Disclaimer: I do not own TWD.

A/N: Hey guys, thank you all for the wonderful reviews. So grateful for all my readers and supporters of LAS. Hope you all had a wonderful holiday.

…

CH 21- Child of Survivors

…

Daryl let Charlie run ahead of him as they hurried down the street of a small town. Walkers followed close after them. Without his crossbow, Daryl felt almost at a loss. However, the loss of his weapon did not limit him from protecting themselves.

The ground was wet from the rain the night before. Charlie splashed through the puddles, towing the pack on her back and the switchblade in her hand.

"Hurry! Go!" Daryl ordered her.

Charlie ran down the deserted street. She looked behind her to see as Daryl warded off a walker that got too close. He had a baseball bat, swinging it across the walker's face. The walker fell to the ground and Daryl smashed its skull against the wet pavement. Blood and brains splattered across the street.

"Charlie, get through the fence!" Daryl called after Charlie.

Charlie looked ahead of her to see a small alley next to a pub. There was a fence blocking off the alley. Charlie hurried to it, dodging a walker that reached out for her. Charlie found a gap at the bottom corner of the fence and pulled herself through. Her rucksack caught on the fence, holding her back.

The same walker that approached her, hurried behind her. It growled and snapped at her as it fell on its knees to grab her.

"Agh!" Charlie struggled to pull herself through the fence.

Daryl saw the walker inches from Charlie and hurried to it. He grabbed it from the back of its bloody shirt and yanked it back, stabbing it through the skull with his knife. He then helped Charlie get through the fence. When she was free, he climbed up and over it, landing by her.

"C'mon." He picked up Charlie and heaved her over his shoulder.

Charlie looked up, watching as the many walkers came crashing against the fence, behind them. She watched the faces of the walkers, desperately reaching out for them, taking notice of their gaunt and rotting faces. They were almost the same ones she saw in her nightmares.

Daryl reached the side of the pub where he pulled down the fire escape and climbed up it whilst holding Charlie in his arms.

"Hol' on tight." He told her. Charlie wrapped her arms around his neck.

The fence broke, letting in the horde that had gathered. They hurried to the fire escape, crashing against one another, reaching up for the living.

"Don't look down." Daryl ordered Charlie. Charlie couldn't help but to look.

When Daryl reached the top of the roof, he set Charlie down on her feet. The sky above them was gray and threatening rain.

"You okay? They get ya?" Daryl asked as he knelt down to look Charlie over.

"Ow!" Charlie winced when Daryl touched her cheek. She closed one eye and made a face.

"What's wrong?" Daryl demanded, afraid that she had gotten scratched or bit. It was then he noticed Charlie's wound; a trickle of blood had begun to drip from her wounded cheekbone. It had opened and begun to bleed.

"Let me see."

"No." Charlie backed away from Daryl.

Daryl grabbed her arm, pulling her forward. He grasped her chin softly but firmly and looked at her bruised cheek. He frowned and felt the anger surge through him. He should have smashed that bastard's head against a rock for striking her.

"Gon have to close it up." He said mostly to himself.

Charlie grew rigid when he said this.

…

Daryl managed to open the door that lead down to the loft above the pub. It was empty and free of any walkers or corpses. The entrance that lead down to the pub was blocked off with wooden planks and a desk. The loft itself had once been someone's living space. It had a small bed against the corner, a couch, a recliner, a round breakfast table and a shelf filled with dusty books.

Daryl sat Charlie down upon the desk that blocked the door. She watched with wide eyes as Daryl searched his pack for the needle. When he found it, he cleaned it with the alcohol he had managed to salvage in the house where he found Charlie's clothes. He then grabbed a book from the floor where the shelf was and tore off the spine and took the string that held the pages together.

When it was all ready to go, Daryl stood before Charlie. He looked at her with sad eyes. "Ya ready?"

Charlie looked at it with those big blue eyes of hers. She had never needed stitches before and she was scared and nervous but she put up a brave front—for her father.

"Charlie?"

Charlie looked up at him with this look in her eyes. It was the same look she held when he had cut her hair. She was afraid but she didn't want him to know that. She always put on a brave face for him but her eyes couldn't lie to him. He always knew. That's why his heart broke for her. She didn't deserve to live in such a cruel world.

Daryl took in a deep breath before he made the first incision in to her delicate skin. "Hold still, ok?"

Charlie said nothing; only let him do what he had to do. "M' sorry, sweetheart." He murmured and began to sew her wound shut.

Charlie let out a stifled cry at first but then shut her mouth closed and didn't cry out again. She forced herself still, the tears rolling down her flushed face. By the time Daryl was done, she leaned in to his chest and let out another shuttering cry. Daryl hugged her, letting her relax her worn body against his.

"Atta girl." He rubbed her back, "Yer gonna be alright."

