Author's Note: Hello, everyone! This is just a little piece that came to me while my sister forced her Rascal Flatts CD upon me in the car today. Their song "Come Wake Me Up" for some reason caused my muses to up and run away with me. I suggest you give the song a listen after you read if you're interested. This is totally AU, and while I'm sure many people will poopoo all over it, I happen to think that it can be justified. Please check the author's note at the bottom for such justification after reading. I wouldn't want to ruin anything for you now.
For those of you reading Curveball, have no fear! I haven't abandoned it at all. This is just a small oneshot to help me get my writing groove back. Anyway, allow me to stop rambling. Please enjoy my story!
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize isn't mine.
If she was being honest, she really had no idea just how bad it would be when she stepped through the back door. It could have gone either way, and so the sight of the kitchen in complete disarray with him at the center, slouched over the table with a bottle of whiskey, shouldn't have surprised her. Somehow the fact that it shouldn't have didn't stop it from happening, and she found herself stopped dead, hand to her mouth.
"Oh daddy,"
If he heard her, he didn't show it. By the looks of it, she doubted he had. He seemed off in his own world. The hand he didn't use to grip the bottle was pushing a thing silver band along the grain of the table. She could still remember the day he'd brought it home to her mama.
She'd been fifteen and he was still Daryl to her then. It would be another year yet before she would start referring to him as daddy. They were holed up in that one bedroom house on Maple Street. Her mama was making dinner in the tiny kitchen and she was reading a beat up book in the floor, leaning against the old refrigerator when he came in.
He'd been out raiding the small town for supplies with the rest of their small group, and she remembered grinning as her mama's shoulders dropped ever so slightly in ease at the sight of him. Almost four years had passed since the dead started rising, but it wasn't hard to forget how quick they could lose someone else. He gave a gruff nod her way before moving toward the stove. Over the top of her tattered paperback, she watched as he sidled up to her mama and pulled that tiny silver ring out of his dirty pants pocket. After dusting it off, he slid it sideways across the counter to her.
"Reckon it'll fit?" He grunted. She supposed to anyone else it would have sounded nonchalant, and completely ridiculous for a marriage proposal. For Daryl though, this was about as romantic as things got, and she could see the blush creeping up his neck from under his shirt from her place in the floor. She couldn't have imagined anything better herself. Getting down on bended knee just wouldn't have been Daryl, and she was pretty sure her mama may have died from shock if he had.
It seemed both women were in agreement too, because her mama picked the ring up and slipped it on her finger with a smile. "Yeah, it fits just fine." They didn't kiss, or anything ridiculously sappy like that. He just nodded and gave the back of her mama's neck a squeeze before announcing he had shit to do and stalking out of the kitchen.
That was twelve years ago, and it still felt like yesterday. Now she was twenty-seven and standing in a kitchen thousands of miles away from Maple Street, watching him push that same ring around a table with its owner nowhere in sight. She took a step forward to feel glass crunch under her shoe. A look around told her he had probably thrown and smashed everything he could have gotten his hands on. When her eyes came full circle, she found his staring back.
They were bloodshot and watery. She wasn't sure if it was more from crying or from booze. More than half the bottle was gone, and he was swaying in his seat.
"You're drunk."
He laughed. It was a bitter, hollow sound that made her chest feel as though it had cracked in two. "S'what if I am?" His words were slurred heavily, and he topped them off with a long drag from the bottle.
"I've only seen you drunk a handful of times since you and mama got together." She countered evenly.
Her piece of shit sperm donor had taken to beating her and her mama when he'd gotten drunk all those years ago. Not that he needed to be drunk to beat them, but when he was it was sure and certain someone was taking a few blows. Her mama had taken care to tell Daryl straight up that he wasn't welcome near either of them if he was going to be smashed every time they found some alcohol, and he took that very seriously. He drank, sure. It's just that he was always very careful to toe that line.
"If I need a reason, sure as hell gotta good one."
He took another drag and met her eyes again, as if daring her to challenge his admission. They both knew she couldn't.
"Mama would be pissed if she saw what you've done to her kitchen."
Teeth clenched, jaw tightened, suddenly for the first time in years her daddy looked angry with her. "Yeah, well yer mama ain't here is she?" He snapped. "She ain't here to be pissed 'bout no kitchen! Ain't here to do nothin' 'bout anythin'..." So it wasn't her he was angry with – it was himself.
It didn't take long to decide what to do. She ignored the glass beneath her feet and made her way over to the cabinets. It took a while, but she managed to find a glass that was in a single piece, and she brought it back to the table. Pulling out the chair, she slammed the cup down and took a seat.
