𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙛𝙡𝙤𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙩

ᯓ‎♪ .. "𝑰 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒎 𝒕𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏, 𝑱𝒊𝒎 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰'𝒗𝒆 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒏…"

₊ ✧ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ✧ ₊ WARNINGS: none Note: first time uploading/writing, not proofread :p W.C: 1.3k ・ It had been awhile since you stumbled upon Rick Grimes and the rest of the group, you had already grown used to being alone—foraging your own items, scavenging for month old scraps that barely keep you full at night, or sleeping with one eye open. ・ Up until now you still do, but this time—you have people around you. Ones that care about your well-being instead of seeing you as some machine that helps with survival and runs. It took awhile to adjust to the walls of Alexandria; after surviving the prison it felt as if a soft bed and rest was a mere dream that was kept always at an arms length. But nonetheless, the group fell into a familiar routine. ・Rick would scout out areas or re-enforce the walls, Glenn would either help around, or go on runs with Rosita. If not her then anyone with a death wish willing to come. Carl would look over Judith from time-to-time, and Daryl... he would come along with Rick, that, or he's doing something else productive. There was always something about him that intrigued you about him, whether it was how he always remained such a mystery, or moments where his broodiness slips into a small—relieved expression after something finally goes right. ・It was late in the afternoon, the scorching sun beginning to sink slowly into the horizon, you tie your hair into a loose ponytail, sweat dripping off your forehead as you finish the last of the crates that needed moving. Plopping one of the off the trunk before wiping your face with your shirt, you skim over the resource filled containers. ・"Canned food, water bottles, seeds.." You list off, thinking of what could be missing. You pause for a moment. Oh, oh shit. Medical supplies Denise asked you to get, your eyes scan the place for anyone, someone who had the keys to the truck. "Rosita, hey" you jog over to her, she smiles a little before slowing her pace. "Anything you need?" she hums, the steel of the keys shining against the light as it jingled with the movement of her hips. The carabiner was hooked lazily onto one of the loops of her shorts. ・"I need to borrow the truck again, I forgot something during the supply run earlier—I'll give it back to you tomorrow afternoon." You pant, catching your breath before standing up straight. Rosita tosses you the keys—catching it with one hand before stuffing it quickly into your pocket. She glanced over at you; thinking. "Ask someone to go with you tomorrow." Rosita paused for a moment. "Not me though, Rick assigned me to somethin' else." You let out a defeated sigh. Just as you were about to speak—Daryl walks over to the both of you, probably overhearing the conversation. ・"I'll go with ya," he said, slinging his crossbow onto his back. Rosita shot an eyebrow up and looked between the two of you, "well, problem solved then." She said. You look back at Daryl for a moment, "You sure? it's gonna take us awhile, the road on the ways' blocked by a—" "yea, quit fussin'. I ain't got anything better to do anyways." ・He stood near enough for you to smell the slight musk and gunpowder on him. Daryl smelt of cigarette ash and bullets—something you'd learn to grown fond of once the apocalypse started; it meant people were around, at least. ・It was early in the morning—maybe around 4am as you and Daryl left the gates of Alexandria to go scavenge some half-ransacked apothecary. The cool morning breeze hits your skin as you roll down one of the windows, the faint sounds of crickets and walkers fill the silence between you and him. His fingers tapped restlessly against the dashboard, neither of you felt the need to start a conversation. It felt too exhausting. ・The two of you finally made it. The entrance was worn down and blocked off—there were a few walkers, maybe around 3 or 4 of them surrounding some dead horse. Your nose crinkles at the familiar smell of rotten flesh blending with the petrichor scent you were used to. Daryl eventually parks.

Daryl hits the breaks a little harsher than intended, snapping you out of whatever trance you were in.

・He grabs his crossbow from the backseat before slinging it behind his back. "You'll scavenge the inside, I'll take care of them walkers." he said, opening the door. You check how many rounds you have left on your gun before following him outside. As Daryl took care of the group, you manage to slip your way inside through a broken window. The apothecary looked empty, shelves were knocked down, and what was left were some half-assed keychains that were coated in layers of dust.

・The silence inside was heavier than the one outside. It was the kind of quiet that made every little sound feel amplified—the creaking of old wood beneath your boots, the faint rattle of glass bottles shifting on damaged shelves, the distant groans of walkers outside.

・You moved carefully, scanning each aisle as you searched through the scattered remains of the apothecary. Most of the supplies had already been taken, leaving behind empty shelves and forgotten boxes. You crouched down, pushing aside some fallen papers before spotting a small cabinet wedged underneath a broken counter.

"Please be something useful," you mutter under your breath.

・The lock was already broken, probably from whoever had searched the place before you. Inside were a few bottles, some gauze, and—your eyes widened slightly—a handful of sealed medical supplies that looked untouched.

A small smile tugged at your face.

"Denise is gonna be happy about this."

・You carefully placed everything into your bag before continuing deeper into the building. The back rooms were darker, the sunlight barely reaching through the cracked windows. You opened drawers, checked cabinets, and collected whatever seemed remotely useful. ・A sharp crash from outside catches your attention; "Daryl?" you say softly, grabbing your gun as you freed it from it's holster. You slowly make your way back to the entrance, adjusting the strap of you bag as you wearily make your way back.

A few seconds passed before you heard footsteps.

Then he appeared in the doorway, crossbow still in hand, a few scratches on his jacket but otherwise fine.