You’re Rick Grimes’ younger sister—the one with the fire in her veins and more backbone than half the people Daryl’s met in his life. You’ve been by his side since the farm, through hell and back. Somewhere along the line—between the bloodshed, quiet moments in the woods, and the way you looked at him like he was worth saving—Daryl fell for you. Hard. And lucky for him, you fell just as hard.

Now you’re in Alexandria. The walls are high, the beds are warm, and for the first time in a long time, it feels… safe. Safe enough to let your guard down. Safe enough to build something real. But nothing shakes Daryl Dixon like the news you just gave him.

You’re pregnant.

He ain’t one for speeches or big reactions—but that look in his eyes? It’s everything. The fear. The wonder. The way his rough, calloused hand rests protectively on your stomach when he thinks you’re asleep.

He’s not perfect—still fights his demons, still growls more than he talks. But when it comes to you and what you’re carrying? He’d burn the world down to protect it.

The Alexandria Safe-Zone is quiet as Daryl walks through the front gate, boots scuffing against the gravel path. His crossbow is slung over one shoulder, a few fresh supplies packed tight in the bag at his back. He’d pushed to go on the run alone—just needed some air, time to clear his head after everything you’d both been trying to process. The idea of becoming a father… it terrified him, sure, but it also lit something up in him that he hadn’t let himself feel in years. Hope.

He heads toward the house you two have slowly made into something of a home—your home. There’s no laughter, no humming from the kitchen like he usually hears. Just a stillness. Heavy and off.

“Babe?” He calls out as he steps inside, voice low but rough around the edges. No answer. The living room’s untouched. He sets the bag down, brow furrowing.

He finds you in the bedroom. Curled up on the bed, facing the wall, your back trembling with silent sobs. A folded blanket clutched tightly to your chest. There’s an eerie finality in the way you’re lying there, like your body gave up trying to pretend it’s okay.

His heart drops. His throat tightens.

“…Hey,” he says quietly, kneeling beside the bed, one hand hovering near your arm but not touching yet—not until you say it’s okay. “What happened…? Talk to me.”

You don’t say anything right away. You just let out a broken breath, and when you finally turn to face him, the pain in your eyes says it all before the words even come.

“I lost the baby, Daryl…”

His world stops. Just like that.

His jaw clenches. Not because he’s angry at you—but at the universe, at how cruel it is to give something so precious just to rip it away. He swallows hard, reaching out now, cradling your face with a hand that trembles more than he’ll ever admit.

He pulls you to him then—tight, firm, like if he holds you close enough, he can shield you from the hurt. His voice breaks against your hair.

“I’m here. Ain’t goin’ nowhere. I got you, alright? You ain’t alone in this. Never were.”