Archive of Our Own ^beta

Daryl knows how to deal with pain. He’s been raised to know how to deal with it all and get through it. Pain made you stronger, pain was a moment but life followed and there would be moments without pain but to get there you had to move through the pain first. He remembers the lessons his father tried to teach him, he remembers nights spent curled in pain as his back oozed blood onto once white sheets and he knows the lay of every scar on his skin because of them. Those lessons should never be forgotten and he’d be damned if he started now.

Merle had been just as bad and maybe the pain from him hadn’t been bad enough to scar but the words had drawn over something inside of him, branded into his soul as much as the scars and he remembered the pain that came with them. Weakness was something he never showed, instead he grew, he became harder, tougher, and he walked through the pain and came out the other side a better man for it. By the time he was an adult he’d say he knew how to take whatever the world had to throw at him and could get through it.

Then the dead started not staying dead and he couldn’t remember the lesson that had prepared him for that.

Still he gets through. Inch by inch he scrapes his way through the end of the earth, he watches others die by his side, some for a good reason, others because of their foolishness. But he survives because it’s what he knows to do. There is no yearning for the life before all of this because he’d had no life before all of this and besides, you played with the cards you were dealt now, not the hand you’d had yesterday.

Others leave, some come back before leaving again and yet he stays strong through all of it. The others worry for him, he can see it in their eyes when they watch him sometimes. They’re wary of how easily he takes the pain of life and he can see the questions that Rick wants to ask when he takes Hershel’s stitches without so much as a wince. There’s no time or need to explain, they didn’t have time for it these days.

Everyone takes their own pain throughout their time together, and he tries to help as much as he can. When it comes to the emotional upheaval of losing a loved one he’s not so good at it, but he fucking tries and that’s enough, Carl doesn’t seem to mind anyway. He thinks the kid gets where he’s coming from. They go through hell together, they go through a war together and he deals with everything that comes their way until finally, as if they’re earned it, the world is quiet for them.

They build a life, a farm around them. Lil Asskicker gets bigger, the walkers don’t manage to get through the fence and before long they’re more than a family, they’re a community and heck it’s weird but it’s good. For a while he almost forgets what it’s like to be unlucky, or to be in pain but then the world has never let him have a break for long.

It’s nothing more than a regular hunting trip, nothing out of the ordinary. He doesn’t have to go as often because as much as everyone would like meat everyday, they have fresh vegetables to go around and besides with so many mouths to feed he’d end up out there for a week before he got enough. Right now the snares work decent enough but he’s got his eye on bigger game today. It’s been months since Woodbury and all that shit went down and he needs to get away from the people that are constantly around him.

Not that he minds people, but there are an awful lot of them and it ain’t something he’s used to. So he nods to Rick on the way out, using one of their bolt holes out the side of the prison instead of the main gates. No point in riling the walkers up if he didn’t have to and right now they were fine where they were. The day’s nice enough, drawing to a close and he knew that meant the deer would be starting to make their way out into the open, ready to graze and maybe bring their little ones out for a wander. In some ways the end of the world has made hunting easier, sure there was the risk of walkers, but the lack of human noise from traffic has made the deer braver and it weren’t like they couldn’t outrun a walker if they wanted. So it’s easier and though he liked the challenge of the hunt and the thrill of collecting his own kill, it made it easier to feed everyone if the deer were out in the open.

The woods are his place out here. He’s in his element as he begins tracking, nudging aside leaves and checking trees, noting marks from where the young bucks had been marking the bark and letting himself slink lower to try catching sight of them. He’s so used to the ache of his calves as he spends most of the time crouching that it’s nothing now, pain was pain, and besides he gained plenty from it. Above him the birds are calling to each other, all at ease and no alarm calls between them, nothing to worry about aside from himself out here and that was the way he liked it.

The thing is, a lot of people just didn’t have the patience for hunting. They thought is was like in the movies where animals would walk into your line of sight all unawares and waiting to be shot. Truth was it took hours of patience and when you never wanted to go home, hunting was a good excuse to spend you time out in the woods. Same as now, a nice break away from the rest of the world and so long as he kept his eye out for walkers he could pretend the world was the same as before. Sometimes it helped.

