Chapter Text
The motorcycle roars as it races down the street. As Daryl expertly swerves it around the smashed cars and walker bodies that litter it, you stare straight ahead, watching the gates to Alexandria grow closer.
Alexandria. Home. This time, you’re not returning as a prisoner. You’re returning for good.
Daryl revs the engine and, in the distance, the gates begin to open. You hold your breath as he guides the bike through them, coming to a careful stop just inside the walls. Turning off the engine, he carefully climbs off the bike and turns to you.
Exhaling deeply, you look at your home as if it were the first time. It pretty much is, in its current state: the Saviors had bombed it, leaving multiple houses flattened completely, and the remaining ones stained black from the smoke. But underneath all that damage, there is hope. The residents of Alexandria have already started repairs, salvaging the buildings that could remain standing and knocking down the ones that couldn’t, with supplies to rebuild neatly piled nearby. This wouldn’t be the end of Alexandria.
You turn to climb off of the motorcycle, but a low growl keeps you in place.
“What did tha doctor say?” Daryl asks you, scowling.
You sigh, looking down at the bandage on your thigh. “Take it easy.”
“Exactly.”
Before bringing you home, Daryl made you agree to stop at the Hilltop to get your leg wound taken care of. Siddiq wasn’t happy to have to stitch you up again, and he made you promise to be more careful and to stay off the leg as much as possible.
Daryl had clearly taken his medical advice to heart, so, instead of letting you slide off the bike yourself, he scoops you up into his arms and lifts you off.
“Which way?” he asks.
“You can let me down now,” you tell him, annoyed.
“Nope,” he says simply.
“Daryl-”
“Which way?”
Giving in, you point in the direction of your house. Squeezing your side gently, Daryl starts carrying you toward it.
Your annoyance at the archer’s insistence on carrying you melts away as the house grows closer. Thankfully, it appears to have survived the attack with little more than dark stains left behind from the smoking of the burning buildings. On the front porch, the swing - your swing - rocks slowly in the gentle breeze. You long for it like an old friend.
Careful not to rock you in his grasp, Daryl climbs the steps to the porch and places you down in front of the door. You take a deep breath, reach out for the doorknob, and turn it. Pushing it gently, the door swings open, but Daryl doesn’t move.
When you turn to him, you’re surprised by the look on his face. Daryl Dixon looking….nervous?
“Come on,” you say gently, reaching your hand out to him. He hesitates, adorably bouncing side-to-side on his feet for a moment. But then he takes your offered hand. You squeeze it, and pull him inside.
Taking slow steps, you stop in the foyer and take a deep breath. It looks like a time capsule, with everything precisely where you left it: your favorite blanket draped over the arm of the couch, the book you were reading still on the coffee table, and even the curtains pulled back in just the right way to let in the best natural light.
Home, it all calls out to you.
You look at Daryl again, who takes it all in with wide eyes. He looks as if he is committing it all to memory.
“Welcome home, Daryl,” you whisper, your voice coming out more like a breath.
His gaze snaps to yours, and you can just make out the faint blush on his cheeks. Instinctually, you reach out to touch it, cupping his cheek in your hand.
Leaning into your touch, Daryl exhales deeply, like he’s been holding his breath for days. You take a careful step closer to him, this time taking his face in both of your hands, and pulling him down to meet you. Your lips brush against his, kissing him gently.
Daryl kisses you back, softly at first. But then the kiss grows deeper, and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into him. He sighs contentedly without breaking the kiss. You smile against his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck.
You both hold each other tight, as if one of you will be pulled away at any moment. But neither of you will. Not this time. Not ever again.
The thought makes you want to jump for joy, but you know Daryl will kill you if you try. So instead, you pull back, breaking the kiss. Daryl frowns, but when you take a step towards the stairs, his frown disappears instantly and he scoops you up into his arms again. You can’t help but laugh when he takes the stairs two at a time.
“End of the hall,” you tell him quickly, pressing kisses into the side of his neck. You swear you can feel him start to move faster.
Without letting you go, Daryl opens the door and steps into your old bedroom. He doesn’t stop to admire the space this time; instead, he places you down gently, takes your face in both of his hands, and resumes kissing you.
