl could see it in the way they huddled around the fireplace and in Lori's white-knuckled grasp around her chipped coffee mug.
The greeting they got, chatter lost to him that Rick answered, and Carol giving him an impressed thumbs-up, was another giveaway. Daryl surprised himself by being far less annoyed by it than he would usually have been. They cared, wasn't as if that was a bad thing.
"Sorry to keep you waiting," Daryl said and dropped his share of squirrels right where he stood. He motioned for Rick to do the same. "I'll get them ready for dinner."
Rick made the sign for 'thank you', the only one in ASL any of them knew and that they used more and more often now. Daryl still thought it looked disturbingly like being blown a kiss.
That had been fun the first time, well, maybe not for Glenn, but now Daryl just shrugged. “You're welcome.”
Daryl side-stepped the sudden bustle of activity as the others got ready and went to get the camping table and his knives from the Chevy's trunk. He was just finished with preparations when Beth tapped his shoulder, easily recognized by the softness of her hand, and set down two buckets filled to the brim with river water.
"Good thinking. Thanks Beth." Daryl cut the squirrels loose and chucked the first six in. "Wanna help?"
Beth went from smiling to pale in one second flat and her blonde hair went flying as she shook her head. Daryl pulled the first soaked carcass out of the bucket and watched as she beat a hasty retreat.
His eyes met Rick's and they shared a grin. This time Daryl wasn't only going through the motions and damn, that felt good.
XXX
"Thanks."
Daryl set back on the ground, the fire warm on his face, and stirred the steaming stew in his bowl. He waited a moment, then took the first spoonful. The meat was a bit tough, but together with the canned tomatoes, corn and pearl onions it wasn't too bad.
Daryl ate slowly and watched the others. They had started to consult Rick's map as soon as they had come back half an hour ago, leaving it to Daryl, Beth and Lori to organize their loot. Even now he could sense the nervous energy crackling between them and if their mouths did not move to chew, they were discussing something.
Daryl washed his frustration down with piss-warm beer; one of the last bottles they got. He looked up when Rick sat down beside him.
"What's going on?"
Rick handed him the map and pointed to one red circle to the left of where they camped, then another one on the right. They had passed through these towns not long ago. Daryl knew that they marked gathering places of geeks. No one had any idea why, but as soon as their number reached about two hundred they would move on as a herd.
Daryl nodded. “So we can move south or north and we better decide fast.”
Rick's smile was tired as his finger tapped another point on the map. Daryl had to squint and lean in close to make out the tiny print.
"West Georgia Correctional Facility?" Daryl handed the map back and chewed on another bite of stew; mulling it over. "Could work. Fences, walls, guard towers. Hell, there could even be stuff left in the infirmary and let's not forget the armory and cafeteria."
There was no need for Morse code to know what Rick was asking.
"I'm all for going. It's worth the risk; 'sides we are sitting ducks here. That's the best chance for shelter over the winter that we got."
The next morning, they packed up and left, driving north. They made it past the geeks without a hitch.
tbc...
Status: WIP; 1/2
Fandom: The Walking Dead
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes; Lori Grimes, Carl Grimes, Glenn Rhee, Carol Peletier, Maggie Greene, Hershel Greene, Beth Greene, Theodore 'T-Dog' Douglas
Disclaimer: The Walking Dead belongs to AMC and Robert Kirkman; no copyright infringement intended.
Rating: M
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Season 2, H/C, friends to lovers, pre-slash/slash, family/friendship, action, adventure, survival horror, traces of humor, angst, disability
Warnings: unbeta'ed, language, violence, mild gore, major character death
Summary: Running from a herd of geeks, Daryl triggered a trap. The shock wave of the explosion knocked him out. Coming to missing one of his five senses, Daryl has to adapt in order to survive. The group and Rick have his back, maybe that will be enough...
Note1: twd_kinkmeme fill, but I lost the prompt. Whoops!
Note2: The 'major character death' warning does not apply to the pairing characters!
Note3: Thank you to both shadownashira and acidgreenflames for their constant poking, encouragement and feedback on this FF! The two of you are beyond awesome! :)
Echo
Daryl felt it, the second of resistance as something scraped over his jeans at knee-height, right before the tripwire gave way.
