There were very few memories that Daryl had trouble forgetting, when he wanted to. Over the years, he'd learned how to block out the unpleasant times and focus on whatever kind of bright side he could find in the moment. But there were some thing that he would forever see with perfect clarity. The day of the fire was one of them. Finding Merle's hand was another.
But watching Sophia grieve for her mother was by far the worst. When Daryl finally succeeded in coaxing Sophia back to camp, they were still cleaning up after the incident. Daryl, still holding Sophia in his arms, had tried to steer them away from the scene. Of course, the girl was too stubborn for that, and she'd slipped out of his arms and skittered away before he'd been able to protest.
When he reached her, the girl was kneeling beside Carol's body, and Daryl stared along with her, taking in the woman's mangled remains. "Here," Sophia choked, touching her fingers to the open wound on her mother's ankle. "This is where she was bitten." And her fingers came away bloody, but she didn't seem to care. "This is what killed her," she said clearly, calmly. And she stroked Carol's cheek, she kissed her yellowed forehead, stroked thin fingers through the dead woman's bloody hair.
Daryl simply nodded at her words, unable to stop thinking about how dead Carol looked. She was not beautiful anymore. She was not sweet-looking. Her dark eyes didn't sparkle with maternal warmth, didn't flash with fear. She looked like a monster. Like a walker. He didn't want to look at her anymore, but he would stay until Sophia had looked her fill. The girl was made out of stronger stuff than him, that was for damn sure.
"Oh, God," Sophia choked, wiping her eyes. "God, please let her have died fast."
Daryl remembered his father saying the same thing. Long ago. Too long for Daryl to remember the exact context. But it ha been about his mother, no doubt.
Sophia looked up at him, eyes begging him for something he couldn't quite name. An explanation? Comfort? For him to bring Carol back to life? He wasn't sure how to go about any of those things, and the girl seemed to realize it after a moment. She stood and reached for his hand, and he Daryl just let her, not caring that the group would see. They could think whatever they wanted about him.
Sophia took one last look before hiding her face in his side, a desperate whimper escaping her.
"C'mon," Daryl urged, pulling her away from the barn. "We're in the way."
Sophia allowed herself to be led away, but when he tried to leave her with Lori, she put her foot down.
"Stay," she insisted, hanging onto his hand with both of hers.
"I gotta help over there," he tried to explain. "With the digging." He didn't want to be more specific than that. He couldn't be.
"Someone else can -"
"It has to be me," he said firmly, managing to pry his hand away only to have the other caught in her grasp. He sighed, wondering how the girl had come to have so much power over him.
"I didn't think it would hurt so much," she whimpered, struggling to keep her voice from shaking. "I thought I'd already cried for her."
He gave another ragged sigh and dropped into Glenn's chair, decided he would tolerate her clinging for a little longer.
It was well after dusk when they'd dug graves for all the important people. Hershel's wife and son were to be buried right next to Carol, under the shade of a giant oak tree. It was a pretty spot, but Daryl was sure the location had been chosen for the shade it offered those who had been digging the graves. No one had to know that.
He stood aside while the others spoke, feeling a little bad about being so far away. He'd chosen the spot without thinking of Sophia, who stood beside him the entire time. They were outside the loose circle of survivors, holding their own silent vigil.
"Sophia?" Rick called softly, looking around at the girl. "Did you want to say something for your mom?"
Tentatively, the girl stepped forward, pausing only to look back at Daryl. He soon followed after her, seeing that he was holding her back. They squeezed in between Maggie and Carl, looking at the three mounds of red earth.
"My mom was scared," she said softly, causing the group to hold their breaths so as not to miss a word of it. "She was scared her whole life. There were so many bad things out there, and they all came to get her, it seemed like. And she tried her best not to let it get to me. She was such a good mom. She all she ever wanted was for me to be safe. That's what scared her the most, I think. That something would happen to me." Sophia leaned into Daryl's side, wiping her tears on his filthy shirt. "She doesn't have to be scared anymore."
Hershel's other daughter made a soft sound under her breath, but nobody spoke. Daryl found himself clearing his throat.
"Ain't never met a stronger woman than Carol," he said flatly, trying not to see anyone's face. "Didn't know her well or for long, but anyone could see what she went though. How much it took to keep goin' and be strong for her little girl. The world made a fighter out of someone who shouldn't've had to fight. She don't have to fight anymore."
At this, the youngest Greene girl made another choked sound. Daryl remembered that she'd lost her mother, too. The atmosphere was heavy with loss. One by one, the others drifted away, until only Daryl and Sophia stood in front of the three graves, alone and in the dark.
"She tried so hard for me," Sophia said softly, kneeling down and sinking her fingers into the loose dirt. "She tried so hard to live. I didn't understand when I was little, but I could tell it was different for her. We don't have to think about it. We're alive until we're not anymore, you know? But sometimes, I think my mom had to force herself to be alive."
Daryl wondered if his mother had been the same way. He couldn't remember that far back.
"It was getting better. After my dad died, you know. But it broke her heart, too."
"Sometimes you can't help who you love," Daryl offered weakly. Sophia looked up at him, eyes sharp.
