𝑵𝑬𝑼𝑹𝑶𝑻𝑰𝑪
𝘊𝘏𝘈𝘗𝘛𝘌𝘙 𝘍𝘐𝘝𝘌
☼
The ever watchful eye of Daryl Dixon was beginning to bother Delaney. Her brother was a quiet person by nature, at least, when he wasn't riled up - he observed, listened and took in information that people would have otherwise missed. She guessed, it was a part of him like it was a part of her, mostly stemming from a childhood where having to be quiet, was a must. Whilst she could say that she hadn't suffered like he had at such a young age, she most certainly did in her teenhood, and so similarly she had learnt the art of observation.
He was using his skill against her now. Every so often she would see him looking across at her, his dark hair mostly hiding his eyes from view, but she felt it - his gaze, his concern. She had seen herself reflected in the water of that stream, and she had not liked it. Her skin was colourless, pale even by her standards, sickly. She had definitely lost weight too, enough to feel the difference, to note it. She had always been a small person, with an unhealthy kind of relationship with food because of an asshole of a father, but this was the smallest she had ever been. It was unhealthy, enough to make her fully aware that it took very little motions to make her feel tired.
Even lifting her rifle at this point took more energy out of her than it should have. It wasn't a heavy gun, at least, no the heaviest she had ever held. It was still a weight she was baring, silently.
Daryl was making those comparisons too. Thinking of the last time he had seen her, a little younger, a little thicker, a little happier. She had been so happy in those months leading up to the outbreak - he remembered it so clearly. There had been something she wanted to tell him, and, well, she hadn't got the chance. That happiness was gone now, that light having fizzled out in her eyes. He noticed this too.
"I can take the gun, if it's getting too heavy..." Glenn, sweet, sweet Glenn, was one of the people in the group that just would not give her a break. She was entirely content to walk quietly, to shoulder her burden all to herself, but he was making it intensely hard to do so with all of his worrying. Maggie was just the same, she had realized. They nagged like parents, and even though she was very sure she was older than the both of them. In response, Delaney shifted the weapon in her arms, and shook her head.
"I'll kept it." She answered, voice low, "Never know if we'll see anything worth shootin'."
She saw Glenn hesitate, as if he wasn't sure whether to be offended at her comment or not. It wasn't that she didn't think he could shoot, but it was more or less that she simply did not want to hand over her weapon. It was Scouts. It was his. It was in her hands now, and it was going to continue to be until she finally had no use for it - even then, she thought she'd carry it with her. Thankfully Glenn didn't pester, slinking back to where Maggie was walking by Michonne.
The sun was beginning to set, and everyone was clearly ready to sit themselves down and rest. They had gathered as many hazelnuts as possible, storing them in the backpacks that some of them still had for later use. That was a good idea, and with two hunters among them, the odds for food were looking somewhat decent - though she supposed the hunting depended on the prey.
It wasn't until vision started to get impaired by the darkness that Rick decided they should stop. With some light still visible, everyone made their small camp. "No fire." Delaney had halted Rosita, eyes darting toward the tree's. The younger girl, who looked like she might have been about twenty-four at most, squinted up at her but did not question why. It was clear why, but the want for warmth was understandable because once the sweltering sun had gone in for the night, it got a bit colder.
The rest of them sat closely, numbly, tired.
Delaney stood by the edge of the camp, staring out into the darkness. She wondered if Gareth was still alive. If Mary was. Alex was dead, she knew this now and some slither of her was slightly sad about it. Alex had been somewhat decent - despite what he did. His personality was mostly, kind. Perhaps that was what made her so mad to think about it, the façade that they had put up and the fact that she had been tricked so easily. How stupid had she been.
Scout got killed by that kindness.
"Do you think anyone's out there?" Carl stepped beside her, boots soft on the fallen leaves. He tipped his head up to look at her, his hat sliding a little on the top. His hair was long, messy, in decent need of a cut - she thought. It almost made her smile to herself, though she quickly remembered the position this kid was in. He had no mother, clearly. His father had to look after him and an infant, as well as everyone else - as he was clearly the leader in this situation. This boy was living in the woods now, no home, no comfort, no nothing. He had to eat berries and nuts and drink water from a stream. It was almost, heartbreaking.
