Chapter Text
the one you control. chapter one.
“When I run through the deep dark forest long after this begun
Where the sun would set, trees were dead and the rivers were none.” - Wolf by First Aid Kit
The sun was achingly bright. His eyes hurt -- stung, burnt. Rick wasn’t sure what to think, when he saw the wolf howling and laughing on top of that roof like the world wasn’t falling apart around them. Unlike most, the Grimes family had always been raised to appreciate and treasure the existence of werewolves, taught that they were a blessing from God, not to be taken for granted. The Bible had many passages on the beauty and preciousness of the lycanthrope, stories read aloud at bed times.
Merle Dixon was not a creature of God, that much Rick was sure. Spitting slurs and carelessly throwing his loud alpha voice, Merle was dangerous. He was an unstable, reckless, shivering, shaking, quaking ball of energy.
Rick had only gotten the privilege to meet a grand total of five wolves in his life, and luckily only once was in a situation where he was at odds with one. So to say Rick was not eager to have to deal with the volatile Dixon was an understatement, this wasn't the plate he wanted to step up to in this terrible new world.
The thought of Lori and Carl filtered in through his doubts and fears, and his grip tightened.
He made sure he didn’t give the wolf time to react, quickly cracking him over the head with the butt of his rifle and slugging him in the jaw, knowing that alone wouldn’t take the alpha out for long. Reflexes sharp, he grabbed his cuffs from his belt, thanking an absent lord for the silver lining of all regulation handcuffs.
He clasped one around Merle’s thick wrist, the other to a piece of sturdy piping. The Dixon struggled, a low growling coming from deep in his throat.
"Things are different now," Rick said, kneeling to be face to face with Merle, "There's us, and the dead. We survive this by pulling together, not apart."
Merle grinned a bloody, sharp toothed grin, blue eyes narrow as he tested the bounds of the silver cuffs.
Despite the fact Merle was not a wolf Rick would have been told fantastical stories of while growing up, his gut still clenched as they left him to die on that sun beaten rooftop. A selfish part of him hated wasting an immensely valuable resource, another more humane part was mourning the loss of another life in a world slowly rotting.
"Nobody's gonna be sad that he didn't come back...except maybe Daryl.”
Daryl Dixon sauntered out of the woods, long legs easily gliding through the brush as he approached the startled group.
His heart thudded quiet but heavy in his chest. This was a wolf Rick’s mother would have told stories of, sharp wary eyes flashing gold in the light, lithe body moving fluidly with each light step, lips pulled back in a warning growl baring unnaturally sharp teeth, scars pulling at the left side of his face telling signs of vicious fighting.
Rick could definitely see Merle Dixon in him though, in the tightness around his mouth and lilt of his voice.
“Who’s this?” The wolf said low and raspy, not meeting Rick’s eyes right away, but when he did his stare was defiant and hard. Definitely not an alpha, but he certainly wasn’t overtly submissive.
Shane knew more about werewolf dynamics and culture than Rick did, though they’d both been to enough workshops and lectures in their training to know enough to handle themselves. Still, practice was more valuable than theory, and neither had a whole lot of hands on experience.
Daryl was too busy mourning the loss of his deer to realize no one had answered his question, it seemed like he was debating just eating it himself regardless of the gaping whole the walker had chewed through it. Rick wondered idly if wolves were immune to the walker infection, they weren’t human after all and he hadn’t seen any cases of animals walking around reanimated, though the Dixon didn’t appear eager to test the theory.
Hoisting his impressive crossbow higher up on his shoulder, Daryl slowly followed the group back, lagging behind a few steps.
Rick could feel him staring into the back of his head, his neck growing hot. They emerged from the woods, Daryl splintered off and started heading around the side of the camp.
“Gotta few squirrels, could be good fer stew.” His eyes shifted around the group, hand clenching. “Where’s Merle.” Of course he’d immediately look for his brother, of course he’d noticed Merle’s scent was absent, of course.
Daryl grew more agitated with the silence, and began pacing back and forth, head slightly bowed. A wild animal.
Rick thought back to the groups conversation last night as he planned his next move.
“If Daryl flips out, we’re fucked, ok?” Shane had stated bluntly, “If this thing goes bad, we need a backup plan.” His hand held up a bullet, glittering in the light of the fire, an etched symbol on it's bottom signifying it's Authentic Silver make.