"Sometimes," she agreed reluctantly. "But I've decided, now. I don't love my dad. I don't want to be a Peletier, either. You and me are in a club, now. The no-name club. Or maybe, someday, we can find our own names. But if you don't have to use your dad's name anymore, neither do I. Okay?"
Daryl nodded. "Okay," he repeated, something washing over him at the word. He said it again. Firmly. More resolute. "Okay."
"Good," Sophia said fiercely, looking down at the grave again. "If she were here... she'd be happy for me. For us."
Daryl nodded again, even though she wasn't looking. For all her bravado, he could still see her shoulders shaking, her body wracked by silent tears. He knew she wasn't trying to hide it. Sophia cried when she wanted to and didn't think twice about who saw or what they thought. It was something Daryl had learned to tolerate. Maybe even to respect. He'd never been good at dealing with crying girls, but seeing Sophia in tears made him realized there wasn't much he had to do. She was crying because she wanted to cry, and not so that he'd do something about it.
There were days when he was very much in awe of her, and today had been one of them. Without a doubt.
"Oh, God," Sophia said again. "This is it. I'm all that's left." She brought her muddy hands up to wipe her eyes, stopping just short of actually doing so. Daryl passed her his bandana. There wasn't much else he could do. "Oh God," she repeated, whispering now. "What am I going to do? I'm just a little kid. It's the end of the world and my whole family is dead."
She'd stopped crying. She sat in the dirt before him, quietly lamenting her fate. It was almost as if she'd forgotten he was there.
"Hey," he said in a croaky voice, kneeling down beside her. "You ain't alone. I promised I wouldn't let you be an orphan, remember?" Sophia stared at him with glassy eyes, lips parted in despair. She was the picture of mourning and loss. "Look, kid, I might not have been able to save your ma, but I made a promise, okay? I'unno if I can make up for everything ya lost, but I can try. We'll stick together, you and me. We'll find our own name, remember? We'll be a family. You ain't alone."
She twisted the bandana in her hands, staring up at him uncertainly. To his surprise, a little smile flickered across her face.
"Does that mean I call you Mister Daddy, now?" she sniffled, clearly amused by the idea.
"I'unno about that," he muttered, plucking his bandana out of her hands and wiping the tears off her face. "I ain't anyone's dad. You and me have had enough of dads, if you ask me."
Sophia nodded seriously. "I don't want another one," she admitted. "Never again."
Daryl ran though his list of family members and found he didn't have a positive connotation assigned to any of them. Even the word 'brother' made him cringe. He'd loved Merle, but it hadn't been good for him. "We'll get around to it," he said with a shrug, standing and pulling Sophia to her feet with him. "No point in worrying about it right now."
And there wasn't. It was enough that they were there, together.
Daryl cringed as he listened to Lori and Carl's conversation. It was late, and he and Sophia were the only ones still sitting around the fire. The rest of the group had retreated to their tents, but not all of them were asleep. Despite the thin layer of fabric and careful whispers, Daryl could hear every word.
He was glad Sophia didn't need someone to explain suicide to her, because Carl was asking some hard questions on the topic.
"I don't get it, mom. Why wouldn't Beth want to live anymore?"
He could see Sophia's face in the firelight, twisted into a sad grimace as she tried not to listen to the answer. He'd been surprised by the girl's reaction to Beth's suicide attempt. The girl had been angry, and the fire had twisted in her eyes as Daryl explained the situation.
"She doesn't get to give up," Sophia had growled. Gone was the gentle understanding from her eyes. "I lost just as much as her. We don't just get to give up. She's had it easy here!"
Daryl thought she was being unfair. He didn't exactly approve of the choice, but these were hard times. Beth had had it easy, and her happy bubble had been shattered rather abruptly. But Sophia hadn't wanted to listen to Daryl's opinion on the matter. He suspected she was thinking more of her mother than Beth, anyway. He didn't ask, though.
Eventually, Lori and Carl's voices drifted away.
"Sounds like they're done in there," Daryl murmured, standing and stretching. "You should get some sleep."
Daryl watched her retreat into the Grimes tent before slipping into his own. He needed to sleep, too. It had been a long few days of worrying, for them. Going after Hershel had taken more energy than it should have, and he was still reeling after having to shoot that kid stuck on the fence. It had been the right thing to do, though. Rick was nuts, trying to save the boy. He was on the other side, and he was pretty much dead already. He wouldn't dwell on it, just as he hadn't been dwelling on the loss of Dale.
They'd lost so many. Merle, Amy, Jim, Jacqui, and now Carol and Dale. They'd almost lost Beth, and even if Daryl didn't know the girl, it weighed heavily on his mind. She was so young. Too young to be so ready to give up on the world. And yet, Daryl didn't blame her. Couldn't find it in him to blame her. He wondered if Andrea had been right to give her the knife. The choice.
Sophia clearly didn't share her opinion. Daryl understood that, too.
A sudden shout drew Daryl out of his head. "Walkers!" Glenn cried from somewhere outside. If he was shouting, drawing them closer, Daryl knew the situation must be bad. Besides, there was something about the panic in Glenn's voice that nearly made him panic, too. But he didn't. He snatched up his crossbow and burst out of his tent, only one thought on his mind:
"Sophia!"