twd one-shots

silver springs - daryl dixon

Plot: Something has always lingered between you and Daryl, even if the world never settled long enough to let it grow. Four years after Rick's death, that hasn't changed, but it doesn't stop you from seeking him out by that river when Judith gets sick.

Word Count:
 4.8k

Warnings: spoilers for season 9 and onward. especially 10x18... yeah... you already know what this is gonna be. all that fun angsty stuff.

A/N: decided I've been writing too much fluff lately so i'm going back to my favourite.... angst<3

also-- new tumblr user!! im no longer imagine-thewalkingdead. find me on tumblr: weretheones (get it...) 

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"How much longer do you think they've got?" You asked, overlooking the Sanctuary's common room.

The main building was always dark despite its tall windows, surrounded by too many towers of concrete to allow the sun's rays to slip through. Torches lined the structural columns of the factory below. A soft glow carried across the grey, desolate walls in a futile attempt to cast a feeling of security and comfort. Everything inside those walls was artificial, designed to make the hopeless space appear inviting and homely.

It wasn't working.

More crops were dying by the day and you certainly weren't the first to question how much longer the Sanctuary had left. It didn't seem to matter that people were still working hard, weaving amongst each other in the busy room below. The place was slipping away with each sunset. But even if hope was running out, they never refused to help. Everyone that was still here volunteered their labour all for the mere chance of it working out.

While that fact meant a lot to Rick, it didn't lessen the weight of a failing community on Daryl's shoulders. No matter how much work and care went into the place, it just never became what they hoped it'd be. It couldn't even sustain a damn garden; if it wasn't for Alexandria's crops, they'd be starving. Daryl was losing his patience, finding himself more and more displeased within these walls, and it wasn't just the lingering memories of that dark closet or the smell of dog food that crawled down his throat and turned his stomach.

Daryl shook his head, "I don't know."

You nodded, leaning against the railing Negan used to make his speeches from. Since Daryl had rejected that way of leadership, it became a spot to find quiet, or even a moment between two people who rarely got to be alone anymore.

"Do you think..." you mumbled, "do you think things will ever settle?"

Like always, he caught your eye and said more with his look than his words.

"I hope so."

You gave him a small smile. "Yeah. Me too."

You could hope until your last breath, but the harsh reality was that things might never settle the way you wanted them to. Just like the sanctuary might never become the community Rick prayed for. That unspoken promise between you and Daryl— that once you had a moment to rest, once and for all, you'd finally let this lingering tension and care grow into something more— might never come to pass.

After Rick died, you started to understand that.

In the years you'd shared, you'd always known Daryl as a man of impressive loyalty, and yet, when he told you he had to leave, that he had to look for Rick— even if it was just to find his body, to put him down and bury him— it dug a hole in your chest.