“Shane…” Rick had muttered.
“I’m just saying, if things goes south, he might end up being a rabid dog in need of being put down, ya feel? If that happens, this is what we do. Stick this in his head. Let the silver do its work.” Shane made a show of putting the bullet in his gun, mouth a hard line.
“We can work it out. I know we can.” Rick was sure of it.
Rick wasn’t so sure now, watching the tremors of rage shiver down Daryl’s spine. He prayed he wouldn’t shift right then and there.
“Your brother didn’t make it back. He was a danger. He put the group at risk.” Shane told him, looking about ready to shoot him in the head at any second. His hand hovered near his gun, fingers twitching with anticipation. Trigger happy only for the blood of men with a canine persuasion and an Appalachian accent.
“He dead?” The wolf asked simply, words and voice desperate, shoulders hunched. “Just tell me, is he dead?”
“I cuffed him to… to a roof.” Rick spoke his first words quietly, hands open in surrender, trying to display as many submissive behaviours as possible. Rick wasn’t a werewolf, these things didn’t come naturally to him. He felt silly. However, obviously the last thing Daryl needed was another alpha figure towering over him.
Everyone had gathered around now, but maintaining a safe distance away, knowing they didn’t want to be the first ones near Dixon when he finally snapped.
“Fuck you!” Daryl growled loudly, teeth bared, “Ya fuckin’ didn’t give a shit about him. Jus’ some mutt huh?”
“It aint like that.” Rick insisted, “I wish things hadn’t gone the way they did but…”
“Shut up!” Daryl launched himself at Rick, but Shane barrelled into him, throwing the smaller man to the ground.
“Watch out!” T-Dog shouted, spotting glinting gold eyes and shifting jaw of the starts of a transformation.
“Oh no you don’t.” Shane hissed, quickly putting him in a choke hold and drawing his gun, pressing it to Daryl’s temple. “You go doggy on us, and this bullet has a meet and greet with your brain. You get me?”
Daryl spat, teeth already lengthened past his lips, but hesitantly started reversing the shift. "Choke holdin's illegal." Daryl breathlessly retorted, eyes wild at having his throat exposed. Everyone knew the significance of a wolf’s throat. Shane relented a little, letting Daryl tuck his chin in, "Yeah, well, you can file a complaint."
“Let him go.” Rick ordered, kneeling down, “Listen, I just want to talk. Merle was a severe threat… Your brother does not work and play well with others.”
Daryl shut his eyes tight, dropping his head.
“It’s my fault. I dropped the key-- the key to the cuffs.” T-Dog cut in, nervously licking his lips.
“Ya couldn’t ‘ave picked it up?” Daryl whined with a cracking voice, eyes pained.
“...Dropped it down a drain.”
The younger Dixon stood up shakily, arm covering eyes that weren’t capable of crying. Werewolves weren’t biologically able to cry, but Rick knew he would if he could. Sadness and anger seemed to move Daryl’s body in perceptible shakes and shivers, skin dancing, wanting to move and change under the stress and emotional turmoil.
“Jus’ tell me where he is so I can go get ‘em…”
“That’s not going to happen. We can’t risk losing you too.” Rick replied softly, trying not to rile him up again. His instinct was to reach out and touch him, to lay a calming hand on his shoulder, but he knew better.
“God knows how many werewolves are left, you were a drastic minority to begin with.” Andrea pointed out, “For all we know, you could be the last.”
“As if.” Daryl snapped, “We aren’t as soft as you pussy ass one-skins. After all y’all have killed each other, betcha’ it’ll be the wolves that’re the last standin’.”
Andrea frowned, about to reply, but Shane cut her off, “We can go spouting human-wolf politics all day, but right now we need to know… are you with us? We need t’ know we can trust you, Dixon.”
“And that you won’t go running off after your brother.” Andrea added.
Daryl sneered, not replying for a moment. He huffed, eyes flicking back to the road, then to the group.
“You don’t have a chance on your own, werewolf or not. You need us, and we need you.” Rick pleaded.
Daryl Dixon finally nodded, looking mildly sick. He sat back on his haunches, leaning against the RV, not meeting anyone’s eyes.
Obviously he didn’t want to be bothered, and was sick of the spotlight, so Rick approached Shane to redirect both their attentions. His friend was strung up like a piano string, jaw clenched and knuckles white.
