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—For the first time in a long time he’s completely and utterly  a l o n e.

It’s his fault, he should’ve been able to protect her. Should’ve been able to protect everyone. Rick. Carl. Michonne. Andrea. Merle. Carol. Beth. All gone and that’s on him. Those people had been the only good Daryl has ever had and they had all been ripped away from his grasp and torn to shreds in front of his eyes, leaving him hollow in the middle of some goddamn road with no where to go and no reason to fight. He stayed unmoving for seemingly hours until finally one lone walker stumbled from the woods and approached him with intent to kill. Oh but something in Daryl…

s n a p p e d

In one swift motion, the hunter had the mobilized corpse pinned to the ground under him, crazed and bloodthirsty blue hues staring down at its rotting features before releasing a war cry and swinging a bare fist into its soft temple with an almost inhuman intensity. Red was all Daryl saw as he continued to throw a barrage of emotion driven punches, cold blood splashing like rain across his skin.

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Animalistic howl’s bellow out of his throat until the cries slowly transform into pained and frantic sobs. Punch after punch after punch is thrown until the walkers head is so beaten, Daryl can feel the cement under his fists. Then and only then does he stop. Rolling off the now completely lifeless body and onto his back, the bloodied mess of a man simply stares up at the sky as he attempts to catch his labored breath and control the whimpers escaping his lips. It’s no use. The broken pieces in him had finally shattered.

Things were starting to take turn for the best for once. They’d reached the Sanctuary in a matter of days and had dared themselves to wander inside. The people seemed awfully friendly at first, perhaps a little too friendly, but they soon proved themselves to Carl, Rick and Michonne. They showered, drank, ate, slept and relaxed - it reminded him of CDC, aside from the fact the Sanctuary was still standing and the CDC had been blown to smithereens. He didn’t want to go back outside, he wanted to stay tucked away behind the walls that now kept them safe. It took him a while to realise he couldn’t be so selfish. The rest of his group needed him and he needed to know they were safe and more importantly, alive. 

It took a lot for him to go back outside, but he managed to do so after much persuasion from Michonne and reasoning from his inner thoughts. He went by himself, he insisted on doing so. He didn’t want Carl to be exposed to the outside world again, and he refused to leave him alone at the Sanctuary - it was safe but they barely knew the people that occupied it. He followed the tracks for a while, hoping he’d come across someone, or any type of sign that they’d passed by. It wasn’t long before his wish came true.

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He soon noticed the blood trail that led away - he followed it, knife in hand, ready to take out whatever threw itself in his general direction. He was prepared, he’d been preparing himself for quite some time now and he wasn’t ready to die, not now they had found safety. That’s when he spots him lying on the floor, the hunter that had become his trusted wingman back at the prison, his close friend, his second in command. At first, he panicked, he prayed that he was alive and not dead. It wasn’t until he was hovering over him, blocking his sun, that he realised the hunter was breaking apart in front of him, not dead, but close to.