Giggling against his lips again, you feel your body heat up, desire pumping through your veins, and all you want is him, him, him. You reach out and make quick work of the buttons on his shirt, letting the material fall open. Daryl groans into your kiss when you run your hand across the hard muscles of his stomach, up onto his chest.
You break the kiss to step back and take in the sight of him like this: shirt open underneath that damn vest, his broad chest and abs, sprinkled in scars that you will kiss every day for the rest of your life. Daryl watches you admire him, the faint blush reemerging across his cheeks.
“You’re so beautiful,” you murmur, leaning in to kiss his chest and slowly push the material the rest of the way off of him. His vest and shirt fall to the floor with a soft thud, and you kiss your way up to his broad shoulders. Daryl groans again, his own hands running up your arms.
Daryl turns you in his grasp until your back is pressed against his chest. He plants soft kisses along your shoulders until slowly - oh so slowly - he lowers the zipper of your dress. He draws it out, causing the anticipation within you to grow to the point where you are trying to wiggle out of the dress yourself.
But Daryl doesn’t let you. He continues dragging the zipper until it reaches the bottom, and then he lowers it to the floor. Kneeling, he helps you step out of it. Then, he makes his way back up slowly, stopping to place a gentle kiss over the bandage on your thigh. He kisses his way up your body, leaning around you to press his lips to the scar on your ribs before doing the same to the new one forming on the back of your shoulder from your gunshot. Shivers shoot up your spine, causing goosebumps to form along your skin.
Standing tall, Daryl spins you again, leaning in to kiss the scar on your forehead, pressing his love into all of your scars, new and old, unique and mirrors of his own. His gentle touch and obvious adoration causes you to tremble in his grasp, your legs buckling beneath you. Feeling this, he carefully lowers you onto the bed.
You pull him down with you, and Daryl lands perfectly between your legs. You catch his lips with your own, and reach down for his belt, pulling on the thick leather. Daryl’s large hand covers yours, and he breaks the kiss ever so slightly, just enough for you to breathe out one word:
“Please.”
Daryl melts at the word, and makes quick work of his belt. He slides out of his remaining clothes, kicking his boots off and onto the floor, while you hastily rid yourself of your own. Then he’s falling into you again, kissing you deeply as he lines himself up with your aching core. Pausing for a moment, his bright blue eyes, pupils blown out with lust, meet your gaze. His hand reaches up to cup your face, pushing the loose strands of your hair out of your eyes, before pressing into you.
He pushes the air from your lungs, and your lips part in a soft gasp. Gently, he slides into you, stretching you around him until he bottoms out. Daryl kisses your parted lips, distracting you from the sting until you’re ready. You kiss him back hungrily, your arms snaking up around his neck to hold him close.
Daryl reaches down, placing a firm hand under your injured thigh and lifting it, holding it up gently as he rolls his hips into you. The two of you move as one, panting together with each thrust in between kisses. Each soft gasp that escapes his lips feels like home.
Home. That’s what Daryl is to you. Home. Safety. Happiness.
You kiss him deeper, your hips moving in time with his. One of your hands slides down his back, pulling him impossibly closer to you while the other moves up to grip his hair. You tug, and Daryl moans into your mouth.
Heat pools in your lower belly, and you squeeze around Daryl. He kisses you until you can’t anymore, your breaths coming out in small huffs as your pleasure grows. His lips find your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive spot just below your ear. He grinds deeper into you with each roll of his hips, his pace stuttering as his own pleasure threatens to overtake him. He breathes out your name, and you’re undone.
You cry out and he groans and you climax together. Daryl grips your leg tighter, his forehead pressed to yours. As you come down from your high, you press featherlight kisses to his parted lips, and admire the way pleasure relaxes his features.
When he comes down too, he collapses into you, his face falling into the crook of your neck. You run your fingers lightly up and down his beautiful, scarred back, relaxing into the softness of your bed.
Your head falls to the side, and you catch a glimpse of the cursed black dress he stripped from you.
“I’m going to burn that dress,” you say softly.