"Tell me about the day you found me." She demanded as she jerked the whiskey from his grip and poured herself some. Her voice was hard, but her eyes were soft. He peeked up at her, his fingers finally stilling around her mama's wedding ring, and he just looked so broken.
"Sophia..."
This man was not her daddy. He was strong, fierce and could take out six walkers with nothing but a single knife and not a soul to watch his back. Her daddy was a survivor, but this man in front of her had all but rolled over and died. This wasn't right, and she wouldn't stand for it.
"No," Sophia took a drink of whiskey, letting the burn keep her from getting too emotional. She could cry about it all later. Fifteen years he'd been strong for her. She could do it for him tonight. "Mama's dead. If you want to drink, that's fine but you're sharing your damn whiskey and you're going to tell me about the day you found me."
He gave a dry laugh, and she was fairly certain his slurred mumble had something to do with him creating a monster. "Ya've heard it before..." His head shook, though whether he was exasperated at her or simply trying to clear it she could not be sure.
"Tell me again."
There was a long moment where he held her gaze, and then he grabbed the bottle with a shaky sigh. "It was right after that jackass Shane ripped the lock off the barn." She lifted her own glass to her lips as he raised the bottle to keep from finishing the narrative for him. He was right, she'd heard all this before. For the first few months after he rescued her, him relaying this story was the only way she could get him to say more than two words to her.
"Ol' man Herschel was screamin' he wanted us gone, an' yer mama..." He swallowed hard. "Yer mama was a fuckin' wreck thinkin' you was gonna be left out there alone for good. So while they was packin' up I went an' told Rick I was gonna go do one last sweep, to meet me by the gate at sundown to leave."
His eyes were lost in the way the liquid swirled as he played with the bottle, mind far away in a time when he was just a redneck looking for a lost girl in the woods. She pushed her glass back. Her intention was never to get drunk with him. She just needed an excuse to get him talking.
"I looked everywhere. Wonder I didn' get myself killed, wanderin' through the woods screamin' for ya like walker bait. Even ripped a couple of stitches trippin' over a big ass tree root, not watchin' where I was goin'. I'd given up findin' ya. Sun was goin' down already an' all I'd managed to do was make a mess outta myself. Figured maybe Shane was right – you really was dead an' I was just some dumb ass redneck chasin' a pipe dream. I was ready to head back when I heard ya scream.
"Don't ask me how the fuck I got there 'fore that thing ripped ya to shreds. Dumb luck, I guess. I couldn' run for shit after I ripped those stitches, but I made it just 'fore it sunk its nasty ass teeth into ya. You were standin' there in that creek bed, back to me an' screamin' like hell with that thing snappin' at ya shoulder. I didn' even think, just fired. Geek dropped an' you turned around, took one look at me an' started cryin'."
Her daddy laughed then, a real honest laugh and Sophia had to join him. She recalled that moment so clearly. Nearly a week she'd survived alone and hungry in those woods, but when that walker got its hands on her she was sure that was the end. She was tired and dehydrated, and her arms did little to fend off the undead attacker as its mouth tried to get at her shoulder. Then all at once there was an arrow in its head and it was on the ground.
She'd turned around to find him standing on the bank of the creek, crossbow resting on his shoulder. He was panting and sweaty, covered in dirt and blood and god only knew what else. For half a second, she didn't know what to do. Then he'd dropped his crossbow to the side with a heavy sigh. "Sophia," He sounded so relieved. "Been lookin' everywhere for ya." It was then that she remembered who he was, that he was one of them, and she burst into tears at the knowledge that she was finally safe. The memory of the look on his face as he tried to figure out what to do with a crying child was priceless.
"You put me on your back and carried me all the way to the gate." She smiled, eyes closing momentarily to fully relive the first forty-five minutes she ever had alone with him. Between the dehydration, hunger and lack of sleep, she could barely stand up. Despite his torn stitches, he'd hauled her up onto his back and situated it so that his crossbow sat across his front to carry her. She'd been so exhausted, she passed out twenty minutes later with her face pressed to his neck and her little hands bunched in the front of his sleeveless flannel.
"They'd just 'bout gave up on me comin' back, too." He added. "Sun had been down for a few minutes when I caught sight of 'em. When they saw what I was carryin' they came runnin', though. Every last one of 'em. Had to wake ya up to even hand ya back to yer mama."
The mention of her mother had him pausing, and it was hard to watch as his eyes welled up in front of her. Fifteen years and she'd only ever seen him cry once, but it seemed like lifetimes ago that Merle had gotten handcuffed to a roof. He was a very different man back then.
