Finding Myself, Finding You: Chapter Sixteen

Finding Myself, Finding You: Chapter Sixteen

Masterlist

AO3 link

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist <3 (18+ only, MDNI)

Story is 18+ for mature content/themes, minors do not interact please

TW/CWs for this story--implied/referenced past rape, canonical violence, non-canonical violence, blood, gore, referenced past suicide, swearing, surgery, excessive drinking, nightmares, panic attacks, mention of scars, vomiting, amputation, medical procedures, non-con medical procedures, referenced past medical torture, referenced past drugging, attempted sexual assault, panic attacks, mental health struggles, referenced sibling death, referenced parent death, PTSD

Each chapter will have its own TW/CWs listed

This story, Lydia Vector, her family & bestie (c) me, TheVeganDarkElf

TWD & its characters (c) AMC & Robert Kirkman, the writer of the comic series

TW/CWs for this chapter--swearing, discussion of past suicide, discussion of sibling death, discussion of parent death, mention of depression, mention of medical procedures, men being creepy, description of nightmares (being tied up, being held at gunpoint, allusion to rape), PTSD, panic attacks

Word count: 2.8k

Though it was already getting late when he came in, Daryl and I sat on that infirmary table and talked for a long time. I talked more about my mom, and he started slowly opening up about the things he and Merle got into before the world fell. There were a lot of drugs and drinking from what I was able to gather, but he was a bit conservative with the details. I didn’t mind that at all. Just the fact that he was willing to even lightly approach the more vulnerable subjects meant a lot to me. It made me feel like he felt I was a safe person to talk to, to be open with, and it made me happy that I could do that for him.

“My mom, she always saw the good in everyone. Both of my parents really, but her in particular. She was so caring, giving, always wanting to do the absolute most she could for the people she cared about,” I explained.

“Guess that’s where ya get it from,” Daryl replied, eliciting a small, flattered smile from me.

“That’s why watching her spiral after Preston died was even harder to watch. For two months, she sank deeper and deeper into this bottomless pit of depression. My dad, Jay, Eli, and I did everything we could to try to help her. Mind you, Jay and Eli had been deployed in the middle of all of this, and I was still in med school, so we tried our hardest with everything else we had going on. And then she just…couldn’t take it anymore.”

I could feel myself getting emotional, and I tried my best to turn it off. I blinked back some tears, and tiny droplets flew off my lashes onto the lenses of my glasses. “She tried her best to be the best example she could for my brothers and I. She told me that when she was growing up, she’d always say that if she ever had kids, she would do everything she could to make sure we made the world a better place. I didn’t learn that until I was older and had already decided I wanted to be a doctor, but it helped reaffirm for me that going to med school was the right decision.”

“She’d be proud of ya,” he said, his tone a little softer now. I had to do everything in my power to stop myself from turning into a blubbering, sobbing mess right then and there. He reached out and stroked the back of my arm with his fingers, just like he had done earlier during target practice. “Speakin’ of med school, don’t think I ever asked ya what your favorite part ‘bout bein’ a doctor is.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say it’s my favorite, but what I find most fulfilling is when people come in, alive but unconscious or barely conscious, and they don’t think they’re going to make it. They may have already started making peace with the fact that they were likely going to die. And then hours or days later, they awaken & I get to be there to greet them and tell them that they made it. They almost always start crying, and their family might come in, and pretty soon it’s just a room full of people sobbing. They thank me over and over, sometimes followed by a story about how now they’ll be around to see their child get married or their grandchild graduate.” I took my glasses off and set them beside me on the table, using the back of my hands to wipe the tears off my cheeks. “I do what I need to do quickly so that I can give them their time together and also try not to start crying myself. I also find doing skin grafts really fulfilling because it can help people who’ve had really bad injuries or burns feel semi-normal again. The world is cruel towards people who don’t look “perfect,” so if I can help someone feel a bit more confident in themselves after an accident, that makes me happy.”

Daryl leaned over and grabbed a tissue box off of the counter, handing it to me. “Could ya show me some stuff ‘bout skin grafts?”

I pulled a few of the tissues out and dabbed at my eyes with them. “Umm, sure. Yeah, I can teach you about them. Why?"

"I like learnin’ ‘bout the things ya interested in. I may not understand it, but if it's important to ya, it's important to me." That warming sensation returned to my chest, this time so intense that I thought it might burst through my ribcage. Thankfully I was sitting because I felt my knees weaken, and a big, stupid grin spread across my face as I stared down at my feet swinging back and forth. That was exactly what I had said to him when I asked him to teach me things about his bike.

“Yeah, I can teach you some stuff,” I said, “whenever you want works for me.”

“Later ‘cause ya lookin’ real tired,” Daryl said, hopping off of the exam table and gathering his bow off the floor.

“Hey Daryl?” I said, and he turned his body to face me. I slid myself off the exam table as well. “There’s been a lot of…heavy emotions in here tonight. I just wanna make sure you’re ok.”

“‘ll be alright,” he replied. I took my tissues off the table and tossed them into the nearby trash can. “What about you?”

“Me too. I’ll be ok,” I said as we walked towards the door together, “and thank you for being vulnerable with me. I appreciate it. I hope…I hope you don’t regret it.”

“Nah, don’t got regrets with tellin’ ya things,” Daryl said. He opened the door and held it for me. I flipped the light switch off, and I was grateful for the darkness of night that now concealed my blushing face. He let the door swing shut behind him.

