Trigger warning: suggestion of sexual assault as well as representation of physical violence!

As I mentioned before, this chapter gets a little dark.
But that's how it is in the apocalypse. It's not sunshine and rainbows.
You've been warned now.

Since I can't stand to just copy scenes from the show, I do a lot of my own writing.
Of course, there will be key moments from the series, but I will try to incorporate Kat and Alex in a believable way, hoping that I will manage to do so. I know we all love ourselves grumpy Daryl Dixon, but it was very difficult to perfectly portray his Season 1 character in interactions with Kat, so I left myself some room here.

I still hope you enjoy this chapter and I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Lots of love.

Fight or Die

"The past creates the monsters we feed today, which become the demons we fear tomorrow."

I had put more distance between me and the camp than I'd first thought. Although we had already walked several miles, the camp was still not in sight. Dusk was slowly creeping in, conducting its enchanting play of colors, as Daryl came to a halt a few feet in front of me.

We had not spoken since the unpleasant confrontation. Instead, I had clung to his heels like a helpless attachment silently following him. At a healthy distance, of course.

Hated to admit, but without Daryl, finding my way back would have been impossible.

I stretched my arms and pushed my back through. My body felt the continuous walking, clearly signaling that my energy was at its limit. Resting the hands on my thighs, I tried to use our unexpected stop for a short break. But something about Daryl's behavior bothered me, causing my hair to stand on end.

"What's wrong?", I wanted to know.

His head turned, index finger hovering alarmingly over his mouth. Be quiet, was the clear meaning behind it. A message I understood without further explanation. With a nod, I took the gun from its holster and closed in on him. After checking the revolver's cylinder for ammunition, I let my eyes roam alertly around the dense forest.

"Wanna tell me what's going on?" I whispered, barely audible but loud enough for Daryl to hear.

"Footprints," Daryl finally muttered.

"Fresh," he added, as if he had already anticipated my next question.

"Freaks?"

He shook his head.

"Fuck," I cursed to myself grudgingly. What a shitty day.

"How many?" Their number was crucial to our further course of action.

Daryl held up two fingers.

"You sure?"

Wordlessly, he gave me a warning look. As I'd said. Sensitive ego.

"Gotcha," I conceded defeat.

I knew Daryl's judgment was reliable. The way he was moving out here clearly showed that he knew what he was doing. His tracking skills were, without question, much better than mine, not to say existent. Conversely, it meant that we were in danger.

I didn't like the situation one bit. Having strangers around the camp was a much bigger threat than the increasing number of dead out here. Were they just passing through? Or did they have a camp nearby? Well, in the end it didn't matter. They were potential danger.

The possibility of running into another group of survivors, outnumbering us, seemed more and more likely. And the longer I racked my brain about it, the more intense the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach became. Groups scared the shit out of me. For a reason.

"Alex..." The realization hit me. I had to warn him and then leave this camp as quickly as possible. Cause the already ticking time bomb had just turned into a one-hundred-percent death zone.

I continued looking around, the forest was dense, ideal for hiding, which could be both an advantage and a disadvantage.

My companion's breathing was heavy, showing the tension he was under.

"Daryl?" I've never called him by his name before. There was an intimacy to using it that made me uneasy. To be completely honest, it felt strange.

His hand shot to my forearm, silencing me. "Shh."

Quietly I began to listen, but all I could hear was the wind and the occasional chirping of birds. I watched the concentrated hunter as he pricked up his ears until I noticed the sound of their voices myself. Muffled, but they were definitely there. Reflexively, I held my breath. It was official. We were in deep shit.

I considered speaking, but fear paralyzed me.

Daryl grabbed my arm with reasonable pressure, before looking at me over his shoulder. With the crossbow on one side and me on the other, he led us the way. My fingers clutched the revolver like a lifeline, relying entirely on the man whose help I would have vehemently refused a few hours ago.

"Brad, over here," we suddenly heard a man's voice.

Daryl acted quickly, pulling me behind a tree with him. Firmly, he pressed me against his muscular chest. Being so close to him sucked every ounce of rationality out of my body, and that certainly didn't make the whole situation any easier. I tried to concentrate on the stranger's words.

"You see this?"

