Chapter Text
It took a while to get used to a new way of things. At first, The Saviors weren’t all that welcoming and Daryl spent more than what he’d considered his fair amount of time running the shit. Things didn’t improve for him during the first month, or even the first three. He didn’t fit in. He wasn’t as comfortable with the Saviors as he had been with Rick’s group. But Daryl was many things in his short time on this planet and one of them was a survivor.
At first, he’d figured he’d hold out until the Alexandria crew came to help him escape. Kept his eyes open for any opportunity, any sign they were coming. He was itchy and antsy the first time a group left to go “collect”. He hadn’t expected to be a part of that group and he wasn’t disappointed. Negan had assigned him to another collection in another area. It was a group of ten and he was the new guy so he was stuck doing most of the heavy lifting and hauling of their tribute. He was also the point guy for any walkers they may have run into while they were collecting.
It happened about six months out. He knew the route, knew the road and how long they would be here. The settlement, if you could call it that, was pretty small and they didn’t have much. Daryl remembered that once upon a time, he’d have been a part of something that would have helped them but these days, it was easier to just do the job he’d come to do. Adapt and survive. Rick wasn’t coming and Daryl had come to accept that. While he didn’t consider himself to be a Savior, he knew he wasn’t an Alexandrian anymore either … there’d been things he’d done that he knew would never pass for acceptable with Rick Grimes.
He was keeping an eye out for anything suspicious while Gary loaded supplies into the truck and Punch went to the barn to collect their half of the harvest. Something wasn’t sitting right in his gut and he had his crossbow raised before Punch’s hand touched the door. The settlement was too peaceful and the people were too complacent. He was reminded of a farm in the distant past … of a preacher who’d believed the dead could be cured.
“Punch!” He called out to get the man’s attention. No sooner had he turned than his hand yanked the door open and Daryl let a bolt fly, landing with a THUNK in the eye of a walker. Suddenly, the yard was filled with them and Punch was making a run for the truck while Gary started the engine. One by one, Daryl let bolts fly, covering Punch’s exit towards the truck as much as keeping his back clear of grabbers. Gary threw the truck into gear and Daryl cursed down at him, holding his gun in his other hand and pointing it directly into the driver’s side window.
“Now don’t you go fuckin' movin’ this here truck til that boy’s on it, you hear me?” Daryl raised the crossbow again, loading his final bolt and landing it in the shoulder of a walker that had Punch by the front of his shirt. He jumped without thinkin' and went in with his knife, hacking the throats and skulls of every walker between him and the kid. He was covered by the time he got to Punch and had to practically throw him at the truck. They clung to the rear handles and he slammed his fist against the side.
“GO!”
The truck lurched and the walkers were left behind, with townspeople trying to herd and kill what was left. For the first time in his life, Daryl didn’t feel bad for their fate.
***
Arriving back at camp and unloading their haul, Punch took a moment to clap Daryl on the shoulder in thanks. It was the first real acknowledgment that he’d had outside of “Hey you”. It didn’t quite feel like acceptance, but it wasn’t outright hatred either. He finished unloading the haul and went looking for his bunk. His adrenaline had burned out and he was exhausted. All he wanted to do was sleep for a few hours before he’d have to go work his mandatory community hours. He compared a lot of what he did here with how things had been at the prison. Everyone pitched in, everyone contributed what they could. True that most of their supplies were given as tribute from other settlements but that was the price for being the small fish in a larger ocean, wasn’t it? The little guy gives to the big guy so if another guy comes along, they have protection. Shit, even Merle had taught him that one once or twice. He didn’t like to think of Merle too much. Visions of those walker dead eyes still haunted him from time to time.
As he woke from his nap and got ready to go out and help Vanda load shotgun shells he was surprised to see Negan waiting for him by the door. They didn’t interact much, if at all. Since he’d been taken from the Alexandria group, he’d maybe seen Negan three or four times total and it was always at a distance. Now, that predatory grin was right in his face and Daryl wasn’t sure what to make of it.
“I heard a story today, Daryl. It seemed a pretty interestin’ one and I was hoping you could shed a little light for me.” Negan’s voice gave nothing away but he tapped Lucille against the doorframe casually.