As we reached the path, the guys that were on gate duty with Daryl were walking by, heading home after their shift change. One of them walked by without so much as a glance in our direction. The other two walked by slowly, the looks on their faces ones I knew all too well. Every woman under the sun knew that look—being ogled, them undressing you with their eyes, thinking about the things they wanted to do to you. It made me nauseous. I took a step back, and Daryl held an arm out in front of me as if to let them know that if they wanted to approach me, they’d have to go through him.

I wondered which one of them was responsible for Daryl’s injury. If I ever found out, there would be hell to pay.

We watched them in silence until they were down the path and approaching their homes. Only then did Daryl move his arm out from in front of me.

“I don’t like the way they were looking at me,” I said as we continued home.

“Me neither,” Daryl agreed, “don’t worry though. They know not to say nothin’ to ya. Let me know if they do. Rough ‘em more if I gotta.”

“Thanks Daryl,” I replied as we went inside.

I kicked my boots off and yawned, stretching my arms out over my head. “I think I’m gonna go to sleep. I’m sure it’s late.” I hadn’t eaten since lunch, but the exhaustion I was feeling from my busy day was overshadowing my grumbling stomach.

Daryl sauntered into the kitchen and pulled a pot out from one of the cabinets. “I’ll save some food for ya.”

“Thank you,” I replied. I turned and started to make my way towards the stairs to go to my room, but stopped and turned back around. “Goodnight my little Georgia peach.” I’d started calling him that a couple of weeks ago, only in private, and even though he almost always scoffed at me when I did, I knew he didn’t hate it. He might’ve even liked it a little.

“‘Night short stuff,” he said. He’d taken to calling me “short stuff” because of my reactions to being called “tiny.” I knew he was only teasing when he called me “short stuff” or “tiny,” but I would be lying if I said I didn’t absolutely love it when he called me by one of his nicknames for me.

What Daryl and I had had definitely evolved beyond just a friendship. It was more of a…flirtationship, if you will.

At this point, I’d been at Alexandria for a month and a half or so. And the night that I’d been dreading for weeks finally came—the night that the horrible nightmare I’d been having became crystal clear.

Every sound, every touch, every sight was as clear as could be. It was like I’d been sucked back in time and was right back in that moment again.

I felt the cold barn floor underneath me and his crushing weight on top of me. I felt my hands tied above my head and the rope digging into my skin as I writhed around. I could hear his heavy breathing and the gun scrape against my teeth as it was forced into my mouth. I felt hot tears stream down my cheeks as I realized what was happening. And I could see his face—his evil, smug fucking face no less than two inches from mine.

In my head, the scream I let out could’ve shattered glass.

I awoke on the floor, running my hands all over my body in a panicked state. It took several moments for me to realize I was awake, back on my bedroom floor in Alexandria, like I always was. I hadn’t felt fear like that since the incident itself. The adrenaline that was coursing through my veins was the only thing that kept me upright.

I curled up into a ball against the bed, sobbing hysterically into my knees. My tears felt scalding, burning my skin as they slid down off of my cheeks. I was so wrapped up in my fear that I didn’t think about how Daryl would be coming in at any moment, just like he always did. Nor did I hear the door open when he finally did.

I heard his familiar footsteps move from the door around the bed over to me. He knelt, then sat down next to me. I didn’t look up at him, I couldn’t. I felt so ashamed, both for how my nightmare made me feel and for Daryl having to see me like this. Sure, he’d seen me cry on a few occasions, but none of those times were like this. None were this intense, this visceral, this raw.

“Hey, are ya ok? Ya get hurt?” Daryl asked, his tone velvety soft and a level of concern in his voice I’d never heard before. I didn’t know what to say or do. I wanted nothing more in that moment than to curl up into the tiniest ball possible and disappear. Even if I had anything to say, I couldn’t find my voice.

When I didn’t say a word or move an inch, he scooted himself a little closer to me until his knee was against my leg. He placed a hand on my back, rubbing it up and down between my waist and my shoulders.

“Vec, what happened?” he asked, more worry in his voice than before, “talk to me.”

I practically lunged at him as I fell forward and wrapped my arms around him. It was like I didn’t have control over my body. I needed something familiar, something safe. More so someone familiar, someone safe. And he was right there. My body was reaching for him whether I wanted it to or not.

“It was so real,” I choked out between sobs, “it was so clear.” His strong arms wrapped around me and pulled me even closer to him until my head was resting in the crook of his neck, my heaving chest pressed to his. And he held me there as I continued to sob.

He was warm, like a heater, and his embrace around me was strong, but there was so much care and tenderness behind it. Even though the intense fear was still plaguing my nervous system, I felt safe wrapped up in his arms. He rubbed one hand up and down my back again.

“You’re ok. You’re safe. It can’t hurt ya,” he reassured.

It was a long time before either of us said anything. After a time, he moved his hand that was rubbing up and down my back to the back of my head and stroked my hair. He held me while I cried, and at one point, he started gently rocking me back and forth. I only continued to feel more ashamed, my face getting hot from embarrassment. I felt like such a baby.

“It was like I was right back in that moment.”

I immediately regretted what I had said. If someone said that to me when referencing a nightmare they had, I would assume that this nightmare was them reliving a horrific experience. And knowing that Daryl listened to every single word that came out of my mouth, he now knew that this, in fact, was real. That I dreamt of a real-life horror story night after night.

“You’re not there. You’re here,” Daryl said as he continued to stroke my hair. He handled me like glass, like he thought I might break if he was even just a little too heavy-handed.

“I could see, hear, feel everything.” I sobbed harder. I felt disgusting, vile, like a thousand showers in bleach couldn’t even scrub away the feeling of disgust I experienced.