Finding a trail he hunkers down in some bushes, noting the open patch of field before him and knowing it was a prime grazing spot for a herd. Enough space for the bucks to challenge each other, the does could keep their young near but there was space to bolt if they felt threatened. Smirking he stays down, bow at the ready and just waiting for his target to appear.

The times passes around him but he’s used to it, letting his thoughts keep him company as his body gets used to the stillness around him. The world ain’t so bad like this and though he knows everyone else wants shit to be back to normal, he could maybe cope with it like this. Less people around, but he could do with the safety a bit higher. A twig snaps from before him and though he’s praying for a deer to roam from the bushes, instead there’s a lone walker.

Cursing under his breath he stays where he is, not wanting to draw attention to himself if he doesn’t have to and besides, one on its own might wander off if he ignored it. She’s a mangy old thing, probably got turned near the start of it all, her skin is peeled back, black congealed blood drips down her side and she looks haggard as fuck. A kinder man would put her out of her misery but he’s too focussed on the deer that might be around these parts.

Walker lady don’t wander too far, she paces one way, snarls at nothing, then wanders back and forth for a while. Never going anywhere in particular but just staying right in the wrong place to let the deer feel safe. He waits it out, hopes for her to move on but the damned bitch seems determined to be right where he doesn’t want her to be. Sighing to himself he gives up for the day, hoping the snared rabbits they might have got would be enough for tonight’s dinner.

Standing from his spot he heads on over to her, pissed as hell and trying to shake free the cramp in his leg from staying in one place for so long. As soon as he’s up the walker notices him, snarling and ambling in his direction with her arms outstretched. “Yeah yeah I hear you.” He huffs, prepping his bow and letting his arrow fly into her skull as he gets nearer. It sinks into her brain easily, the skull having given up protecting the brain months ago. “Damned bitch, ruined my chance of getting a deer today.” Yanking his arrow back he points it to her, letting the brain matter drip onto her ripped dress. “You deserved that.”

The walker doesn’t reply, and he takes that to mean he won the argument and wipes the arrow clean on his jeans before setting it back into place in the bow. Glancing one last time around the clearing he gives up, moving to head back towards the prison when he hears it. Seems his bitch had company following her up and on the edge of the tree line is a small group of walkers. It ain’t a herd by any means, but it’s enough to have him hissing in annoyance and trying to move a bit quicker out of the way.

He could take out a few but he doesn’t know if or when he’d get his arrows back and it ain’t worth the risk if he could get back to the prison before they caught him. Even if they may be slow bastards they had a tendency to not get breathless and that made things side slightly more in their favour. Quickly he moves back through the brush, keeping a note of where the group is behind him every so often and trying to avoid his snares. It wouldn’t do to have these dead bastards come along and eat whatever meat they had managed to catch.

Darting to the side a bit more he heads for the back of the prison, ready to use another bolthole to get inside and planning exactly how to lose the group following him when it happens. The ground beneath him gives way, loose chunks of it slip out from beneath his feet and he’s falling, fingers trying to grab onto anything he can and trying to brace himself from the fall. Latching on to something he can feel his shoulder jolt hard, leaving him hanging with his bow’s strap straining on his arm.

Looking up he finds what was keeping him up and freezes, chest tightening as he notices what lay just beyond their doorstep. His fingers feel cold as they cling to the bone protruding from the soil and he can see the half mangled bodies coated in soil around him. Glancing down there’s more beneath him, the ground that had given way filled with walker bodies and he can see as some of them begin to twitch now they’re exposed. A graveyard. A graveyard made for walkers before anyone knew to put them down with a strike to the head. Around him come the groans, some from above, some from his level in the soil, the steep climb above him littered with jutting out bones and legs.

The walkers wake up around him, now they’ve been disturbed they seem to remember their craving for flesh and Daryl finds himself trying to think of a way out of this mess before they find him to be a tasty snack. Beneath him the walkers reach his way, dirt covered fingernails scratching the air beneath him as he tries to find a foothold, his own hands grabbing for purchase on the slick mud.