"Fuck!"
The derelict building behind him was torn to shreds in the explosion that followed, dirt and wood went flying everywhere; orange bloomed up towards a night sky that reeked of gasoline.
"Daryl!" Rick's voice, the call urgent and wild.
The shock wave knocked him over, smashed his face into stones and brown grass, rattling his brain like a pea in a pot. Daryl tasted blood on his tongue as the clearing blurred to smudged colors before his eyes. Hot air burned its way down his throat.
The roar of the blast and clatter of falling debris turned into a high whine, pulsing in time with his stuttering heartbeat. He coughed another curse, tried to get up, knowing that the noise would attract geeks, but his attempts were feeble.
The sound in his ears faded to a dull hum and nothing as Daryl lost consciousness.
XXX
He came to the first time, body aching and muscles stiff, staring blankly up at the starry sky. No worried faces hovering nearby, but seconds could have passed just as easy as hours.
A sudden spell of vertigo made Daryl gag and grit his teeth. He was alert enough to roll over before he puked his guts out; what was left of his breakfast seeped into the dry earth and his own shirt.
He couldn't breathe.
XXX
The second time was a jumble of movement, jerky enough to make his stomach roil uneasily, a constant up and down in the dark, like a ship in a storm. The world was upside down, or maybe he was, and a hand gripped both his leg and wrist tight.
Daryl smelled the sour sweat of a body too close for his liking. He slipped away again before being carried like a sack of potatoes over Rick's shoulder started to make sense.
XXX
The third time was charm, 'cause consciousness stuck to him, no matter how cold and numb he felt as he realized the truth, long before the others that hoovered over him.
Daryl wanted to snap at them, their calloused hands trying to be gentle, searching for injuries despite the obvious, and finally they left him be. He breathed for a moment, trying to keep himself from flying apart, while they gathered together, those not on guard duty anyway, and whispered among themselves.
No need for that anymore, Daryl didn't say.
He stared right back and was glad that Rick wasn't among them. The sheriff knew him well enough to give him a wide berth to get a grip. Of course that might not be the only reason why Rick wasn't there when his 'right-hand man' came around...
Daryl let his head thump against the wooden wall, shoulders hunching, and scratched the finger-shaped bruise around his wrist absently. He breathed in deep.
He smelled plaster, rot and mold. Saw the outlines of shelves and broken chairs in what must have been some kind of storm shelter. Felt the draft coming in from outside that sent goosebumps down his arms and chilled his sweat soaked clothes. He tasted the bitter fur of medicine on his tongue and bile at the back of his throat.
He couldn't hear a thing.
His ears itched with drying blood that had run down and soaked into his collar; Carol had tried to force him to change but he had slapped her hands away. Daryl reached up and rubbed at the flaking bits.
Glenn glanced over, then away. Beth was crying on Maggie's shoulder. Lori was arguing with Hershel, who looked like someone trying to squirm his way out from being pinned on saying 'yes' or 'no.'
Daryl couldn't sleep that night, because you heard the geeks long before you saw them. And he couldn't. Not anymore. He turned to face away from the others. Their stares were just too fucking heavy and backed into a corner, he had nowhere to run.
XXX
The next day Daryl watched Hershel write the words 'tympanic membrane perforation', 'conductive hearing loss' and 'trauma' on a dirty napkin they had found wrapped around an empty marmalade jar. The tiny scrawl got even more shaky and harder to read when Doc added 'can heal within weeks or months'.
Daryl didn't comment. If the others wanted to cling to a hope he had given up right at the start, who was he to destroy that? But no Dixon's a spineless dreamer, that's for sure.
Of course acceptance didn't come that easy.
XXX
Rick wanted to move on the day after. No surprise there, what with the explosion drawing in a fuckload of geeks that wandered the streets, shuffling over the debris and losing pieces of flaking flesh with each step.
That wasn't the nasty bit, though.
"Give me my fucking weapon! And you get off my ride!"
