"Daryl, are you awake?" repeated the voice softly.
Carl.
Still buried under his mount of covers, Daryl contemplated burrowing even further still into them, but then stopped himself. The boy's hopeful and excited tone registered in the hunger's muddled brain and suddenly he realized that even if he, himself, was unsure and nervous about what was to come this morning, he didn't want to disappoint the boy standing on his threshold. With a heavy sigh, he slowly pushed the covers away from his head and began to emerge from his warm cocoon.
Head free, he glanced over at the doorway and saw Carl standing there, a huge smile plastered on his face as he practically bounced up and down in anticipation of the festivities ahead of them. While he couldn't quite bring himself to smile in return, the hunter did at least give the boy a short nod to acknowledge his question.
"I'm awake," he replied quietly. Then with a heavy sigh, "give me a minute and I'll come downstairs."
With a smile and a nod, Carl responded to his friend's statement.
"Sounds good, Daryl. I'll see you downstairs in a few minutes."
With that, he was gone, and Daryl could hear the echo of the boy's footsteps as he ran down the stairs. Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself into a sitting position and allowed himself a moment to stretch, attempting to relieve himself of the stress he could feel throughout his entire body. Pushing the covers back all the way and swinging his legs around, he perched himself on the edge of the bed, taking a moment to calm his nerves before getting ready to face the day. He could do this. Taking a deep breath, he rose and began to prepare for the morning ahead.
Creeping down the stairs in stealthy hunter mode, his side pressed against the wall as he focused on his destination ahead, Daryl could hear the faint strains of music drifting up the stairs. As he got closer, he was able to make out words here and there, as well as the distinct sound of tinkling bells. Stopping for a moment and closing his eyes, he felt the tension leave his body as he listened to the soothing strains of what he recognized as an old Christmas Carol drift up the stairs, though he couldn't quite place the artist. Standing silently for a moment, the hunter willed himself to breathe deeply—in and out, in and out—even as he allowed the peaceful melody to permeate his senses. It proved to be a calming influence and slowly but surely, he felt himself relax.
And then, out of nowhere, the name and artist of the song registered in his brain and he was catapulted back to an unpleasant moment from his childhood for the second time that morning.
Creeping down the hallway, trying to be as quiet as possible so as not to be noticed, six-year-old Daryl pressed himself against the dirty wall, moving slowly towards the music coming from the living room. He recognized the song as a popular Christmas Carol, having heard it playing at the school assembly several days ago. What was the song called again? He thought for a moment and then remembered—it had to do with Christmas. It had Christmas in the name. "Christmas" or "Song of Christmas" or….no wait, those weren't right. What was it his teacher had said? Brow furrowed in intense concentration he closed his eyes, trying to remember Mrs. Lawson's words, even as the quiet strains of the song drifted towards him and around him, enveloping him in their calmness. And then he remembered…"The Christmas Song"…that was it.
Listening to the soothing music and comforting words, the boy allowed himself a moment to believe in what he'd always heard about, but never experienced—the magic of Christmas. After all, this was a first—Christmas music was not something he'd ever heard in the run-down shack the Dixons called home. Crossing his little fingers tightly and holding his breath almost unconsciously, he crept forward towards the living room, hoping against hope that he would round the corner and see something he'd never experienced…Christmas.
Just as he approached the corner, though, and before he could peek around he heard a familiar voice.
"What the hell?! Who put that **xx on tv? Daryl! Get in here and get me a beer! And you best be fast about it, boy!
Jolted back to the present, Daryl squeezed his eyes shut even as he focused on calming his suddenly erratic breathing. He remembered, alright. That was one of the most unpleasant Christmases he'd ever experienced, not to say he'd ever really experienced any of them. When he was younger, Christmas was nothing but a day of disappointment. Of hoping and wishing which didn't lead anywhere except to a day like any other, filled with his father's drunken screams and vitriolic temper. This day, the one he associated with the Christmas Carol, was no exception.
It turned out that his father had passed out drunk in front of the television, totally unaware of the Christmas programming broadcasting carols on this day that was so special to so many others. Not to the Dixons, though. Not if his father had anything to say about it. Pressing himself against the wall as hard as he could, Daryl pressed his suddenly shaking fists into his eyes, trying to calm his increasingly erratic breathing, reminding himself that this wasn't real. It was only a memory.
But what a memory. It was a memory he would rather not have because it was a replay of what turned out to be the worst Christmas he'd ever experienced. One of the worst days he'd ever experienced, to be honest. Pressing his fists even harder into his eyes the hunter recalled in vivid images what had happened next.
He'd rounded the corner into the living room and taken in the scene before him. Beer cans, whiskey bottles, and trash littered every available surface. Nothing new, really. But he remembered how his hopes had been dashed so suddenly and how empty he'd felt, even as he walked forward into the room, his little feet moving of their own volition. There was no tree, no presents, no Christmas. It was a usual day at the Dixon house. Lost in his thoughts, he'd paused, trying to push down the disappointment that engulfed him. He even remembered reaching up to wipe away the tears that had appeared suddenly. And that had been enough to send his father on a rampage. Dixons didn't cry, and Dixons didn't do Christmas. End result— Daryl had ended up in the hospital with several broken ribs, a broken leg, and numerous contusions. The story given—he'd fallen down a ravine while disobeying his father and running along the edge. As usual, the staff asked no questions and he didn't contradict his father's statement. What was the use, after all?
Now, jerked back to the present and away from his unpleasant memories, Daryl took a deep breath and calmed himself. This was a different time and place. His father wasn't here, but his family was. And this song didn't have to be associated only with negative actions and memories. Inhaling deeply to calm himself, the hunter came to a decision. Enough with being afraid and uncertain. He'd been given an opportunity this last several years—a fresh start. Today was a part of that and he was going to take advantage of it. So what if he didn't understand it all, or know exactly how to act? The people around him—his family—didn't care. They just wanted to make him happy.
Feeling the heavy weight of the disappointments and horrors of the past lift from his shoulders, and the warmth of acceptance fill his soul, Daryl continued on down the stairs, suddenly excited about the morning and new experiences that were to come.