I must be crazy for starting another story when working on another multi-chapter story. Couldn't help myself though since my mind wouldn't stop switching and being bi-polar with ideas with the awesome Norman Reedus' characters. I just felt like The Walking Dead group would have more of an edge with someone like Mac on their team. Wanted to compare Daryl and Mac on their similarities and differences just for shits and giggles. I'm really surprised no one has written a crossover with these two characters since they have similar backgrounds. Oh well, love breaking this fandoms fanfic cherry.
As usual I don't own anything with The Walking Dead or Red Canyon. Just my OCs.
Please comment and tell me what ya'll think. Not too proud to beg for good ol' fashioned criticism.
Human beings are capable of many atrocities. They steal, lie, rape, murder, and destroy…just to name a few. Disgusting creatures; a group I am shamefully a part of, we are truly evil. That is the reason why I am surrounded by a herd of the infected. They are not human, therefore they are not evil. They cannot help but hunt the living and devour those unfortunate enough to be caught. They do not cause harm out of pleasure but of need for food; they are just following their new role as the top of the food chain. Therefore, they are the lesser evil when compared to the living.
Finishing my internal monologue, I am brought back to my current predicament. Stuck on top of an 18 wheeler with more than a dozen of the undead growling at me from below and nothing to protect myself other than my trusty bat and a backpack filled with meager supplies.
Now, I know what you're thinking, 'how'd this bitch end up on top of the big rig?' Well, this is what happens when you join a group with a couple of backstabbing friends and a cheating boyfriend of two years. Fuckers betrayed me, deciding to follow their new leader instead of listening to common sense. Oh well, they'll realize their mistake sooner or later if karma has anything to do with it. I ain't no saint, I have done enough crap to have my spot in hell warmed and ready for me, but even I wouldn't sacrifice one of mine to save my ass. It's my fault really, I knew they did not have what it took to survive this new desolate world- didn't have the back bone to toughen up and leave their belief that this was temporary. They'd rather live in oblivion instead of facing reality. I can only do so much for them. My loyalty is my worst and best quality, one that no doubt will be my down fall. I take care of what's mine even well before hell descended on Earth. I cannot change certain aspects of my personality no matter how negative they are. Some might call me possessive, maybe I am, I can't help if I don't like to share and I guard what's mine viciously. I can also be vindictive. So the instant they turned their backs on me, I no longer felt the need to protect them.
Fuck them.
The desperate growls of the deceased was not helping the woman's annoyance from her perch.
'I could just jump. Hit as much of these bastards as I can, and then take off running'. Knowing very well it was an idiotic plan, one that would lead to instant death, but she didn't have many options. Once again she is reminded of their betrayal.
'Fuckers.'
Contemplating her suicidal plan once again, she freezes as she hears the rumbling in the distance. Her heart seems to pound in sync with the quickly approaching motorcycle. She might not know shit squat about bikes, but she knew enough from sitting behind one to know what one sounds like. A monster of machinery is followed closely by a light blue, pick-up truck that's seen better days. Squinting, she can make out two occupants in the truck, along with the sole biker.
The man on the bike shoots the infected left and right in crazed hysteria, not detoured by the amount of his possible killers. The driver, in the now parked yet running truck, sits outside his window with a crossbow aimed at the deadly predators- ready to fire if it became too much for the biker in the leather vest to handle. The other figure in the passenger seat does not take any action, instead leans back and enjoys the show. Once the dead have been taken care of, the rider makes his way to the woman with a deep stride in a way to draw in the female's attention, silently claiming that he was all man.
"Whoo – wee, look whu' we got 'ere fellas. Must be my lucky day ta' run inta' a nice piece of ass such as ya', sugar tits." He smirks down at her with what he deemed a charming smile. His voice raspy as if he smoked a few packs a day most of his life. His aged face noticeably rough and weathered even from her distance, held soft wrinkles along his aquatic eyes and around his mouth. His flaws did not hide that he was a handsome man, not a pretty boy that belonged in a magazine, but unconventionally handsome; how real men were supposed to look. Taking in the rest of the man's appearance, she concluded that he fit the stereotypical bill of backwoods redneck down to a tee; she had no doubt his buddies also fit the profile.