“He’ll come around, don’t worry.”
“Yeah, but I dunno if we can trust him, man. Wolves are volatile enough as it is, and we got one whose brother we killed. Not a good combination if you ask me.”
Rick shook his head, “He can probably hear you.”
Shane frowned, shaking his head, “Don’t matter, Rick. He could be a danger.”
“We gotta trust him Shane, we don’t have any other choice.”
Rick heard a crack and pop, like bones being broken and ground together. He turned just in time to see Daryl fall to his hands and knees, fully shifting in mere seconds. Rick didn’t have much time to admire him before that slender, fully formed wolf trotted into the woods, but something in his heart knew this wouldn’t be the last time he’d see Daryl Dixon’s second skin.
He didn’t come back until sundown, still down on four legs. Daryl's matted russet fur had leaves and twigs sticking in the tangles and knots, mud covering his legs and large paws. He was larger than an ordinary grey wolf, the Canis lupus, but smaller than the alphas Rick had seen in the past. Regardless, he was gorgeous.
Daryl ignored everyone as he padded across the camp, but ears pricking every time someone moved. He sat down next to one of the tents, swinging his head to stare pointedly at Glenn.
“Oh!” Glenn startled, quickly stumbling forward to kneel down and unzip the tent, grabbing a shirt and pair of pants that were waiting for him. “Sorry, forgot. Here.”
Daryl took the clothes in his mouth, taking care not to catch Glenn’s hand with his razor sharp teeth.
Rick watch the wolf pad over behind the RV, the sound of grinding bones could be heard all the way from where he sat by the campfire. He winced, wondering not for the first time if shifting hurt. Somethings just weren’t known by humans, the wolves were secretive in nature, it was by pure determination that they knew anything at all about them. The inhumane experiments of the 40s certainly helped too, but people tended to try forget that era of the human-wolf relationship.
“Think he’ll want to join us for dinner?” Carol asked timidly, posed over the pot of soup.
“Doubt it. Probably already tore apart some poor furry critters out there anyway.” Shane griped as Daryl appeared from behind the RV, visibly exhausted.
True enough, there was some blood staining the corner of Daryl’s lips, but Rick didn’t really want to think about it. The animalistic nature of the man -- the wolf -- the creature with the sharp beautiful eyes -- was both awe inspiring and horrifying like all things borne from nature's wildest depths.
Daryl shuffled past them, limping slightly, headed for his tent. No one bothered to speak to him.
“What do you think about all this?” Lori whispered to Rick, hand on his arm. “I mean, what about Carl? Is it safe? I was nervous enough about staying here with wolves to begin with, but now…”
“How is he supposed to trust us if we don’t trust him?” He pointed out, “We’ve worked hard enough as a society to get passed all the bad blood between us and them, and now isn’t a good time to reopen those old wounds, don’t you think?”
Lori didn’t say anything, looking unsure.
“Lori, we need him. He’s our best chance at getting through this.”
“I’m trusting you on this Rick. I’m trusting you trusting him. But don’t let this be a mistake, please.” She whispered, voice hoarse.
He nodded, looking over at his son, then nodded again. “It won’t be.”
Shane didn’t look so sure, Rick noticed, who kept glancing back at the Dixon tent with a guarded expression.
That night, while curled up with Lori pressed tight in his arms, Rick heard a wolf howling. It was tinged with Daryl's human voice, like a shadow of his human skin was present even in wolf form, crying out in grief with a keening whine.
“He better not keep that up all night.” Lori muttered sleepily, “He’ll keep the whole camp awake.”
“He deserves his time to grieve in the way his people grieve.” Rick said quietly, not wanting to wake their son. “He just lost his brother.”
Lori nodded, snuggling in closer.
The howl trailed off, raw and pained.
Rick wondered if Daryl had had a pack before the world ended, wondered who else he’d lost. The bonds of a pack were strong and not easily broken, not even by death.
Another part of him suspected it had just been him and his brother, an idea that somehow seemed even more painful.
The howling started again.
When Rick emerged from his tent that morning, Daryl was just heading out, crossbow slung over his shoulder.
“Says he’s going hunting.” Shane answered Rick’s questioning look, “Though if you ask me, he’s just trying to avoid us. He was gone all yesterday too.”