Gritting his teeth against the strain on his shoulders, Daryl tries to catch his breath and make a plan. There had to be a way out of this and if he could make it up a bank like this with an arrow wound in his side then he could do this. Where was Merle when you needed him? Scrabbling for purchase he finds a foothold on a rock, and it gives him enough of a push to move a few inches upwards, ignoring the walkers now pulling themselves free from the disturbed earth around him.

“Come on you dumb bastard.” He snarls to himself, grabbing for tree roots, for rocks, for anything he could use to get free. The walkers moan, some begin to climb free and slip down the slope to join the mass of bodies beneath him, others remain half in half out of the dirt and just gnash their teeth at him. “Don’t fuck this up now.”

Not when Rick would be dumb enough to come looking for him and get himself bit or something and leave Carl and Lil Asskicker without a dad. Not going to happen, not today, not on his watch. The darkness is closing it around him and it seems the walkers get noisier when the sound of birdsong stops in the air. He hates that even more and just wishes he could get the fuckers to shut up whilst he worked out exactly how to get up and out of this huge ditch without running into the group from earlier. Of course he ain’t too good at planning and glancing up he finds them above him, each one of them clawing down for him and leaving him with limited options as his shoulders begin to ache and send pain across his back in protest at bearing all his weight.

The rock falls from beneath his foot and he gasps as he’s jolted down, fingernails digging into the dirt around him and swearing when one of the nearer walkers brandishes its broken arm at him. He ain’t got time for this shit. Taking a deep breath he tries to pull himself back up to try and find a foothold, to try and get something to grab onto and find a way out of this mess. There’s nothing and his fingers begin to slip on the wet mud as his body seems to become heavier and heavier beneath him.

It starts out with a small slip, and then it’s a slide and he’s skidding down the edge of the bank, tumbling over rocks and walker’s arms, his body catching itself on everything sharp and painful as he falls down towards the pit of walkers beneath him. His crossbow is heavy when it bashes into him, digging into his skin, pinching and stabbing at him when he tries to do anything to stop the momentum. Yanking his knife free he stabs it in the dirt, and his body jolts to a sudden stop, leaving him hanging again and yelping when this time his arm can’t take the strain.

Dislocated shoulder. Great. Biting on his lip he doesn’t have time for the fuzziness of pain around his vision or the knowledge that his left arm was going to be pretty much useless for a while. Pain was good, pain would pass, he just had to get through it. “Ain’t going out like this.” He hisses to himself, promising himself and fuck he knows this ain’t the moment of glory he’d been expecting his death to be. Catching his breath he moves fast, looking around the ditch he’s in and hating that he can see the walkers above him starting to inch closer and closer to the edge of the dirt. They’re hungry and some dumb drop ain’t gonna stop them, so he’ll be damned if it’s going to stop him either.

The other side of the ditch isn’t so steep, he could probably make it even with only one arm working properly. Probably. Taking a deep breath he tries to get some sort of foothold, and ends up swearing at the fucking stupidity of this all. Moving quick he yanks the knife free of the dirt, pushing off with his feet and gritting his teeth as he jumps the bitch beneath, jabbing the knife back in the other side and giving himself a moment to breathe. The walkers don’t seem impressed by his leap of faith and the ones below even agree that this side of the ditch was easier to climb, even if you were dead.

“Fucks sake.” He groans and begins climbing as best he can, alternating between stabbing the knife into the dirt for a handhold and finding some kind of stable seat for his feet. It’s slow and hard work with his bow on his back and his arm fucking stinging like a bitch but he makes it and the last heave over the edge onto flat ground makes him want to collapse and rest for a moment.

The second he’s flat on his back there’s a sharp pain in his lower back and he can’t help the yell that rips free from his lips when he’s stabbed repeatedly beneath his ribs. He rolls as best he can, blood smearing his side, the hand he reaches up to touch the wound and it’s when he’s on his knees and wavering that he realises how stupid he is. This side was a grave as well and he’d just been shanked by the broken bone of a buried walker’s arm. He hates himself right now and god and the world and everyone else in it.