Daryl stopped rocking me and moved his hand back to my back. “I know that’s scary. But you’re here now, and I got ya.” He somehow pulled me even closer to him, which I didn’t think was possible.

“I just want the pain to stop.”

“I know.” He didn’t know. He had no idea what I was talking about. But I know he knew how it felt to carry the pain of a traumatic incident and wanting that pain to go away.

My sobbing didn’t let up for a long time. When it started to, it was very gradual. Daryl held onto me the whole time, giving me reminders now and then that I was ok, he was there, and I was safe. After a long, long time, my crying had almost stopped, and I picked my head up off of Daryl’s shoulder. The crook of his neck and the shoulder of his shirt were soaked.

“I’m sorry I got your shirt wet,” I said. It felt like a silly thing to say, but I felt terrible.

“Nah, ’s not important.” He pressed tenderly on my shoulders, ushering me to lift my head out in front of him. For the first time in what felt like the hours we’d been sitting here, I met his gaze. My eyes were puffy, I didn’t need to see them to know that. I’m sure they were red too. I hated that he had to see me like this. “How ya feelin’?”

“Like shit,” I said, “I’m too scared to go back to sleep.” When I would fall out of bed after my initial nightmare, the nightmare never continued once I fell back asleep. That wasn’t what I was worried about.

What I was worried about was seeing that stupid, smug face every time I closed my eyes.

“You can go back to bed,” I said, resting my head back in the crook of his neck, “I’m sorry I kept you up for so long.”

“’s no trouble. C’mon, I’ll stay with ya ’til ya fall asleep,” Daryl said. He got up and stood over me, reaching his arms out for me to grab his hands. He pulled me up, and I was barely on my feet for a second before I fell back into the bed. My whole body felt weak, like my muscles were made of jello.

“Are you sure? I’ve already kept you up for long enough.” Daryl came around to the other side of the bed and sat down, scooting back until he was resting against the headboard. I used what small amount of energy I had left to move until I was laid down, rolling onto my side to face him and pulling my blanket up to my chin.

“I’m sure.” He extended his hand out, resting it next to me, palm up. I reached out and placed my hand in his, and he gently stroked my fingers with his thumb. I’m sure the moment would’ve felt more magical if I didn’t feel like such garbage.

“I’m so sorry, Daryl. I feel like such a burden.”

“Ya ain’t a burden, sunshine. Ya never are.”

Taglist: @raddydaddydude

Divider found on Google via searching for stock images

Finding Myself, Finding You: Chapter Fifteen

Masterlist

AO3 link

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist <3 (18+ only, MDNI)

Story is 18+ for mature content/themes, minors do not interact please

TW/CWs for this story--implied/referenced past rape, canonical violence, non-canonical violence, blood, gore, referenced past suicide, swearing, surgery, excessive drinking, nightmares, panic attacks, mention of scars, vomiting, amputation, medical procedures, non-con medical procedures, referenced past medical torture, referenced past drugging, attempted sexual assault, panic attacks, mental health struggles, referenced sibling death, referenced parent death

Each chapter will have its own TW/CWs listed

This story, Lydia Vector, her family & bestie (c) me, TheVeganDarkElf

TWD & its characters (c) AMC & Robert Kirkman, the writer of the comic series

TW/CWs for this chapter--swearing, discussion of past suicide, discussion of parent death (suicide, house fire), mention of scars (Daryl's), medical procedure (stitches), blood, allusion to child abuse (Daryl's), men being creepy, reference to sibling death, we got some big emotions in this one

Word count: 3.3k

Daryl and I began to get much closer after that second run. Eating dinner together became sort of a ritual of ours, other than the nights Daryl had duty in the watchtower. At first, it was him in the chair and me on the far end of the couch as I didn’t want to spook him. He never explicitly said it, but I got the vibe that he wasn’t big on physical touch. He always maintained at least a few feet distance between us, never getting too close. Eventually, I tested the waters and sat on the end of the couch closer to him, and that’d been our dinner arrangement ever since. Over the next few weeks, Rick had us go out on more runs. It was strange to me that I always heard about them from Daryl and never from Rick. I didn’t want to do anything that could get me in trouble, like leaving the sanctity of the walls when I wasn’t supposed to, but I was simply following instructions that I was told came from our fearless cowboy leader.

I joined Daryl once when he was working on his bike, and he showed me some stuff about it. Though he was so beautiful that day, I’ll admit, it was hard for me to keep focus. He was wearing one of his classic button-ups with the sleeves cut off, that angel-wing vest he loved so much, and a pair of ripped jeans that hugged his body just right. It was warm, so he was sweating buckets. I was practically drooling as I watched his arm muscles flex and relax as he worked. The way he glistened with sweat, the little hints of joy I heard in his voice as he talked to me about his motorcycle, his gorgeous accent…he was mesmerizing.

He still came and checked on me every night after I fell out of bed, another ritual of ours I suppose. It had evolved to a point where I would stay lying on the floor and give a thumbs up over the side of the bed when I heard the door open, then he’d leave. We’d sometimes spend mornings together, but usually one of us was always up and out before the other was awake, or if Daryl had overnight watch, he’d be just going to sleep when I got up. Typically, the one who got up first made coffee and left the rest out for the other. Sometimes, if he was coming back from an overnight watch, I’d wake up and go downstairs to find the pot just finishing up brewing.

It was obvious one of Daryl’s love languages was acts of service. He didn’t so much have a way with words, but damn he was good at showing how much he cared. Not just towards me, but the way he cared about the whole of Alexandria. He was always volunteering to go on watch, runs, hunts, you name it. He cared so much about the people here and would do whatever he needed to do to make sure we were all safe and protected. And that only made me fall for him even harder.