“I ain’t real sure which story you’re wantin’ to hear about. Th’ one where that shit-hole of a settlemen’ decided to have a surprise party waitin’ on us in their barn to the tune of about thirty or so walkers or th’ one where me n’ Punch almost got lef b’hind because Gary’s a fuckin' pussy? Which story was you thinkin’ I’d be tellin’ ya?” Daryl could do casual. Even went so far as to lean his shoulder against the wall next to him and cross his arms over his chest. He looked Negan right in the eye … something that it occurred to him he’d never really done with Rick. With Rick, it was always just to the side or lookin' at his chin. Make him think you was makin’ eye contact but never quite gettin’ there. You never knew if Rick would take it as a challenge. With Negan … well shit, it was almost a guarantee that he would.
“Gary tryin' to leave behind two of his crew? Well, now that doesn’t sound so much like Gary does it? How’s about you and I go take a walk, Daryl and we’ll go find out what ol’ Gary has to say about this. See, I’ve already heard Punch’s version and now I’ve heard yours. What’s say we ask the man of the hour?”
Negan turned and walked towards the center of the grounds. Daryl knew better than to NOT follow him and when they arrived at the bunkhouse where Gary stayed, Punch was already there waiting. He looked like he was half ready to piss himself when they approached and Daryl couldn’t help himself. He reached out and slapped Punch’s shoulder in much the same way he’d done earlier that day. Neither of them expected the booming voice of Negan to roll across the camp.
“GARY! YOU COME ON DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW, SON!”
Everyone in the camp froze. Negan very rarely raised his voice; he didn’t have to. The man radiated dominance and confidence with every step he took across the yard. If his eye happened across yours for some reason, it made you stiffen up and work that much harder at whatever it was you were supposed to be doing. He wasn’t unfair and he certainly didn’t treat his group abusively. He was more like a benevolent dictatorship than an authoritarian asshole. In many ways, he reminded Daryl of Rick, in the early days. When he had the balls to go after his people when they went missing. And Negan was always very clear of who and what was expected. Never going after children, never going after women when it could be helped. There was a code and it was one that Daryl could almost respect.
Gary came down to the clearing with his shoulders hunched and his eyes skirting around everywhere BUT at Negan.
“Sir?”
“Now Gary. I’d like for you to tell me, in your own words if you please, exactly what it is that happened today when I sent you out for our tribute from that place on the river.” Negan spoke as though he were communicating with a child.
“Nuth … nothin' really. I mean, we did have some trouble when Punch attracted some walkers and Daryl used up all his bolts in takin’ them out instead of just leavin'. I always remember you sayin' the tribute is more important than one man, Sir. That’s all I was tryin' to do. Get your tribute here so we could take care of our peoples.”
Negan moved in close. So close you could almost see him smelling Gary’s hair. The smile went from paternal to predatory in an instant and Lucille was swung up on his shoulder. You could hear the solid sound of wood settling on leather.
“So that’s what you were doing, hmm? You weren’t trying to abandon two men because you were pissing yourself afraid? You sure it was Punch that drew those walkers, Gary? See, the way I hear it … those walkers were left as a trap. And if it weren’t for Daryl being the paranoid son-of-a-bitch he is, we’d have lost Punch and had one more walker on our hands.”
Daryl was stunned. He knew what he’d done but he had no way of knowing Punch had spoken so highly of him to Negan of all people. He cast a side glance and Punch shrugged in an “I told the truth, buddy” kind of way. Daryl couldn’t place the feeling it put into his chest so he just ignored it for later. He refocused his attention on Gary and Negan.
“Now. Seeing as it was Punch and Daryl that you decided you were gonna leave behind, I figure they should have some say in how you’re punished, Gary. Seems only fair, doesn’t it?”
At this point, Daryl was pretty sure Gary would agree to anything that didn't involve Lucille. He was visibly sweating, his hands were shaking and if his knees knocked together any harder, they’d probably have problems with walkers finding their encampment. Negan hefted Lucille and pointed the business end towards Punch. Daryl knew from experience that even as casual as that action was, it was still shit-yourself-terrifying to stare down the barb-wire beauty.
“What do you think, Punch? Gary here disrespected you and tried to abandon you. Hell, he wasn’t even lookin' out for you like I’d trusted him to do. How would you deal with this transgression?”
Punch swallowed hard and he looked from Negan to Gary and then to Daryl before looking back at Negan. His voice was barely a whisper … Shit this kid was terrified.
“I uhh. I mean … I’m no … no … not sur … sure, Sir.”
Negan looked actively disappointed and Lucille seemed to wilt down towards the ground as though SHE were disappointed as well. A disappointed Lucille was a dangerous thing. A moment later, she was back up and pointing at Daryl. He was gripped by a flashback of his first meeting with Negan. Except he’d been on his knees and he’d watched her destroy two men he’d considered brothers.
“And what about you, Daryl? What do YOU think should happen to poor Gary here? Or are you not sure either?”
