Daryl looks behind his shoulder. The guy behind him is kind of close, but he's feeling strong.

His teeth clench, heart pounding hard, legs burning and indicating he's almost at maximum effort level, but he keeps going.

He remembers the house in flames. Jack placing a hand on his shoulder, probably for the first ever.

"Stupid mama of yers, fell asleep with a lighted cigarette on her damn hand. Ya know how much this is gonna cost?"

He remembers knowing, even as a 6 year old, that it was bullshit.

So he ran.

Remembers reaching a pond they'd used to go with her mama, where she'd told him that story of them Cherokee roses. Remembers being so confused but knowing one thing: that she wouldn't be there anymore; that he was, from then on, all alone. Remembers his eyes feeling watery, but still not allowing the tears to come because he'd always been told... hell, even shown, that he wasn't allowed to do that.

So he ran. He ran until his lungs burned.

16 years after that, running was still that one thing that saved him.

Half a mile to go. He's managed to distance himself a few more yards from the runner behind him, but it's starting to hurt, the ground feeling slippery at times since it is a cross country race. His upper body begins to feel stiff from the effort. He knows it's only little over 2 minutes left but time passes more slowly at this stage, because, well… both in races and in life time isn't just a linear thing.

He narrows his eyes as he remembers that time when running finally led him to freedom, with 16 years old. Fuck it'd hurt to run in such condition: Jack had beaten him so badly Daryl swears his old man had even been thought he might have fucking killed him. There hadn't been an apparent reason other than Jack accusing him of having drunk the beers he'd left on the fridge; beers Jack had drunk the night before with Merle, but of course, he'd been too drunk to remember that and he needed an excuse to beat him anyway. That time, though, Daryl fought back, and that drove Jack so insanely angry he'd just smashed a glass bottle over his head. He'd woken up in the kitchen, his body sore, head aching so badly it blurred his vision, goddamn blood everywhere. In an automatic motion he just walked around the house picking up whatever he thought could be useful: the money he'd saved, the few clothes he owned, the only picture of his ma he had; and just opened the door and ran. In the cold Georgia winter, he ran for more than 2 hours straight, determined not to get back to that place, not to see Jack again, ever. And he hadn't since then.

Every day he's thankful he took that decision that day, even when life had been anything but easy from that day on. Hell, it'd been so hard at times he'd been close to going back more than once, because at first, change could be even harder than staying in a shitty comfort zone.

Until 18, he stayed in a group home. Had not been a goddamn palace, but it hadn't been so bad either: had provided him of shelter and food and that was much more than Daryl could have asked for or had been used to anyway. And it'd allowed him to go to high school, where a day just like any other he'd found the track and the fact that he seemed to be good at it. The usually boring gym class had taken place in the track that day, where they'd had to do sprints from 100 to 400 meters. Without even trying hard he'd placed amazing times at the four distances, finishing right behind the actual athletes, and from then on, everything had been kind of surreal: the coaches had convinced him to begin to train consistently, and less than a month after he became part of the high school team. By the end of that year, he'd crushed absolutely every personal best at pretty much all distances, and with that came a whole bunch of colleges showing interest in having him. Colleges; and even some sort of popularity he hadn't really embraced because he'd always been just too damn shy and awkward and had definitely avoided any kind of attention.

If anyone would have told him five years ago he might eventually go to college, he'd have burst out laughing. Dixons didn't even finish high school. But today and for the last 3 years he'd been an athlete for the University of Georgia, and he had a full scholarship to study Wildlife Biology there.

And above all things, running was something he simply couldn't stop doing, because every time he ran it felt like he was getting further away from him. From Jack. And he sure as hell wanted to get as far as he could from his old man, from the person Daryl himself might be today had he never left that day.

He can see the finish line now, and that's always a boost of energy as long as that energy hasn't all been consumed down the road. He sprints, eyes narrowed and focus only on getting closer, and soon enough he can spot familiar faces cheering and waiting to see who'd be the first to cross that finish line. Once more, it would be him.

"Can you be anymore awesome?", Tara yells as she runs towards him and hugs him so tight it has him almost losing his balance.

"Whoa, easy Tar, I'm a goddamn mess right now", Daryl manages to say as he hugs her lightly since he's covered in sweat, although she doesn't seem to care. She hands him a bottle of water, which he takes gladly, and squeezes his cheeks.

"You're gorgeous, especially when you're covered in sweat and mud", she tells him as she squeezes his cheeks amusingly, and he just rolls his eyes. She lets go and he brings his hands to his knees to catch his breath, immediately chugging the whole content of the bottle afterwards.

And then comes the part he doesn't really enjoy: the hugs, the pats on the shoulder and hand shaking, the congratulations and even the goddamn media asking him about his impressions of the race. He does appreciate the affection but he just doesn't know how to deal with the attention, which is unfortunately part of the package. He's grateful that his coach, Hershel, understands and even likes that about him. Hershel is already retired, but he still comes to every training and his wisdom and experience are the perfect complement to the enthusiasm and energy of his son-in-law, Glenn, who's officially the athletic team coach.

"Great job, son", Hershel says, bringing both hands to his shoulder. "You have it in you, you just never cease to amaze me", he tells Daryl as he looks at him with that strong yet tender gaze.

"Thank you coach; been a good race, I guess, was feeling good from the beginning", Daryl mumbles, eyes fixed on the ground as usual.

Hershel chuckles knowingly. "It was outstanding; we just have to make sure you convince yourself of that. Meanwhile, well, you very well deserve a beer now", he says, patting his shoulder as he walks away.

Daryl figures he does deserve a beer, and as his eyes scan the crowd looking for Tara, Rick or Michonne, he's surprised when he spots a pair of bright blue eyes staring at him briefly. Eyes that contrast with the very pale skin of a girl he's sure he hadn't seen before. He might have stared for a little long because she smiles lightly and raises her thumb. In lack of better ideas, he finds himself raising his thumb back as well, and since he feels this has somewhat turned awkward, he just averts her eyes and continues walking in the search of his friends.