The sound of rustling leaves interrupted the conversation for a few seconds before the other man answered.

"That's a dead rabbit. So?"

My breath caught as I felt Daryl's heart pounding against my back. In our rush to escape, he had left his prey behind, leading them directly to us.

Our ears perked up.

"Freshly killed," remarked Brad's skeptical companion. "And certainly not from these things...unless they learned how to shoot," he added. A long pause followed until the stranger had put one and one together. "Looks like we have company."

The voices died down and silence enveloped us. It was safe to say that they were trying to track us down. And that was definitely bad.

"What do we do now?" I mumbled more to myself than to Daryl. In my mind, I tried to weigh all the possible scenarios, which didn't help to calm my nerves at all. It made me even more anxious.

People have always been the most dangerous creatures on earth. Even our supposed demise would not change that. Instead, it revealed our true nature.

While I was busy imagining the worst-case scenario, I could feel Daryl's warm breath on the back of my neck as he leaned in to share his admittedly not very sophisticated plan.

"We find'em first." Be the hunter, not the hunted. Classic, simple, and highly dangerous. Sounded great, didn't it?

"That's your plan?" A forced encounter was very low on my list of things I would've liked to hear at that moment. I would have been more down for staying out of trouble. But unfortunately Alex was right, I certainly had a talent for getting myself into trouble.

"Fuck this." Shaking my head, I tightened the straps of my backpack before gripping the handle of the revolver with both hands. "Just for the record, I think the plan sucks." And still, I was going to do it. Because there was really no other option. They knew of our presence, so offense was our best defense.

Daryl seemed offended by my statement. I made a mental note to add 'doubting his plan' on the list of 'Things to avoid, to not piss Daryl off'.

"Listen, woman..."

I shut him up with a quick wave of my hand before straightening my shoulders and looking at him with question.

"How exactly are we going to do this?"

He pointed left, then right. That was all I needed to understand. We would split up.

" Great..." I grumbled sarcastically before catching a quick glimpse out of our hiding spot. Clear.

"Brooks," Daryl's soft whisper stopped me in my tracks, "things go south, ya get the hell outta here."

The vivid expression in his blue eyes made the seriousness of his words more than clear to me. Why would he care though? It didn't make any sense, as he didn't appear like the person who'd look out for others. But what did I know, I haven't taken care of anyone but myself lately.

"Don't need no babysitter."

His contemptuous snort filled the air between us.

"Don't need ya brother bein' mad at me for gettin' ya killed."

He turned to look at me one last time before stepping out from behind the tree with his crossbow raised.

"Don't you dare die", I whispered, waiting until he was out of earshot. It was important to bring him back in one piece, since he was part of Alex' group and therefore somehow important to my little brother.

Nothing else.

I waited a moment before doing the same, working my way from tree to tree. Slowly and deliberately, I put one foot in front of the other, my gun always raised, and my eyes focused on my surroundings.

The plan was an ambush. But the forest was confusing. Behind every tree, behind every bush, one of the two men could lurk. The fact that I had no clue where they were, made the plan much more difficult. Be the hunter, not the hunted, I encouraged myself to keep a cool head and stick to the plan.

Daryl was long out of sight. Therefore, I was completely on my own from that point on. A familiar feeling that, despite my weeks of experience with it, felt oppressive.

More minutes of silence passed, making me suspicious. That I could neither see nor hear anyone was extremely odd. Something was wrong.

The barrel of my gun wandered around as I covered each direction several times. Nothing. No one.

Relaxing my shoulders, I lowered the revolver for a few seconds after ducking behind a thick bush.

Where the hell were they?

The sudden sound of a gunshot, coupled with wild yelling, made me jump. My blood froze when I heard the voice of a man who was not Daryl.

"Got him, Coby," he shouted for support.

Adrenaline shot through my body and once again everything inside me screamed "Run".

This was my chance, to get out of here, just like Daryl had told me to. Selfish and a coward. That's what I was when I turned my back on the situation and started walking away. It was the internal conflict, that stopped me. My thoughts were with Daryl, who at that moment was being beaten, tortured, and most likely killed.

What am I doing here, I asked myself. That wasn't me. I was better than this. I was still human, right?