Daryl chuckles against you. “All right,” he replies, his breath tickling your skin. “‘m gonna miss it.”
“Why?” you ask, twirling one of his sweaty curls around your finger.
“I fell in love with ya in that dress,” he says softly.
Your breath catches in your throat and your fingers stop, still holding his hair. “Daryl Dixon, are you saying you love me?”
Daryl buries his face deeper into your neck. “Yes,” you barely hear him answer, his voice muffled.
Gently, you pull him out of his hiding place so you can look at him. You smile, your thumb caressing his cheek. “I love you too,” you whisper.
Daryl’s face breaks out into the biggest smile you’ve ever seen, one you didn’t think was possible but made him even more beautiful. You kiss him one, two, three times, pulling away only when your smile becomes too great to kiss him again.
So you pull him back into you, wrapping him up in your arms and holding him until you both fall into a deep sleep.
When you awake the next morning, you’re curled into Daryl, your legs intertwined with him. You stretch, leaning into him further. He chuckles softly.
“G’morning, princess,” he drawls, his voice low and raspy with sleep. You want to wrap yourself in it.
“Good morning,” you reply, turning your face up to his. He places a lazy kiss on the tip of your nose.
“‘Bout time you woke up,” he teases.
You crack one eye open and give him a weak glare. “What are you in such a rush for?” you ask, trying to sound annoyed but you can’t suppress your smile.
“Was gonna go see where I can help,” he explains, tracing your shoulder with his fingers. He trails off, and you know he’s thinking about all the damage the Saviors caused to Alexandria in the last fight. Your heart flutters at his desire to help.
“I think that’s a great idea,” you tell him, leaning up to plant a kiss on his cheek.
Daryl smiles sadly, stealing a glance at you out of the corner of his eye. “You gonna be okay?” he asks.
“Yeah,” you answer honestly. “I got some things I need to take care of too.” Daryl raises an eyebrow at you, and you can’t help but laugh. “Nothing too strenuous, I know,” you explain between laughs. “I’ll ‘take it easy,’ I promise.”
“You better,” Daryl growls, pulling you on top of him and pressing kisses all over your face, making you laugh even harder.
After Daryl leaves in search of work - not without many more kisses all over your body - you peel yourself out of bed in search of your own clothes. Moving around carefully so as to not pop any stitches, you dress yourself in one of your favorite tank tops and a comfortable pair of leggings. You lace up your combat boots, and slip your trusty leather jacket on for good measure. Reaching into your pocket, you finger the handle of your knife, drawing strength from it. Then you hop down the stairs, and out of your front door.
It’s still early, the sun just beginning to rise in the sky. From your front porch, you can see teams of Alexandrians meeting up and starting to get to work, Daryl somewhere among them. You take a deep breath, enjoying the moment of peace, before stealing yourself, getting ready for what you must do next.
You make your way slowly through town, waving at a few of your old neighbors as you make your way to the infirmary. To him.
When you reach it, you’re grateful when you find the main room empty. You don’t need anyone trying to stop you right now, not from this. Moving quietly, you peer into each of the smaller rooms until you find the one you are looking for. Then you slip inside, taking a seat in one of the chairs next to the bed, and wait.
You watch the steady rise and fall of his chest, the slow in and out of his breathing. Sliding your knife from your pocket, you twirl it between your hands as the minutes pass by. You can hear the ticking of the wall clock as you sit there, never taking your eyes off of him.
A wet, gurgling sound breaks the silence as he wakes up.
“Good morning, Negan,” you greet him darkly. You see his chest seize as his breath catches in his lacerated throat. Unable to turn and look at you, all he can do is wait for you to speak again.
Standing, you limp over to the side of the bed. His eyes try to follow your movement until you’re leaning over him.
“How are you feeling?” you ask him. He opens his mouth to answer, but no sound comes out. “Oh, I’m sorry,” you say mockingly, your words an echo of his own nasty ones. “I completely forgot.”
Negan’s eyes grow wide as they flicker from your face to your hand, which still holds your knife.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything,” you say to him as you reach up and flick the edge of the bandage around his throat. “You can just listen for once.”
