"...Rick, what is this?" Daryl's voice is carefully void of emotions as he holds up the blood-red piece of clothing.

"A sweater" Rick spares Daryl one measly glance before going back to stoking the fire, ignoring the curious quiet of the group huddled around it.

"Well no shit, genius. But that's not f..." He doesn't get to finish as Rick finally heaves an irritated sigh, desperately trying to hide his amusement and lifting his eyes up at the hunter, "It's your Christmas gift, you idiot."

It takes Daryl a second to catch up to that, and then he's spluttering "M-my what?!"

Rick smirks, hearing the badly concealed snorts and chuckles of the Greene sisters, and gives Daryl an exasperated look. "What, you gone deaf as well as blind on us now, Dixon?"

"Hey, fuck you!" Daryl's cheeks are dusted with both embarrassment and anger as he lifts up and throws the offending ugly Christmas sweater in the sheriff's face. Rick catches it without trouble, expecting Dixon to pull this sort of antic.

"Well I think it rather suits you," Rick holds the thing up to his chest, rising on his legs and making sure everyone around the fire can see it, "Don't you all agree?"

Both Andrea and Glenn join the girls in snickering, and Michonne is shaking her head, a definite smirk pulling at her lips.

"Oh yeah! That is so totally our Daryl!" Beth decides to chime in, earning an icy-blue glare from the redneck.

"For fuck's sake people, what th' Hell is wrong with all y'all," he mutters angrily, brows knitted together in a clear display of annoyance.

As the group continues to mock him and his grumpy demeanour, going as far as to haul the chopped off antlers from this week's game to the bonfire (fucking Shane, goading a shit-drunk Glenn to it), Daryl decides he's had enough.

That red fucking sweater with "Merry Christmas Ya Filthy Animal" in bold white print with little faggoty reindeers dancing around it is going to haunt him throughout his life in nightmares.

So the hunter stands up, spits into the fire and storms off in a silent fit, taking the one remaining bottle of Jack with him.

And he will never, ever fucking admit to wearing that damn thing on an ass-freezing night, jabbing Grimes in the ribs with his elbow and telling him to shut the fuck up before he takes the hideous piece of clothing and stuffs it in his damn mouth. Rick still continues to chuckle, pressing his lips to Daryl's neck in a not-so-apologetic kiss, and says he's got better ideas about what should occupy his mouth tonight.

Daryl just whacks him in the head and knees him for a good measure, the colour of his dusty skin beginning to match that of the fucking sweater.

He hates Christmas.