Guys. I'm sorry. I know, I haven't updated this in far too long. I've been so busy with study and work and stuff, but I'm back now. I'm back writing this again, and I have an actual plan for where it's going to go.
I hope people still want to read this, if I even still have any readers left.
I've sped everything up a bit, in terms of the time line, so this takes place on the same day as the barn shooting. Reminder: the last chapter contained the barn shooting, death of Sophia, and Dean was confused, crying, and snuggled up with Daryl in the tent.
Enjoy!
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The funerals were short and painful.
They stood around the few mounds of dirt that had been dug only a half hour ago, and were silent. There was nothing to say. The barn massacre had left the whole group, and Hershel's family, completely shell-shocked, and the result was a bone deep weariness.
They'd only started shooting a few merge hours ago, but already it seemed like it had been weeks.
Daryl had woken Dean up only ten minutes before the funerals started, not wanting the child to wake up alone, and was holding him tightly. Dean was chewing on his thumbnail, eyes hazy from sleep, staring at the ground.
The child was shaking. Daryl watched as Rick made a small speech, Carol's absence almost impossible to ignore, and then nodded respectfully at Hershel when he and his family made their way back into the house. Beth was sobbing almost hysterically, and her boyfriend, Jimmy, had his arm around her.
No tears were shed from his group. They'd all gotten so used to deaths and that overall feeling of grief, far too used to it.
Each one of them were thinking of Sophia though. From where he was standing, Daryl could see all of their gazes fixed on the small mound of dirt. Sophia was there. As Daryl stared at the ground, he felt Dean sniffling slightly, and he felt a surge of thankfulness that he had him in his arms.
Lose a kid, gain a kid.
The thought slammed into his mind, and Daryl could almost feel his heart skipping a beat. Daryl bit the inside of his mouth as hard as he could, trying to resist the urge to throw up at the thought, and wondered if it made him a terrible person to be so glad for Dean.
Dean was his nephew, practically his own kid, and he had been the only good thing in Daryl's life for the past few years. He tightened his grip tightly on Dean, and refused to look up, knowing that Rick had just raised his head to stare at him. Daryl would do anything to keep Dean safe, and he wouldn't regret it. Dean was his kid, and he was the only one who could protect him.
He didn't let himself feel guilty for that.
After another few minutes of their group just standing in silence, everyone started to split up. No words were exchanged, they all just drifted away to grieve, until Daryl and Dean were the last people left standing beside the graves.
Daryl observed silently that the group had gotten better at digging graves, since the world had gone to shit, and people had started dying.
Then Dean shifted in his arms, and he was immediately alert, "You okay, kid?"
"Daryl?" Dean let out a sniffle, and then pressed his head against Daryl's shoulder. When he spoke again, his words were slightly muffled, "I… I don't understand. W-why did all of this havta happen? Why did—why did things havta change? I used ta like it tha' way it was, when mommy was still here, an' when you used ta let me stay over, an' when—when it wasn't like this."
"Jus' the way things are, kid," Daryl felt pain flash through his chest at the thought of Dean asking such deep questions, but he pushed it down, and turned away from the grave. With his crossbow slung over one shoulder, and Dean clinging to the other, he started to walk into the woods. He needed to get away from the inquisitive glances of the group, and the feeling of people judging him that had begun when Dean had been found. Those damn people needed to mind their own business, "We'll be okay though."
It took another few minutes for Dean to reply, and his next question was hesitant, "But how do you know that?"
"'Cause I do. I know that because I've got you, an' I ain't never gon' let you go. 's long as yer with me, everythin' will work out. 's gonna be okay. We'll find Merle, an' we'll find somewhere ta make new memories, y'hear?" Daryl stopped when they reached a comfortable looking log, and settled himself down on it, Dean sitting on one of his knees.
All Daryl had ever wanted was for Dean to have a normal childhood. His own had been stained by drunken fathers, and a brother who'd hadn't been there for half of it, and then stoned for most of the rest. He knew that there was no hope for him to ever be normal, not with his scars and the protective walls that he had been forced to build around himself. Daryl knew that he'd never be able to really undo all of that, not really.
But when that woman had shown up on his doorstep, completely wasted and yelling for Merle with a bundle in her arms, Daryl had felt determination. He had been desperate not to fail the child, because of the failures that life had already saddled that tiny baby with already, and he had tried so hard. Daryl had gotten a proper job, not just little nixers, working in a garage. He had taught himself years before how to take Merle's bike apart and then back together, so he used those skills, and he had given every second pay check to Dean's mother.
