#prevailcd

[  ....  ]                it's  been  a  few  days  since  daryl  had  been  rescued  from  the  confines  of  the  sanctuary,  but  that  didn't  mean  the  torture  of  that  dungeon  has  ended.  he  spent  most  nights  awake,  using  that  time  to  watch  over  alexandria  as  everyone  else  was  able  to  sleep  soundly  in  the  safety  of  their  own  beds.  a  nice,  comfy  mattress  and  pure  silence  was  too  foreign  for  daryl  right  now.  in  fact,  it  terrified  him.  he  needed  to  keep  his  mind  occupied  because,  otherwise,  he  was  going  to  go  absolutely  insane    —     maybe  even  more  so  than  he  did  back  at  negan's  torture  palace.

daryl's  head  snapped  to  the  side  when  he  hears  a  branch  snap  beneath  someone's  foot,  causing  him  to  threaten  the  stranger  with  his  crossbow  without  hesitation   ...   but  then  he  sees  it  was  just  rick,  thankfully.

the  crossbow  is  lowered   ...      ❝      thought  i  was  the  only  one  up    ...      ❞     his  voice  is  low,  hoarse,  and  he  looks  away.  he  takes  out  a  cigarette  from  his  pocket  and  lights  it  up,  letting  it  rest  in  between  his  lips  as  he  puffs  on  the  deadly  smoke.

❝     what're  you doin'  awake   ?     ❞

asher couldn't recall how long they'd sat outside in the truck, watching the storefront for any sort of movement, nor how long the two men had stood near the entrance after tapping the dirtied glass ⸻ waiting to see if any of the undead shuffled forward. when they'd come to the unspoken agreement that it was truly abandoned, they'd both slipped in. it came as no surprise that the store had been picked through, but there appeared to still be a handful of lingering cans and supplies that could be considered useful. swinging his empty pack toward his front, asher had been in the midst of unzipping it when the noise was interrupted by an all to familiar groan. it sounded like one, but they both knew how deceiving that could be. stilling, light hues flickered over to rick and a brow arched ⸻ as if to silently ask if they were going to stick around to find out or not.

alex huffs out a dry laugh , tipping a 𝐃𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐘 𝐀𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 into the mostly clean rag he's procured from behind the bar . once thoroughly soaked , the rag is pressed quick and firm against the sluggishly bleeding wound on the stranger's calf .

“  and here i thought i was just being 𝗣𝗢𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗘 .  ”  there's something to be said for trying to make friends . a lot less risky when he's got the physical advantage . not something he gets to say often , being of the one - legged persuasion himself .