Whether I trusted this group or not didn't matter. Leaving him behind was simply no option, although I'd considered it for a split second. Putting my life on the line was probably stupid and against my own instincts, but they've already lost the fight against my heart, that certainly didn't want to leave Daryl to die.

I groaned. "Damn it, Daryl. You owe me."

In so far as we both made it out alive.

"What could possibly go wrong," I muttered to myself as I checked my equipment one last time, "besides than both of us ending up dead."

The outlook was fantastic.

Determined to save the redneck's ass, I mustered all my courage and followed the voice of the stranger holding Daryl at bay.

"Don't lie to me," I could hear him say the closer I got, "who else is with you?"

I kept following the noise until Daryl finally came into view. Analyzing the situation, I crouched behind a nearby tree. The hunter knelt on the ground. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth as he looked at the man whose gun was pressing firmly against his temple. Crossbow and backpack were out of reach.

The situation was tricky, especially considering the fact I haven't seen his partner yet. Me intervening without a solid plan could get us both killed. Or not. But there were too many uncertainties.

Daryl spat a load of blood onto the ground before finally answering his opponent. "'Am alone."

The grip on my revolver tightened as a heavy blow landed in Daryl's face. His head jerked to the side, making him groan in pain while another gush of blood spilled from his mouth.

"Don't bullshit me," the tall man admonished him again. His build seemed too lanky for such a powerful punch. But as my dad always used to say: Don't judge a book by its cover.

I had to figure something out fast or there wouldn't be much left of Daryl's face.

"Coby," the guy yelled again, his gun still pointed at Daryl's head, "get your ass over here!" Seeking help, he looked around for his comrade, who was still nowhere to be seen.

"You heard him, sweetheart," a deep voice said, followed by an uncomfortable pressure against the back of my head. "Put your hands where I can see them."

Yeah, I've heard that before. It slowly became a habit as it seemed.

I thought about fighting back, but this time it wasn't just my life that was on the line. One stupid move on my part and Daryl would be as good as dead.

"Nice and easy," the man warned as I began to raise my arms in surrender, "that's it, sweetie."

Without lessening the pressure of his pistol, he snatched the revolver from my hand and took possession of my backpack.

"Interlace your fingers behind your head." I obeyed his command. "Now stand up."

Forcefully, he yanked me to my feet and gave me a shove that sent me stumbling forward. "Well, let's join your friend."

Despite the gun at my back, I had the courage to look over my shoulder at the face of the man who could potentially end my life in a matter of seconds. Brown curly hair decorated his head, while the thick beard on his upper lip made him appear like a bad copy of Magnum. The cold barrel of his pistol pushed harder against my spine.

"Eyes to the front, love." The way he stared at me while he lasciviously licked his lips triggered an unpleasant gag reflex in me. "We don't want you to get hurt."

We approached his buddy and Daryl, whose left eye was worryingly swollen by now.

"Yo, Brad. Got something for you."

A final push forced me to my knees a few feet from Daryl.

"Oops," I managed as I looked up at his startled face.

""Ya should've go!" He found it much harder to speak. No wonder since he had served as a living punching bag.

"Yeah," I shrugged, "I know. Call me stubborn."

"Enough!" The Magnum guy nudged my leg in warning, ending our brief interaction.

He turned to his companion. "Did you get anything out of him?"

The tall man answered with a shake of his head.

"All right," he chimed in an eerie singsong tone before turning his attention back to me. The index finger and thumb of his large hand roughly grabbed my chin, forcing me to face him. The gold ring on his finger pressed forcefully against my jaw. I knew it would leave a mark.

"Really pretty."

Almost tenderly, he stroked my cheek, a touch that immediately made me feel disgust. A strong acrid smell of sweat crept into my nose as soon as he leaned in a little closer.

"No wonder he wanted to hide you." The next words were addressed to Daryl. "I wouldn't want to share her if I were you."

His lanky friend Brian found amusement in the whole situation. "Maybe that little bird is going to sing."

"She will," my attacker spat, his grip on my cheeks hardening, "once I'm done with her."

I felt the rising panic gradually take over my whole body. But I couldn't show weakness. With a deadly face, I glared at my opponent, his ugly grimace twisted into a smile. Yellow teeth flashed as he licked his lips one more time. Holding my head up, I could feel him moving the gun at an agonizingly slow pace from my chin to my neck-and then to the center of my ribcage. I pressed my lips together in anticipation.