Though he typically wasn’t one for expressing his emotions with words, there was one morning when he left me a note. I came downstairs, and he was already out as he had gate duty all day. He had poured me coffee in a white mug with daisies on it that I once casually mentioned was my favorite mug of the ones in the cabinet, and there was a short but sweet note with it.

Have the best day

See you at dinner

I kept the note folded up in the back of my notebook where I kept some photos and a note from my brother.

Today, Daryl was teaching me how to hunt. Well, it was the start of that process. First, there was target practice. And I was getting to pick up and shoot that infamous crossbow.

Daryl had carved an X for a target on a tree, and my goal was to hit as dead center as I could. I knelt on one knee behind a fallen tree, which I was instructed to use to steady the crossbow and practice that way first. I could throw a knife over my shoulder and hit a walker square in the forehead. How hard could a crossbow be?

“Does this thing have recoil?” I asked as he handed it to me, “wow, it’s lighter than I thought it’d be.” I flipped the bow around and examined it, running my fingers over its smooth surface but was careful to make sure I didn’t touch anything that looked like a lever or a button. Didn’t wanna go causing any accidents right out the gate.

“Hardly any,” Daryl said, kneeling next to me. We were almost shoulder-to-shoulder. This was the closest we’d ever been, and I could feel the butterflies in my stomach breaking free and trying to crawl their way up my throat.

“You ever kill anyone with this thing?” I asked.

“Yeah. Sometimes, people are more dangerous than them walkers,” he explained, and I nodded. I was all too familiar with the dangers of other human beings during the end of the world.

“I know what you mean,” I replied. I rested the bow on the fallen tree and kept my gaze on the X carved into the tree in front of me. “I’ve never killed anyone. I don’t know if I could. It goes against the oath I took.”

"Hate to burst your bubble, but that don't matter no more."

“I guess not,” I shrugged, “but enough of that, let’s get to practicing.”

“‘lax your shoulders,” he said, gently placing his hands on both of my shoulders and lightly pressing to help me relax them. This was the first time he’d touched me on purpose. My stomach dropped like I was on a rollercoaster. “Geez, you’re tense woman.”

I wouldn’t be so tense if you didn’t make me so nervous, I thought. I propped the crossbow up onto my shoulder like I’d seen Daryl do a thousand times.

“It’s no good if ya don’t load it,” he said. He picked a bolt off of the front of it and reached around me to load it. His arm rested against my back as he strapped the bolt in. It was like he was testing the boundaries of physical closeness, though I didn’t know whether it was mine or his that he was testing. But I didn’t mind one bit. I steadied the bow on my shoulder and the fallen tree, aiming it at my target.

“Ya really gotta relax,” Daryl said, “can’t have this gettin’ in the way neither.” He took the end of my ponytail and draped my hair over my opposite shoulder, “damn, ya hair’s real soft.” I felt myself melting into a puddle, and my hands started to shake a bit as my heart rate picked up.

“Thank you. I grew it all by myself,” I laughed.

“How long'd it take ya to grow it out?”

“Oh God, I think the last time I got a drastic haircut was when I was like 13,”  I explained, “sometimes I think about chopping it all off because it gets in my way so much. And it feels like it weighs 20 pounds when it’s wet.”

“Ya should keep it long. Looks good.” I smiled and looked down at the ground, trying to hide that I was obviously turning red.

“Thanks,” I said. I took a deep breath and tried to steady myself again.

“Hey, you’re shakin’,” Daryl said, placing a hand on my shoulder in an effort to help me relax, “just take a breath. You’re good.” His voice was soft, soothing, and calming. Still laced with his gravely accent, but there was genuine caring and compassion behind his words.

“Nervous jitters I guess,” I said, taking another deep breath in through my nose. I lied straight through my teeth.

“Alright, look through the scope and aim it at the target,” he said. He kept his hand on my shoulder.

“Looks easy enough,” I said, perhaps a little too confidently as I did as he instructed.

“Once ya got it lined up, ya just pull the lever on the bottom,” Daryl explained, “helps if ya breathe out when ya do it.” I took a deep breath and fired, exhaling like he told me to. The bolt went flying right past the tree, not even grazing it. It landed far off in the grass somewhere I couldn’t see.

“I stand corrected on it looking easy,” I said, feeling horrifically embarrassed, “I missed the tree completely. How did I even do that?”

“It happens. Gotta get used to holdin’ it still. C’mon, I’ll show ya how to load it.” He gestured for me to hand his bow to him.

“At this point, I’ll just be happy to hit the tree at all,” I said, giggling a little to try to make myself feel better.

That’s how we spent the next couple of hours. Me attempting to hit the tree, somehow missing it completely or just grazing it, which was starting to feel like a win, and trying to find the bolts in the grass. He never seemed to get impatient or frustrated with me, even when I was starting to get frustrated with myself. He reassured me, helped me set up and reload, and tried to help me feel more confident.

After what felt like an eternity, I finally did it. I hit the very outskirts of the giant X target, but I hit it nonetheless. I about jumped into the air with how excited I was.

“Oh my God, I did it!” I cheered, nearly dropping the crossbow to the ground in surprise. A gigantic grin spread across my face as I looked at Daryl. “I did it!”

“Knew ya could do it,” he congratulated. He had reached out and was stroking the back of my arm with his fingers. His touch was so light, it felt like being tickled with a feather. I could feel goosebumps forming, but thankfully, my sleeve hid them. “Think that’s the first time I seen ya do that too.”