Daryl had been the only one constant thing in Dean's life, and he had been proud of him, an emotion that Daryl had never felt before. Pride. The kid had been turning out well, almost unaffected by all the things that fate had lobbed at him, and Daryl had been so relieved and thankful to whatever had turned out right. Dean had only just started school before the world ended, at Daryl's insistence, and he'd actually made friends, something that Daryl never had been able to do.
Dean had been on the right track to being just like any other kid his age.
But now all that seemed to be crumbling into chunks of irony before him, and he looked down briefly at Dean.
It was the end of the world, and the child was sitting on his knee, after having watched dozens of people being gunned down. His mother was gone, most likely dead, and God only knew where Merle was. Daryl was back to be literally the only thing that Dean had, and he couldn't have hated himself more for letting that happen.
"What happened with that girl?"
Daryl resisted the urge to wince, and pulled Dean closer to him instead, "She… she got bitten. By one of the bad people. Dean, she wasn't—she was sick. And she wasn't going to get better, and – fuck, I'm sorry that you had ta see that. I'm so sorry, Dean, I'm so, so sorry."
Dean wiped his nose on his sleeve, and then began to pick at the gauze wrapped around his wrist, "'m sorry, Daryl, I didn't mean ta look, jus'—"
He cut the child off before he could go any further, both Dixons staring out into the bushes. "I'm not angry, kid, I'm jus'… I love ya, y'know that, don't ya?"
"I love you too."
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Daryl knew that it was time to get back to camp when it started to get dark.
The day had been long and far more scarring than he could have ever imagined. And when he looked down at Dean, who was making a pile of grass and because he had said 'it doesn't make my head hurt when I concentrate on this, Daryl, look,' he hated what this world had become.
He hated the fact that he had lost Dean, and that almost everyone he had known was dead. He hated killing the walkers, putting down what had once been innocent men and women. He hated the moment when he had seen his first kid-walker. He hated not knowing who was going to die next, or knowing exactly what to felt like to stab a knife into a human eyeball.
But most of all, Daryl hated what this world was doing to Dean.
"C'mon, kid, let's get back ta camp. Might even spring fer a sleep-in tomorrow. I think tha' we both need one."
Dean looked up, a hint of happiness in his eyes, "Can you tell me stories tomorrow, like you used ta when I used ta stay in yer house?" Daryl nodded, and the boy beamed, "Yer the best person that I've ever heard at tellin' stories, cause you always do the voices, an' the actions, and the…"
Picking up his crossbow, Daryl nodded wearily, glad that at least Dean was beginning to get back to his old self. He had known that the woods was the best place to go, after all that violence and killing and bloodshed. It was where Daryl had spent most of his childhood, and he always had felt a careful sense of security there, one that he had never been able to explain.
But just as they were about to start heading back towards the house, Daryl heard a twig snap behind them, the sound of it instantly telling him that it wasn't from a wild animal, that it was from a human around the same size as him.
He whirled around, crossbow aimed within a second, and planted himself right in front of Dean.
Dean stopped right in the middle of his sentence, letting out a whimper, and clung to Daryl's legs tightly, his whole body trembling.
It was a walker. But not just one, like Daryl had assumed. The one in front of them was the shell of a businessman, his whole right arm just torn off, and his mouth twisted into a snarl. An arrow had the thing falling to the ground in seconds, hitting the leaves with almost no sound.
But then there was another one behind it. And another one. And three more stumbling through the trees towards them. And what looked like a few dozen in the distance. All dragging themselves towards Daryl and Dean.
It was a herd.
.
Daryl didn't waste a second in picking Dean up, slinging the child over his shoulder with his left hand securing Dean in place, crossbow grasped tightly in his other hand.
He started running. Dean was crying and clinging onto him, and the moans of the dead were getting louder as their food started to flee, but Daryl just gritted his teeth, and ran for his life. He ran for Dean's life, and for his determination that Dean was going to survive this, and that he was going to grow up.
The trees were flashing past him, and Daryl knew that he was getting closer to Hershel's farm, but he resisted the urge to yell out for help.
He wouldn't be yelling for himself, he would be yelling for someone to help Dean, for someone to just get the boy away from all this fear and death and darkness, but he kept his mouth shut. Daryl just focused on the way his feet were pounding on the ground, and not slowing down.
He had to get Dean to safety, and he had to warn the others.
Daryl was starting to pull away from the walkers, the adrenaline pumping through him giving him the energy to sprint faster than he ever had in his life. Dean's soft cries also made him forget about the fact that he couldn't really breathe, or that his knee was crunching in a way that he was sure wasn't good, or that there were dozens of walkers behind him and they were going to catch up eventually.
Finally, he burst out of the tree line, and was on the home stretch across the field. Daryl could see the campfire glowing in the distance and he fixed his gaze on it, already making a plan of what to do when he reached the others.