But there was something about this boy that was different to Scout, this she noticed. Carl, well, Carl was different in many ways. He was younger, clearly, but he had so obviously seen things. Cruel things maybe, she knew the signs. It settled her nerves, if a little, to know that Carl wasn't completely caught unaware in this world. He could keep himself safe, but even then, even with that slight reassurance, he was still a boy - still a child.
"Hard ta tell." Delaney answered quietly, softly, not wanting to speak too loud. As it was Abraham was beginning to make it clear to her that he did not have volume control. The big guy had a big voice. She glanced down to the boy, "Scared?"
"No." Was his instant response, blue eyes so similar to his fathers darting up to look at her. "We're all together now."
Sweet. She watched as he shrugged, "My dad will look after you, you know." He told her, "He looks after everyone." He kicked his foot around in the leaves, eyes focused down on the toe of his shoe. Delaney let herself settle, her shoulders sagging slightly more as she relaxed in the presence of the kid. She half thought, he shouldn't have to - Rick, that is. He didn't know her, hell, he didn't know Eugene, Rosita, Abraham and Tara either, apparently. Rick didn't need to look after her, he didn't.
"Well ya Da is a good guy then, isn't he." Carl's eyes blinked up to her, and Delaney shrugged her shoulder, eyes turning to look back out at the tree's. "Not a lot of folks would take in strangers..."
"He's not like a lot of people." Carl muttered, quieter, sounding like he wanted to give an example but instead he didn't. He stood there silently, baring witness to the way Delaney's eyes methodically swept the woods in front of them, looking and listening for any sign of trouble. She didn't bother to ask him, finding it wasn't really her place to question what was going on inside of his mind.
After a while, she saw Carl shift on the spot and she smiled, a soft thing, "Go on, get back to your da..."
"What about you - you can't keep watch alone..." She felt a laugh bubbling in her chest, but she swallowed it and looked down at the boy. With her brow raising she nudged into him with her arm and gestured to his dad again, making the boy look back the same direction. "I'll bring you some of the pecans we found." He grumbled as a final say, turning on his heel to march off back to the company of people.
Once he was gone Delaney winced, bringing a trembling hand to where her chest was aching horribly. It had worsened during the day, during the long hours of walking. She half expected there to be a few cracked ribs, as her hand gingerly felt over her t-shirt, exploring the aches and pains. She felt her ribs, much more prominent than she could have previously. It was uncomfortable, to know she had been pressured into such a state, hating that she couldn't do anything at the moment to make it right.
Her t-shirt was stuck to her skin, filthy with dirt and blood and sweat. Peeling it back made her grit her teeth, fingers working their way between the material and her skin, feeling the rough imprint of the bloodied boot she had been kicked with. Once it was free she lifted the hem of her t-shirt and looked down, just barely able to see the blossoming bruise that traveled her stomach to the beginning of her chest, where she did not dare to look further - eyes were still about after all.
She dropped the t-shirt with a sigh, reaching down for the rifle she'd laid between her knee's to take it back into her hold.
Daryl joined her shortly after, quiet, not interrupting the peace she had created since standing away from them all alone. He didn't look down at her as he lent against a tree, his crossbow hung on his shoulder, oh and how that thing brought back memories. She scoffed a noise, breaking her own silence as she spotted it, "You've still got it." She pointed out, reaching over for the thing with a trembling hand. She turned it as much as he'd allow, spotting the scratched initials of DD MD DD. All three of them were apart of that old weapon, each having shot it at least a hundred times growing up.
Daryl huffed a wordless response and shouldered it better, prompting her to drop her hand back to her side. She wanted to ask about Merle, God she did. She wanted to ask where he was, if Daryl had been with him at the start, and yet something in her held back. Perhaps it was the way that Daryl hadn't asked her about him, that was quite telling. She hated to think that her brother had died, hated it, as much as Merle could be an asshole, she didn't ever want him dead. He was her brother after all and she had loved him, did love him.
"How'd ya end up in there?" He finally questioned, eyes still gazing out into the woods as the sun fully set. Everyone else behind them were getting ready for some shut eye, already having decided to take turns on watch. Delaney was there simply to have something to do, to bring herself a little less closer.