I looked at him with a puzzled expression. “Seen me do what?”

“Smile like that.” It occurred to me that he was referring to the fact that I was smiling with my teeth out. And he was right—this was the first time I’d smiled like that in months.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

That evening, I found myself working late in the infirmary. A couple of the kids had gotten into a fight, and while their injuries weren’t too bad, they still required attention. A couple of scraped knees and small cuts later, I was supposed to be going home for the evening, but as I was getting ready to leave, the infirmary door swung open one last time, and in came Daryl. He’d been covering gate duty for a couple of hours, and I figured he must’ve seen the infirmary light on and came to check on me.

“Hey, there’s my little Georgia peach,” I said, giving him a big smile. He looked at me with a solemn face, which concerned me a little. “Daryl…are you ok?” He didn’t say anything at first. He simply kept eye contact with me as he stepped closer.

“I, uh, need your help with somethin’,” he said. He took his bow off of his back and turned around. There was a sizable gash across his mid-back, his clothes stained with dried blood.

“Jesus, get your ass up here,” I ordered, gesturing to the exam table. I started grabbing things like gloves and antiseptic. “What the hell happened?”

“Couple of ‘em pricks was talkin’ ‘bout ya,” he said as he sat down on the table and scooted back to the edge. I froze and swallowed hard. I hadn’t really gotten to know any of the men who typically had gate duty, and the only times I saw them were when I was coming and going through the gate, and I was always with Daryl.

“You got this defending me? Jesus, I’m so sorry. I feel awful.” I continued grabbing everything I would need, like cotton pads, medical tape, tools for stitches, and antibiotics.

“Nah, jackasses had it comin’.”

“What did you do to them?”

“Roughed ‘em up a bit. Let ‘em know not to say nothin’ like that ‘gain,” Daryl explained.

“Do I wanna know what they were saying about me?”

“Probably not. Bein’ a buncha creeps.” The never-ending list of things they could’ve been saying swirled through my mind, and I felt sick. I suppressed the nausea that quickly made its home in my stomach.

“Great. Just when I was starting to feel safe here,” I sighed. I thought I’d finally found a place away from the prying eyes of creepy men, but unfortunately, I was wrong.

Daryl looked back over his shoulder at me with kind eyes. “Don’t worry. I won’t let ‘em give ya any trouble.” I gave him a smile and a nod.

“Alright, I need you to take your shirt off. Then I’m gonna clean it and stitch it up. I’ll talk you through each step so you know what to expect since you can’t see it,” I explained. I slipped my gloves on after washing my hands thoroughly and scooted a stool over with my foot so I would sit higher up. Daryl fidgeted a little on the table, and he seemed nervous. I could tell he was in pain from his injury, but something else seemed to be bothering him.

“If you’re not comfortable taking your shirt off, that’s ok. I just need you to lift it enough so I can work,” I said, “don’t wanna go stitching your shirt to your back.” To my surprise, he lifted his shirt up and off over his head, letting it slide down his arms into his lap.

When he did, I understood why I’d never seen Daryl shirtless before.

There were scars all across his back. Not the kind of scars you’d get from being in a motorcycle or car accident, or burn scars, or from taking a really bad tumble as a kid. No, these scars were intentionally inflicted by another person. My heart shattered, but I kept my composure.

How could someone do something so awful to someone so good?

I made sure to utilize my calming bedside manner voice. “There is nothing to be embarrassed about. I have seen anything you can possibly imagine. Plus, I have scars of my own. I know better than to ask about anyone else's."

I grabbed a cloth soaked with some warm water so I could clean up some of the dried blood, and I gently started rubbing it on his back. “I’m gonna try to get as much of this dried blood off as I can.” He tensed a little bit under my touch, so I tried my best to be even lighter, but I could only press so lightly while still getting the blood off. I decided to clean just enough around the wound to make the process quicker, and he could take care of the rest when he showered.

“Alright, I have to clean it now so it won’t get infected. I won’t lie, this is going to sting a little. But I’m just taking a cotton pad with some antiseptic and patting around it,” I explained. I started patting his wound with the cotton pad, and he flinched just a tiny bit. I placed my other hand on his arm and stroked it gently with my thumb. “Hey, you’re ok. You’re doing great.” As I stroked his arm, I felt him start to relax.

My heart was breaking for him. The sensation of the antiseptic in his open wound must’ve felt similar to whatever created the scars on his back. I tried to think of something to talk about to distract him.

“I like your tattoo, Daryl,” I said, “does it mean anything?”

“Jus’ thought it looked cool,” he replied.

“I actually have a few tattoos of my own,” I told him, “I know, there’s something you didn’t know about me. I have a sternum piece with flowers on it, bumblebees on the back of each of my thighs, and a bouquet of daisies on the front of my right hip. I liked the idea of having tattoos that only certain people get to see. People that I get to choose." I hoped that, maybe one day, I’d get to show Daryl my tattoos. I set the cotton pad on the table next to him. “I’m done cleaning it now. Could you straighten up for me? I’m gonna stitch it up now. It’ll probably hurt a little, but it won’t burn like the antiseptic did.”

"They mean anythin'?" he asked as he sat up straight.

"I really like sternum pieces, so that's why I got that one. Daisies are my favorite flower, and the bumblebees are for my mom.” I got to work stitching him up as I talked. “Gardening was her favorite hobby, and we had a huge one in our backyard growing up. She taught my brothers and I about the different kinds of pollinators and how important they were. Bumblebees were her favorite. I got them a couple of years after she passed.”