Jumping off the vehicle, she draws closer to the man. Her mind warns her to be wary of such a man, but her gut feeling tells her to give him the benefit of the doubt.
'Beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep's clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves.' Her uncle's words of wisdom rang in her head. One of the only men in her life she could trust to never let her down.
"Hi. Thanks for that back there," she points in the direction of the littered bodies behind her, "thought I was a goner. Names Leah," sticking her hand out, she introduces herself to her rescuer. She could already tell he was a flirt at the way he eyed her and her stretched hand. He takes her hand, flips it, and kisses the back of it with chapped lips; never breaking eye contact. He wasn't bad looking, even for a man his age, then again…Leah has always been attracted to older men.
"Merle. So whu' is a young liddol thing like ya' doin' out 'ere on yer own?"
Before she could answer, the creaking of a rusty door is heard to her left; the passenger side is open and steps out a gruff looking man. Dressed in navy coveralls with the sleeves tied around his narrow waist, revealing a once white wifebeater- now stained with an assortment of engine oil, sweat, and most noticeably, blood. "Hey babe, whut chu doin' out here alone? Not safe for a perty girl to be on her own," licking his lips as his eyes wandered over her curves. His greyish- blue eyes meet her hazel ones; sharp with a hidden deviousness underneath the seemingly angelic hue caused a shiver down her spine. The small hairs behind her neck stood on end. This man was dangerous.
Beginning to feel ganged up, she tried to hide her fear, not knowing how they'd react at her weakness. Instinct told her to run; fighting would be moot. Just her luck, the driver decides to step out. A man, shockingly similar to Mr. Coveralls, made his way between Merle and the other man, but kept a good amount of distance from her.
"Let's go. Don' need no bitch slowin' us down," his southern drawl flowed out his thin lips. The other two men had their objections.
Mr. Dangerous came closer to her, his strut confident and with purpose.
"Why don' cha' come ride wit' us? Mac will take very good care of ya'," emphasizing the 'very'. She noted that his drawl was different than his two counterpart's distinct Georgian accent, maybe Midwestern? Studying 'Mac' further, she could see how he could be so confident despite his attire. Even covered in filth, he was a handsome man, almost pretty. He beat her by a few years, but not enough for her disregard him. Soft wrinkles around his steely eyes, his soft pink lips formed into a smirk, delighted at her studious gaze over his form. She ignored it as she quickly took in the rest of him. His wide shoulders, thick arms, and height, in her opinion, added to his appeal.
Not wanting to enlarge his ego any further, she turns her attention to the nameless man. Physically, he was almost identical to Mac; they had to be twins no doubt, but their personalities were obviously different. While Mac exuded confidence and was vocally straight forward, this man was quiet and although equally attractive, he was self-conscious. He would be considered meek in a way, but that would be untrue as his eyes held a power to them. He was a man that did not take anyone's bullshit and wouldn't hesitate to take action when necessary. Just like Mac, he was also a force to be reckoned with, a silent predator.
He switches his weight from one foot to another, biting the skin on the side of his right thumb nervously. Unlike Mac and Merle, who are dressed in dark colors and rougher fabrics, this man wore more neutral colors and breathable clothes; beige cargo pants and a camouflage shirt with the sleeves cut off. His strong arms, most likely due to hard work than endless hours at a gym, flexed as he transferred his weight to his other side again. Her steady scrutiny on the uncomfortable man was interrupted by a snide voice to her left.
"Are ya' done eye fuckin' my cousin so we can git to the real thing," Mac did not like her attention on anyone else but him.
Merle's deep laugh could be heard to her right, clearly amused about the younger man's possessive nature. "Aw, Mac. Don' git jealous of Darleena. Not every day tha' a perty girl gives 'im attention." Merle points to the mortified man, "Tha's my baby brudder Daryl. He might come off as a pussy, but he 100 percent Dixon, so his dick will treat ya' real good." He winks at her as Daryl rolls his eyes and Mac scoffs irritably. "Just be gentle wit' 'im girlie, it's been a while for 'im."