…

Charlie slept in Daryl's arms that night. He huddled themselves on the bed of the loft that rested in the corner by the closed up window. He wrapped the blanket around Charlie to keep her warm. The poor little thing had sniffled until she fell asleep. She was utterly exhausted.

Daryl held her close, feeling guilty for having to hurt her the way he had. It was for her own good but still, he couldn't help but to feel terrible for it. He rested his cheek on top of her head muttering a silent apology.

…

The infant had not stopped crying and Daryl had no means to comfort her. He had fed her, changed her and burped her. He had done everything he knew Beth would have. Still, he felt useless to aid the child's crying. He wasn't good with her, or so he thought. He didn't know the difference between her cries. He couldn't tell if she was hungry or angry or just wanted attention. He struggled greatly with her.

But he was trying. In the weeks that Beth had been missing, he really was trying. He had managed to find the baby some formula to keep her fed and most importantly, alive. He had risked her life by placing her in a basket and hanging it from a tree to keep her out of reach of the walkers while he broke in to an infested building to grab that last container of formula. He had risked both of their lives but he had been successful.

The baby brought her fists in to her face in frustration for her father could not find a way to soothe her tears. Daryl knew she missed Beth. He couldn't comfort her the way Beth did and he knew the shitty formula was no replacement for the nourishment she had been able to provide their child.

Charlotte had been forcefully weaned and she wasn't too happy about the fact. Finding that comfort in her mother's warmth and the safety in her arms was not the same as a cold, plastic bottle.

Daryl held the baby against him, calming down the tears that rolled down the girl's cheeks. He was desperate to ease her crying and his nerves were shot. They were out in the open of the Georgia forest and Daryl feared that the girl's non-stop crying would attract any straggling walkers—or worse, the living.

"What's wrong?" Daryl demanded as he pulled the baby away from him and dangled her before him. He studied her for a moment. Her golden locks had begun to darken in to a light brown, no longer blond. Her cheeks and little button nose were rosy red from crying.

"What do ya want?"

Charlotte hiccupped and commenced to cry.

"Beth?" Daryl asked, "Is that why yer cryin'? Cause ya want Beth?"

Charlotte gave out a frustrated whine. Daryl huffed and set the baby down on a stump. She was able to sit up on her own now. She looked up at Daryl as he backed away and reached a hand to him, whining for him to take her back in to his arms.

Daryl glared at the baby. "Well, she ain't here!" He snapped. "She's gone! Don't ya understand that?"

Charlotte stopped her crying for a slight moment, startled by her father's sudden rage. She looked at him with watery blue eyes and started to cry again. Her shrills pierced through Daryl's ears and he winced at the ear piercing sound.

Daryl shook his head. "Ya don't get it. She's gone…" he stumbled backward but gained his footing. "Yer Mama's gone. She ain't comin' back."

Charlotte looked around their surroundings, searching for her mother, wondering why her cries had not brought her over. Daryl saw the baby's desperation to be comforted by her mother and he knew she missed her but there was nothing he could do. Beth was gone. He had tried to find her but the car that took her disappeared in to thin air. The state of Georgia was a big place; she could be anywhere.

Charlotte then looked up at him, raising her little arms up for him to pick her up. Whenever she did that, Beth would swoop her up immediately. Daryl was hesitant but in the end, his heart melted at the sight of his daughter's big blues pleading for his help. He walked over and swooped her up from the stump. Charlotte rested her head against his chest and whined.

"I'm all ya got now." He told her as he rubbed her back and her cries settled to a calm, "Ya gotta understand that."

…

"How're ya feelin'?" Daryl asked her when Charlotte woke the next morning.

Her cheek looked swollen and her eyes were puffy from the silent crying she had endured the night before. He truly felt horrible.

"Sleepy." Charlie answered him.

"Yeah? Well, ya'll sleep once ya eat." Daryl said as he picked her up and sat her down at the small breakfast table. He reached in to his pack and brought out a can of carrots. He opened them and set them before Charlie.

Charlie only stared at them with tired eyes. She made no effort to reach for them. Daryl stood watching her, waiting to see what she would do.

"Can ya'll spell carrots?" Charlie asked softly.

"C-a-r-r-o-t-s." Daryl spelled the word out.

"Hmm." Charlie said. She then pushed away from the table, slid off the chair and walked past Daryl, making her way back to the bed.

"Ey, where ya goin'?" Daryl followed after her.

"Sleep." She said and buried herself underneath the blankets.

Daryl shook his head. Whilst Charlie slept, Daryl looked around the loft to see if there was anything of use to them. He found nothing to eat but managed to find a collection of knives under the bed.

After, he climbed back up the roof to take a look down at the alley. The horde of walkers had disbanded and only two walkers roamed the area. If he had his crossbow, he could take them out from where he stood.

Daryl glanced out in to the town; his eyes squinted slightly as he searched the perimeter. The streets looked empty from what he could see. A few blocks down was the road that lead them out of town in the direction they needed to go. Daryl wanted to get to Terminus but he had promised Charlie they would stop by the farm for another photo of Beth. He didn't want to disappoint her.

