Prompt Title: 5: Numbness

Rating: T

Characters: Andrea, Daryl Dixon, Andrea/Daryl

Word Count: 1,000+

Summary: After Dale's death, Andrea can't feel anything but numb.

Author's Note: So this is my first time doing one of these prompt things. I have no idea what's going to happen or if I'm going to be able to keep up, but I will try my hardest. I hope you enjoy this first prompt!

. . .

It happens in a flash and Andrea has no idea how she got from Point A to Point B. All she knows is that she's hovering over Dale's body – his walker bitten body. Her hands are covered in the sticky red substance and she can feel the tears falling down her cheeks. His eyes are on hers, and she wants to look away but she can't.

Screaming surrounds the atmosphere, but Andrea pays no mind to it. She's still in denial that Dale is about to turn into a walker any second. Her Dale - the same one who saved her from the CDC, the one who has acted as her father through it all. This is not happening, she thinks stubbornly as his eyes roll into the back of his skull, which only makes her cry harder.

Then a shot is fired.

And Dale is dead.

She's breathing heavily and keeping a firm grip on his limp hand, praying that he'll come back. But she knows in the back of her mind that he won't. It gets quieter as the group disperses; some going to mourn by themselves, others going to sleep. She slowly gets stands up, swaying a little bit as she tries to maintain her balance. Her tears are long gone and are replaced by some kind of numbness.

She trudges miserably to the house, climbing up the steps, her mind blank. She finds herself in the upstairs bathroom, staring at her ugly face in the dirt stained mirror. It's covered in blood and her hair is unkempt, but she could care less. Stripping to her undergarments, she turns on the cold, shower water.

Letting it run for a little while, she sits on the toilet seat, staring into the abyss. All she can think is Dale is dead, Dale is dead, Dale is dead, over and over again. Her feet guide her into the shower, setting her down in the porcelain tub. She hugs her knees tightly to her chest, placing her chin on top of them. She looks down at the blood trailing down into the drain, and she feels like throwing up.

She doesn't realize that a person has entered the bathroom until she hears someone call her name. Without looking up, she already knows who it is. Who could forget his smooth, Southern drawl? She can't bear to look at him; she doesn't want him to see her this way, so weak. He steps into the bathtub with all his clothes on and takes a seat next to her. She doesn't make any sign of moving and her mind hasn't totally registered the fact that Daryl is actually here, in the bathroom, with her.

He hesitantly takes one of her bloodied hands from her tight grip on her legs and starts to wash off all the blood with a wash cloth. Watching him methodically rubbing the grime from her nails, something in her snaps and she's forced back into reality. She feels the cold water hit her body like a thousand bullets raining down on her. She looks down to see that she's half fucking naked in front of Daryl, whom she has a little bit of a crush on.

Without thinking, she pulls her hand from his and runs it through her hair frantically, feeling her body start to tremble with unshed tears. She can feel his eyes on her and she feels more than embarrassed; she's mortified at how vulnerable she is. Hiding her face in her hands, she lets out a sob she didn't know she was holding back. Her shoulders shake and her lips tremble and oh my god, Dale is dead.

She can so vividly see his body, the unfocused look in his eyes as he slowly turned into a walker. She can feel his blood on her hands, her face, all over her body. Why? Why does this keep happening? She thinks helplessly. The more the people die, the more it hurts.

Feeling an arm wrap around her shoulder, she flinches away. She looks over at the person who was still in the bath tub, Daryl, who eyes said more than words could. She throws herself into his arms, crying into his shoulder. She feels his arms slowly wrap around her body, rubbing her back awkwardly.

"Shh," he says quietly, "S'alright."

After he holds her for a long time, he gently pushes her back and goes back to cleaning her hands and face as the tears continue to roll down her face. They start to slow and by the time he's done, they're completely gone. He twists around and turns off the shower, leaving the atmosphere colder than it already was. He helps her up out of the bathtub and ushers her to one of the guest rooms, where a clean pile of clothes sits waiting for her.

"Heshal said that you could stay in this room for the night," Daryl explains hastily, "He pulled out some clothes that he thought would fit you." She picks up the clothes and examines them; a yellow tank top, a green jack, and a \pair of bell bottom jeans. There was an awkward silence between the pair as she sat down on the bed, only in her bra and underwear.

"'M just gonna go." He said awkwardly, opening the door behind him.

"Hey, Daryl?" she calls out and he turns around, surprised to hear her speak.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks." She said, "For the bathroom. And for shooting Dale."

He shifts uncomfortably on his feet, looking everywhere but at her, "Someone had to do it." He mumbled before swinging the door close as he exited.

She fingered the clothes next to her, trying to think about something other than Dale and his unexpected death. Of course, her thoughts wander to the crossbow-wielding redneck, who seemed to have a soft side for her. Her lips twitched upwards as she thought about the ruggedly handsome gentleman who helped her out so often.

She crawled under the warm sheets, closing her eyes. The last thought she had before drifting off to sleep was if Daryl could possibly like someone like her.