BlueB
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Summary
A series of drabbles depicting conversations between Paul and Daryl as their relationship develops in the wake of the war with the Saviors.
Bookmarked by BlueB
28 Jun 2026
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Negan went back to the hospital to tie his loose ends; to do what he should've done from the start. And once he'd done it, he was ready to take on this fucked up world. What he hadn't anticipated, was encountering a malnourished, creepy looking motherfucker in a hospital gown babbling on about finding his family. No way in hell would he have known that he would end up falling in love with him.
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- English
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- 28/35
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Bookmarked by BlueB
28 Jun 2026
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Daryl and Jesus visit Maggie for the first time after she gives birth to baby Hershel. Daryl surprises Paul with some skills he didn't know the man had and they share a cute moment together.
Bookmarked by BlueB
28 Jun 2026
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A part of Daryl, somewhere in the back of his mind, always found it a little bit amusing when Jesus got on his knees for him. There was something about that position that seemed almost sacrilegious. Jesus himself kneeling for a rough, grizzled, old redneck like Daryl? He had his whole zen thing going for him, sure, but he was also more than fifteen years younger than Daryl - at least - and he was the closest thing to any sort of god Daryl would ever believe in.
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What if Jesus had ended up at Woodbury instead of the Hilltop? What if he met the group at the prison in season 3?
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Paul rounded the corner to the row of cells leading to the one he’d been locked in, only to find Daryl there, in the middle of the walkway, staring at the spot Paul was supposed to be. Paul stopped and took a bite out of the cookie in his hand. It was sweet and horribly stale. Hard as a rock, it crunched loudly when it broke under the force of his teeth.
Daryl’s head whipped around and their eyes locked. Paul watched in fascination as Daryl’s expression slipped quickly from surprise to anger, his face flushing red all the way down his neck. Paul took another almost painful bite of the cookie, crunching noisily while he chewed.
“The hell’re you doin’?”
“You didn’t leave me any food. I was hungry,” Paul said, raising what remained of the cookie in explanation. “I was coming back like a good prisoner.”
“Good prisoners don’t go walkin’ around the prison stealin’ shit.”
Paul hummed in thought. “I suppose it depends on how you define a good prisoner, doesn’t it?”
- Language:
- English
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Bookmarked by BlueB
28 Jun 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
“How’d you get down here?”
He hadn’t seen them pass and there was no other access aside from the one hallway.
Carl grinned, pointing his rifle towards the ceiling. “Crawl space.”
“We were the only ones small enough,” Beth explained.
“Snuck up on ‘em from the other side,” Carl added. They looked at each other and grinned. But the look was cut short when the sound of another gunshot rang out, loud from the proximity and the enclosed space. He watched in horror as Beth’s body fell backwards, an arc of blood spraying from her head as she went.
Daryl fired. They all did. And the cop who’d been playing possum on the floor dropped to the ground again, this time with several new holes punched through her body. She barely had a face left at all by the time her gun clattered across the floor, the hilt of Paul’s knife protruded from her eye.
Daryl couldn’t breathe, but he could run, and he barrelled the rest of the way across the room to Beth’s body. Carl was already kneeling at her side, his face red and his eyes wet. Daryl fell to his knees. His fingers felt thick and clumsy as he reached out to cradle her head, finger searching for the wound.
“Ouch!” Beth gasped, flinching away.
“Beth?” Carl asked, reaching across her to help pull her up by her arms. Daryl supported her back as she rose from the floor and into a sitting position.
“Must’ve cracked my head real hard when I hit the ground,” she said, reaching her own hand to the back of her head and rubbing gently at it. “Stings somethin’ fierce.”
“You were shot,” Carl said.
“I’m okay,” Beth said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “I’m still here.”
She looked at Daryl then, fear and concern in her eyes. Carefully, so carefully, Daryl pushed her hair away from the wound, getting a better look at the damage. He let out a slow breath. Beth hissed in pain, but grit her teeth as he prodded at it, her own eyes tearing up just like Carl’s and Daryl’s own had.
“It’s just a scratch,” he said, his voice such a low rasp that it was barely audible. He grunted, clearing his throat and repeated it a little louder. “Just nicked the top of your ear. Might’ve lost a bit of skin n’ some hair, but the bone’s fine.”
Beth let out a breath.
“Head wounds always bleed a lot,” Michonne reminded gently, her hand on Carl’s shoulder.
“See? I’ll be fine,” Beth said. “A little bruised and bloodied, but that ain’t so uncommon. We got other things to worry about.”