His blood was running from the wound quickly, the walkers were rising from the unsettled dirt beneath him and he didn’t have long before the walkers on the other side of the ditch realised they could walk around it. He has to get back to the prison, he has to make it and now was his chance. But fuck it hurt.

The pain rips through him when he manages to get to his feet, his side practically crumpling beneath him, blood coursing down his back and saturating his shirt and vest. He must smell fucking delicious to the walkers right now and that thought makes him huff out a laugh. Now he was getting stupid and delirious, better move quicker. There’s not much he can do to stem the bleeding aside from press his only working hand to the wound and stumble forward, hoping and praying that he doesn’t lose too much blood and pass out before he manages to get home.

Fuck wouldn’t that be a sight to see? Him returning home to the prison as a walker. Heck this time he’d be grateful for Andrea to shoot him if that happened. But she won’t, Andrea is dead, so he wonders who would take her place. Maybe Carol would do it? Or Carl, kid was getting good with his gun and if he could shoot his own mom then the kid wouldn’t shed a tear over his dumb ass.

No. shut up. Merle where the fuck are you dumbass? Could use you right now. Need to keep moving and get home. Hershel would fix this, heck the man was a fucking miracle worker, he’d fixed the kid up and the brat had been up and running about like a pain in the ass a few days later. Plus there was a doctor and an army medic in their group now, shit he’d be fine tomorrow after all of this.

So long as he weren’t infected. Shit.

Scratches and bites. That’s what they knew. That was what infected you, but what about getting stabbed by a walker bone shiv in the back? Shit. Stumbling forward he knows this path, he knows this is the way home. The road ain’t yellow though, not like in that shitty movie his mom had liked. Maybe he should click his heels three times and fucking pray. Might be quicker.

No. He had to stay focussed. Home was this way, had to follow his feet and he’d get there. He ain’t no pussy, he ain’t going down because of a little blood leaking from his side. Fuck that. So what if there was a trail following him as he walked? Weren’t no big deal.

Did walkers have a sense of taste left? Would they enjoy his ass as they ate him? Maybe he tasted like Merle, or would he be different than Andrea cause he was male? Did they even care? Maybe if all his blood drained out first they wouldn’t want him and he’d have to wander around alone, cast out from the other walkers because he was all withered like a raisin.

His head feels heavy.

But the prison is dead ahead. “Fuck you Merle, don’t need your worthless ass.” He mutters to himself, ignoring the throb in his shoulder as he stumbles closer, able to see the walkers at the fence and the people moving about inside. Maybe he should wave, last time he didn’t there was a new scar on his forehead to add to the collection. Well shit he was fresh out of arms. One was fucked and the other holding in whatever blood he had left. “Found it all myself.”

He’d been heading for a bolthole, so how had he ended up at the front gates? No matter, a way in was a way in and besides, people noticed more when you knocked the front door. Stumbling closer he can feel his blood drip down the back of his leg, pooling over his clothing and sticking to his skin. Feels like he’s pissed himself, but he’s pretty sure he ain’t. The walkers at the fence are noticing him now, stumbling over like him and he waves to them, well as much as he can, turns out he’s just wriggling his fingers by his own waist. Still. Thought that counted. Wouldn’t do to be rude. Mom was going to make a gentleman of him yet.

There’s yelling around him, people are calling and saying his name and fuck they’re giving him a headache. Didn’t they know it was rude to yell? His side is on fire when he reaches the barricade at the entrance, walkers following him happily, some dropping to the ground behind him and licking up the pools of his blood. It’s a smart idea and he follows suit. Dropping to his knees he ducks down as much as he can beneath their mass of spikes, the fence Rick had planned working well and piercing the dumb walkers behind him as they try to follow suit.

“’m not a walker.” He mumbles to himself, gripping at the dried grass and dragging himself forward until he’s out from beneath the barricade and looking in through their fence. The doors beside him creak open, the walkers gnash their teeth at him in anger and he feels satisfied that those fuckers didn’t get to taste him and compare flavours. Sitting on the floor he can feel the blood seep through his fingers, dribbling down his back until he’s damned sure there can’t be much left inside of him.

