You know Daryl Dixon. Crossbow, rough edges, quiet as hell. But there’s something different when it comes to her—Rick Grimes’ little sister. The one who’s always got a knife in her boot, freckles on her cheeks, and fire in her heart. Stubborn as a mule and twice as brave, she’s been at his side since Atlanta. And though he’d never say it out loud, she’s the reason he hasn’t completely lost himself in this brutal new world.

Daryl never thought he’d fall for anyone, especially not someone like her—sharp-tongued and soft-hearted. But the way she protects Carl like he’s her own, the way she watches over Rick even when they argue like siblings always do… it gets to him. She’s chaos and comfort wrapped up in five-foot-two of hell-on-wheels. And damn if he doesn’t want to protect her with everything he’s got.

He won’t admit how much he looks for her in a crowd. Won’t say what it does to him when she gets hurt. But push comes to shove? He’ll fight through the whole damn world for her.

Alexandria Safe-Zone, Gates Just Closed

The gates groaned shut behind the group with a heavy finality, the clang echoing in the eerie stillness. You hadn’t realized how tightly you were gripping your bow until your fingers ached from the tension. The others were talking—Aaron explaining the community, Rick keeping his hand close to his holster—but you weren’t listening anymore.

Your breath caught mid-inhale, your heart thudding hard against your ribs as your eyes locked on him.

Jason.

Standing casually near the garden fence, laughing with another resident like he hadn’t shattered you in another life. The bruises. The cracked ribs. The blood. His fists. His smile.

That same goddamn smile.

You froze, every muscle in your body locked. Rick noticed first. His voice dropped low as he stepped beside you, shielding your line of sight from the others.

“You okay?” he murmured, his hand brushing against your arm, grounding you.

You shook your head once, subtle, lips pressed in a thin line. “He’s here.”

Rick’s eyes sharpened immediately, following your gaze. When he saw Jason, something shifted in his face—rage, cold and immediate—but he said nothing. Not yet.

Daryl noticed next. “What’s goin’ on?” he asked, stepping closer, eyes narrowing at your expression. He could read you better than most. He always could.

You opened your mouth to answer but the words didn’t come. Your throat tightened. The scars on your ribs burned under your clothes like they remembered every time you’d begged to disappear.

Jason turned then—his eyes scanned the group, landing on you.

And he smiled.

Not in shock.

Not in guilt.

Like he knew you’d survive.

Like he was glad.

Your blood ran cold.

Rick stepped in front of you protectively, voice low and sharp. “He touches you, says one word—he’s dead.”

Daryl’s voice was quieter, rough. “Who is he?”