He watches you as you move slowly around the bed, tossing your knife up and catching it again.
“I don’t understand why he let you live, and quite frankly, I don’t care,” you say sharply. “But there’s a few things you should know.” You stop at the foot of his bed, glaring at him. “I no longer belong to you. None of your ‘wives’ do. And you will never touch any of us again. Blink if you understand.” You stare him down until you see his eyes blink rapidly.
“Good,” you continue, walking again. “Because this is my home. My people.” You swallow, trying to keep your confidence. “Daryl too.”
Negan’s eyes grow wide again at the mention of his - now former - right-hand man. You keep walking until you are next to his pillow again.
“And you will not fuck this up for him, or for me,” you tell him. He stares at you, his lips parted like he wants to speak, but you both know he can’t.
You exhale deeply, then bring your knife down sharply into the pillow, close enough to his face that the steel leans against it. You lean in, bring your lips next to his ear so he can’t miss a single word.
“If you so much as look at him or me, I don’t care what Rick or Michonne say, I will kill you myself,” you say through gritted teeth. “I will make it slow, and painful, and draw it out for as long as your pathetic ass can take it. Do I make myself clear?”
Eyes glassy, Negan tries to nod, groaning in pain from the effort. His eyes blink multiple times, pushing out a single tear that you let run down the side of his face.
“Good,” you say, darkly. You yank the knife out of the pillow, ignoring his sigh of relief, then turn on your heel and leave. You slam the door closed on him, on that part of your life, and rush out of the infirmary as fast as your injured leg will take you.
When you make it outside, you have to lean against the railing of the porch to steady yourself. You squeeze your eyes closed, and take slow, deep breaths.
He can’t touch you here, you tell yourself. He’ll never touch you again. You say these words over and over, hoping that, one day, you’ll believe them.
You don’t know how long you stand there, calming the panic that threatens to send you spiraling, but the next time you open your eyes, the world is no longer spinning. The sun has crawled further up into the sky, and there’s a slight breeze rustling your hair. In the distance, you can hear birds chirping and the sounds of the men at work. It’s peaceful. It’s home.
Breathing easier, you hop down the porch steps and start making your way back to your house. Since you and Carol have both been gone for a while, you don’t know who has been in the house or what has been sitting in the pantry this long, so one of the things you want to take care of today is getting the house cleaned up for you and Daryl’s Happily-Ever-After. You smile to yourself as you picture growing old with the archer: going gray and spending your days sipping coffee on the porch swing. It’s unlikely in this world, but it’s still fun to think about.
You’re so caught up in your daydream that you don’t see Michonne walking towards you until she steps right in your path. You jump a little.
“Hey,” she greets you, a little awkwardly.
“Hey,” you reply, just as awkward.
It isn’t a secret that you - along with Maggie and several others - vehemently disagree with Rick’s decision to let Negan live. And Michonne obviously has Rick’s back, causing a bit of tension in your friendship. You’re not mad at her; you completely understand why she’s supporting Rick, because you would do the same for Daryl. But after everything Negan’s done to you, to Maggie, to everyone…. You were struggling to be that understanding.
“I’m happy to see you out and about,” Michonne says, the softness of her tone expressing her sincerity.
“Thanks. Daryl won’t be if I’m not back on my ass soon though, so I should get going,” you reply, smiling slightly.
Michonne smiles back, but she looks sad. “Of course,” she says quickly. “I just wanted to give you this.” She reaches into her back pocket, and pulls out a single white envelope. You take it from her outstretched hand, turning it over. On the front, you find your name, scribbled in messy, familiar handwriting.
“Is this-” you start to ask, but can’t finish the question.
“From Carl,” Michonne finishes for you. “He wrote a few of us letters after he was-” It was her turn to trail off.
“Thank you,” you tell her, and you mean it. You try hard not to think about it, but it kills you inside that you weren’t able to be with Carl at the end. At least this way, it’ll almost be like you were.
Michonne sighs and nods, and then both of you turn and walk your separate ways; her back towards the houses, you towards the only place you want to be right now.
Approaching the gate, you hear a familiar voice call out from the platform at the top.