'Who the fuck are these people?'
Despite their rough, crude, and outright perverted dispositions, Leah found herself amused by their actions and manners of speech. They did not hide their flaws and intentions; straight to the point, HONEST men.
Mac and Merle looked at her expectantly while Daryl looked at everything but her.
"What?"
Merle, the seemingly more outspoken of the three, asked if she wanted to tag along. Common sense screamed for her to run, to not go anywhere with these men, her instincts agreed, but…a small, yet the loudest part of her told her to go with the huge rednecks. Grabbing her pack and slinging her shot gun over her shoulder, she nods her head.
"Sure, what do I gotta' lose?"
Merle guffawed as Daryl shook his head already seeing her mistake, but it was Mac's 'cat caught the canary' smirk that had her doubting her decision momentarily.
'Oh, shit.'
They've been traveling together for almost three weeks. Three weeks with three men; gruff, sweaty men. Gruff, sweaty, muscly men.
'What the hell is in the Dixon genes?'
Leah's always been into older men, yeah, but the ones she dated were intellectual, clean cut men, that spoke of art and some philosophical bullshit. These Dixons were everything but clean cut, sure they were smart in their own ways, but they probably didn't give a rat's ass about a Monet painting or problems in foreign countries. No, they were good ol' boys, only worrying about matters concerning them and theirs. She had would never have given either a second thought if things were like they used to, eye candy maybe but not dating material.
'But what a sight.'
Merle was like the distant uncle everyone has, but never wanted to introduce your friends to, so creepy it's funny. He would call her derogatory terms and offer to 'release some excess stress', she would laugh it off. Merle was a pervert, but it was all in good fun for them. He had once told her in all seriousness that she was too young for him; finishing off with telling her that her 'Mexican pussy' would just give him heartburn anyways. That one had her laughing for hours. Daryl hardly said a word, but when he did it tended to matter so she made sure to listen. He was more of an observer than a talker; taking everything around him into consideration. He noticed the little things that many would over look just to use it for his benefit later. Lastly, there was Mac. Although he and Daryl could pass off as twins, he and Merle had more in common. Both were big flirts and were unashamed to speak their minds, no matter how racist, sexist, or psychotic they may be. Merle was an asshole, no one could deny that, but Mac…Mac was a monster. He had admitted to murder before all this shit as if it was a common hobby; he didn't need to say out loud that he had no qualms in doing it again, his eyes said it all. He never gave his reasons though. He might be a murderer, but one thing he shared with Daryl, was that he didn't do anything just for the hell of it. No, there was meaning behind all their actions, like everything they did in life must be planned and carefully executed. No pun intended. He and Daryl wore their feelings on their sleeves while Merle hid his behind a façade of tranquility. So whoever met their fate by his hand had probably deserved it and even if they didn't she strangely had no qualm with it. As long as she was safe then it didn't matter one bit in her opinion.
These men were danger and raw energy incarnate; a challenge against any opponent and deadly with a weapon. They all had a favored weapon. All being able to shoot a gun or rifle, Merle had taught them when they were young. Being an ex-marine made him an expert in automatic weapons, his specialty was in sharp shooting; a superior sniper. Merle would boast of Daryl's early kills as a child, the natural born hunter; his weapon of choice; a Horton 125 crossbow. While the brother's weapons of preference were more long distance, Mac was a badass with close range ones; his axes. He'd swing them like they were extensions of his limbs, cutting into the dead with ease. Leah tried to cut some firewood with one and after a few swings she gave up entirely; it really took a lot out of her. She wasn't petite, even at her short stature of 5'5; she weighed a good 130 plus pounds and was known to be able to hold her own in a bar brawl, so for her to find difficulty with one ax had her admiring the man's brute strength.
Her time with the Dixons was never boring and despite the constant come-ons, the random ass slaps, or prolonged, slight groping hugs (courtesy of Mac), she didn't feel uncomfortable in the slightest. If anything, she never felt safer. They've been camping deep in the woods, a random corpse dragging itself nearby from time to time, but other than that and the occasional fight between the men, it was fairly peaceful.