"How many?" he asked in a serious tone, thinking his gun would make him appear tougher. Little did he know I've already been in worse positions.

"Go to hell, asshole," I snapped back, seeing my life flash before me one last time. There was a very fine line between courage and stupidity, a line I had just crossed by a long way.

His visage turned red as he raised his armed hand, throwing it into my face with full force. The impact was harder than expected. A metallic taste spread through my mouth as I desperately tried to maintain consciousness. Stars flickered before my eyes and the right side of my face throbbed terribly, but I still managed to stay sane. He had a hell of a punch, I'd give him that.

With determination, I spat out the accumulated blood, fiercely staring at him. "That's all you got?"

Was it stupid to keep provoking him? Definitely.

But his irrational rage may have been our only chance.

"Don't touch her!" Daryl yelled, immediately earning a punch from Brad.

"Shut the fuck up!"

I appreciated his caring and his very risky attempt to help me, so I gave him an acknowledging look. Hatred stained Daryl's face as the Magnum wannabe charged at me.

"I'm going to teach you some manners."

With a power far greater than mine, one I had undoubtedly underestimated, he launched himself at me. My back hit the ground and all oxygen left my lungs. Desperately, I gasped for air, but the hands that had found their place around my neck prevented me from getting any at all. His huge hands choked me until the longed-for release arrived after what felt like an eternity. I tried to free myself, but he was more than twice my weight, making it impossible to push him away. My eyes wandered toward my boot, I had to find a way to get to the knife. Otherwise, the people in the camp could've dug two more graves.

My kicking pushed him to his limits, but I had no intention of quitting.

"Stop movin', bitch."

An unexpected slap in my face made me black out. My dazed state lasted only a few seconds. Nevertheless, it was precious time the guy used to gain the upper hand. As I fought the throbbing pain in my skull, his hand brushed the red hair out of my face, the triumphant grin on his lips hard to miss.

"I like it when they fight back," he pushed the fabric of my top up slightly, "but I like it even better when they scream."

His fingers crawled over my skin like a swarm of disgusting insects. I couldn't look, I couldn't move, I was frozen by the indecent touches that made me feel so helpless. This couldn't be happening, it flashed through my mind, while I fell into a state of shock. A protective mechanism of my subconscious to make the upcoming event more bearable.

"'Ya'll gonna die!" I heard Daryl threaten them. His tone was furious and the look in his eyes was terrifying.

"Shut him up, Brad," my attacker ordered his buddy, who obeyed like a well-behaved puppy hitting Daryl in the face. Again.

"Consider yourself lucky, loverboy. At least you get to watch me teach your pretty girlfriend a lesson."

Threateningly, he waved my revolver.

"Be a good girl and do as I say," emphasizing the seriousness of his threat, he held the barrel against the center of my body and cocked the hammer, "otherwise it's going to get pretty messy."

And again, his face appeared before my inner eye, as well as the memories that would forever be closely connected to his name. He was my downfall, long before I had admitted it to myself. Know your place, his voice echoed in my head. I wanted it to stop. I wanted those memories to fall silent forever, so that my inner self could finally start healing.

"Brooks!"

Daryl's shouts reached me barely.

I turned my head to the side looking directly into his eyes. The condition of his face was terrible. However, I was convinced that I wasn't a pretty sight myself at that moment.

"Goddamn it! Snap outta it!"

Brad's gun found its way to Daryl's temple.

"Shut the fuck up or I'll put a bullet in your fucking brain."

"Don't," I stammered, shakily reaching out to him. The aftereffects of the hit were more severe than I had suspected. "Let him go."

My ridiculous request made Fake Magnum laugh, his face inches from mine. His breath smelled of beer and marijuana.

My hands pressed desperately against his chest, trying to push him off me, but it amused him even more. I could feel his fingers working on the waistband of my pants as he pressed me down with his full body weight.

"Stop", I begged and began to squirm under him, refusing to accept my horrible fate. I had already been through hell and back, I wasn't going to let that happen again. My gut-wrenching scream filled the forest, further inciting the psychopath. Desperately I looked around, a stick, a stone, anything could be lifesaving at that moment. But I could discover nothing but dried leaves and dirt.

