•A DARYL DIXON STORY•
"I need you to listen to me. When we're out there together, if I say run, run. If I tell you to leave me, then damn it, you leave and you don't look back."
"Daryl," she sighed softly, shaking her head.
"No, I mean it," he argue...
'Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.' - Frank Herbert
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In the summer of her seventeenth year, in the dark of night, Zeppelin's mother left home. She packed a single duffel bag, placed her wedding ring on the rusty kitchen table and fled. As the front door clicked shut, Zepp woke up in a cold sweat. She knew something was wrong, felt the prick of tension against the hairs on her skin, the bile rising in her throat. She scrambled out of bed, one hand clasped against her mouth as she stumbled to the bathroom. The burn of vomit was nothing compared to the burn of anxiety twisting her gut.
She felt it again now, kneeling with her family in the hard dirt in front of strange men whose eyes had grown cold with cruelty. Those eyes watched her now, ravaged her, stripped her bare. Once her eyes met theirs she wouldn't bring herself to look away in fear, wouldn't give them the satisfaction. She allowed herself to look over to Daryl one last time, as he shivered and hid his face behind his hair, before she brought her gaze straight into Negan's.
His eyes were clear and clever, hazel turned black in the dark. His jaw was firm and straight with salt and pepper hairs sprinkled across it. He'd be attractive, maybe even beautiful, if it weren't for the bloodthirsty grin smeared across his face.
He paced slowly in front of the group with the bat resting on his shoulder, hungrily gazing over each person like a factory worker choosing a pig to put to slaughter. "It's gonna be pee pee pants city here real soon," he grinned.
A man who likes to hear himself talk, shocker.
"Which one of you pricks is the leader?" He waved a pointed, leather-gloved hand out towards them.
"It's this one," a man she couldn't see called out. Negan's menacing gaze fell to Rick, and she followed it. His face was pale, empty, broken.
Negan sighed, sauntering closer to him. "Hi," he smirked. "You're Rick, right? I'm Negan. And I do not appreciate you killing my men. Also, when I sent my people to kill your people.. you killed more of my people."
Zepp's skin pricked at the mention of the scuffle with Dwight and searched for him in the crowd. He was hunched against the truck just behind Daryl, his cold, lifeless eyes on her.
"Not cool," Negan continued. "Not cool. You have no idea.. how not cool that shit is. But I think you're gonna be up to speed shortly. Yeah. You are so gonna regret crossing me in a few minutes," he smiled. "You see, Rick, whatever you do, you don't mess with the new world order. And the new world order is this, and it's really very simple. So, even if you're stupid, which you very well may be, you can understand it. Ready? Here it goes, pay attention."