Daryl climbed back down to the loft where he found Charlie still asleep. She was belly up with her little hands resting by her head. She stayed asleep for the majority of the day and only got up when she heard a few walkers tumbling across fallen trashcans in the alley. Daryl tried to get her to eat but she was too exhausted to keep her eyes open. Daryl believed it was due to the sewing of her wound; it had left her exhausted. He didn't blame her, the poor thing. She needed a moment of peace, and therefore, he did not wake her.

When the sun set, Daryl set the last small candle ablaze and glanced towards Charlie who sat on the bed. She was wide wake but very quiet. Daryl grew angry because he couldn't stand seeing her so broken. He grabbed the can of carrots and walked over to her, placing them on the bed in front of her.

"Eat." He ordered.

Charlie looked at the carrots and then glanced away.

Daryl glared at this. "'Nough of this bullshit, little girl." He said, "I want ya to eat them damn carrots now."

He didn't mean to snap at her but he missed her. He missed her many questions and her sarcastic remarks. In all, he missed her normal self.

Charlie looked at the carrots, and grabbed them. She took a hold of the plastic spoon and slowly ate the carrots without complaint. Daryl stood there until she finished the entire can. When she was done, he took the can and took a step back.

"How're ya feelin'? Better?" He asked her.

Charlie didn't look at him. She kept her blues ahead of her; she then did something Daryl had not seen her do before, or at least in a while. Her face contorted in a strange way, her lips pursed together slightly and then, without warning, she bent over the side of the bed and vomited.

Chunks of carrots splattered all over the floor by the bedside.

Daryl frowned lightly at this. "Shit." He muttered quietly to himself.

When Charlie finished vomiting her canned dinner, she sat up and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She sniffled. "Ya'll said to eat dem carrots." She told Daryl.

Daryl sighed in defeat. "I know."

…

The following morning, Daryl helped Charlie out of bed and put her boots back on. He had studied the perimeter from the roof and the coast was clear. The straggling walkers had wandered off.

He helped her down the fire escape and the two made their way out of town.

They walked down the main road, following the map Daryl had snatched from a small convenience store in one of the corner streets before they fully exited the small town. He hoped they came across another map pointing them in the direction of Terminus, however, the farm was a stop they would have to make sooner or later.

Charlie walked ahead of Daryl in that funny walk that meant she was still getting used to her new boots. He eyed her for a moment.

Daryl questioned why his child was always covered in blood. Why at just six she had already killed. Why there was no way to bring back her innocence. Nonetheless, without the end of the world, there would be no Charlotte Dixon. She only existed because the dead did. She only managed to survive because her parents had done what they did to keep her alive and also because she herself, had managed to keep herself alive.

That girl was a survivor. She was a fighter. Perhaps she did belong in such a world. It was the only world she knew, after all.

"Daddy?" Charlie snapped him out of his pensive trance.

He looked up to see she had stopped walking. "Yeah?"

"Ya'll can spell lots of words, huh?"

"Yeah." Daryl said as he caught up with her and the two continued to walk side by side.

"Do ya know how to spell my name?"

"C-h-a-r-l-i-e."

Charlie giggled. "And yer name?"

"D-a-r-y-l."

"Daddy, why ya'll name me Charlie?"

"S'a nickname." He explained.

"Was a nickname?" she asked just as she stumbled on her boots; she would have tripped if Daryl's body had not broken her fall.

"S'a just name someone gives ya. S'not yer real name."

"Was my real name?"

"Charlotte." Daryl answered her.

"Charlotte." She repeated the name, "Why?"

"Cause it was yer great Grandma's name." he explained, remembering the promise Beth had made to Hershel.

"Why is she so great?" Charlie looked up at Daryl as she grasped the straps of her rucksack.

"It means she's yer granddaddy's mother."

"Oh." She said with understanding.

Charlie then grabbed Daryl's hand and continued walking by his side. Daryl looked at her and only shook his head.

…

Daryl set up camp deep in the woods before the sun set. They rested for a while, deep in to the night until the sound of walkers made them cut their rest short and continued on their journey in the dark of night.

Daryl dragged a sleepy Charlie close behind him along the main road. He stopped when he noticed a van on the side of the road. He tugged Charlie's hand and pulled her back into the forest and quietly made their way towards the van. The closer they approached, the more Daryl could make out the voices of people.

He stopped behind a shrub where he could get a better view of the people.

"Daddy?" Charlie whispered as she looked up at him, waiting for some kind of answer or demand.

Daryl placed his finger to his lips and she huddled at his side. Daryl quietly made his way closer, squinting his eyes to get a better look. He looked to the man, kneeling down on the ground in front of the van; next to him was a woman. They were surrounded by a group of men, holding them hostage. Daryl looked closer and his heart stopped and his eyes widened when he saw who that man was.

It was Rick Grimes.