Daryl knew he shouted the words into T-Dog's face with the same certainty that Glenn tried to restrain him, but he couldn't hear it. Hershel's placating gestures made more sense, as did Maggie sitting on the saddle of his bro's bike.
Was this what he had come to? Sitting in the back with Carl, no longer trusted to scout ahead or cover their six or his own damn weapon?
Lori and Carol stopped packing up the cars and came over too, crowding him with fake smiles that twitched nervously around the corners and Daryl clenched his hands into fists. All he heard was silence as they flapped their useless mouths at him.
"I can't hear you, remember?"
He hoped what he felt as vibration deep down his throat did sound vicious, and judging by their stricken faces, it had. Good. Only it wasn't and the fight went out of him.
He ended up riding shotgun with Rick, who was as no-nonsense as ever; focus firmly on the bigger picture of their groups continued survival. Daryl watched Maggie’s back grow smaller down the road. Merle's Bonneville gleamed silver in the rising sun.
He wanted to punch someone.
XXX
Turned out he would.
48 hours of being stuck in the car, forcing down canned food instead of fresh game, with nothing to do aside from keeping out of everyone's hair, was enough to make Daryl's skin crawl.
He felt walled-in, disconnected from his surroundings, as if everything out of his sight simply ceased to exist. There was nothing left of the world beyond this empty street right before him, with its rusty bloodstains, dust devils and the remains of white picket fence lives; no sound, no nothing.
Except for Lori, who came up from behind and touched him unexpectedly.
Daryl didn't think. He reacted - and got her good. He felt the grind of bones and the sting in his knuckles, how the impact shuddered up into his shoulder and then warm blood on his balled fist.
He didn't hear her scream.
She looked like a beached fish for a sec, red on her tattered shirt, hands cupping her nose; gasping for air. He felt the tiny shock wave under the soles of his feet as she fell flat on her ass.
The sight was familiar, made shame burn deep in his gut. Daryl had tried to forget them, those nights when he was a little kid and his dad came home drunk: How he would hide in the cupboard and peek through the gap to see him towering over his helpless mum. She would lie on the floor, hiccuping as tears streamed down her pale face.
"Shit! Lori!"
Daryl wanted to help but Rick got to him first, crowding him away from her, towards the parked cars.
"What are you doing?!"
Daryl struggled against his grip, trying to get to her, but Rick pushed back, not moving an inch. He gave him a warning look Daryl knew all too well. At least this time no gun was aiming at his head.
"What the fuck-?!"
Trying to make sense of it Daryl looked past the car to the general store and saw that no one else had moved: Carol smiled reassuringly, but kept holding the door open for T-Dog, Glenn and the big box with supplies they carried, while Maggie and Beth secured the perimeter. They wouldn't do that without good reason.
Turning back to look over Rick's shoulder, Daryl spotted Hershel at Lori's side, first aid kit in hand. It made Daryl's head reel, how much had gone right past him, just 'cause he couldn't hear a damn sound.
"Professional already at work. Got it."
Rick nodded and let go with a final squeeze. His half-smile didn't quite reach his eyes, but anyways, it was no secret to Daryl that the sheriff was worried.
Hershel pulled Lori's blood-stained fingers away to get a good look at the damage, then felt for a fracture. Seemed like the verdict was open, since he shook his head when Lori asked him something, but he stuffed her nostrils with gauze, to stop the bleeding.
Daryl crouched down beside her. “I'm real sorry 'bout this, Lori. You'll be alright?”
She let him dangle a bit, prodding her padded nose delicately, but then Lori grinned and held up her hand, thumb and forefinger forming the okay-sign.
XXX
Daryl cursed his inner clock for waking him, each day without fucking fail, before sunrise. For a second he would think everything was alright and get up to prepare for his hunt, only for reality to hit.
Daryl pulled his blanket up over his head with a disgusted sigh. Determined not to dwell on it he focused on his daydream, all naked skin, musk and the thrill of the forbidden that ran straight to his groin. But before he could reach for his half-hard cock he felt the light tread of someone coming closer and his shoulder was shaken.