A silence left the air stagnant, but she sighed. Bringing up her hand she pinched the bridge of her nose, "Gareth found me. I was in the woods, doin' ma thing - " With her hand still massaging her eyes she continued, " - told me he had a place. Sanctuary...figured I had nothin' else ta do, so I went with 'im." Dropping her hand she held her gun a little tighter, shifting her weight on the leaves. Her eyes scanned the surroundings some more, though she knew Daryl has his eyes out too. "I was there for a month or two - He made me a scout...I hunted, looked for shit to bring back for people...I dint know."
She swallowed thickly, guiltily dropping her eyes to the ground. "I found out, a few weeks ago. I was gonna grab the kid and go...we - we were gonna meet at the tracks."
Daryl's shoulder brushed against hers silently and she took a breath. "Gareth caught me leavin'. Knocked me out, locked me up. I dint think I was gonna get out...ya know?" She hated how weak her voice sounded, how much emotion truly bled into her words as she spoke them. The tears were stinging her eyes again, fighting to be free. "Scout got me out. He'd followed 'em to find me - I jus' wanted to leave. I was gonna jus' leave, but he-he wanted to help those people - you guys..."
She sniffled, shaking her head, leaning away from her brothers warmth. She straightened up her spine and fell quiet. Daryl pondered her words as silent as she was, thinking, then quietly he asked, "How long were ya with the kid?"
"Met 'im there." She mumbled in response, "He dint have no parents...it was jus' 'im." She could have said that the boy wouldn't leave her be, that he followed her like a lost puppy. She didn't. She wouldn't, because as much as she had thought she hated it, she hadn't. Scout had made Terminus tolerable, for the most part.
Daryl didn't say sorry, or offer condolences to the loss she had so obviously suffered. Instead, in his own way, Daryl offered comfort. His hand gently touched her back, light but present. He then gently squeezed the back of her neck, and Delaney folded. She lent into his side, closing her eyes as the tears threatened to tumble down her filthy cheeks. Don't cry. Don't cry. His arm wrapped around her shoulders and she pressed her face into the side of his chest, scrunching her nose. Don't fuckin' cry.
Through pure willpower, Delaney managed to avoid a full blown sob. Instead she exhaled shakily, keeping position wrapped in his arm for a while. The two of them remained in silence following that, not asking questions, not doing anything but keeping an eye on the darkening woods. Delaney figured it was still quite likely that there was possible Terminus survivors in the woods, armed survivors, and so keeping the watch had been imperative.
Sasha and Bob came to relieve them of the glaring darkness shortly after, and Delaney noticed, as she turned to return to the group, Carl was there, as promised, pecans in hand. She placed her hand onto his shoulder and steered him back in the direction of the others, "I saved some of the blueberries too," Carl told her calmly, holding out his hand so that he could pour the contents into her own. Delaney huffed a noise, but did as he wanted, holding out her hand.
"Thanks, Kid."
Carl bashfully glanced to Daryl and then quickly rejoined where his father was sitting with his sister. Delaney didn't spare Rick a look as she found an empty spot to sit down, crossing her legs beneath herself. She lent her rifle against the floor to her right and looked down into her palm. She popped a blueberry into her mouth and one of the pecans, satisfied that this combination wasn't as tart as the blackberries and hazelnuts. She mindlessly chewed, trying to swallow it with a dry throat.
It wasn't the most pleasant thing she'd ingested, and if she was honest, she didn't even like Blueberries. They weren't ever sweet enough for her. Still, she ate it because she knew there was nothing else and she wouldn't turn her nose up at this - not when things could be so much worse.
"Where are we goin' now?" Maggie voiced, questioning in the darkness. Delaney could barely see them, the moonlight only highlighting so much of their faces to her view. She was simply glad she could see at all, so she'd take their half shadowed features any day. The question went unanswered for a few moments, "Are we takin' Eugene to D.C?"
"What's in D.C?" Delaney asked round her mouthful of pecans. This was the first she'd heard of D.C as an option, so her curiosity peaked.
"Eugene, has a cure." Rosita quickly filled her in, "We need to get him to D.C..." To fix this. Delaney badly withheld a snort. It wasn't that she didn't think Eugene could be smart enough to find a cure to this, it was simply that - well what was the fucking point anymore. More than half of the world, probably, was dead. "You don't believe us?"