“Lost my mom too,” Daryl said. It was the first time he’d mentioned his mom in any capacity. “What happened to her? If you’re ok talkin’ ‘bout it.”

“She umm…she killed herself a couple of months after Preston died. Hung herself in his closet. My dad was the one that found her.” I blinked back some tears. Stitching up someone’s wound was not the time to be crying. “Her mental health really declined after his passing. I mean, all of ours did, but hers was the worst. She couldn't stand losing one of her children, so she left the other three behind. At least that's what it felt like. The anger stage of my grief lasted a very, very long time.”

There was a heaviness that hung in the air as I finished stitching his wound. It felt suffocating, like it was a heavy weight pressing on my chest. I lowered the volume of my voice a little to keep myself from crying. “Alright, I’ve just gotta wrap it up and you’re done.”

“Mine was a house fire,” he started to explain, and as he talked, I continued wrapping his wound, using as gentle of a touch as I could and offering small comforting pats and strokes in between. I felt his muscles continue to relax into my hands as I worked. “I was a kid. Ran home after we saw fire trucks comin’ down the street. Finally caught up to the other kids and saw it was my house. Mom was inside. Some combo of her wine ’n smokes. Didn’t feel real for a long time.” Before I finished patching him up, I ran my hands over the back of his arms and offered small squeezes, like tiny hugs from my fingers. This was by far the most vulnerable he’d been around me, and I wanted to make sure he felt safe, seen, and comforted.

“I’m so sorry Daryl. You didn’t deserve for that to happen.”

"Didn’t deserve yours neither.” I ran my fingers over and flattened out the last piece of medical tape.

“There we go, you’re all patched up now,” I said, grabbing a small bottle of antibiotics and handing it to him. “you’ll have to change the dressing every day. I can help you with that. And you’ll have to take those for like a week. Make sure you stay on top of that.”

“Do I gotta? Didn’t think it was that bad,” he said, flipping the little orange bottle around in his hand.

I sat myself up on the exam table next to him, “Daryl, what kind of doctor would I be if I let you get an infection?”

Taglist: @raddydaddydude

Divider was found on Google via searching for stock images

Rick: Vec, you need to apologize to Spencer.

Vec: Ugh, fine

Vec: *folds arms over her chest, locks eyes with Spencer, smirks*

Vec: I’m sorry you’re such a piece of shit.

Daryl: *suppresses a chuckle*

Daryl: *whispers* Yep, that’s mah woman.

Rick: *sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose*

Rick: Not like that…

Taglist: @raddydaddydude

Vec is my OC, she belongs to me

Divider was found on Google via searching for stock images

Finding Myself, Finding You: Chapter Thirteen

Masterlist

AO3 link

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist <3 (18+ only, MDNI)

Story is 18+ for mature content/themes, minors do not interact please

TW/CWs for this story--implied/referenced past rape, canonical violence, non-canonical violence, blood, gore, referenced past suicide, swearing, surgery, excessive drinking, nightmares, panic attacks, mention of scars, vomiting, amputation, medical procedures, non-con medical procedures, referenced past medical torture, referenced past drugging, attempted sexual assault, panic attacks, mental health struggles, referenced sibling death, referenced parent death

Each chapter will have its own TW/CWs listed

This story, Lydia Vector, her family & bestie (c) me, TheVeganDarkElf

TWD & its characters (c) AMC & Robert Kirkman, the writer of the comic series

Sleeping Beauty (c) Disney, Wednesday Addams (c) Charles Addams

TW/CWs for this chapter--swearing (there's swearing in every chapter ok), allusion to child abuse (Daryl's history), gagging, mentions of trying not to vomit, a gross story about food coming out someone's nose, mention of scars, mention of blood, mention of needles

Word count: 2.7k

"Ooh, I got one. Do you have an embarrassing story to share? If you share one, I’ll tell you one of mine. Make it fair,” I said.

We’d been driving for a little bit, just shooting the shit on our way to find Aaron a foot. It was nice to sit back and talk with Daryl while we cruised down the empty road. Made things seem a little bit normal, like this was just a cross-country road trip with a friend and not going to find a prosthetic for someone whose foot I had to cut off with an axe after a walker bite. He was easy to talk to, a bit awkward with some of the things he said, but it was an enjoyable experience regardless. The little bits of awkwardness were cute and made me think that maybe he was getting a little nervous, which I thought was adorable. It was going well so far, and I felt like I was actually starting to get to know Daryl, even if it was just a tiny bit.

“Nah, don’t got one,” he said. I crossed my arms over my chest and turned my body slightly in his direction, sighing a little.

“Come on, please? I’m sure you do,” I asked, making a pouty face to tease him, “we all do. If it helps, I have some that are pretty bad.” He looked over at my pathetic attempt of a pouty face, and his features relaxed a little, like he couldn’t say no and was accepting defeat.

“Fine,” Daryl said, “when I was a kid, got lost in the woods and accidentally used poison oak after...yeah. Ass itched somethin’ awful.” I stifled my laugh a bit, though it was mostly the phrase “ass itched somethin’ awful” that made me giggle.

“Oof, that’s brutal. How long were you lost for?” I asked, expecting him to say hours at most, or that he was out camping or something when it happened.

“Nine days. Dad didn’t even know I was gone.”

I could feel my heart breaking for little Daryl. To be lost for that long, especially as a child…how alone and scared he must’ve felt…how he wouldn’t have known what to do to survive and be trying to figure it out as he went, all while trying to get home...and to not even have anyone out looking for you…I knew he would never say it, but it had to be traumatizing. I felt terrible for insisting he share. I’d never felt like such a piece of shit before.