Not wanting to be a burden to her boys, she brought it upon herself to handle the cooking and cleaning. Sure it brought back the feminist movement a few decades back, but she enjoyed taking care of her new family as they did her. They would teach her basic survival skills, not liking the idea of her being defenseless in this new world. It would also help them in the long run to have another person back them up. If they weren't too tired, they'd each take turns teaching her to defend herself better with a weapon or hand to hand combat. 'Can never be too careful, liddol lady,' Merle would say. He was the first to bring up the subject of getting her ready to be prepared for the shitty future laid ahead of them. The Dixons were no fools; there was more danger out there than the dead.
"Now girlie, ya' know we would fight tooth an' nail ta' protect ya', but tha' don' mean we could be there fer ya' all the time. We need ta' toughen yer scrawny ass up." Merle laughs as he pats her back roughly, jerking her forward.
Merle would show her how to handle a gun for better results, and then he and Mac would help her with one on one fighting. She could throw a hard punch, but not all fights will end with a simple knockout. They had to prepare her for the worst case scenarios, if it were multiple opponents or how to take punches from a stronger opponent. She would have to use her small stature and speed to her advantage. When Daryl wasn't in one of his moods, he'd take her into the woods early in the morning and show her the fundamentals of hunting and tracking. She made sure to absorb everything they had to teach like a freakin' sponge. If ever the day came that they get separated, she had her three Dixons to thank for her survival.
"Ya' keep sharpening tha' knife, there won't be nuthin' left," she stares down at the bowie knife in her hand and realizes she was lost I thought, something you should never do when handling sharp objects. She sheepishly apologizes, "Sorry, Dare. Just thinkin' is all."
He grunts, used to her nickname for him, and continues to skin their dinner. She was an odd one, the men had noticed from their time with her. Not like other women they've know, she was in complete ease with them. She belonged with them; never judged them, but accepted what they did or said so naturally as if she's known them her whole life. It irritated the hunter, he didn't know how his brother and cousin felt about her nonchalance over their strong characters. They were the type of men branded 'bad men', no good, and ostracized from society due to their blood and paternity. Then comes this female, all sass and curves, putting up with Merle and Mac's flirtations and sexual propositions, hell she would throw some back at them. She didn't force him into a conversation or whined like most women and some men do, instead she surprised them by helping as much as she could and asking for lessons in gutting and skinning. She was a tough little thing. If he was honest with himself, he would say it was a turn on. He'd see his cousin show her how to throw a punch and envy how Mac's hands gripped her round hips to align her body, knowing he just wanted to rub himself against her succulent backside. She was very attractive; with her large breasts, round ass, and pretty face. Her kissable pouty lips, round cheeks, and big hazel eyes. God, those eyes. Hazel, almost golden, seemed to radiate sex through her thick eyelashes. Gorgeous woman like her wouldn't want anything with someone like no good Daryl Dixon; wouldn't want to call a man like him hers. Mac and Merle got all the women; they knew how to talk to the fairer sex, he just knew how to stand on the sidelines and accepting anyone desperate enough to fuck him. He was no virgin, by no means, but his few sexual conquests were with drunk and horny women behind a bar or the tailgate of his old Ford pick-up, Old Blue.
"Hey baby cousin, see ya' hoggin' my woman. Cain't have ya' stealin' her from me now can I?" Mac joked, but Daryl heard the underlining threat. Daryl knew of Mac's possessiveness of Leah, they all had, in one form or another. He ignored his cousin as he sat on Leah's other side.
"Is Daryl bullying ya' inta' bein' his slave, Lee?" Mac takes her right hand into his, rubbing circles on the back of hers. "I wouldn't make ya' work like this. I'd have ya' doin' something more useful…wouldn't even have to leave my tent". Leah giggles at his offer.
"Only Mac Dixon could make being a sex slave a possible occupation in this fucked up world." Setting the weapon down by her feet, she turns he hand around so Mac's much larger one laid in her palm. Rubbing it softly like he had, she scoots closer to him and whispers in his ear seductively. Her warm breath by his ear sent shivers down his body, his member made a small twitch.
