𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝔽𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 | Daryl Dixon

78 | NEGAN

"I think it's stopped bleeding, but you're burnin' up," Tori whispered, her voice raspy and broken as she carefully felt around the open wound on Daryl's shoulder.

In the dark, it was impossible to check him properly, but his skin was like fire, sweat pouring from every part of him, soaking his blood-stained clothes. Yet, he still shivered, out of control of his own body as he curled up more against Tori, clinging to her as if desperate for warmth. She'd already stripped her flannel, leaving herself in a black tank whilst she wrapped the checked shirt around Daryl's shoulders, doing all she could to help him.

Besides that, all she could do was feel around and whisper apologies every time she touched a tender part of his injury. There was an exit wound, which was about the only positive she could cling to. But if Daryl went untreated much longer, he was risking infection.

His breaths were coming out in shallow pants as he clung to her, his body resting against hers, his strength depleting by the minute. And, oh, how many minutes it had been since they were taken. They had observed the sunset through the slim opening of the van doors; the golden light had long disappeared, giving way to darkness. She braced herself for whatever was to come, sensing the night ahead would be the longest of her life.

Michonne hugged her knees to her chest, one hand feeling around her head where two of her dreadlocks had been sliced off by one of the Saviors. He was laughing as he did it, cackling maniacally as he waved them in front of her face, taunting her until the strong-minded woman had tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

Likewise, Daryl's crossbow had been re-stolen by Dwight. The blonde's eyes held a twinkling glint as he pulled two bolts from their holder, grinning as he inspected the green and white fletchers. He held them in front of Daryl, who could barely keep his eyes open as he lay on the ground bleeding, before handing them off to one of the other men.

Daryl's bolts, Michonne's hair – they were taken for a reason. There were so many possibilities as to why, that it physically hurt Tori's head to think about it. The Saviors taking those things just for their own amusement would be the best-case scenario, but she wasn't stupid. They were for something – a message, a warning even.

It had been hours. No food, no water, no light, no sound. Her own silent insanity was piling up exhaustingly, her eyelids beginning to flutter. Tears spilling over her cheeks to compensate for the dryness of her eyes.

Her eyes were half-closed when a brilliant light flashed from between the doors, casting a blinding beam that shone through. She heard Glenn wince at the sudden light, his legs shaking as he tried to back away from the doors. The four trapped within the vehicle stopped breathing in sync, listening out for the words uttered by an unfamiliar voice outside.

"Welcome to where you're going."

He sounded like he was smiling, his words confident and proud. Tori listened out as the man's footsteps faded further away, his voice fading with them. A weight was lifted from her front as Daryl pushed himself to sit forward as if anticipating an attack. Yet his hand remained clasped in hers, their fingers entwined tightly, with spots of his blood turning sticky as it dried on both their palms while they waited.

"Dwight!" the man shouted, sounding closer once again. "Chop chop!"

Barely a moment had time to pass before the van doors were flung open, the full-beam headlights from several trucks and cars pointed right at them. Tori slammed her eyes closed, her hand falling from Daryl's grip as she covered her face, hiding from the light. The hours of sitting curled up in the dark had left her legs weak and numb, leaving her stuck. A small cry fell from her lips, groaning in pain as a hand wrapped around her upper arm and dragged her out of the van.