Lucky for Rick, after three days of feeling like an animal in a children's zoo, Daryl had memorized the whole group by their hands - their different sizes, calluses, the strength and touch they used to get his attention. Had been awkward as hell, trying to be stoic about it with Beth nearly choking on a giggling fit, but better that than everyone ending up looking like raccoons.
Daryl felt his vertebra pop as he pushed himself up. He cast a quick glance around their makeshift camping ground, three tents in a corral of run-down cars, but couldn't see any cause for alarm. The guards were doing rounds and the rest was still asleep, despite the noise of birds he knew was there but couldn't hear.
Lori was up too, still having trouble sleeping with her stuffed nose, most like. She was stoking the fire for a rare treat: coffee. After more than a year it would taste like shit, rank and bitter, but Glenn was blissed out with anticipation ever since he had found a farmer's secret stash. The walkers hadn't been the only ones nearly taking his head off for going after it alone; Maggie could be a scary bitch.
His eyes returning to Rick, Daryl was surprised to see him smiling. “What's going on?”
Since writing stuff down took too long and Morse code was a hassle, what with them having to expect an attack anytime, Daryl had gotten used to being grabbed and dragged along. He knew if Merle were there he would mock him for it, calling him a sissy. But if Daryl was honest with himself he had to admit that their touch was mostly welcome, 'cause for the first time ever, feeling alone set his teeth on edge.
Rick led him to their rusty Chevy and rapped his knuckles on the trunk. Daryl pushed the lid up. He had to lean close to see the contents, 'cause they had parked in the shadow of a massive oak. He knew he made some noise of surprise and was glad that Rick couldn't see his face.
Daryl cleared his throat and looked over his shoulder. “So I finally get it back, huh?”
Rick nodded and poked him; his smile teasing. They had gotten better at talking with gestures only. Wasn't really a surprise - for all that they were a small town goody two-shoes sheriff and a delinquent redneck, they had been on the same page pretty often so far.
Daryl snorted. “Damn straight it's mine.”
The weight of the Horton in his hands felt good. His fingers found the scratches on the stock with familiar ease and he gave the crossbow a quick once over, checking cable, wheels and strings. One screw was a bit loose and the barrel needed to be waxed, but Rick had cleaned it.
"Feeling up to go for a hunt?"
Rick nodded. Good, 'cause he was starting to look too skinny for Daryl's taste; they all were. Couldn't have them city folks wasting away, so squirrel it was.
XXX
Finding gray squirrels usually didn't take much effort: set your sight on a deer and a bunch of the little critters was bound to show up and ruin it all with their barks and chittering; scolding you for trespassing on their territory. Or so the story was told by hunters.
Now that Daryl could no longer hear their calls and movement in the treetops it would take a bit more effort. Besides, he wanted to make this quick. And he would, 'cause the forest was filled with oaks, their branches heavy with acorns, and the ground was mostly free of moss and grass, providing him with ideal conditions to track them down.
Placing his feet carefully to avoid making noise Daryl followed the signs they came across as soon as they left the camp behind: nutshells and gnawed off bark. Rick followed, sticking close while managing to keep out of the way, alert and on the look-out for walkers.
Daryl pushed some twigs aside with his free hand before they could get caught in his shirt. The smell of flowers and rotting mushrooms was thick in the moist air; a look to the darkening sky promised rain in the afternoon.
"Here," Daryl said, voice low, and crouched down. He felt Rick come up behind him, cutting off the breeze, and gestured towards the tracks he had found. "See that? Four toes on the front foot and five behind. And that here is from it dragging its tail."
Rick's shadow nodded dutifully but they both knew he was shit at tracking anything that wasn't wearing shoes. Then his shape looked up sharply, hand moving closer to the holster at his hip.
Daryl's pulse sped up, but instead of a geek he saw moving leaves and Rick tapped his shoulder, giving the all-clear. He realized that Rick must have heard the squirrels right from the start. Of course. This time of the year they bounced on the tree's limbs to get the nuts to drop and the noise carried on the wind.
Daryl appreciated that Rick hadn't said anything, even though it stung his pride a little. It might take more than this hunt but he wanted to get back into his game as soon as possible and the best way to do that was to not rely on the others more than he had to. He would get over how weird it felt, having lost one sense he had relied on heavily before the explosion; it's what he did.