“First day back and you’re already trying to escape again!”
Squinting into the sun, you see Scott smiling down at you, a rifle slung over one shoulder.
“I’m not going far this time, I promise,” you shout back, smiling up at him.
“You better not be,” Scott replies. “It’s good to have you back.” He signals for the guys to open the gates for you.
“It’s good to be home,” you reply as the giant doors swing open before you. “I’ll be back before sundown.”
“Be safe out there,” Scott calls. You shoot him a thumbs up as you walk out and make a beeline for the woods.
You weren’t lying when you told him you weren’t going far. Even from the gates, you can see the branches of your favorite tree. You would run to it, if your leg wasn’t already aching from all the walking you’ve done so far today.
When you reach the bottom of its trunk, you pat the bark and greet it like an old friend. “I’ve missed you,” you whisper to the wood before you start climbing. The lowest branch is just reachable if you stand on your tippy toes, and you grab onto it with both hands and swing your legs up. Balancing on one foot, you stand on the branch, and reach for the next one, pulling yourself up to your usual spot. Two branches fork out of the trunk, making the perfect seat for you, safely out of reach of anyone passing by, dead or alive.
Leaning back against the tree, you fiddle with the letter in your hands. You take a few deep breaths, preparing yourself for its contents.
“Fuck it,” you murmur to yourself, for the hundredth time in the past few weeks, and you tear it open. Just reading your name at the top of it feels like a punch to the chest, but you swallow the pain and read on.
Y/N,
It’s Carl. If you’re reading this letter, it’s because we weren’t able to get you back before I died. And for that, I’m sorry. I tried to help somebody, and I got bit. Rookie move, I know. But I don’t regret saving him. Because that’s what we do.
I don’t want you to regret your decision to save people either, whatever the outcome of this mess is. I told my dad and Negan that we can end this war and live in peace, they just have to choose to. I just won’t be here to find out if they did. But whatever they do, you still stood up and made the choice to save people.
I just want you to know that I’m proud of you. And thank you, for doing what you did. Trying to protect me and Judith and so many others. With everything that’s happened, I don’t think you hear that enough.
Thank you for everything over the years. Looking out for me and dealing with me when I was an annoying little kid. You are my family. Even if my time is coming to an end.
Keep looking out for Judith for me. You’re a great role model for her.
-Carl
Tears streaming openly down your face, you almost miss the postscript at the bottom. You wipe your cheeks on the back of your hand before you read it.
P.S. I’m glad you found Daryl too. He might not look it, but he’s a great guy. He saved my butt a bunch of times. He’s kinda like you that way. And I believe that you can save him too.
You read the letter through a couple more times, your chest squeezing so tight at the last part, you have to put it away and remember to breathe. Tucking it carefully back into the envelope, you let your head fall back against the tree and close your eyes.
Carl, you send up to him, knowing he’s looking down at you. Thank you. For this letter, and for just being you. I’ll look after Judith. I’ll look after all of them. I promise.
A sharp whistle from below you snaps you out of your prayer. Eyes snapping open, you look down and find Daryl at the foot of your tree, hands on his hips.
“I thought we were takin’ it easy today?” he asks. Even from up here, you can see that he’s fighting a smirk.
“I am, I’m relaxing,” you call down to him.
“In a tree?”
“Always,” you say, smirking.
Daryl raises an eyebrow at you, and points at the ground.
You let out a dramatic huff, drawing a laugh out of him, then start to make your way down the tree. Making a point to show that you’re not using your bad leg, you climb down slower than usual. But when you land on the lowest branch, Daryl steps forward and snatches you out of the tree, cradling you to his chest again.
“You all right?” he asks, taking in your tear stained cheeks.
“I’m better now,” you tease. Daryl grunts in response, but he still looks worried. “I’m sad, but I’ll be okay. I swear.”
Daryl frowns slightly, and flicks his head to get the hair out of his face, but fails. You carefully push his bangs off of his forehead, and give him a soft kiss.
“Let’s go home,” you say.
Daryl gives you one more kiss, then turns, carrying you back towards the gates of Alexandria, towards home.