Things went to shit again the next morning.
Daryl really shouldn't have been surprised. It wasn't like anything ever really lasted for long, and especially not once the world ended. There was only so much that could be counted on, post end-of-days; hell, you couldn't even count on that particular title since apparently the sun kept rising and falling even once the virus spread and civilization crashed.
For one thing, you could count on kids being spoiled little shits. The entire damn camp heard Lori bitching out Rick soon as they found out Carl'd taken a gun from who-knew-where and started carrying it around. Barely half an hour passed before the kid decided to check Daryl's campsite - such as his tent-and-motorbike set-up could be called a campsite ever since Carol made him move it closer to the others - digging around in the saddlebags and trying to swipe the pistol he kept there. He didn't quite understand why Carl wasn't allowed to have a gun - he'd gotten a gun before his hand could fully fit around the grip, and kids had to start growing up faster than they did before or they'd end up dying - but he still took the kid to his mom right quick and made sure that thing got dealt with early. (Last thing he needed was another Lori Grimes shouting match, much less one he got stuck in.)
For another, Rick and Hershel up and disappeared. No one was sure where they went - not even Lori… or, rather, not even Dale, who spent enough time spying on them all from the top of his RV that Daryl was kinda surprised he didn't know where all of them were at any given time. Of course, that became Daryl's problem too, since almost killing himself looking for Sophia apparently wasn't enough to get him off hunt-down-the-wayward-leader duty.
Instead, he found himself packing up his crossbow and bolts again, grabbing a thing of water and a spare package of gauze from somewhere in the house - it wasn't like he had any other long-sleeved shirts to rip up for bandages - before setting out towards the part of the property where they'd last been seen. All in all, it was a pretty routine thing to do by then; pack up, get moving, slip out without anyone really noticing, and come back before anyone gets worried enough to start talking about search parties.
But, since the world had apparently decided to go insane between the night before and the morning, that wasn't how things worked. He packed and got moving alright, but there was an actual damn crowd of people lurking near the woods, chattering quietly amongst themselves. He lifted a hand, blocking the sun long enough to make out the people: Carol, Sophia, Wes, his daughters… hell, even Lori. And they were just sitting there. Blocking his damn path, and for what reason? None that he could see.
He got a grand total of five more steps before they noticed he was there and turned, en masse, to stare awkwardly in his direction. The next ten feet were awkward as shit, and Daryl very much did not appreciate their eyes on him. He much preferred the slip-out-without-people-caring tactic. It was much more comfortable.
It would be very stupid to stop and run the risk of having to talk to them. Regardless, he kinda had due by virtue of the fact that they were blocking his damn path. "Hey."
Carol nodded a hello. "Hey." A pause, then she slid her hand back into Sophia's hair and stroked along the strands. "Soph wanted to see you off."
Daryl shoved his hand into one back pocket - the hand, complete with stinging, scabbed-over knuckles that the kid really didn't need to see - and nodded. "Heya, Soph."
She waved back, even if it was a tiny, shy thing. "Hi."
And then Deanna was the one stepping forward to speak. "And I thought I'd offer to help."
Which… what. "What?"
"Daddy said I could." Her father nodded from over her shoulder. "And it's 'bout time we started pullin' our weight here."
Daryl blinked, and yeah, maybe it was none of his business, but he still went ahead and said, "You've been here a day."
She nodded. "Yeah."
And… okay, yeah, it was definitely none of his business. So he shrugged. "A'ight."
"I can come?" Her voice was an odd mix of almost-excitement and guardedness.
He nodded. "Yeah, sure. Don't slow me down."
"I won't, promise." She turned to look at her family and he couldn't help bracing himself for the usual long, teary goodbyes. The ones he always saw from Rick and his family, Hershel and his. The ones that seemed to take three times as long as the mission itself. Instead, she merely stepped over, pressed a kiss to her sister's head, and hugged her father. It was short. Efficient. And then she stepped closer to the wood, looked back, and nodded solemnly. "Ready when you are."