"They are busy collecting. Makes it easy for us."
Daryl studied the sun's position for a moment, then picked out the place with the best cover; his Horton at the ready. “Just you watch. We'll have some nice stew later.”
XXX
They came back to the camp without having seen a single geek shuffling around between the trees. Daryl knew that meant that Rick would lead the others to search the rest of the nearby farms. They needed more supplies, not to forget a place to stay over the winter, but things didn't look too well on that front yet.
Them being gone suited Daryl just fine; he had his own work to do. The squirrels needed to be soaked in water, then skinned and dressed. A bloody work no one else was too keen on doing, not even Beth and Maggie who had grown up on a farm. Apparently squirrels were too cute to be killed but tasty enough on an empty stomach.
It had been a good hunt. Daryl and Rick carried ten squirrels each, tied together by their bushy tails and thrown over their shoulders. It was enough for a decent meal, though the skinny critters wouldn't exactly make a feast.
The others had started to get a bit twitchy waiting for them. Entering the clearing Daryl could see it in the way they huddled around the fireplace and in Lori's white-knuckled grasp around her chipped coffee mug.
The greeting they got, chatter lost to him that Rick answered, and Carol giving him an impressed thumbs-up, was another giveaway. Daryl surprised himself by being far less annoyed by it than he would usually have been. They cared, wasn't as if that was a bad thing.
"Sorry to keep you waiting," Daryl said and dropped his share of squirrels right where he stood. He motioned for Rick to do the same. "I'll get them ready for dinner."
Rick made the sign for 'thank you', the only one in ASL any of them knew and that they used more and more often now. Daryl still thought it looked disturbingly like being blown a kiss.
That had been fun the first time, well, maybe not for Glenn, but now Daryl just shrugged. “You're welcome.”
Daryl side-stepped the sudden bustle of activity as the others got ready and went to get the camping table and his knives from the Chevy's trunk. He was just finished with preparations when Beth tapped his shoulder, easily recognized by the softness of her hand, and set down two buckets filled to the brim with river water.
"Good thinking. Thanks Beth." Daryl cut the squirrels loose and chucked the first six in. "Wanna help?"
Beth went from smiling to pale in one second flat and her blonde hair went flying as she shook her head. Daryl pulled the first soaked carcass out of the bucket and watched as she beat a hasty retreat.
His eyes met Rick's and they shared a grin. This time Daryl wasn't only going through the motions and damn, that felt good.
XXX
"Thanks."
Daryl set back on the ground, the fire warm on his face, and stirred the steaming stew in his bowl. He waited a moment, then took the first spoonful. The meat was a bit tough, but together with the canned tomatoes, corn and pearl onions it wasn't too bad.
Daryl ate slowly and watched the others. They had started to consult Rick's map as soon as they had come back half an hour ago, leaving it to Daryl, Beth and Lori to organize their loot. Even now he could sense the nervous energy crackling between them and if their mouths did not move to chew, they were discussing something.
Daryl washed his frustration down with piss-warm beer; one of the last bottles they got. He looked up when Rick sat down beside him.
"What's going on?"
Rick handed him the map and pointed to one red circle to the left of where they camped, then another one on the right. They had passed through these towns not long ago. Daryl knew that they marked gathering places of geeks. No one had any idea why, but as soon as their number reached about two hundred they would move on as a herd.
Daryl nodded. “So we can move south or north and we better decide fast.”
Rick's smile was tired as his finger tapped another point on the map. Daryl had to squint and lean in close to make out the tiny print.
"West Georgia Correctional Facility?" Daryl handed the map back and chewed on another bite of stew; mulling it over. "Could work. Fences, walls, guard towers. Hell, there could even be stuff left in the infirmary and let's not forget the armory and cafeteria."
There was no need for Morse code to know what Rick was asking.
"I'm all for going. It's worth the risk; 'sides we are sitting ducks here. That's the best chance for shelter over the winter that we got."
The next morning, they packed up and left, driving north. They made it past the geeks without a hitch.
tbc...