Daryl Dixon Imagines

Broken Glass and Broken Bones

By thepokyone on Tumblr

When you were young, you had a lot of injuries. You were in the hospital a lot. Not because you were a daredevil, or because your parents harmed you, or even because you were particularly clumsy. It was because your soulmate seemed to live in some sort of hell. You constantly had bruises, cuts, and other nicks. It was fortunate the doctors had figured out a way to tell the difference between soulmate wounds and your own, otherwise your parents would have been hauled off long ago. You were always cautious, careful to not cause your soulmate any additional injuries. He had endured enough as it was.

When you were around eight, things grew steadily worse to the point that you were in and out of the hospital every other day. Whether your soulmate was the one who got the wounds or not, it didn’t matter - you had to suffer through either way. Eventually, most of the savagery stopped, though you did always seem to be beaten up in some way or another, even when you were older.

Then the apocalypse started. People quickly realized that if their soulmate was bit, they wouldn’t turn. That didn’t mean they didn’t get the wound. It made a lot of people grateful that lethal wounds could not be received by soulmates. It made a lot more wish they could be. By this point, you still hadn’t met him - whoever he was - but considering you were still getting injuries you assumed he was still out there somewhere.

After a couple years of being on your own, you met a ragtag group of survivors lead by a man named Rick. They were some of the first decent people you had met in this nightmare of a world. So you stuck with them. Often, you found yourself in deep discussion with Daryl. He was a bit rough around the edges, but he had a heart of gold and was good company. The two of you were drawn to each other in a way you didn’t understand. Maybe he was your soulmate, maybe not, but you weren’t going to hurt yourself to make sure. In a world like, this it was too dangerous.

You and the group found a prison, something like a safe haven, but it also meant going out on dangerous runs to ensure there was enough food to go around. Your current run was with Glenn and Maggie, the three of you venturing into a nearby city to gather supplies. It was unwise to go off by yourself, you’d admit, but in your defense you weren’t expecting to be swarmed by three walkers in the upstairs of a house. You were cornered by a window, and you had managed to kill one, though the other two were bigger and harder to kill. In a last ditch effort to avoid being bit, you did the only logical thing - you jumped out the window.

It wasn’t a very high fall, but it was enough to badly sprain your ankle upon landing. Your wrist flamed in pain, the bones giving what was definitely a not-good snap. Glenn and Maggie heard the noise, the two dispatching the walkers before coming to your aid.

“Y/N, are you alright?” Glenn asked, seeing your face twisting up in pain. This was bad news. Very, very bad news. Plus, it hurt. A lot.

“Not really,” You groaned. “Ankle is sprained, badly, and I think my arm is broken.”

“We need to get you back to Daddy,” Maggie said, the two of them helping you limp back to the car. “”He’ll be able to fix you up.”

“You got any pain killers?” You asked, clutching your broken arm close to your chest in an attempt to prevent it from jarring.

“I found some in the drug store.” Glenn rooted around in his bag, pulling out a pill bottle and dropping one into your good hand. “I’ve got some water for you to wash it down.”