Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead or any plotlines or characters from the TV show or graphic novels.

Summary: Daryl watches over Sydney as she sleeps the night after the walkers attack the prison.

Things had been going so good. Up until today.

Sydney was tossing in her sleep, muttering, and Daryl couldn't think of how to calm her down without waking her up, and she needed to sleep. So he just watched her move around, helpless. He hated feeling helpless.

Three members of their group were dead. Lori. T-Dog. Carol. Carol. Daryl closed his eyes. He couldn't think about that right now. Couldn't do it, couldn't bear it, because he couldn't fix it. Sydney he could fix. Somehow.

She'd been fine the whole day, after the attack. Shocked, but fine. Glued to Carl, but that was nothing new, and Daryl got the feeling it was more for him than her, anyway. Carl needed it, so Daryl'd let it be. Even let Sydney stay in the boy's room long after they both should've been asleep. Daryl had sat at the top of the stairs, watching the cell door, giving Syd twenty minutes to come out, then another twenty minutes, then another, because he couldn't bear to tear them away from each other after everything. After Lori. But then, when Sydney had finally appeared outside the cell, she'd slumped over. Daryl had almost gone to her, but then she'd taken off. She ran into the dining room and Daryl heard the door slam. Cursing, he'd gone after her, only to find her collecting her arrows in the courtyard. Glenn had been there, trying to coax her back inside, but Daryl'd sent him away. He knew what was coming. So he sat down beside Syd, and when she burst out in tears, he was there. For the first time in eight months, he held her while she cried herself all out. Then he got her inside, got some food down her, put her to bed. Took care of her. That's all he wanted, he just wanted to take care of her. But she was still twisting and turning in bed. He couldn't stop it. It wasn't fair. She didn't deserve any more nightmares.

She was eleven. Just eleven, growing up all too fast, in so many different ways. She was losing baby fat. Wearing a goddamn bra, which Daryl couldn't even think about. Flirting with Carl without having any idea what she was doing. Putting down walkers.

Daryl'd gotten used to her putting down walkers, though. Actually the only part he'd gotten used to. It wasn't a big deal anymore, it was how it had to be. Not ideal, but necessary. It kept her safe, helped her keep the group safe. But just because he was fine with her seeing those things die didn't mean he was fine with what she'd seen today. Lori dying.

He hated it. He hated this whole day. He hated that it had made his little girl cry like that. And damn it, he had to fix it.

So the next morning, as soon as sunlight was coming through the windows, Daryl shook Sydney awake. "Hey. Wanna go huntin'?"

And of course she did.

Things weren't fixed. But it was a start.