Chapter Text
The buck is smaller than Daryl would have liked, but the group has been going on three days without food, so beggars really can't be choosers. He lines up the shot, finger on the trigger of his bow, but before he can squeeze it someone sneezes in his ear, startling the deer, and it takes off into the woods. Daryl lowers his bow, turning sharp, blue eyes on his hunting companion, and Rick mutters, "Sorry."
"Should send yer ass back," Daryl grunts stalking away from Rick. "Gonna scare all the game 'fore I can catch anything." He hears the ex-lawman chase after him, silently cursing himself for even agreeing to bring the man with him. Some men are born to hunt, but Rick Grimes is not one of them. It's the exact reason Daryl stopped trying to teach the other man; some people are better off untaught.
"It's better if we stick together," Rick replies quietly. "We've barely avoided two hordes over the past few days..."
"I know, I ain't stupid," the archer barks keeping his back to the ex-lawman. "Still I'da had better luck with Maggie or Hershel."
Rick sighs and softly says, "I know."
Daryl, for the life of him, doesn't like hearing the other man sound so dejected. So, he turns and states, "Look, yer tryin', that's more'n a lot of people can say. Just, just try to be a bit quieter, a'right" Rick nods and the two men fall silent, continuing deeper into the woods.
Daryl manages to pick up the buck's trail again, following it north east. It's leading them farther away from camp than he had originally planned, and he's not sure he and Rick will make it back before dusk, but with any luck they'll find a shack to hole up in until morning. If not, he's sure he can rig up a couple traps around their campsite so they'll be alerted to any surprise attacks. Plus, Rick may be hopeless when it comes to tracking or hunting, but he's still got a good set of eyes. Both he and Daryl can keep watch if they're forced to sleep outside.
A deep orange has settled over the horizon by the time they catch up to the buck. Daryl lines up the shot, very much aware of Rick lingering a half dozen inches away from him, but his shot goes wide when hands suddenly grab him, pulling him into some bushes.
"What the hell..." he hisses but Rick shuts the hunter up by jerking his head towards the left. A walker stumbles out from behind a tree, ambling towards the buck, and Daryl can't help rolling his eyes. This is the third time this has happened, and he's getting tired of putting forth all this effort just so a geek can steal his game. "Fucking walkers," he grunts shaking his head.
They watch as the walker lunges at the buck. The deer scrambles backwards, sprinting off into the woods, and Daryl puts an arrow into the back of the walker's head before it can chase after the buck. He waits an extra thirty seconds, making sure there isn't another lingering around, before shoving himself to his feet and moving forward to collect his arrows.
"Gonna get dark soon," he comments using his shirt to wipe off the biter's blood. "Gonna havta set up camp somewhere."
"Yeah," Rick agrees running a hand through his hair. "Let's try'n get a little closer to the others before we do, okay?"
"A'right."
It's another thirty minutes before they stop again, the sun rapidly setting, and Daryl takes a few moments to rig up some half-assed snares while Rick starts a fire. The sun has long since set when the two men finally sit down by the fire. Rick pokes at the flames with a stick, a brooding look crossing his face, and Daryl knows it has something to do with Lori. Rick and his wife haven't exactly been on speaking terms for the past week, and the only reason he knows anything about it is because he overheard Carol and Beth talking about it, but it's not any of Daryl's business.
It still doesn't stop him from trying to lighten the mood. "Wish we had some marshmallows," Daryl says leaning back on his palms, looking up at the sky.
"Would kill for some chocolate and graham crackers, too," Rick murmurs, a smile in his voice. "First time Carl ever made a s'more, he dropped the entire stick in the fire."
"Merle used to burn 'em then he'd steal mine." It's probably one of only a handful of good memories Daryl has of his brother. Sometimes he's not even sure he wants to find Merle.
The two men fall silent again, Rick using his stick to poke the fire while Daryl watches the flames dance. He remembers when he had been a child, probably six or seven, he'd pretend the flames were people, moving to their own music, and sometimes he wished he could join them. It wouldn't be so bad to join them right now either.
He's not exactly sure when he falls asleep, but the next thing he knows there's a bird chirping above him and a heavy, warm weight leaning against his side. Daryl peels his eyes open, shielding them against the newly risen sun, blinking twice to clear his vision. Slowly, he turns his head, finding Rick asleep, the other man's head on the archer's shoulder, his body practically on top of the hunter.
Daryl elbows the ex-lawman, and Rick stirs, opening his eyes, stiffening when he realizes what he's doing. He sits up, wiping drool off his face, and mutters, "Sorry."
"'s fine," Daryl replies getting to his feet, kicking dirt over the remaining embers from their fire. "Should head back."
"Yeah." Rick stands, stretching, scanning the area. "Surprised we weren't attacked."
Daryl doesn't answer, deciding to check his snares instead, and he finds a couple rabbits. It's better than nothing, so he collects the animals and carries them back to Rick, holding them up. He offers Daryl and smile and says, "Rabbit stew." The hunter grunts, and the two men start back towards camp, neither one mentioning what had happened, and, truthfully, Daryl prefers it that way.