He was drowning in negative emotions, unable to subdue the maelstrom of negativity swirling through his mind and down into his very core. The emotions coursing through him were so intense that he felt completely powerless, frozen, hardly able to breathe and certainly not able to focus on the soft knock at his door.

A long-suppressed memory made its way to the surface, and all of a sudden he was six years old again. Breathing heavily, he lay there remembering that day so long ago. The day he'd had a brief moment of happiness and was just like any other kid. Until it had all come crashing down. As usual. It had started like any other day. Go to school. Sit by himself. Don't talk to anybody. Go home. Until…

For the first time in his short life he'd been invited to another child's house. Robert Douglas was the new kid in town. He'd only been in school for two days, not long enough to know he shouldn't hang around Daryl Dixon. Instead, he'd talked to the shy boy sitting next to him in class and on his second day invited him to come home and play with him after school.

Taken aback, never having had an invitation to go anywhere before, let alone to another child's house, Daryl didn't know what to say. Robert took his silence as an affirmative and before he knew it Daryl found himself standing in a house that looked like a mansion to him. Afraid of touching anything for fear of tainting it, he stood still and silent, unsure of what was expected of him. Oblivious, his new friend continued the chattering he'd been carrying on non-stop ever since leaving the school, seemingly not noticing that his companion had yet to say a word.

Eventually, Daryl began to relax and let his guard down and finally, he found himself sitting on a bedroom floor next to his (dare he even think it?) new friend trying to figure out what to do with the Hot Wheels and toy soldiers sitting in front of him. Never having had any toys of his own, he had no basis for playing with items such as these. After watching the other boy through his shaggy bangs, he reached out hesitantly to pick up a small blue car. And that's when it happened.

The bedroom door flew open, startling both boys, Daryl more so than the other. Looking up from his position on Robert's bedroom floor, Daryl flinched almost imperceptibly at the angry-looking teenager standing in the doorway, dark gaze focused directly on him. Not sure what was going on, he glanced over at the other boy, only to see that he was continuing to play with his toy cars, seemingly oblivious to the young man standing in the doorway, glowering at his guest.

Unsure of what to do, Daryl's thoughts raced as he tried to figure out what was going on and what was expected of him in this situation. Before his thoughts could go too far, though, the young man spoke, his voice rising with a combination of fury and hatred. But at what?

"I had to see it with my own eyes. And boy did I. I didn't believe the others when they told me, but they were right."

Looking up in confusion, Robert's brows knitted together as he tried to sort out what his older brother was getting at. But Daryl knew. Stomach sinking, he knew instinctively what was going on. He was, after all, a Dixon, and as such he shouldn't be here. This knowledge was confirmed by the teenager's next words.

"Bobby, what is he doing here?" Glancing through the shield of his hair, Daryl saw a trembling finger pointing right at him, like a spear aimed at its prey.

Sitting quietly, unsure and afraid, Daryl had no idea what to do. His dilemma was solved by his friend's brother's next words, his friend who was looking back and forth between the two in confusion.

"Don't you know who he is? He's a Dixon! You have no business being anywhere near him and you sure shouldn't be bringing him home! He and his whole family are white trash. Everyone knows it." The older boy spat out the words, seemingly incensed, his entire body quivering with fury and hatred.

Even though the words and the anger behind them weren't unexpected, Daryl felt his breath hitch and his heart speed up at the hurt they caused. He'd known it was too good to be true. Why was he pretending to be something he wasn't? He didn't deserve to have a friend. His father was right—he was worthless and totally undeserving of having a friend.

Tensing his muscles and preparing to flee, Daryl wasn't totally unprepared for the hand that grabbed his right arm roughly, yanking him to his feet and pulling him through the open doorway. Distantly, he noticed his friend sitting on the floor, watching the scene unfold in front of him, but making no effort to stop what was happening. Sighing dejectedly, Daryl Dixon blinked back the tears he felt building. He wasn't no pussy. He wasn't going to cry over this. After all, he'd never had a friend before. Why start now? He didn't deserve one. He was a Dixon, after all.

The six-year-old was dragged through the beautiful, quiet house to the front door, which the older boy opened and pushed him through, unceremoniously, with the words "and don't come back here. You stay away from my brother, you hear me? And don't come in this neighborhood again! Now git!"

Standing on the front porch, the young boy could only nod, his throat tight and tears threatening to spill over once more, no matter how hard he tried to stave them off. Watching the door slam shut in his face, Daryl Dixon sighed resignedly as he turned to head home, his usual feelings of worthlessness just confirmed tenfold. He expected nothing different, but it still stung.

Now, years later, those feelings of worthlessness came flooding back as Daryl laid in the bed and focused on all the reasons for why he should just stay there, primary among them the idea that he was completely undeserving of this holiday his friends were trying to give him. The self-hatred he'd always worn like armor reared its ugly head again, washing through his body like a raging river. He was so caught up in convincing himself that it would be in everyone's best interest if the stupid redneck who knew nothing about Christmas just stayed in bed that he was totally oblivious to everything around him.

Intent on hiding himself away, the hunter burrowed further into his bed, trying to make himself smaller. Pulling the covers over his head, he focused on blocking out the world around him, even as he attempted—unsuccessfully—to quell the dark thoughts rampaging through his head. So intent was he in his efforts that the opening of the door and the soft voice calling his name didn't even register in his brain.

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