Daryl Dixon Imagines and One shot stories

Dirt

Ever since the fall of the prison, you have given him all the time and space you think he needed. So many things had happened after that, you've been separated to your group, not knowing if your boyfriend was still alive. When you finally reunited with him, he wouldn't even dare spare a glance at you.

You tried so hard to understand what he went through, but it's been so long. And you couldn't take it anymore.

So you tried talking to him after a day of staying in Alexandria, finally mustering up your courage to ask him what was wrong, to ask him what you two were.

"Daryl."

He was sitting on the porch of your assigned house, he lifted his gaze from the floor and to your face, finally letting himself to look at you after all these time.

"We need to talk."

He grunted and finally stood up from where he was sitting. You almost smile, having him to finally look at you. But just as he stood still in front of you, he turned his back on you.

"Please." You called out to him desperately, making him stop on his tracks. His heart stings at the sound of desperation from your voice, and he forced himself not to look back at you, closing his eyes and breathing in. "Just please, talk to me."

By the time you said those words, he walked away again.

At night, Daryl would stay up. Sit on the porch. Smoke, burn himself. He just wanted to feel pain. His guilt was killing him. He was a mess, ever since Beth died. He was drowning in guilt.

I should've saved her.

I should've saved her.

He deserves to be in pain. To struggle in guilt. He deserves to feel it all. He couldn't even cry. No, he wouldn't allow himself to even feel the comfort he'll get from crying.

He hit his head with his right hand, wanting to hurt himself. Hating himself. Not letting himself to be happy. His left hand turned into fists and he used it to hit the wooden stairs of the porch.

He was too drowned on his own thoughts that he didn't even notice you, now taking a sit beside him. You grabbed his fist and held it in your hands. "Stop it."

But he didn't listen, he only hit himself with much force even more.

"Daryl please!" You grabbed his right arm to stop him from hitting himself. You didn't realize that your tears were now falling, you hated seeing him in this state.

You both froze in that position. You, holding both his arms on your hands. And him, hanging his head low.

"You should stop carrying the guilt, Daryl." You said in a hushed voice in between your sobs, trying so desperately to console him. To get him out of his thoughts. Those thoughts that were no good to him, those harsh thoughts about himself.

Right then, you heard his sobs.

Your own heart shattered into pieces, having to witness him crying. He never cries in front of anyone. You knew how much effort he has done to hold it in. You knew how much he hated it. Showing his weakness to other people. And now, watching him cry, this hard, you knew how much it pains him.

His cries carries all the guilt. All the pain that he's been holding in. All his regrets.

"Just go, leave. I don't need anyone."

But to you, his cries sounded like someone asking for help. Someone who desperately want someone to catch them, someone who wants to collapse into another person's arms.

So you let go of his arms and held him close instead. Letting him bury his face on your neck, letting him cry without you watching him.

And unlike what he told you earlier, he did the exact opposite. He gripped you, he gripped into you as if he needed you to survive.

Which indeed he does.

So, he gripped you for dear life.

You.

Before he met you, he only had dry emotions. He didn't care about anyone, aside from him and his brother. But seeing you smile for the first time, slowly changed him, he wanted to get to know you. He learned how to care about you, and other people around him.

Caring for them, like his own family. And to Daryl Dixon, caring for other people means, hurting when something bad happened to them. He didn't want any of those.

But he didn't mind it before, he couldn't give up what he was feeling for you then.

"It's fine Daryl," You hushed him. "Everything will be fine." Hugging him tight, your shirt was dripping wet and your own tears were falling as you hear the man you love, whom everyone thinks to be a man with a stone heart, breaking down.

Before he met you, his days were only filled with struggles.

But just like the dirt in his hands, his struggles were buried by you. You make his struggles bearable. You're making this apocalyptic world livable.

His dusty clothes, embracing you. His greasy hair, sticking to his face because of his tears, his arms tightly placed around you.

He's embarrassed to Beth, to himself.

For not regretting having to feel this pain of losing someone, just to feel happiness whenever he sees you smiling.

For having to run into your arms like this. For feeling better whenever you say the words "It will be fine."

He's so embarrassed to admit that you were right. That everything will be alright, with you around.

So throughout the night, Daryl Dixon held on to you. He let his guards down and he broke down. To you.

Because just like the dirt in his hands, his struggles were buried by you.

Just like tonight.

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