Sweet Tooth (Twd x Male Oc)

Chapter 18: Season 4 ~ Salvation

TW: Non consent and sexual/physical violence towards a minor. It isn't written graphically or explicitly but the implications are there all the same.

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Daryl doesn't turn or lift his head as we approach. He looks wrecked, like he as is lost and as empty as me, only he looks lucky enough to be somewhere far away from sitting here in his body — I know that feeling, but I don't have the luxury of feeling it now, so I stay back, shaking all over as the Claimers make a circle around him.

Joe steps in front of him.

"Well, look at you..."

Daryl raises his head very slightly to look at Joe's shoes, and as Joe reaches down to offer a hand, Daryl swings fast, throwing a fist. Everyone aims their weapons, Daryl included, on his feet and aiming the last bolt he has left, and I think this is it, he is it, the first who I have to watch die.

"Dammit, hold up!" Joe growls through a swollen nose, hands raised.

"I'm claiming the vest," Len leers, my red machete handle in his hands. "I like them wings."

"Hold up!"

Joe swabs his bloody nose and laughs — laughs like a maniac. Daryl's crossbow doesn't move from his face. I stare wildly at the back of his head.

"A bow man," Joe announces. "I respect that. See a man with a rifle? He could'a been some type of photographer or soccer coach back in the day. I bow man's a bow man, through and through."

He admires Daryl's crossbow for a moment.

"I've been looking for a weapon like that," Joe goes on, "o' course, I'd want one with a bit more ammo in it, and a little less brain all over it."

"Get yourself in some trouble, partner?" Len asks.

"You pull that trigger," Joe explains, "these boys are gonna drop you several times over. That what you want? Come on, fella, suicide is stupid. Why hurt yourself when you can hurt other people?"

Slowly, Daryl's crossbow lowers.

"Name's Joe." He gestures to the rest of us. "This here is my crew — Len, Tony, Lou, Dann, and Billy."

This is when Daryl sees me. His and my eyes bore into each other. Daryl is squinting. I am trembling. He opens his mouth to speak to me but I glare at the train tracks, wishing beyond wishing that he will understand that he will die if he speaks to me like a friend. It must get across, because he doesn't say anything.

"Oh, don't mind the kid," Joe says. "He won't be here long."

"He won't?" Daryl asks, eyes on me still.

"No," Joe says, smiling at me, not seeing the look on Daryl's face. "We're taking him back to his friends. Ain't we, boys?"

They murmur menacingly. I just stand there rooted to the spot.

"Anyway," Joe says, turning to Daryl now, "we told you our names. Only fair you return the favour, ain't it?"

Daryl looks at him, then mel and finally rest of them.

"Daryl," he says.

Joe nods. "You like rules, Daryl?"

"Depends what they are?"

Joe seems to think this is a good answer.

"Well, we only got two of them," he explains, "and you'll learn them soon enough."

The next morning, I wake up starving and weak. The bandage on my head fell off in the night — I don't want to think about why. The cut there is tender, but dry, at least. I pull off my jacket and rake up my shirt and take a look at the bandage on my stomach. It's bloody and filthy so I take that off, too. It's a little weepy and sore to the touch, but it's healing. Everyone is asleep but Dann, who is on watch.