By the time he reached the camp, his legs were weak and his breathing wasn't right. Daryl let a sobbing Dean down, and accepted Rick's offered hand to steady himself, "Daryl, what's going on? What happened? Daryl!"
"W… Walkers…" He gasped, and raised a shaky hand to point out at the darkening field, "There's a—there's a whole damn… herd 'a them out there… must'a heard th' shots from earlier… we have to leave… now." He tried to pull away from Rick and head towards his tent, but the other man grasped him by the forearm.
Rick was frozen in shock, not processing the news properly, "Did you just say… that… that…"
The rest of the group were crowding around them then, all looking terrified, but unable to move. Then Dale, from the top of the RV squinted out at the distance, and cried out, "Walkers! I see them… it looks like a whole herd heading this way!"
Daryl wrenched his arm out of Rick's grasp and hollered, "I fuckin' told you that! Now, c'mon we havta go now! There ain't any time fer a damn discussion 'bout all this!"
He stomped over to his tent, trying to estimate the amount of supplies that he could fit on the bike, while everyone jolted into action, "I'll get Maggie!" Glenn yelled, and took off running towards the house, stumbling and cursing in his hurry to make it to the front door.
T-Dog and Andrea started trying to take down tents, before Rick came to his senses, and yelled for them to just load up the cars. Dale was trying to get the RV to start, but from the sounds that the engine was making, Daryl knew that the radiator hose had gone again. He bowed his head for a moment, letting out a curse, and then resumed packing his things into the ragged rucksack that he owned.
Dean was hovering behind him, tears streaming down his face, but not making a sound, "'s gonna be okay," Daryl said gruffly to him, as he shoved a blanket into the bag, "I ain't gon' let anythin' happen ta ya, it's gonna be okay."
It was only when he was tearing down his small tent, and trying to wad the canvas up into a ball that could fit precariously into one of the saddle bags, that Daryl realised.
He couldn't take Dean on the bike.
There was almost no way that the five year old would be able to hold on while the bike was moving at full speed, and Daryl wasn't sure if he wanted to take that risk. He stopped dead, spinning around in a three sixty with Dean clinging to his hand, and looked.
Hershel and his family were pouring out of their house, the women crying, and looking like they had no idea what to do. The Grimes family were like a well-oiled machine, moving quickly in unison, and Daryl didn't want to risk Dean being lost in the confusion with them. Dale was desperately trying to get the RV started. Shane was stomping around, looking for the guns, and waving his hands about as he yelled at everyone. Glenn was with Maggie, trying to stop her from running back into the house to get her possessions. T-Dog was packing up one of the trucks, looking frantic.
And the walkers were getting closer and closer.
Daryl had to make a decision. He only faltered for a second as he picked Dean up easily, and ran over to T-Dog, "I need ya ta take him." He said breathlessly, and handed Dean over to a bewildered T-Dog, "I can't take him on th'bike, an' I need ya ta take him in with ya. Please."
The other man stared at Daryl carefully for a second, and then at the sobbing boy in his arms, and then nodded. "Okay. C'mon, Dean, in ya go." T-Dog gently manoeuvred Dean into the passenger seat, and looked terrified as the kid started wailing.
"No! No, Daryl, don't leave—don't leave me! No, no!"
Daryl bent down to Dean for a moment, and pressed his forehead to the child's, "Dean, I will come back fer ya. I need ya ta go with T-Dog, an' get ta somewhere safe, I need ya ta be safe. I'm goin' ta get my bike, an' then I'll be right behind ya, okay? Ya havta go now, but I'll be right behind ya. I just—I need ya ta be safe." He looked up at T-Dog then, who was about to get in the driver's seat, and nodded, "I'll see you soon. Thank you."
Then Daryl stepped back to let Andrea slide in beside Dean, and closed the car door firmly, feeling his heart break into a million pieces. He could see Dean howling and crying, sandwiched in beside Andrea and T-Dog, but he had to be with them.
He had to be sure that Dean would be safe. Even if it meant splitting them up for a while, he would do anything to make sure that Dean was safe.
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It was only seconds later when the walkers hit the camp, and then people started screaming.
Daryl turned around slowly, relief flooding his heart as he watched the car move quickly out of sight, the first one to escape what was about to become a bloodbath, and steeled himself for what was about to come. It was a matter of survival now, and his bike was at the opposite end of the campsite.
There was no way that they were all going to make it out of this alive.
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So. Yes. That's where I'm going with this.
Again, apologies for the really long wait, I hope that you guys are still reading, and that this chapter didn't disappoint you all. Would absolutely love to hear some feedback, and I'll have the next chapter up as quickly as I can.
Review…?
Thanks for reading,
ArmedWithMyComputer xx