"I'd love to baby," seeing his eyes bulge and jaw drop a bit, she couldn't help herself, "but...ya' gotta' ask Daryl if he's willing to share me." She pats Mac's thigh as she stood, winks at Daryl, and makes sure to put an extra swing in her hips as she walks away.
The two men are transfixed at her form as she sashays away.
'One helluva woman.' They both think as their sharp blues devour her form.
Two figures are weaving in between trees, one much larger than the other. The summer sun scorching, sweat pouring down their bodies, but neither is able to stop; the adrenaline coursing through them will not allow it. Daryl had spotted deer tracks near camp and decided it was the perfect opportunity to give Leah another hunting lesson. He didn't think it would matter if they didn't get the deer, it was just a practice- he could always pick up on the trail if need be.
"Ya' see these tracks girl?", he sees her nod, "belongs to a deer. Din't pass by here long as ya' can see by the prints steepness." Leah takes it all in, following Daryl as he follows a trail she wouldn't have noticed if it weren't for his teachings. Not much is said, silence was key in hunting, especially with corpses dragging about. She knew Daryl wasn't much of a talker, a true believer in actions speak louder than words; she just made sure to give more attention in his silent words.
They'd been in search of this deer for hours, a combination of running, walking, and would only pause for a water break or checking the changes in the trail. It was safe to say that they were tired. No complaints from her though, if going through all this led to her family eating hearty tonight then she would gladly run a few miles and sweat like a pig. It didn't hurt that her body has been firming up. Interrupting her vanity session, Daryl slows his pace; raising a finger to his mouth to signal her to keep as quiet as possible. A few yards away was a large buck grazing. She didn't know much about the animal or what to do next; she waited for Daryl's instruction. He steadily raises his trusty crossbow and in an instant the animal is stumbling to the ground with an arrow to the heart. The pair made their way to the buck, it hadn't died. Daryl unsheathes his bowie knife from its holster and slits the suffering animal's throat, thanking him for his sacrifice.
Leah loved that Daryl would thank his kills; he respected them, from the smallest squirrel to the largest deer. He was truly a child of nature.
"Alright Chief, now how we gonna' get this goliath back to camp?" Leah wasn't sure they could lug it back to camp before nightfall.
"First we gonna' gut and skin it. Can't 'ave them dead things make their way to camp if we dump all the guts near it. We gonna' bury it 'ere and take the skin an' meat back wit' us. Lighter load."
Seeing his point, she starts to dig a hole to bury its remains. Took them about an hour to have everything covered and ready to haul out. Daryl brought a tarp to drag the meat on and covered it with the pelt to keep away insects and dirt. The two hunters arrived to camp around midday, covered in blood and other extremities didn't keep the proud smirks off their faces.
"Well look at whu' my baby brudder an' our warrior princess dragged in", pleased at their spoils but couldn't help but tease Daryl, "me and Mac were worried somethin' 'appened ta ya'll. Were 'bout ta' look fer ya' two."
The hunters rolled their eyes simultaneously, used to the older man's teasing. Mac eyed Leah up and down. Seeing her standing proud soaked in blood called out something primal in him. She really was like a warrior, one he could call his own, not like he hadn't thought of her as such already.
"My, my, my, aren't you a sight for sore eyes". Coming up behind her, he grabs her hips and lowers his face to her neck, "you're making me love you." He slowly grinds his pelvis into her cheeks. He would lick the blood splattered on her neck if it were hers; he would give anything to have her under him as he bit into her smooth flesh, drawing blood and leaving his mark on his woman.
She can feel his excitement, hoping her own wasn't obvious. Looking up to see Merle grin at her just to Daryl had his head down trying not to make eye contact with her, this did not sit well with her. Mac's been more handsy as of late especially around Daryl, not like she's complaining; in fact she liked his attention. She just didn't like how Daryl reacted after; he would ignore her or avoided her as much as possible. It upset her when he would distance himself from her. Leah wasn't an idiot; she knew he and Mac wanted her. Her Dixons were possessive and primal, almost animalistic, so it didn't come to a surprise when those tendencies came out. Merle was also possessive, but he saw her more as a daughter or little sister than a lover, while Mac and Daryl saw her as a woman to call their own. Over protective, hardheaded, and temperamental; her boys were handfuls on their own, but they were her family. Still, she needed to set her boys straight.