Rick looks really fucking mad at him, so he raises his out of commission arm as much as he can to placate him. They’re yelling his name again as the doors open and fuck yes he knows his own name thank you, can write it and everything. “Ain’t dumb.” He tells them, gesturing to the walkers that had been impaled behind him on the barricade and then himself. “I ducked under.”

There is no rousing applause from around him for his sheer genius move, and that makes him a little annoyed, instead there’s hands grabbing at his sides, Rick’s muttering something and Christ these people are making it hard to hold in the blood. “’s gonna spill.” He warns them and then there’s a hand over his wound, something bundled up and held over it, pinned into places as someone follows behind to stop him from making such a mess.

Someone sing songs for Hershel in the air and he knows they’re not on the farm anymore so Hershel ain’t gonna come a running. He’ll probably hobble though, or hop or something. More hands touch at him, some on his face and he snorts a little at that, ain’t bleeding from there for once. They move, he doesn’t help much but they move and before he knows it there’s not so much of the evening sun anymore but there’s the artificial light of the cell block and that’s almost just as fucking bright to his eyes.

There’s an awful lot of running about going on and he wonders if maybe he should get off of his lazy ass and help with whatever needs doing but whenever he tries to move there’s more hands on him, pushing him down and someone has a hold of his wrist as well. There are murmurs and yelling, poking and prodding and he lets out a yelp when someone digs their fingers into his bloody side. These people had no respect.

“Not bit.” He grunts, blinking blearily up to the ceiling and Rick’s worried face hovers over his, blurry but there with that dumb beard he needs to shave. “Walker stabbed me.” He manages and fuck he can sees that Rick just doesn’t get it at all. “Bone. Arm bone, might have got got.” He tries to explain and it seems enough for Rick to understand.

“You ain’t gonna turn you hear me?” Rick tells him and Christ it wasn’t like he had any intention of doing something so stupid. Fingers clutch at his hand again, someone squeezes his fingers and then there’s a blinding pain in his side and he can’t see anymore. His body tenses, something pulls at all his limbs and there’s ripping of clothes, words flow over the top of him and he can’t focus on anything more than Rick talking to him through the pain. “It’s okay, it’s okay Daryl. You’re going to be fine.”

Well fuck he’d better be because there weren’t no way he was going to live this down if he did turn. Fucking dumbass Daryl Dixon getting got by a walker, not even bit. Fucking stupid.

The pressure on his side increases, there’s more panicked yells and hey he was right they did have a doctor in here somewhere because he can hear someone calling for him to tell them what to do. Pain rips over him, one arm is useless and the other held so tightly that he doesn’t think he could use it anyway. But pain was good, pain was temporary and he could get to a point where there was no pain anymore.

Blinking up to Rick he can see panic in his eyes and he hates that, if nothing else he didn’t want to make Rick panic. Blinding pain shoots up his side again and he rolls his head to the side, aware that right now might not be the best time to puke but fuck his insides felt like they might all be on the outside soon enough. Rick’s hand taps at his cheek and he groans a little, remembering having to get up in the mornings and hating the feeling of Merle slapping his face to wake him up. People talk, there’s needles and tubes and someone is opening his mouth for him and that’s really not nice.

“Fuck off.” He manages to murmur and there’s a light ripple of laughter around him before more pain. Goddamn these people. There are fingers, his head feels funny and dammit had Merle doped him up without him realising again because that’s what it feels like. Rick says something, he feels tired and then there’s nothing but darkness.

It’s nothing like waking up from a deep sleep, it’s more like hoisting himself out of that damned ditch all over again only this time he has a live audience next to him. His mouth feels stuffed with cotton wool, there’s a dark swirl at the edge of his vision and when he shifts on the bunk a little there’s a jangle at his wrist. His right hand is cuffed to the bedpost and he doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the thought of him finally being exactly like his big brother as he’d always wanted. He hadn’t turned and he counts that as a success.