"Nah." Delaney admitted without problem. "It's not tha' I don't believe he's got the brains for it - " she limply gestured to the guy's direction with her now empty hand as the other brushed along her jeans to clean them of the berry juice, "It's jus', who's the cure for?" Raising her brow, she listened to the silence that followed, "Us - them?" She shrugged, leaning her elbows down onto her legs, chin falling into her palms.
"It's a cure, what's so complicated about that?" Rosita fired back, sharply. Delaney smiled this time, not unaccustomed to that kind of fire from people. In all honesty, she preferred that to the overbearing kindness she had been suffocated with so far. "You're telling me, you don't want this to end?"
"He can kill 'em?" Delaney questioned in response, "The dead - He can take 'em all out with this cure?" Shifting on the spot, Delaney side glanced where Daryl was silently at her side. He hadn't said anything so she guessed he'd heard this too. Was she really the only one asking questions. "I aint fightin' ya - but I want ta know how it works. Does this cure - it fixes us? Or does this cure kill them?"
"Both." Eugene piped up, his thick accent turning her head. Delaney hadn't spoken to the scientist much, if at all, though she had heard him conversing with Rosita and Abraham. He spoke in riddles, and more often than not Delaney had no fucking idea what he was saying. It was like he purposely used big ass words to confuse and redirect, and she wasn't an idiot. She noticed it. "I was a part of a ten-person team at the Human Genome project to weaponised diseased to fight against weaponised diseases - pathogenic microorganisms with pathogenic microorganisms." There it was, the big words rambled out in such a way that everyone assumed he knew exactly what he was talking about.
Delaney narrowed her eyes slightly.
"I am keenly aware of all the details behind fail-safe delivery systems to kill every living person on this planet - I believe with a little tweaking on the terminals in D.C , we can flip the script."
Eugene shifted, noting the gaze she was holding him with, "Take out every last dead one of 'em. Fire with Fire." Too tired to fight this, Delaney brought her hand up to pinch at the bridge of her nose again, fingers pressing against her aching eyes, "I can do it."
"Sure." Delaney breathed, dropping the subject. She pressed her chin back into her palms and sat there, as the conversation regarding what they were going to do next got back on track. It appeared that they were all going to find themselves some vehicles and take Eugene to D.C - or at least she felt like that was Abraham's plan. He was the one guarding Eugene like a dog, keeping him safe and she supposed it assisted him too, as it was clear he came from a military background.
She noticed that Rick didn't necessarily agree to all of this, but he seemed at least on board with getting a move on. As of the moment Washington was their only direction.
Conversation dried up and soon enough everyone was laying down to get some sleep. Delaney didn't want to sleep, not when the possibility of people jumping them in the middle of the night was still so high - and she was yet to trust these people. She resisted for a while, until her brother gently pressured her into at least getting an hour. She figured he understood her discomfort, and without expressing the concern, he directed her to the ground. Delaney trusted Daryl. She trusted him not to get them killed, so she slept.
When morning came round, Delaney was groggy. She felt sluggish and aching, the injuries having had much more time to settle. She weakly joined the others as they packed up all their things, slinging bags onto their shoulders, sipping water, getting themselves ready for their journey. She stood among them and frowned, not seeing Daryl. With a hand rubbing at her eye, irritably, Delaney spotted Rick walking her direction with the baby in his arms. "Where's ma brother?"
Rick's eyes darted over her shoulder to the tree's behind before he stated, low enough for only her to hear, "He heard somethin' on watch last night." Delaney bobbed her head in understanding, figuring he had gone to check for tracks or signs anyone had been watching them from a far. Rick's gaze continued to scrutinize and she shot him a huffy look, "Sure you can make the walk?"
"What'cha gonna do if I can't?" Delaney briskly gritted out in annoyance. She grabbed for her rifle, wincing at the pain bending over created. Her hand pressed against her sternum as she rose up, eyes barely glossing over Rick's cautious stare. " - carry me?" She scoffed when he rose a brow in response, shifting his baby to a more comfortable position.
"At least let me take the gun."
"Over my dead ass body." Delaney grit, side stepping him. She wasn't gonna let anyone take the gun, roughly throwing the strap of her shoulders with another wince. Gods, the bruises hurt like a bitch. She was definitely half convinced she'd broken a rib or something now, though she knew the pain wasn't nearly as blinding as that. It made her grumpy all the same.
