Redemption

One-Shot

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As way of disclaimer, I do not own The Walking Dead, any of the characters, actors, or stories therein. But I've enjoyed the show, and this is just an idea that popped into my head a few weeks ago.

For now, this is a one-shot. If I decide I want to, or enough people say they like it and want more, I might extend it into a little series. No promises. This is very CLEARLY not a Daryl romance, though he is the character in this.

(If any of my Pern readers stumble upon this, don't worry. The next chapter is coming this Saturday.)

I hope you guys enjoy.

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"Focus," he murmured the word, closing one eye to try and better his aim. This should have been an easy shot. The buck was right there. Having stumbled upon it completely by accident, he was at first shocked to find that it wasn't running from him. Maybe his blundering through the forest wasn't really as loud as it sounded to his ears. Perhaps the creature wasn't frightened because he hadn't been focusing on the hunt. But now… "Focus."

Taking a breath, the man took the shot and cursed loudly when the arrow just whizzed by the damned deer's head, sending the giant snack running off before he could ever consider reloading. Of course this would happen. One stupid little bitch dies and he can't even shoot a squirrel any more!

How long had he been hunting? Forever, that's how long. He was a man of the woods, and getting some food shouldn't have been so hard. "Fuck!" Punching the nearest tree as hard as he could, Daryl Dixon was not a happy man.

If Merle had been around, the big man would have laughed at him. Probably would have called him a bitch, and made a comment about his balls receding without sounding half as smart, but that didn't matter. Merle wasn't around. Neither was Sophia. The both of them were his fucking responsibility, both of them were gone, probably for good, and he was punching the tree again.

The anger, bubbling deep in his gut made him feel sick, but what did he have to do about it? They needed to leave the farm, needed to keep moving, and it was going to be his job to keep their strength up again. Not that anyone would ever admit that he could do something so helpful. Hunting. Hunting didn't matter when the Asian was able to run out and get a couple bags of chips every once in a while. Hunting didn't matter when it was a Dixon doing it. And they called him the redneck. Fuck. At least he—

A snapping twig had the man turning, crossbow raised to fire at whatever was there. If it was the buck again, then they'd have food. If it was a walker, he'd be a little less dead for his paranoia. But after standing there, silent and still for several seconds, nothing happened. No movement, no noise. Except….

Breathing?

Risking closing his eyes in order to listen better, the hunter tried his hardest to pick out what was there, hidden in the brush several yards in front of him. The wind rustled the leaves, and his heart beat just below his ears, but… there it was. Definitely breathing—no, panting. A relief and a worry, because walkers didn't breathe like a person did, but if it wasn't a walker, that meant there was someone hiding somewhere, and he couldn't see them. If he couldn't see them, he didn't know whether or not they were armed, and if they were, where the hell would he be? A bullet to the head for his supplies? A knife to the side for the fun of it?

It was this unknown danger that had the muscles in his legs bunching seconds before he sprinted in the direction of the sound, smirking at the high pitched squeal that sounded just before something ran. For a moment he thought it must have been a woman, because what the hell kind of man could make a noise like that, but the sound of running without a body in sight made him freeze.

"The fuck is this?" he muttered, standing perfectly still to try to find where the person was. It was almost like he was hallucinating again, imagining sounds and people that weren't really there. Movement out of the corner of his eye had him turning just in time to see a little body though. A kid. A… breath catching in his throat, Daryl was running again before he had time to think about it. There was a child out there, a little one, a real little one and he wasn't going to just let it go. "Wait!"

Using his longer legs to his advantage, and the fact that he now knew that he needed to look closer to the ground to track the retreating figure, it didn't take very long for the man to catch up. The kid stumbling over his own feet didn't hurt Daryl's cause either, as he continued to shout for the boy to stop and was continuously ignored. Irritation itching at his skin had the big man grabbing the little boy roughly around the arm as he fell to the ground again, letting out pitiful little hitching sobs.

"I said stop!" he shouted, turning the child around to face him, uncaring that his anger was only scaring the boy even more. "The fuck you thinkin' stupid?"

The little boy, with dirt smeared all over his face, and tear tracks shining clearly through the mess tried to use all of his weight to fall to the ground and out of Daryl's grip. However, it was useless. The kid couldn't have been older than six, a small and flimsy looking thing. Like, with one hand, the redneck could snap him in half. A very real fear of the kid, made clear when he started swinging his arms and kicking his feet in the air, completely hysterical in his attempts to escape.

Shouldering his crossbow, Daryl reached down to grab the boy under his arms, hoisting him into the air. The boy got one glancing blow to the tip of the man's nose before he had him arms length away from him, dangling like some sort of spastic rag doll. Under better circumstances this would have been a damned funny sight, but as soon as the boy realized he wasn't going to win the battle he went completely limp, hanging from the redneck's hands as he wept.

Though he'd never admit it to anyone, the sight damn near broke Daryl's heart, making his stomach clench painfully as the child cried, silent. This is what hopelessness looked like. This is what it looked like when a kid realized that no one was going to save them. Probably the look on Sophia's face…

"Boy, where's your momma?" Daryl asked a bit heavily, trying to look tough and calm at the same time. The end result was an oddly twisted snarl, squinting eyes, and a shriek from the child before he renewed his struggles. "Boy! You stop that shit right now or I'll drop you on your ass!"

Not a man for empty threats, when the kid didn't stop screaming or fighting Daryl actually dropped him. Scrambling seconds later to catch the child when he popped up and tried to run again. He was a tenacious little brat, if nothing else, and was refusing to speak in anything other than screams and grunts.