He nodded. "Yeah. Let's go."
– – –
Except.
Except they were about two steps away from the treeline when everything went to shit. Again.
First there was the shouting. It was coming from somewhere behind them - somewhere near the house - and maybe it was stupid but Daryl couldn't just leave with that racket going on, raising not only a question of what the hell was happening now? but also potentially summoning walkers or raiders to their pseudo-civilization.
So, yeah, he turned back. Deanna and Wes were just behind him, the same energetic urgency driving them forwards. Carol, Sophia, and Benny were somewhere behind them, close but not too close, and he sure as shit was going to get them all back to the house and figure out what was going on before he took off into the woods on some mission to track down Rick from wherever he'd gone off and found himself.
It wasn't a raider. It wasn't a walker. It wasn't Rick coming back, or Hershel appearing from somewhere.
It was Shane.
It was Shane and a duffel bag full of guns that they weren't supposed to have on the property, shouting like a madman who'd forgotten that the world had done ended and there were flesh-eating things just waiting to find a food source.
"The hell 're ya doin', Walsh?"
He didn't answer. Not with words. Instead, he just ran forward, heedless of the crowd he was gathering, and thrust a shotgun into Daryl's hands. "You with me?" He didn't wait for an answer before moving on, kneeling down beside Carl and handing him a handgun. Daryl's gun. The one he'd given to Rick and Lori when he found the rugrat digging through his shit.
"Walsh, stop-"
And that was apparently the wrong thing to say because another gun - Daryl'd wager anything it was Shane's gun back before everything ended, at least judging from what little of it he could see - was promptly shoved into his face. "Dixon, you back the hell up, you hear? I'm doin' this, one way or th' other, and I ain't afraid to shoot."
Daryl could just barely see Carl out of his periphery, could see the kid look between the gun in his hand and the gun in Shane's. He couldn't see Carol and Sophia, but they were somewhere behind him, and Benny was probably there, too. The noise had drawn some of the others out of the house, and Beth was hovering with her sister, just watching. All in all, much as Daryl itched to do something, that familiar thrum of violence setting in under his skin, he couldn't. There was too much risk, too little reward. (And, if a little part of him couldn't help but admit that he'd fail to justify any kinda loss on the behalf of Daryl Dixon, then that was all the more reason not to do anything.)
"Ain't tryin' nothin', Walsh. Just askin' what th' plan is." It was against everything in his code, but he lifted his hands a little nonetheless, holding them out from his side with the shotgun pointedly directed away. "Don't wanna do nothin' stupid like goin' in 'thout a plan."
Shane paused a minute, gun still pointed at Daryl for a second more. When he lowered it, he did so slowly, cautiously, and the barrel didn't move enough for Daryl to be able to move comfortable. "Gonna open the doors. Let 'em all out."
Daryl shifted, looking over at the others. The newcomers were edging around, trying to flank him, but it wouldn't work. Not without a possibility of bloodshed, at least, and that was just unacceptable. He lifted his hand further, gestured for them to stop, shook his head as much as he dared. "Ya ain't wrong. 'S dangerous, them things bein' so close. But this ain't the way, not yet."
The gun shifted dangerously closer, but wasn't raised again. "Hell's that supposed to mean?"
"Carl. Lori." The gun faltered again. "'F she's pregnant, life on th' road ain't gonna be easy. No food, no water, no shelter. Ain't gonna be like it is here."
"I know. So we're not leaving." He gestured around at the farm. "This… It's a home. For Lori. For Carl. And we're not giving it up."
"Shoot those things 'n th' barn 'n' that's what's gonna happen."
"What?"
"Hershel ain't gonna see it like you do." The gun shifted, and he amended the statement before it could lift any further. "Like we do. You do this, he's ain't gonna be welcomin' us stayin'. Ain't gonna let Carl and Lori stay."
The gun dropped a little lower. "That's a good point." It dropped again.
And, because the life they lived was the life they lived, everything promptly went to shit once more.