She heard Rick sigh, a deep, tired kind of sound and she rolled her eyes. The entire group quickly fell into line behind her as she walked, unexpectedly ending up leading them through the tree's and the bushes, like Rick had done the day before. Figures, they'd follow her. She walked though, making her way through the tree's and further from Terminus, knowing that it wouldn't be too much longer till they hit a little town - one they hadn't scavenged from yet. This was the kind of shit she had been telling Gareth - there was still options.
600 miles more or less separated them from Washington D.C, and making that kind of distance on foot, with the dead around and two children, it seemed like an impossible stretch. Hell, even Delaney wasn't that delusional. But there was people behind her just begging to go and what was she going to do, leave?
Oh, that was an option.
She began to chew on the inside of her cheek, thoughtful. Daryl, well, Daryl looked pretty comfortable with these people, so maybe she could be like that too. Perhaps getting to know them wouldn't be such a terrible thing, but some small part of her screamed, no. That getting to know these people was only going to be like Scout, like all those people before, and that - that she couldn't bare.
Getting close to someone, and losing them, well she might as well just not bother. It always ended bad.
But what about Daryl. Her big brother was here now, alive, safe - to a degree, and how selfish would leaving make her. Leaving him would be worse than staying, so much worse. She knew deep down he would follow her, to the ends of the earth if need be, but she had noticed the way he was with these people. He loved them. It was obvious that some part of her brother loved these strangers. She couldn't begin to imagine the kind of shit they'd all been through together, and she wouldn't ask, but it was clear that Daryl had made himself a family.
At some point, Rick joined her at the front of the group, returning to his role as leader that she had momentarily snagged from him. She had been correct in thinking he could not walk silently, he landed with heavy steps every time, knees bowed, weight disproportioned. He would have made a terrible hunter, but considering they weren't on a hunt at the moment she didn't draw attention to it. Instead she fell into step with him, trying to ignore how he sent her looks occasionally as if expecting her to strike up conversation.
The two of them moved in sync, lifting their guns up to point it in the direction of rustling - which only turned out to be Daryl. With a string of about five squirrels hanging over his shoulder, Daryl rose his hands, "We surrender." He mocked, lowering his hands to swagger in their direction. Delaney rolled her eyes, gaze darting to the side. How could she look at him when some part of her begged to leave him.
It had been sad, but thinking him gone had been an easier time. To think he was just gone. Now, she had to look at him, to get used to having his presence with her again and who was to say that it wouldn't just be snatched from her - like Scout had been. One minute he's there and the next, gone.
He found no tracks, no sign of anyone having followed them or been watching them, so they chalked it up to nerves. Delaney eyed Daryl after this, finding it particularly dumb to be thinking that they weren't being watched. She wondered what was going on in his mind, to be thinking his gut feelings were wrong. Again, she didn't ask and kept herself quiet and powered onward through the trees. God, she felt so ill. It had been a gradual thing that morning, waking up feeling like she'd been buried beneath ten tons of brick, but the nausea and aching hunger slowly began to grow as the hours passed.
"You don't look too good." Rick wasn't wrong. During his single sweep of their direction, he had spotted how pale and sickly she suddenly looked, a far cry from moments prior. Daryl's eyes snapped toward his sister upon hearing his friends comment and he too noticed the pale shine in on her skin, the sweat gathering on her forehead. If she was being honest, she was trying really, really hard not to vomit. She had never been so hungry in all of her life. Throwing up on an empty stomach was no longer a stranger to her, and she'd done so several times inside of that stupid meat locker, though she had yet to do so outside. The pecans, Hazelnuts and the berries had kept her going for a while, but even that wasn't enough to stop her body's demand for actual sustenance.
When she stopped, they stopped, eyes concerned.
Delaney struggled, but she removed her rifle as fast as she could, before doubling over as the familiar burn of stomach bile rose up her throat. Someone grabbed her weapon, before she dropped it, and someone else grabbed her. She almost dropped to the leaves beneath her as the bile and what little she'd eaten came out of her mouth. It hurt so much, to heave when nothing was left. The convulsion of her stomach and her chest made her bruises ache, and she felt the tears involuntarily sting at her eyes. Her hair was in someone's hand, an arm around her chest to hold her upright as she coughed, on her knees.
