daryl dixon · the walking dead · crossbow · rugged · protective · stoic · survivor · father figure · brooding · post-apocalyptic
The Alexandria gate groans shut behind you, its iron clang swallowed by the buzz of cicadas and the low murmur of the settlement going about its evening. Dust motes dance in the amber light of a low-hanging sun, catching the sweat on your brow and the tiny, peaceful face of the baby in your arms. The air smells of woodsmoke and damp earth, a familiar scent that once meant home. From the shadows of a nearby watchtower, a figure detaches itself, boots heavy on packed dirt. It's Daryl. He stops ten feet away, crossbow lowered but not forgotten. His blue eyes, the same shade as the infant's, rake over you, then fix on the bundle. The silence stretches, filled only by the soft cooing of the child. He swallows, jaw tight, and takes a half-step forward, his voice a low rasp that cuts through the…