“Why ya look so sad?” Daryl said, looking over at me and seeing the somber expression on my face. There was a tear trying to escape my right eye, but I quickly blinked it back.

I softened the tone of my voice. “You were a child, Daryl. That’s awful. No kid should have to endure that. I’m so sorry.” I wanted to throw myself over the center console and wrap him in my arms and give him a giant hug, but I restrained myself. “I feel like such a piece of shit for pushing you to share, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“’S’alright. Ya didn’t know,” he replied. Something in him looked different, but I couldn’t explain what it was. He seemed more relaxed overall. Maybe no one had shown him that kind of empathy before. Maybe he’d wanted to get that off his chest & he felt relieved. Maybe he was nervous about how I’d react. There was no way for me to tell. That handsome, stoic face of his made it so hard to tell how he was feeling. However, that stoic expression was quickly replaced with a devious little smirk. “Ya can make it up to me by tellin’ a couple stories of your own.”

I raised my eyebrows at him in surprise. “Like more than one? You drive a hard bargain. I gotta think about this.”

“How many ya got?”

“There’s three that come to mind, but you’re only getting two.”

“Why not all of ‘em? Feels fair,” he teased.

"No, if I tell you the worst story, I'll have to throw myself out of this car,” I explained, “it’s bad.”

“If ya tell the worst one, ya only gotta tell one.” I huffed and twirled a chunk of my ponytail around my finger.

“Fine. But I’m warning you, it’s gross.” I took a deep breath and tried not to immediately start gagging at the thought of the story I was about to tell. “So when I was probably 21 or 22, I went on a first date with this guy I met in one of my classes. We met up at this random off-campus restaurant, and I made the terrible mistake of getting spaghetti. Well at one point, he’s telling a story, and I have food in my mouth.” I stopped and covered my mouth as I gagged. “So he’s telling his story, and I sneeze…and I wish I was making this up, but one of the pieces of spaghetti came up through and out my nose…I was trying not to throw up the whole time I was pulling it out. He immediately got up and left. Like didn’t say a single word, just left. I haven’t been able to look at spaghetti since. Even the sight of a box of spaghetti makes me wanna vomit.”

He didn’t say anything at first, but I could tell he was fighting back laughter. All that came out was a small, adorable chuckle. “That’s so much worse than I thought it’d be.”

“Worse? Alright, time to throw myself out of the car,” I said, pretending like I was going to unbuckle my seatbelt. “I never share that story. If we weren’t friends before, we definitely are now. And I think it goes without saying that you’re sworn to secrecy with that story. Are we even now?”

“Yeah. We’re even now,” he replied.

We continued chatting for the short remainder of the ride to this medical center, but I couldn’t stop thinking about how terrible I felt for what felt like forcing Daryl to share such a sad story. I was worried it would have an impact on our interactions when we got back to Alexandria, worried that maybe he hated me now or would never speak to me again once we got back inside the walls. But I felt worse about bringing up what was likely painful memories for him. He seemed alright, and he said we were even, but I wondered if there was another way I could make it up to him.

We turned down one more road, and there was a decently-sized brick building just down the street from the corner. As Daryl pulled into the lot, I read the promising large letters across the top of the building—orthopedic surgery. It wasn’t orthotics and prosthetics, but it was about as close as we were gonna get.

“Ortho surg,” I said as Daryl put the car in park, “nice.”

“That good?” he asked. I grabbed my backpack and put it in my lap, shoving my water bottle back inside.

“It’s potentially promising. If push comes to shove, maybe there’ll be a walker we can steal one off of.” He unbuckled and started to get out of the car, but I reached my hand out and lightly grazed his forearm with the tips of my fingers. “Daryl…are you ok?”

“Yeah,” he said as he turned back to me, clearly confused, “why?”

“Just…the story you shared earlier. I know better than to push people like that, and that was very not cool of me. I’m really sorry if it brought up painful memories for you.”

“Like I said, ya don’t gotta apologize. Ya didn’t know. But thanks,” he said, “apology accepted. Plus, I had ya cryin’ in the store earlier talkin’ ‘bout Eli. We’re good.”

“Oh my god, are we bonding?” I gushed playfully.

“Shut up,” he joked, turning and getting out of the car. I took some things out of my backpack and tossed them into the backseat to make room for anything we might find inside. I brought my spear out and unsheathed it as I got out of the car and followed Daryl inside.

Clearing the office out was easy enough. There were several more walkers than there had been at the other places we’d been to, but it was manageable between the two of us. I walked around to what looked like the front desk area to try to find a directory or anything that could indicate if they had prosthetics, and if so, where they might be stored.

“If you see anything that says orthotics or prosthetics, lemme know,” I said, setting my spear down on the front desk. I started flipping through a binder of random papers while Daryl started checking some of the rooms. There were a few that had keypads on them, which likely meant that there was supplies in there with a code for staff to use. Even if we had the codes, there was no power, so we’d have to manually find a way to break the doors down.

“Find a paperclip or somethin’,” Daryl called out to me from down the hall, “we can try to pick the locks.” The binder I was looking through didn’t seem to be useful, so I started searching drawers for office supplies. I pushed my sleeves up to my elbows. It was starting to get warm, and I was regretting wearing a jacket without a shirt underneath. One of the drawers had a small box of paper clips in it. Score.

“Got it!” I yelled. I grabbed my spear and jumped back over the desk, scuttling down the hall to meet Daryl. I took a larger clip out of the box and handed it to him. Our fingers briefly touched again, and there was that same electric feeling from this morning when our fingers touched as he handed me my coffee. The same electric feeling from when my fingers grazed his forearm in the car before we came inside.

