Daryl Dixon did truly die the day the world ended.
Sure, his body carried on. But he died just like everyone died and he resurrected just like everyone else did. Just like everyone lost their minds in the grief of this new world. Nobody was the same anymore. Nobody was who they used to be. Though they weren't re-animated, they'd still died. They died and were born into a new life. This new world.
Difference was, they all resurrected as adults, retained old shadows of themselves. He came back new.
It was Carol who loved him and nurtured him like a mother would. It was Rick who was there for him as a father and taught him about honor and strength. It was Glenn who replaced Merle and became his brother. It was T-Dog who showed him true friendship.
Little by little, each day, he grew up. Little by little, each day, he was raised into the world with the people who loved him and took care of him, mostly against his will.
He aged like a child in this new world. Everything was new. Everything was different. Relationships were no longer about shame, abuse, too much alcohol and dreaded obligations. Relationships were deeper. Once upon a time he'd go days without speaking to another human being. Now people were everywhere. People who mattered to him, who were close to him. Carol's nurturing, Rick's guidance, and Glenn's empathy. Somewhere down the line, these people became important to him. They were helping him grow up. They were raising him and nurturing him.
And somewhere down the journey, he started to notice Andrea.
Ever since she came back from being lost in the woods she was different. She's was fucking badass with a gun. She could fight, too. Like, physically fight. With just a small knife she could go after a small herd and kick ass. She was tough.
And she was pretty.
That little detail stood out the most for Daryl. She was pretty when she smiled and she was pretty when she wore her hair down. But mostly she was pretty all the time.
It happened one day when they're on a group meet and Andrea was talking. He looked at her and heard her but for some reason focused on her hair. Something was different about it. She was wearing it the way she always wore it and it's not like she could've dyed it. But something about it interested him. It looked a bit darker. Or lighter, maybe? It was kinda curly, but not really, and it was shiny.
Days passed and he didn't know why he always looked at her hair. A weird curiosity took a hold of him and one afternoon she was helping Carol with something or other, Daryl didn't know what. But as he walked by he couldn't help it. He reached for one of her curls and pulled it.
"Hey!" she yelped and turned around, ready to kick someone's ass.
But he chuckled and ran away and Carol smiled at his retrieving form.
Her hair was soft.
Several weeks later they were getting rid of the few walkers that pressed themselves onto the prison wall. They both had knives and were taking the undead down when he looked at her. The sun was sinking into the sky and everything was orange. It made her skin glow and glisten.
Days passed and he didn't know why he kept looking at her skin. She was always close, after all, because she and him and Rick were leading this group together, and the three of them were constantly convening and talking. Her skin was always there, right there. Curiosity got a hold of him again.
They were on their way back to the prison after a close call with a herd. Rick reached the truck before them and got behind the wheel and Andrea opened the door to the backseat and heaved herself in, Daryl following suit. When the adrenaline of the close encounter kicked in he looked at her. He didn't know why. But he'd just almost died and he was all wired and high. There wasn't any room for thought. And there was no thought when he reached for her arm, grabbed at her skin, and pinched it.
She jumped and yelped. "Ow! Rick!"
Rick looked at them through the rear view mirror and frowned at him. "Daryl, leave her alone."
Daryl tried to hide his devilish grin, but completely failed.
"You're such a stupid dick," Andrea told him, rubbing the tender spot on her skin. "Asshole."
"Language," Rick warned her.
Daryl smiled even wider.
For months and months it was like that. Just light teasing here and there. He wasn't stupid, after all. He knew he had a crush on her. He might've been growing up in this new world, but he wasn't an idiot. Nor was he blind. She was cool and smart, and she was gorgeous. Even Rick checked her out every once in a while. Andrea should've been a model or something in the old life but she wasn't like that, and that's why he liked her.
She had standards. That's also why he never made a move on her. She deserved better than him.
He was a broken child and she deserved a good man. She could take care of herself, sure, but Daryl thought she deserved better. She deserved a man like Rick, who would protect her like he protected Lori. A strong man. Hell, she deserved a man. And he wasn't one.
So it was never anything. He'd tease her every once in a while and she'd be all girly but nothing more than that. She was too worn out and he was too broken. Too new to this.
But he kept growing. He kept changing, each day. Each day he felt a little more grown up. Each day he felt stronger and more put together. Each day he was less little boy and more man.
Months passed, a year. No one knew the days anymore. But he was no longer at the farm. They were somewhere else now. They were in a new town with new people. They'd lost so many - Lori, T-Dog, Carol, Hershel, Beth. They'd lost a lot. But the family, somehow, stayed intact. Its spirit did. They buried loved ones but all around the corner there were new family members. Abraham, like some cool uncle. Rosita, like a girly cousin that amused him. Olivia, strong and nurturing like Carol.
People were everywhere now. Some scarier monsters than the undead that roamed around, but people, always. People everywhere. Coming and going and aging him.
-/
The two of them were in a suburban town, scouting about. He'd gathered a small pile of canned goods, had them resting by his feet.
She was scanning the winter gear section, because it was starting to get cold again.
He kept a close eye on her. He didn't know why. But the thought was there, nagging at him. Like a premonition. He didn't feel safe here. Something was wrong.
If something goes down, save her. Save her. Just make sure she's protected. Take care of her. Take care of Andrea. Keep Andrea safe.