It took her a good few minutes to stop gagging, in which case she then struggled to catch her breath back. Her mouth felt like it was on fire, her throat and tongue burning from the vile taste of the stomach acid. Coughing, the person holding her hair lifted it further away from her head, training it down her back. "Carl..." Delaney barely registered that it had been Rick to catch her and not Daryl, a groan rippling through her chest.
A bottle of water was quickly lowered into her view and she limply grabbed for it, needing to wash out her mouth at least. Still leaning heavily into Rick's arms, Delaney drank a few sips of the water to clean out the vile taste, swallowing it with a thickness. She dazedly blinked, sucking in a few sharp breaths. "Is she okay?"
"It's the hunger." Bob quietly supplied from further back, "Sometimes when the body is starving, an empty stomach can cause nausea."
Delaney's hand pressed against her aching chest, past Rick's arm, wincing, "It's - I'm okay." She muttered, tiredly. "It'll pass." She could hear Carl nervously shifting from foot to foot beside them, as she remained kneeling, no energy to attempt to stand in that particular moment. An insistent embarrassment of having let people see this happen, made her a little red in the face. It wasn't her fault. This wasn't her fault - they knew this. They knew it, and yet, embarrassment still burned viciously in her.
Rick lifted her to her feet eventually and worryingly she didn't move away. Delaney, in all honest, didn't have the energy to. As much as she wasn't happy to be leaning into his arm, she felt so weak. She felt like curling up into a ball like she did in that slaughter room, tucking her head into her knee's and pretending that she wasn't there.
She felt the increasing pity for her overcome the people she stood with, all of them realizing the dangers of her position. It was much worse than theirs. If she didn't eat decent food soon something bad was going to happen, worse than vomiting stomach acid. She was going to die - starve to death. Berries and nuts weren't going to cut it.
After a few minutes, Delaney pushed away from Rick's helpful arm and straightened herself out. She swallowed thickly with a wince, and scrunched her nose at the taste that still lingered. Her short, shallow breaths did not go unnoticed, but no one said anything. "We should keep movin'." She muttered, eyes darting back to them all, cautiously. "We're should get further away." There was a moment where she wondered if they were going to say no, to oppose her suggestion, as eyes stared at her.
"How 'bout we stop for a minute - " Rick started to voice when suddenly, rather suddenly even, out of nowhere, a voice began to scream for help. Heads snapped the direction of the yelling, most recognizing it as a male shout, sounding so desperate. Carl, innocently begged for his dad to go, for them to go and help whomever was screaming. A few seconds and he decided to, giving her a side ways glance before jogging off with his son. The others followed and Delaney lagged behind with, Tara.
The young woman looked nervously at Delaney as if she thought she might keel over, and it almost made Delaney snort. She walked rather than ran, and poor Tara kept slowing up to check on her as everyone else found the culprit of the shouting. A man, dressed in all black was stuck on top of a rock, being hounded by at least four of the dead. He was screaming bloody murder, making it seem like his situation had been terribly grim.
Slowing to a stop, Delaney breathlessly stared at the situation. A pastor was stood in front of Rick, looking shaken up and mortified. He quickly emptied his stomach onto the ground and Delaney turned her head away, not wanting to repeat that herself. She saw Tara's wide eyes as she did so, her own hand coming up to hold against her mouth. "Just don't look - god, don't throw up again - " Tara rambled, nervous, looking a little green.
Delaney focused elsewhere, irritated, pressing her hand against her eyes, ignoring the young woman's stammering. Luckily she did not puke a second time and once the flourish of nausea had passed, she returned her attention to where Rick was patting down the pastor, who had his hands lifted and a nervous look on his features. With a brow raised she heard the questions, how many walkers have you killed?
how many people have you killed?
why?
She curiously observed the scene, folding her arms over her aching chest. It was surely a strange set of questions and it seemed that the Pastor seemed just as perplexed as her, if not more. His brows furrowed and he looked at Rick rather nervously.
Then it was decided, they were going to join this stranger at his church, no other questions asked. Delaney wanted to voice the stupidity of that decision, though she guessed that this one man, this jumpy Pastor didn't look like the kind of guy who would have a group of armed people waiting in the bushes. He had no weapons on him and preached about God, as if he had something to do with him being saved.
It made her scoff, but otherwise she stayed out of the decision making, lagging at the back again as Tara wordlessly kept an eye on her.