He slung his crossbow across his back and straightened out the paperclip. Getting down on one knee, he started trying to pick the lock, and I went back to try to find something that would tell us what was in these closets. I could hear him fiddling around with the lock, and eventually, a click echoed through the silence of the office.

“Got it,” he said, and I could hear him cautiously pushing the door open.

“Lockpicking just increased to 30,” I whispered to myself as I went down the hall to meet him.

This particular storage closet had mostly been cleared out. It looked like it was used to store gowns, paper for the beds, gloves, masks, braces, and probably some first aid stuff. There was a box of gloves and some braces, so I went over and put those into my backpack.

“Damn it,” I huffed, “alright, let’s try another one. I’ll keep trying to find a map of this place or something.”

I rummaged around the front desk more before finding a paper map that had been thrown in a trash can. I pulled it out and held it up so it matched the direction I was facing. It looked like a poorly scanned paper copy of another poorly scanned paper copy, so the text that was legible enough was tiny and barely legible. I could make out “pros” on one of the square spaces.

“Daryl, I think I found it.” I was already walking back towards him when I yelled out, looking down at the map at the tiny print as I walked, and I bumped right into him. He was standing in front of another closet door, which he had already picked open.

“So did I,” he said, stepping into the room.

Looking around, there were shelves of different types of prosthetics, including feet, hands, partial arms, full arms, etc. I figured they were likely used for fittings so a prescription could be submitted for the right size and type, but there were options, which is what we needed.

"Geez. Someone with a foot fetish would have a hay day in here,” I joked, “try to find different sizes. One of them is bound to fit. Oh, Aaron’s gonna be so excited when I show him.” My face was lit up. I felt like I was getting to do something similar to my type of specialty again. I got down on the ground and grabbed a couple of prosthetic feet, placing them into my bag. There was just enough room for both of them. I grabbed a third and held it in my hands, flipping it around and daydreaming about my days in the ER.

“Ya okay?” Daryl asked me, squatting down next to me. He had grabbed a few prosthetics and put them in his bag as well, carrying a couple more under his arm.

“I just miss my job is all,” I said, continuing to flip the fake foot around in my hand as I talked, “I sat with people on what was usually the scariest day of their entire life. Sat with them while they died. Yeah, it was intense. But I think it’s what I was meant to do. It was fulfilling. It gave me purpose.” A single tear escaped my eye, and I quickly wiped it away with the back of my hand. “Sorry, I don’t mean to get all cheesy and shit.”

“Your patients were lucky to have ya,” he said. I could see in my peripheral vision that he was staring at my scars as I fiddled around with the prosthetic. I pulled my sleeves back down to cover the thick bands of scar tissue.

“That means a lot. Thank you.” I wiped another tear away with the back of my hand, laughing a little. “God, you’re gonna make me cry again.”

“C’mon. Might as well clear the place out. Still got upstairs to do,” Daryl said, lifting himself back to his feet.

We made several trips in and out, carrying out all of the prosthetics we could. It would be good to have these in the infirmary in case I had to perform another amputation. After that, we went upstairs. The second floor contained a blood draw station and an X-ray lab.

“Blood draw might have some stuff,” I said, going behind their front desk, “don’t reach into any sharps containers though.”

There were some more boxes of gloves and masks, rubber bands for putting on people’s arms to take samples, needles, and alcohol pads. I found an empty sharps container to put the needles in and carried out what I could in my arms.

“Good luck charm strikes again,” Daryl joked. He grabbed some of the boxes of gloves and followed me back downstairs.

After we loaded the car and got back in, I laid back in my seat and stared up at the ceiling, feeling exhausted from all the hard work we’d put in. I was sweating buckets, and I felt disgusting.

“We crushed it,” I said, holding my hand up for a high-five, which Daryl returned, “teamwork makes the dream work.” I turned my head towards him. “Thanks for bringing me here so I could get a prosthetic for Aaron. He won’t need it for a while, but I’m gonna have to stop myself from telling him in the meantime. I wanna make it a surprise.”

“Welcome,” he said as he backed us out of the lot and onto the road back to Alexandria, “what else ya gotta do today?”

“Uh, well I’m starving, so I guess start with that. Rosita said she wanted to see me, and I need to reorganize the infirmary now that we have all of this to sort through. What about you?”

“Don’t got watch ’til later. Do what you gotta do, I can make us food.” I smiled and turned my head back up towards the ceiling.

“Thanks Daryl.”

He was such a sweetie. And I was falling very hard, very fast, with no idea where I was going to land.

Taglist: @raddydaddydude

A little self-appreciation post (and for other writers like me).

I love being a Daryl x OC writer. I know Daryl x Reader fics are more popular and generally do better, but I adore my OC with my whole heart and soul. I don’t care that she only exists in my head. It makes me endlessly happy to daydream about her in canon scenes/situations, thinking about how she’d interact with the other characters and what their relationships would look like. Who she would and wouldn’t like/get along with. To form and tell her story and develop her relationship with Daryl and her friendships with the likes of Rosita, Michonne, Maggie, and Aaron (and think about how much she hates Negan lmaoooo). She's everything to me & I hope I continue to get inspo to write with her for a very, very long time.

not to be a kinkshamer or anything but some people on here will literally be like “daryl would be into burning you w cigarettes” or “having you claw his back during sex is a turn on” as if he wasn’t literally physically abused as a kid?? ☠️ like no babe he would not be into that because that would probably be extremely triggering?? did you even pay attention to the show to be saying something this goofy he literally self-harmed WITH a cigarette