10 Things Daryl Dixon Taught Me

#1 Tell The Truth

Well hell. Daryl shuffled through the saddlebags of his brother's motorcycle and threw everything out…only to put it all back in again. Cursing to himself he went to the other one on the left side. He frowned as he set Merle's bag of pills on the seat and proceeded to dump all the other shit on the ground, not finding what he was looking for.

"Where the hell did I put that gun?" Daryl growled to himself.

He knew for sure the last time he had it he had stuffed the gun in his saddlebag. Putting the pills in carefully on top, Daryl closed the saddlebag angrily and cursed under his breath. How could he have lost his own pistol? Just as his simmering thoughts were about to overflow, a soft voice broke the silence.

"Daryl…"

Daryl turned around and was about to give someone a piece of his mind when he saw who it was. Carl Grimes was standing there with Rick's sheriff's hat, too big for the kid, on his head like usual. The hat covered his eyes but he was almost certain nervousness was there, but his actions showed it. The boy was nervously twitching, fiddling with something in his hand.

"Whaddya want kid-"

Daryl then realized exactly what he had in his hand…Daryl's pistol. His eyes widened in surprise at first but quickly narrowed again as he took a few steps toward the boy.

"Where'd you find that boy? Did you take it from my motorcycle?" Daryl questioned in a low voice.

He could feel his anger rising in his chest, that wasn't a toy. The boy could get himself killed, and then he'd never hear the end of it from Lori and Rick.

"No no…I…" Carl stuttered, eyes wide.

It was obvious that the boy was scared of him. Hell, most of the camp was scared of him, and he liked it that way. Daryl was a loner, he couldn't let that emotional shit get to him. It always ended out bad, just like Merle said time and time again.

But there was one thing he couldn't stand, even if he'd done his fair share over the years, lying. Well sure, he could stand it, but it just wasn't something he took pride in doing. Most everything else didn't bother him, but this seemed like one of those annoying little things that wouldn't leave his conscience.

"Carl, tell me the truth. Did you take it er' not?" Daryl asked firmly, taking the gun roughly from the boy and setting it on the black leather seat of the bike.

Carl looked down, the hat's wide brim almost swallowing the boy's face. Daryl got down on one knee, eye level to him, and gave him a stare down. Honestly he couldn't even believe he was doing this, what did it matter? Besides the fact that he got his gun back, why was he even concerned with Carl's lying habits? Was it because some part of him cared? No, stop, Merle would be giving him a good head full if he knew what had just crossed Daryl's mind.

"Yeah…I did…" Carl confessed.

Daryl rubbed his stubble and looked down, then back up at Carl who was looking scared but at the same time sheepish. With Merle mentally cursing him, Daryl realized…it had to be done. He had to tell Carl how it was.

"Listen. I'm not one fer advice, but I do know this. If there is one thing I have little patience fer, it's lyin. Am I mad you took it? Yeah, of course I am, but I want you to learn," Daryl said, forcing out the words.

Carl's gaze was locked on his, which hopefully meant he was listening, cause' Daryl Dixon wasn't repeating this. Ever.

"Now I'm not yer mother. I'm just telling ya, lyin can get ya into some purty big holes. Some you might not be able to dig yerself out of. Don't do it again, ya here? Cause' next time I'll let yer folks know you've been stealin," Daryl instructed.

Carl looked at him before smiling, pushing the hat up. Daryl couldn't help but feel something warm in the pit of his stomach, which he wasn't sure if he hated or enjoyed. His inner Merle was drowning in whatever this was… Daryl wasn't sure; maybe the right thing was okay to do once in a while.

"Thanks Daryl. I won't do anything like that ever again," Carl promised.

Daryl got up, "Good. Now go along, yer mother's probably worried that chu' got ate by a walker."

Carl gave him one last grin before bounding off toward the house. Daryl watched him go with his hands crossed over his chest, with a slight smirk on his own face. That feeling returned again, making the redneck sigh with confusion, how strange to accept this…feeling.

One thing he couldn't deny though was that it felt strangely good to not unload on this kid. He sometimes needed a break from this hellish world. Halfway there, Carl stopped in the middle of the field, quickly turning around.

"One more thing. Will you teach me how to shoot Daryl?" Carl yelled.

Daryl strained his ears, but couldn't believe the nonsense he was hearing. The kid wanted him of all people to teach him? Daryl didn't say anything at first, out of words. Carl eagerly stood there and waited for him to yell back. Daryl finally thought of something to say. Perhaps it was too over used, but it would either get him out of a hole, or score him a kid for a student.

Daryl raised his voice, "Maybe."

Carl smiled before turning around, apparently accepting that for an answer. Daryl watched him until he was up by the house, clambering up the stairs to go meet the others. Daryl walked back over to the motorcycle and grabbed his small, black handgun, rolling it over in his hand to check for damage.

It was in perfect condition, not a scratch, just like he'd left it yesterday. At least the boy had enough sense not to break it, even if he knew close to nothing about handling one. Daryl pursed his lips and leaned against the bike, considering his question.

"Aw, what the hell," Daryl exclaimed, shaking his hand with a smirk.

He'd teach the kid how to shoot.

A/N: Hope you liked it so far! The idea came out of nowhere so I decided I better write it, or it won't cease to bug me. :) Please review and tell me what you think, it'd be so awesome! Plus it motivates me! Thanks, and until next chapter.