It was getting late in the afternoon. The sun had drawn itself behind a cloak of trees and the world grew still. Daryl ran his hands along his trusted crossbow and kept his eyes fixated on the sunset. There was always something you could count on in this lonely part of the world, when the sun fell the sky revealed it's most beautiful colors. Everyone was getting ready for bed, but he didn't even feel tired. He's never felt tired since this whole thing started, he always kept in mind that any moment could be your last, especially in this world, why spend it with your eyes closed?
His ears perked slightly at the sound of crunching leaves behind him. That must be Rick, always up around this hour, always willing to see the sunset.
"Another day alive," Rick stood next to Daryl so they over looked the field outside of the prison. He smiled and looked at him, "I think that makes a new record."
Daryl looked at him, acknowledged his statement, but didn't respond more than that. He felt something he hadn't felt for a long time, concern. He didn't know how to deal with it, or how to even go about voicing it. He wanted to tell Rick that he's seen him crying, that he saw the pain in his eyes, but nothing would come out. He looked down at the grass and thought silently to himself.
Rick sighed, "I'm going out. There's something that needs doin,'" he shuffled his feet slightly, nervous twitch on his cheek, "you're in charge. Keep everyone in line 'til I get back will you?"
Daryl nodded. Every night was the same, Rick would leave to god knows where and would return about an hour later. Nothing eventful would unfold in his absence, other than the sunset disappearing behind the trees and the colors dieing down into darkness. It was incredibly boring.
As predicted, Rick left, taking a horse they had found. But this time, Daryl chose not to wait. He followed Rick on foot-tracking the hooves-prints implanted in the ground.
The trail ended at a broken little shack in the middle of no where.
Daryl walked to the edge of it, listening intently.
A whisper sounded inside, "C'mon Rick, people are depending on you, you can't fall apart now."
That's Rick's voice…Why is he talking to himself in third person?
Daryl moved closer to the shack. The walls were made out of wood that were poorly put together, he could see inside through a gap between two of the planks. Rick was sitting with his back against the wall.
"I have to keep strong; I have to-for Lori, for them all." Rick hid his face into his knees. Daryl felt something inside his chest sink down to his feet. He moved closer so his cheek was pressed against the wood, he could see something shimmering on the other mans cheek.
He tried to get himself into a better position, but his slipped on loose soil, the resulting sound causes Rick to lift his head. Daryl gasps and backs up. Rick stands up and walks out of the shack, guns drawn. He whips his head around until he spots him, staring at him. Neither knowing what to say.
Rick quickly wipes the tears on his face and glares. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Daryl stands straight, hands drawn into fists, "I don't need't explain m'self to no one. Let alone you."
The taller mans eyes narrowed, but his heart and soul were obviously not even focused on the peeping tom. His thoughts were elsewhere and it physically weakened him.
"Just leave," he pointed behind Daryl, "go back, and don't speak about this with anyone."
"No one expects you to do everything, and no one blames you for Carl."
Rick visibly winces and stares at him, drawn back. Mouth open, unable to say anything.
The Archer takes seizes the moment to move closer and rest a hand on the cop's shoulder. This wasn't his thing, being sentimental, but the situation calls for it.
Rick looks away. His eyes trained on the ground, "I'm not fit to lead anymore." The emotional strain on him was evident in his puffy red eyes and drained look.
"Carl was Lori's fault for not watching her fucking kid."
Rick moves away from Daryl and sits against the shack. His shoulders were drawn low, as if something heavy was pushing its full weight on them. Daryl sits next to him, staring ahead.
"He was eight years old," Rick was clutching something in his hands that Daryl couldn't make out in the darkness, "he would have been nine today…" He sniffs and starts silently tearing again. Daryl hesitantly pulls the other man over, so his arms were wrapped around him and Rick's face was buried into his shoulder. Rick doesn't even try to pull away.
Rick mumbles, "every time I look at my hands, I see blood-his blood covering them…Every time I close my eyes, I see him dieing…" Rick's body trembles against the other mans touch, "He just keeps asking me why… Why dad? Why me?" He wipes his eyes voice cracking, "why can't I grow up like you and mommy? Why daddy?"
Daryl purses his lips, thinking of what to say. This isn't his area of expertise-they should leave this to the goddamned women. But if he doesn't say the right thing now, his friend here-the only person he even lets himself trust in this group could possibly lose a fight within himself.
It's your time to shine Dixon. Don't disappoint. A mans life may depend on it.
"He had a great father, and he was a very lucky little boy Rick, even living as long as he did, he at least lived a good life…" He nervously starts patting the other mans back, trying to soothe him.
"He shouldn't have died…"
"You did a good job protecting him, Lori was supposed to watch him don't blame yourself."
"How can't I?"
"Because he didn't"