He was shattered, but not surprised, when out of nowhere a walker jumped out of the darkness and grabbed her arm. She didn't have time to get her gun or her knife. The creature was grabbing her, sinking its teeth into her arm and Daryl acted on sheer instinct and protection. His girl was not going to be taken down by some asshole freak. He fired his crossbow and the undead creature went down.
When he reached her, she was breathing hard, hyperventilating. He reached for her arm and inspected it. There were four red streaks running along it, but nothing else.
But she was crying. She was whimpering and sad and scared. He turned to her.
"Didn't break your skin."
The words meant nothing to her. Her skin was hurting and it was red. Red because a walker bit into her. She cried and breathed fast because she didn't wanna go out like this. She didn't wanna be like one of them. She didn't wanna end up like Amy.
So she clung to him, whimpering into his ear, needy. Desperate. "Daryl."
"Shhh. Look at me," he told her and when her eyes meet his he just didn't know. But he pretended. He pretended for her sake. For his, too. "Andrea, it didn't break your skin."
But he looked at the mark and it was red. It was there. It scratched her skin. Neither of them knew enough about the virus and somehow this was much worse. If she'd been bitten, then they would both know what to do. He'd put her out or she would put herself out. But they didn't know what this scratch meant. They didn't know. And he just couldn't let her go under this umbrella of uncertainty.
All he could do was calm her down, talk her into breathing easier, and guide her back to the truck.
He tried not to think about what happened as they made their way back. But Dale was there, right in the back of his mind. That night was there, the look on the old man's face as Daryl pulled the trigger. He wondered, would he be able to do that now?
They pulled over the side of the road that night because they both needed some rest and they were still too far away from camp. She was in the back seat of the truck, lying down and thinking too much. He was tired and worn out, worried. And he was done pretending and acting like she meant nothing to him.
So he climbed into the back seat. She made room for him and he pressed his body to her back. She seemed to get it, too, and nestled the back of her head against his neck. He reached for her arm.
"Lemme see."
She showed him the scratched area and he inspected it closely. The four red streaks were still there. But that was just it.
"Ain't swollen or bleeding," he thought out loud.
She took her arm back and tucked it under her cheek. And just stayed there. And something about it reminded him of that old Andrea who wanted nothing but to die. It scared him.
"How're you feeling?"
She tucked herself closer to him. "I don't know."
"You ain't got a fever," he said, bringing his hand to her forehead to make sure.
"No."
His hand moved from her forehead to her arm and it stayed there. In the beginning, he wouldn't have been able to do this. He wouldn't have been able to connect with her, care about her, love her like he did. The Daryl that existed in the old world would've only seen a random body.
But that Daryl had been a no one. Just a shadow of an underdeveloped person walking about. It was different now. Now he felt grown up. He felt real. He felt like he'd been raised right with a mother who loved him unconditionally, had died for him. With a father who had taken him in and guided him and turned him into a man. A good, honorable man. He was still growing, in so many ways, but in a new world, in the back of a truck, with his first love.
"Daryl?" she said after a few moments.
"Yeah?"
She stayed quiet for a moment, and only talked when he nudged at her. "If I get infected," Andrea said. "I want you to do it."
He frowned at the back of her head and squeezed her arm. "Ya ain't getting infected."
"I don't mean just now," she told him quietly. "If ever. I want you there. Okay?"
The thought of ever having to do that gave him shivers. Not because it scared him, but because he wasn't an idiot. He knew she could go at any time. Him, too. But the Daryl that ended Dale's misery was gone. "I ain't putting a bullet in your head, Blondie. Not ever."
"It might happen," she said softly and then summoned some kind of strength and turned to face him. "Fuck, Daryl, it might happen tonight. We still don't know what this means. So please? Please promise me? I want you to do it. I can't do it myself. And you mean the most to me."
He thought about it, and knew he couldn't tell her what she wanted to hear. He just couldn't. "S'not like Dale."
"I regret that," she told him. "I regret not being able to do something for Dale. It should've been me to put him out. Not you. He died... he died all wrong.
He digested her words and finally understood her.
"I was there for Amy. And she died loved. I wanna die loved, too."
He didn't answer her with words but with his eyes, and she breathed easier. She curled herself against him and closed her eyes. He stayed up til morning, just making sure. When she woke up, before she did anything, she checked the scratch. It was still there. All the way back to camp she kept focusing on it, running her fingers through it.
"Stop fiddling with it," he warned her.
Olivia gave her some sort of ointment when they returned. He warned Rick just to be safe and Rick sat with her and reassured her. It made her feel more confident, but they were still weary.
Not anymore days later when the scratch had vanished and she was smiling. He was watching her. She and Rosita were looking through bags of canned goods, sorting them into piles. He couldn't help himself. He just walked right by, reached for one of her curls and pulled it.
"Hey!" she yelped, but he was already running and chuckling.
That night she stood on the porch, looking out. She had a hand where the four streaks had been, and as he approached her he grabbed her arm to inspect the previously scratched area. The streaks were gone, and he pressed his lips to the tender skin.
"Daryl."
He might never figure out this whole being a man business. It was a little overwhelming at times. But when it was he thought about Carol, about Rick, Glenn, and this girl he had in his arms, who kissed him back, who wanted to kiss him back, who wanted him to touch her. And each time he thought of them, of his family and his girl, he realized growing up wasn't so bad.