Arrowhead ➳ Daryl Dixon

t w e n t y o n e

Just when she had given up all hope of escape, just when she had let her body go entirely limp... Fate decided that it wasn't her time yet.

The hand dropped from her neck. Before she could wonder why, she saw an arrow sticking out of his forehead, just inches from her own face. She gasped for breath, not taking the time to look for her savior. She dropped to her knees, holding her neck as she tried to bring in as much oxygen as she could muster.

"C'mon, girl." A southern drawl urged her. But she was too shaken up to even notice. It was Daryl.

For the first time in a long time, tears slipped from those eyes. She wiped them away as she stood, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in her neck. She stumbled towards Daryl, her expression pained. He frowned at the sight of her, his heart breaking into a million pieces at the sight of the broken girl. She had been so strong before... Now look at her. She looked like she would topple over if somebody breathed too hard.

"Daryl." She breathed hoarsely, stumbling towards him. She surprised him when she stumbled into his chest, but quickly reeled back before he could wrap an arm around her.

"Sorry." She sniffed. He pretended he hadn't noticed, simply knocked another arrow in place on his crossbow. He presented a bag to her, watching as she changed into a pair of sneakers and wrapped herself in the black coat- which was just a few inches longer than her dress.

"C'mon, Presley." He said, touching her back to urge her forward. Eventually he got her to jog back to the grocery store, but every movement seemed to bring her pain. He hadn't seen the endless line of bruises covered her body because of the dullness of the street lights.

Michonne was just helping Mika up into the tree when she caught sight of Daryl and Presley rounding the corner. Instead of smiling, she frowned, seeing Presley's face. She had given up on the world, the woman could tell.

Daryl moved to help Presley, but Presley being Presley, ignored his offer and began to climb herself. She moved slowly; thinking over each movement before going through.

Daryl was the last one to climb. He turned to see Stefan walking towards him. The blonde looked at the people with a small smile. "Why don't ye come with us?" Daryl asked, beginning to climb. When he saw Stefan's hesitation he added, "now or never, bro."

"Yeah. Yeah okay." Stefan stuttered, following after them.

Presley awaited on the other side, having her arms wrapped around herself. All he could think about was wrapping his arms around that frail little body and telling her that everything would be all right. In spite of everything, she looked beautiful. Her hair fell loosely over her face, obscuring some of the bruises and scratches that he had yet to see.

"C'mon." He said, touching her shoulder. Her head snapped and she looked at him. The reflection in those baby blue eyes just about killed him. The emotions never seemed to end.

"You'll ride with me, so there's room." He said, watching as the group piled into the back of the truck. Presley didn't suspect he meant anything by it, but he did. He knew that there was plenty of room in the truck, that she could very easily fit... But he didn't want her to. As selfish and self centered as it sounded, he wanted her to be seen riding on the back of that motorcycle.

He swung on and revved the engine, giving the smaller girl a moment to sit down. Her arms wrapped carefully around his torso. Butterflies hit him like a train wherever her hands touched bare skin. "Hold on." He said as the motorcycle moved forward, falling in right after the truck. They had parked just a few blocks away from the fences in hope of avoiding being heard. Daryl doubted that they could be heard over the blaring music of the party.

They were about half way to the prison when he felt Presley's head rest on his shoulder. He doubted that she was sleeping, but she had to be exhausted. He wasn't even entirely sure what those pigs had done to her. At the mere thought of the possibilities, his grip tightened on the handles.

He tried to enjoy the feeling he got with her riding on the back of he bike, but his mind was blinded by all the treacherous things she had gone through over the past few weeks. Her grip on his torso tightened. She was crying, but he didn't know that.

Presley Iris Scott was finally crying.

- - -

The girl welcomed the sight of the prison. It comforted her, oddly enough. She stared downward, feeling physically and mentally incapable of getting off the bike. She could hear Daryl talking to her, and she could see people walking up to her, but she couldn't process any of it. She just remained silent.

Suddenly, arms went around her and underneath her. She was lifted from the bike and balanced on two arms. She went limp, allowing her head to fall into the shoulder of the person lifting her. She recognized the warm, musty scent of Daryl. She closed her eyes and inhaled.

They watched carefully as she was carried up to the prison. Daryl cringed at all the eyes watching him, but he pretended he didn't care. His main focus was making sure that he got Presley inside her cell and in bed. He shifted her weight as he walked through the open door that Rick held open for him.

Once she was safely on bed, he sat down on her desk, watching her. Her eyes were open, but it was like she wasn't there. Whatever traumatic experience that had happened to her... It was really taking a toll on the girl. It was strange. There used to be fire in everything she did and said, but now...

He swore to himself that he would have the balls of the man who did this fed to the walkers.

- - -

"Presley?" Hershal said. He sat down on the edge of her bed, placing a hand on her hip. Her eyes lifted to meet his, and he attempted a smile. Her expression didn't change the least bit.

"Presley, I need to see..." She knew what he meant. She closed her eyes and shuddered at the thought of being seen nude by another man ever again. It had taken her all night to even find the urge to sit up. She didn't want to do this. She didn't want them to know that she had been weak- that she had let the Governor win. She was ashamed of the things he had done to her body.

"No." She said firmly; sitting up and pushing herself away from him. "I am not going to." The elder man frowned, but didn't say anything else. He had suspected what had happened to her the moment he had seen Daryl carry her past the prison door. That look in her eyes told him everything he needed to know.

"Okay." He sighed, giving in. "At least come down for some breakfast... Carol made cinnamon and rice." He tried to sound excited, but the look in Presley's eyes told him that she was anything but hungry.

"Where's Zeva?" She asked, struggling out of bed and on her feet.

"Cell block D... We figured you would want some space." He replied, offering to help her down the stairs. She shook her head and moved past him, hopping slowly down the stairs. Her feet were bare and she was still dressed in that long black coat. It was tied tightly around her, hiding every piece of skin but her legs.

When she entered the cafeteria, the entire room went silent. They all looked her up and down, frowning and then continuing on with their conversations. Either Presley didn't notice, or she didn't care.

"Sit here." Carol said suddenly, patting the space beside her. The younger girl sat, her eyes drifting across the room. She knew that this was Daryl's seat. She could only pray that he didn't throw a fit.

And he didn't.

When Daryl arrived with a tray of food, he hardly even glanced at Presley. He sat on the other side of the table across from her, digging into his food without a word. She watched him for a moment and then turned away.

If he was going to act like nothing had happened, so was she.

- - - 

Presley and Daryl moment... What should their ship name be? I'm thinking Desley... Yessss...

comment, vote, xo