"Stupid!" he snapped, flicking the kid in the arm as sharply as he could without doing any real damage. The brief flash of pain made the boy freeze and stop crying, just long enough for Daryl to get at eye level and ask in slow, drawn out words, "Where is your momma?" Big blue eyes shifted between Daryl's eyes and mouth, like the kid was trying to figure out what the question was, so the man repeated, slower, "Where. Is. Your. Momma?"

"M-m-muhma?" the boy repeated in a voice that made Daryl release him. It was… almost deep, spoken through the nose like the boy didn't know how to use his tongue or lips. "M-m-muhma go. Aunnie her."

Squinting his eyes as though that would make him understand what the child was saying better, Daryl muttered, "What? The fuck's wrong with your mouth?"

"Aunnie… Aunnie her… hur… hur-er. Hur-ear."

"Her ear? The… what?"

"Hur-ear. Hur-ee. Her…" Holding his hands palm up in front of his chest, the boy circled them like he was trying to rub something from underneath. "Hur."

"Her butt? Her boobs? The fuck you doin' boy?"

"Hur!" Pointing one finger at the ground in front of him, the boy stomped his feet and pouted, staring hard up at the man.

"What about the floor?" Daryl asked, exasperated. When he chased after this kid, he did not sign up for a game of charades. When the boy stabbed his finger at the floor again, eyes never leaving the big man's face, he asked, "What's there?" The boy kept pointing. "What's there? Where is she? Is she there?"

Shaking his head softly, the boy pointed to the ground, and opened his arms, motioning to the surrounding forest. Daryl just shook his head for a second, unsure of what to do. Why wasn't the boy just telling him what was going on? Why didn't he just say where his mother was?

But the boy kept motioning, and Daryl kept looking around until he finally asked, "Is she here?"

Nodding his head frantically, the boy gave him a thumb up before saying, "Aunnie h-h-hur… Hur… hur-ee? Hur-ear? Hur! Hur!"

"Here," he corrected with a shake of his head. "Who's Aunnie?"

Looking at him like he was stupid, the boy repeated, "Muhmah go. Dahdy go. Aunnie s-s-say. Ung. No. Aunnie s-s—"

"Stay?"

Nodding his head again the boy started flailing, hands moving a mile a minute and the man didn't know what in all hell was going on. What had he gotten himself into? Clearly he should have just let the ankle biter run off into the woods and get himself killed, but…

"Slow down!" he snapped, growing frustrated with the child who hesitantly stopped moving. Getting onto his tiptoes, the boy stared intently at Daryl's mouth. Why was he doing that? "Boy, what's wrong wit you? Runnin' around the woods like an animal. Flailin' like an idiot. Where's this Aunnie? Why'd she leave you here?"

Staring for a moment, the little boy just blinked before starting with the hand gestures again. They were slower now, less frantic, accompanied by the odd grunt or squeak, but still… nothing. Daryl had no idea what was going on, even if the boy clearly did. And, coming to his last nerve he leaned down and growled, "I do not un-der-stand yer stupid flailin'." Rolling his eyes, he muttered, "I'm dealing with an idiot…"

At this the boy fell, straight down onto his bottom, and started crying again. It was a strange whimpering keen that made the man throw his hands into his hair and shout. Not a good thing to do, in a forest potentially full of walkers, but the two of them had already been so loud he figured there was nothing left to lose.

But there was nothing to gain by letting him sit there, crying, pitiful, weak. Sophia in another body, but this time he didn't need to fail her. "Kid," Daryl called the boy's attention, but the word went unacknowledged. "Kid." Louder this time, but the kid was to busy staring off to the side, crying. "Kid!" There was no way the kid was able to block out all of his shouting. "Kid! Fuck! Bitch ass punk!" Grabbing the boy's arm to force his attention, Daryl demanded, "Are you fuckin' deaf or somethin'?"

The nod he got in response was unexpected. Instantly the anger seemed to dissipate, as the flailing and the strange speech impediment made sense. The boy wasn't being difficult, he was actually doing his very best to convey the situation the only way he knew how! And Daryl was kneeling down beside the child, holding his arm much more gently now.

"If yer deaf, how're you hearin' what I'm sayin'?"

The child just pointed to his lips. "Aunnie teash… teash… show me. Nng… nah… not so good fast."

"You… are readin' my lips?"

A moment of absent staring before the child commented, "You talk funny."

The innocence of a child, and Daryl couldn't help but smile as he shook his head. "…Stupid." There was a moment of consideration as the man tried to figure out how to handle the situation. Clearly he couldn't leave the boy by himself. Deaf and tiny in a forest with walkers wandering around everywhere? The fact that he'd lived for any length of time on his own was truly remarkable. It… was unlikely that his luck would hold out much longer.

So tugging the boy to stand steadily on his own feet, Daryl asked, "So where's this Aunnie of yours?" It was a question to which the boy responded, after another pause, with a shrug. So, maybe, the fact of the matter was that his luck already had run out. Until Daryl Dixon showed up, that is. "I'ma help you find her."

So, without another word, the little boy was in the man's arms, balanced against his side like he'd been doing it all his life—bearing burdens that shouldn't have been his. "You're safe now, son."

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As another disclaimer, that I didn't want to put at the top because I didn't want to give away the story, this little boy is NOT a representation of all deaf people. Some deaf, fully or partially, actually speak EXTREMELY well. You would never know they were deaf. But many, if they're not taught and haven't had experience, do. No disrespect intended toward to deaf community. That is all.