"Why did she..." He cut himself off and Sophia used that moment to keep him talking, lest her emotions spill over as well.
"What happened when we got back on the road, after we left the farm?" Her tone was even, but her words were rushed. It was so hard not to focus on the fact that her mother was gone – dead – when the strongest man she'd ever known was breaking down right in front of her. She had to get through this though, for him. If they were going to make it, he had to be okay. "C'mon, daddy, what happened?"
He cleared his throat. "You were passed out again for a while in the back that ol' RV. I couldn' ride the bike 'cause of my side, an' I was sittin' at the table in there while the farmer's daughter patched me up. She finished up an' I was just sittin' there. Next thing I know, ya come plop down in the seat next to me like ya name's on it or somethin'."
Sophia wouldn't make him finish. He'd gotten them far enough, at least. "And I sat there next to you drinking water and eating deer jerky until almost sunrise. Mama had to practically drag me away."
With the end of the story also came the end of his patience. He dismissed the topic of conversation, shaking his head bitterly as a few tears spilled over. "Why'd she fuckin' do it? The fuck did she save me for? I taught her to shoot to defend herself, dammit! Not to get herself killed!" He slammed his fist down onto the table as the sobs wracked his body.
"You taught her to shoot, daddy." Sophia stated calmly, softly. "She made that choice when you put that gun in her hands that winter and showed her how to hit the target." Sliding the chair back, she stood up slowly and made her way around the table to crouch down in front of him. He had to understand.
"She didn't know how to live without you, never could have made it if you died." Her hand found purchase on his back as her forehead pressed to his shaking shoulder. "Years ago, when I was nineteen, she told me that the two of us would do just fine without her. You'd miss me, she said. The food would be awful, the laundry would never get done and you would miss me, but you two would be just fine. I thought she was crazy at first, but then I realized she was right.
"I was lost in the woods, hungry and alone for almost a week. I woke up in the back of that RV and the first thing I did was go and find you, not mama – you. All night I sat with you, and she had to damn near beg me to leave your side to go to bed with her. That's why she saved you."
Sophia couldn't help it. She was crying now too, her own body shaking with his as they grieved the loss of the woman who sacrificed herself just two weeks prior. "I miss her so much it hurts. I still wake up every morning and for a few minutes I forget she's dead. It's awful and it feels like it'll never get better, but even if it doesn't I'll still be okay. As long as you're here, I'll be okay."
All of her strength was gone now. She was reduced to a sobbing mess, crouched in the floor, leaning against him. The hand against his back balled into a fist, grabbing at the material of his shirt. Just when she thought her legs would give out, he straightened and pulled her up and against him.
His arms were strong and he held her tightly, grip unwavering. He no longer shook, and when he spoke his voice was even and free of tears. "Shhh," He hushed her softly. "It's gonna be alright, kid." They were the same words he'd told her fifteen years ago when she stood in that creek bed, hysterical at the sight of him.
"Daddy," A sigh of relief left her. "I've been looking for you everywhere."
Okay, so there you have it. This is by no means my best piece of fiction ever. I just wrote this in a few hours, and I proofread it myself. My muses merely demanded it, and I would hate to have written it and not post. I understand that Daryl seems very not Daryl here, and many may claim that the relationship between Daryl and Sophia is unrealistic, but I have to disagree. While I love the Caryl pairing, I feel like there could have been a lot done in ways of connection between Daryl and Sophia if he had managed to find her. They were both abused children, and that's a common ground that she has with him that even Carol does not. Also, keep in mind that this is fifteen years down the road and people can do a lot of growing in that time.
There was a lot more I wanted to add to this, but it just sort of felt finished where it was. My muse basically created a whole universe for this story. I won't give much away, because I may add more oneshots to it later, but I will say this: This universe is one where the real connection is between Daryl and Sophia. They were the two who were meant to find one another, soul mates in a non-romantic sense. Carol knew this, and merely felt lucky enough to have been included in their little world along the way. That's why she chose to sacrifice herself to save Daryl as opposed to saving herself.
Anyway, sorry if parts of the story are a bit ambiguous. That was the point, in a way. I also apologize if I am completely ranting at the moment. It's well past three in the morning here, and I should have been in bed hours ago. I just really wanted to get this done. Please, please leave me your thoughts on this. I'm interested to see where my muse got me. Be as brutally honest as you like. In fact, I encourage brutal honesty. Reviews are appreciated.
Love and Blessings,
Rose