Daryl cleared his throat and met Negan’s eyes, dead on.
“Gary should run point for a few months. Let him work the walker fields around the camp and scout new routes to existing tribute camps. Might help him get over being so terrified … or they’ll get him and he won’t be our problem again.”
Negan’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. He hadn’t expected Daryl to be so ruthless nor helpful, apparently. There was a warm spark in his eye, something Daryl hadn’t seen before, and his smile turned from predatory to something closer to warmth for just a moment. Then his attention turned and Lucille was pointing at Gary again.
“You’ll be wanting to thank Mr. Dixon, Gary. He may have just saved your life. I think his suggestion has merit and can teach you a valuable lesson.” Silence followed as Negan looked at Gary, as though waiting for him to say something.
It took a minute but eventually Gary half-whispered out a less than enthusiastic “Thanks Daryl”. The next minute, he was howling in pain on the ground as Lucille swung from Negan’s shoulder to Gary’s thigh. The barbed wire clung to his jeans as it ripped free of the flesh and there was the sound of bone cracking. Daryl had to physically work at keeping still from the fresh memory that sound rang in his head. Abraham, bleeding as his skull cracked, telling Negan to “Suck my nuts!” … Glen, his head caved in as he tried desperately to say something to Maggie. He clenched his fist until the white-hot pinpricks made crescent marks on his palms. He’d been responsible for Glen’s death and he knew it. No matter how much he tried not to blame himself, deep down he knew that’s why Rick’s people hadn’t come for him. He’d killed their heart. He was brought back to the present by the sound of Negan speaking to Gary, over the sound of his screaming.
“I believe I told you to thank Mr. Dixon. I don’t believe you’ve earned the right to use his given name, Gary. You disrespected him by wanting to leave him behind and he was gracious enough to spare your life. I’d think that would earn something a little better than petulant sarcasm, wouldn’t you Daryl?”
The inflection was clear. Apparently, he’d been raised up in Negan’s eyes. Now he was “Mr. Dixon” to others but still “Daryl” to Negan. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it but again, his Daddy didn’t raise an asshole or a fool.
“I’d think even an idjit would know what gratitude tasted like in his mouth. Cuz it sure as fuck don’t sound like sarcasm," he answered as he glanced in Negan's direction. "Sometimes, a little assistance is required to help someone to ‘member their manners.”
In a glorious moment that would stand out in his mind for the rest of his days, Negan turned to Daryl and offered him the handle of Lucille. It was a moment of trust … a moment that Daryl had to decide where his loyalties were. He could hold the hatred in his heart for the Saviors, who’d taken him from Alexandria and the family he’d clung to in the beginnings of the end of the world or he could accept that sometimes, families change.
Lucille felt warm in his grasp as he closed his fist on the hilt. He felt Negan’s eyes on him as he took a practice swing and adjusted his grip higher on the handle to accommodate for his balance. He nodded once and looked at Negan, as though waiting for him to give his blessing. Negan stepped aside and gestured with his hand towards the groaning man on the ground. “By all means, Daryl. This is yours.”
Daryl stood over him. He could smell the blood, thick and coppery in the air. He could see the devastation Lucille had wrought when Negan had swung her down against Gary’s thigh. It didn’t look all that different from the way his arm had looked when he was a kid and had tried sneaking onto some private property to go swimming with Juney-Lee Garvison. He crouched down low so he was eyeball to eyeball with Gary. The man was whimpering and almost trying to scoot away. Daryl reached out and dug his fingers into the ruined flesh from where Lucille had kissed the man, dragging him back.
“Y’know Gary. Mebbe better’n a year or so’s ago I was with this group. Now they wasn’t real nice guys and they sure as shit didn’t play well with others but they was good at teachin’ things. They was good at teachin' you all about respect. One thing I picked up from them Gary is the concept of ownership. See, when you see somethin’ and you want it, you gotta take it. Do what’s called claimin’ it. And see Gary, that’s what I’m gonna do here. I’m gonna claim your respect for me and you’re gonna give it or so help me … I’ll make Lucille here the LEAST of your worries. You hearin’ me?”
Gary must have processed Daryl’s decision because he was stumbling over his own words not a half a breath later, apologizing to “Mr. Dixon, Sir” and swearin' on everythin’ he’d ever owned that it would never happen again. He was cryin' as he apologized and just before Lucille came up to Daryl’s shoulder, he distinctly heard “Claimed, bitch”
Lucille came down.
Daryl became Mr. Dixon.
Gary never really walked right after that.