"Stop it," the cold barrel against my stomach made me hesitate, "or you'll be dead before you know it."

"Wait," I pathetically tried to stall for time. My index finger finally pointed at Daryl, "I don't want him watching.

The guy let go of my pants, straightened up slightly, and made a waving hand gesture.

"All right, sweetheart. Suit yourself."

His lapdog Brad grabbed Daryl's collar, the pistol still dangerously close to his head. "Turn around." But even he was getting tired of his friend's games. "Hurry the fuck up, man."

I waited for the Magnum copy to face me. There was only one chance, and if I screwed it up, it would be the end of us.

The next moments happened in slow motion. The guy bending over me again, the heel of my hand hitting his nose with the last of my mobilized strength, and his subsequent scream, followed by a shot from my revolver that missed me by a few inches.

"Fucking hell," he groaned, "the bitch broke my nose." Tears pooled in his eyes as he staggered backward.

"Coby!" Allowing himself to be distracted was Brad's own fault, which he immediately felt in the form of Daryl's right hook.

Once free, I reached into the shaft of my boot and pulled out the knife. With newfound strength, I lunged at my opponent, giving him no chance to counterattack. Gripping the weapon tightly, I threw myself at the man and stabbed him furiously. I projected all the fear, all the rage and desperation into those strokes, slamming the blade into his chest, neck and stomach again and again until there was nothing but a pool of blood. The high of my ecstasy finally subsided, leaving behind a familiar feeling of emptiness. I had lost my composure. Again.

Trembling, I stared down at my blood-stained hands, the evidence of my brutal act.

"Brooks?", Daryl kept repeating my name. Approaching me with extreme caution, he continued to soothe me, "it's over, ya hear me?"

The knife finally slipped from my hand as the tension in my body began to ease, my arms hanging almost lifelessly to either side.

"He's dead," I stated the obvious out loud, my gaze fixed on the badly mangled corpse.

With the toe of his boot, Daryl pushed the blade a safe distance away before stepping closer to me.

"Let's get the hell outta here."

"We...should...," I croaked, completely ignoring his words. I had to pull myself together now. "We should check them for supplies."

The look in Daryl's eyes wasn't one I wanted to see at that moment. Everything about it screamed pity as he checked me from top to bottom for serious injuries. Yet the worst were not the visible ones.

"I'll take him," I pointed at the perverted asshole whose life I had brutally ended, "and you take the other."

"Brooks?"

"Huh?" I tried to sound as unconcerned as possible while checking the bastard's jacket.

"Ya OK?"

That was ironic, wasn't it? It had to be.

Was I "OK"? Daryl meant well, in his kind of way. I was aware of that. Surprisingly.

But I had been beaten, choked, nearly raped, and killed. Normally, such experiences would take years to work through. In many expensive therapy sessions. Needless to say, this was not an option available to me in this world. The honest answer was no. But the truth didn't matter because I just had to be. As always.

"Yeah," my response came unnaturally fast, "except for the fact that this shithead ruined my beautiful face," I smiled artificially, "other than that, I'm fine."

Daryl wasn't stupid, and he'd seen through my lies more than once. In this case he didn't let it show. And I was extremely grateful for that. I could bear many things right now but being handled with kid gloves was not one of them.

With a smooth hand gesture, he reached into the back pocket of his jeans and tossed me a rag. "Wash ya face, looks like shit."

"You're such a charmer," I joked away my trauma. By now I was an expert at suppressing my problems until my stubborn self could no longer ignore them.

I searched the pockets thoroughly, fishing out all sorts of unnecessary things, but also a few bullets, as well as a pocketknife and painkillers. The gold ring on the dead man's bloody finger caught my attention. Something strangely familiar flashed from underneath it, causing an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. As I lifted the lifeless hand and removed the piece of jewelry, I held my breath. Once again, my gut feeling had been right.

In shock, I fixated the freshly tattooed "B" on the inside of his ring finger. It was barely visible, so I hadn't noticed it right away. But seeing it now caused pure fear in me, because it made me realize how impossible it was to escape the demons of the past.