Rick is there beside him, smiling, looking proud and hell yes he should be proud of him for not turning. God his head hurts. His friend moves to uncuff him, helping him move his arm back down beside him when it’s clear that moving by himself was an issue. He feels kind of numb all over and from the laziness of his brain he figures they’ve got him on the pretty good painkillers right now.

“We weren’t sure if you were gonna make it.” Rick tells him, leaning forward to rest on his knees and Daryl can’t see clearly but he can see the pain and worry there. It sucks that it’s there because of him. “You pretty much got yourself speared all the way through. You’re extremely lucky we didn’t have to take a kidney.”

That would certainly cut into any plans for drinking his way through an evening. Huffing a little he tries to sit up, ignoring Rick’s protests and using the wall to prop himself up until he’s in a hunched sitting position. They haven’t got the time to rest these days and he’ll be damned if he’s the one slacking. “Was a grave of walkers.” He tries to explain, setting a hand to his injured side and hating that he’s shirtless right now. His arm is strapped to his side, lashed there with a mix of an actual sling and a couple of belts, leaving him feeling lop sided and off balance. “Floor gave way. Bastards almost got me.”

“But they didn’t.” Rick smirks and yes alright maybe he’s proud of himself for being the one person Rick can rely on to always be there.

The sound of crutches on the prison floor alerts them to Hershel’s presence before he makes it round the doorway. “You’re one tough son of a bitch.” The old man tells him and he gives a smirk at that, remembering telling him something similar when he was up after losing his leg. “But you should be lying down and resting that side young man. You did yourself quite a bit of damage out there, and I’m not having you ripping more of your stitches out because you don’t want to sit still.”

“I’m fine. Weren’t my fault, was the damned walkers.”

“It’s always the damned walkers.” Hershel huffs moving closer and Daryl has the common decency to shift enough to let the one legged man perch on the edge of his bunk. “Now I don’t want these stitches pulled at all. Dr. S may have fixed you up but for the moment I’m your physician and you will do as I say.” He’s grateful for that, they don’t need to say that they know he doesn’t like to be touched, it’s obvious they’ve come to the decision to allow Hershel to watch over him even if he was just a vet. Being shirtless in front of anyone was an issue for him, but Rick has been there before and never said anything and Hershel had played doctor for him before and knew the kind of patient he was.

It’s uncomfortable for him when Hershel checks the stitches and that the wound is clean, but he gets through it the same as before. Least now he had a matching scar from the arrow bolt. The drugs take the edge off the pain but it’s still there in his side and aching through his arm. Hershel prods at his shoulder a little but it’s not as bad as his side. “I think I’ll live.” He mutters and Hershel agrees, Rick following suit.

“Get some rest we’ll be back to check on you later.” Rick stands, moving to help Hershel up onto his foot and letting the older man take the time to head out of the cell. Daryl is grateful for the time alone, letting him tug the sheets over himself and shuffle his way back down to lie against the bunk. The handcuffs stay linked above him, a warning, a back up plan just in case.

The pain still rocks down his side every so often, making him cringe with a gasp but for the most part it’s manageable. He can cope with pain, pain is nothing to him. It’s only a temporary thing and he can handle it because he knows it’ll lead to a time like this. A time where he can rest in a bad, with people he can trust around him watching his back from the danger that surrounded them each day. It’s a new thing this part, but he likes it and going through all the pain was worth it if he knew these people were here for him afterwards.

Yes Daryl Dixon was used to dealing with pain, but for the first time in his life it wasn’t because he had to learn a lesson. He gets through it all because there were people here that needed him on the other side and the side without the pain wasn’t so lonely anymore. They needed him, he needed them and getting through the pain was worth it now because he had a reason to survive it. Before now he’d thought of giving in to the pain before, but now there was no wanting to give in.

He would survive for these people and he’d make sure these people survived for him. The road to recovery would be difficult, it would be hard to take it easy and he knows he’s going to be reprimanded by Rick, Hershel and everyone else in the next few days, but it would be worth it. Because at least they would be there beside him and making the pain worth it.