"Thought ya' already did Mac, or was that just another ploy to get in my pants", she bends down to pick up the tarp they dropped, purposely rubbing her backside into his crotch, he groans at the friction. It was a dirty move, but she loved teasing Mac and testing to see how far she could go before he lost control. He was becoming braver with his flirtations, but she wasn't going to be the one to make the first move. If he wanted her, she was going to make him work for it.
With the help of Daryl, they dragged the deer closer to their makeshift table to prepare it for dinner. After properly seasoning the meat, Merle took over to make deer stew, gloating how no one could do it like him. Deciding to wash up, she grabs her soaps and heads to the pond nearby. Stripping out of her filthy clothes, she lowers herself into the water, not swimming far from her weapons. It wasn't the smartest idea to go anywhere unarmed. Hiding most of her body behind shrubbery along the waterline, she washes her hair with what was left of her strawberry scented shampoo. Leah was in bliss, there was so much dirt and grime she could handle; she was still a woman after all. As she's scrubbing her body, she hears a crunch a couple meters away. Ducking her head lower into the water, hiding from potential danger; she reaches for her crowbar.
"The fuck are ya' doin' woman!" came the booming voice of no other then Daryl Dixon. She sighed with relief then she realized their predicament. Sinking even further into the water for modesty's sake, she gives him a questioning stare. "I can be askin' ya' the same thing Dixon. I came to wash all the deer guts off and was enjoying myself 'til ya' started hollerin' like a damn banshee." She got him there. Leah finally noticed the pile of clothes and soap under his arm.
"See your finally gonna' wash all that shit off of ya'," she receives an indignant grunt as he makes his way back to camp. Leah was not going to let him go that easily, "Since you're here already Dare, why don't ya' come in. The pond is big enough for the both of us." Daryl stopped moving, hell she was sure he stopped breathing. Just when she thought he was going to ignore her suggestion and chicken out, he turns and slowly begins to undress.
'Holy, Mother…' her thought process ceased to exist as she was the sole witness to his striptease. Leah took in every angle and line of his body, starting from his handsome face to his wide shoulders, lean stomach with s sexy happy trail leading to…
"Fuck." The word came out softly, almost a sigh. She noticed the many scars that littered his chest and stomach; she was willing to bet her last chocolate bar that his back would look the same. It didn't matter to her. He was gorgeous in her eyes. She swore she saw a small smirk as he caught her gawking. She lowered her eyes, embarrassed for her less than subtle eye fucking. Hoping he didn't hear her blunder, she moves a bit from the shoreline so he could get in without feeling too uncomfortable with her close proximity.
'Baby steps Leah, he's not like Mac. You're gonna' have to be the aggressor here.'
She feels more than hears the inevitable splash as he enters the water. Knowing he was a mere 4 feet away from her, deliciously naked, had her reeling. How could these Dixon men have such an effect on her? Keeping her eyes from lingering on Mac and Daryl's forms has been exhausting and she has had enough wet dreams to write a book. She knew that what she felt for the two men was considered taboo especially from where she was raised. That world is gone though so succumbing to her fantasies wouldn't be such a hassle.
"See Daryl. Told ya it was big enough." She knew her words could be taken as an innuendo, but she needed to behave and have him comfortable with being in close proximity in the state they were in. They finished promptly and with no contact whatsoever. Receiving questioning stares when they made it to their camp. They weren't stupid. They knew Leah and Daryl bathed together, it was guessing if anything else transpired that had them curious. Mac of course did not like the thought of losing Leah to any man even if it was to kin. Merle just laughed, finding humor in the younger men's silent battle over a female's affections. Leah on the other hand did not mind her boy's actions. She had a lot at stake so she had to proceed with her plans delicately as possible or risk scaring them off and that was not an option.