“He probably just needs some space to deal with losing his brother.” Rick said. “Give him time.”
“I have a feeling you’ll be saying that forever.” He replied, “How much time, Rick? You fight to keep him in the group, but then don't care that he's never here.”
“As much time as he needs, within reason. Think if you’d lost me, you’d need time to mourn-” Rick stopped, realizing what he’d said, immediately wishing he could take it back upon seeing Shane's hurt expression.
“Yeah, I did lose you. I did mourn. But I also stuck with the group and made sure everyone was safe. Daryl’s running around like he’s moondrunk, it’s reckless. Aint that what got his brother killed?” Shane snapped, words laced with poison bitterness.
Rick didn’t reply, just watched Carl help Lori collect laundry. He knew there was some truth to Shane's words, but he wasn't about to condemn Dixon for needing some space.
Shane eventually wandered away, leaving Rick to his thoughts. Soon he found he didn't particularly want to think anymore.
He tried to make himself useful, switching off with Dale for guard duty, then went to help Jim gather firewood for the night. Rick was glad for the physical labor, the last thing he wanted was to grow stagnant, sitting on top of the RV, or lounging around brooding over the Daryl situation. It was nice to be able to stretch his legs.
As the sun rose higher in the sky and the day grew hot, he went to the lake to wash his face, eager to cool down and get the days sweat and grime off. The water was nice and cold, making his skin tingle.
Just as he was getting ready to go find Shane, needing something else to do, he heard the sounds of conflict.
Rounding the bend, he saw the women shouting at Carol’s husband, Ed. Laundry was strewn about, and Andrea looked red in the face with anger. Rick hiked up his pant legs and started towards them, only catching the end of the argument before Ed sharply backhanded his wife. Rage flooded him, and he began sprinting towards them, catching the sight of Shane doing the same.
Someone beat them there, though.
A streak of russet ended in Ed being flung backwards. The wolf pinned him to the ground, teeth bared just inches from his face, saliva dripping down. Ed stared up at Daryl in terror, eyes wide, mouth open in a shout. One large paw sent him sprawling, clutching a bloodied arm. Daryl pounced on the disgusting man again, slamming him down with a crunch of breaking bones.
Carol cried out, trying to rush forward but Andrea, Amy, and Jacqui held her back. Shane and Rick were hesitant to intervene themselves, partly out of self preservation, partly out of the fact they weren’t exactly eager to save Ed, a man crueler than the beast snarling down on him.
Daryl growled gutturally, claws sinking into the human's soft flesh, ignoring Carol's screaming pleas.
Finally Rick approached him, “Daryl, Daryl you’ll kill him. Daryl listen to me.”
The wolf jerked, swinging his head to staring at him, mouth open as if to bite.
“Get him off me!” Ed cried, hands bloody, clutching his gored shoulder.
“Daryl!” Shane shouted, “You’re gonna kill him, man!”
He finally backed up, letting Ed go. Carol rushed to her husband's side, blubbering out apologies.
“Go get Dale. Get his first aid kit.” Shane ordered Andrea. “Jacqui, give me that shirt. We have to stop the bleeding.”
Rick let them tend to the wounded man, instead followed Daryl away from the lakeshore. He kept his distance, letting the wolf disappear behind the RV to shift back. When the man eventually returned, frantically wiping the blood off his hands and jaw like a neurosis, Rick walked to him.
Daryl flinched back as Rick approached, eyes wild.
“You’re not in trouble Daryl, no one’s going to lynch you. Anyone of us would have done the same as you… it’s just that we don’t have the physical strength you do. If we snapped and started beating on Ed, he’d get away with a busted face and a bruised ego.” Rick paused, “But when you do it, lives become in danger. You have to be careful, you gotta be able to control yourself.”
Daryl avoided his eyes, chest heaving. Rick knew this speech was nothing new, werewolves spent their whole lives being shamed for their strength and the generalization of having an erratic and unstable predisposition.
“Daryl, look at me?” He knew that was the wrong thing to say, eye contact was an important aspect of werewolf behaviour, but Daryl hesitantly met his eyes anyway.
“I aint no monster. Ed got what he deserved.” Daryl spat, “I can control myself.”
Rick didn’t quite believe him, but let Daryl turn around and disappear into the woods anyway, for better or for worse.