#kyle campfield

Don't look in the rear view What's behind us is dead And I don't know what's ahead Just put your hand in mine, And keep your eyes on me Keep your eyes on me

We will fly down this road and Never look back Never planning ahead I just need your hand in mine and your eyes on me Just keep your eyes on me

After that bullshit 'supply run,' it took another good, long shower to calm Kyle back down. Playing around with walkers like that... It about undid all of Kyle's good feelings about Alexandria. But, damn, when Glenn knocked that asshole down, and then Daryl had been there... Kyle loved these people. His family. Like Rick said: family. And Deanna, she'd taken their side. A few bad apples didn't have to spoil the bunch; just because Aidan and his buddy were jerks didn't mean the whole place was bust.

With a palm pressed hard against the wall, he bowed his head beneath the hot water, letting it beat down across his head and down his back. He turned, brought his head up, closed his eyes, let the water pound against his skin, his eyelids. His cheeks, his chin, his neck, it all felt so smooth under the touch of his hands as they rubbed and massaged at his face. 

He had been skeptical, of course, like everybody, but Michonne had pushed for it and Aaron had seemed trustworthy, and the walls had been real; Kyle believed in this place. Giving over his rifle made him uneasy, but Deeanna had won him over, more or less. Or at least, she seemed honest. Respectful, for sure. That interview had been an uncomfortable thing. To sit in that comfortable arm chair across from that put-together woman in that beautiful home, and, Kyle, in his torn jeans and his stained t-shirt, with his unshaven face and his scraggly hair and the dried blood on his face- it had felt like he was in a different world, a different reality. But she'd talked to him so candidly. 

"How old are you, Kyle?"

"I dunno."

That had taken her aback. 

"Well, how old were you- before?"

"Seventeen." He'd had to think about that for a second. And then, "A senior."

"When's your birthday?"

"November... November third."

"Well then, Kyle, you're nineteen, by my count."

"Happy birthday to me."

"Yes. Happy birthday to you."

Then she'd chuckled at him, smiling all softly. He hadn't mean to joke with her, but he had, and she'd smiled and he'd smiled, too. 

They talked more. About how he'd survived. She'd touched on his parents, but changed subjects when he'd answered vaguely. Asked about how he'd joined Rick.

"Daryl saved me."

"Mr. Dixon?" That had surprised her, it seemed. She tried to mask it, tried to be polite, but Kyle saw it.

"Yeah. Daryl. I was alone. Starving. Then... He drove by me. He picked me up off the side of the road, brought me back with him. I would've been dead, just a few more days- if he hadn't got me."

Kyle turned the water off. He stood there in the shower a moment, rubbing absentmindedly at his face, running his hands through his hair; it felt surreal, being clean. He dried himself off, the feeling of the fabric across his bare skin reminding him of monotonous mornings from years ago. Or just a year and a half, by Deanna's reckoning. Strange, to think he'd once showered every morning.

And the clothes. Clean clothes. New blue jeans and a plain white henley that was unbelievably, miraculously white. 

Stepping out of the bathroom, Kyle saw them all gathered in the living room. Like a sleepover. It was a ridiculous thought. Imagine, Abraham at a slumber party. But that's what it reminded him of, with everyone lounging around on scattered pillows and mattresses, gathered at the table. It was ridiculous to imagine them not all together. Aaron had mentioned houses and, well, Kyle was glad no one had split up yet. Without Beth, Kyle didn't know who he fit with anymore. He trusted Daryl, maybe even loved Daryl as family, but "Mr. Dixon" was on edge. He'd thought to maybe stay with Carl and Rick, so he could help with Judith and be with the only other person his age, but... Well, they were a family. A real family. And Kyl didn't know where exactly he would wind up. So being gathered under one roof, at least for one last night, filled Kyle with a warmth and comfort he couldn't quite catch and hold. It put a smile on his face. 

"Hey," he said softly, sliding into a chair next to Noah, where Carl and Michonne were gathered. 

He and Noah were catching the other two up on the events of their afternoon, and Carl and Michonne did the same- until, of course, Rick walked in.

They were speechless, staring at him. Rick, their leader, whose decisions Kyle could never question, and who had suffered through just as much or more than the rest of them and come out strong, hardened. Daryl might have had the skills Kyle admired, but Kyle wanted to emulate Rick, perhaps subconsciously. Either way, Rick was the survivor Kyle wished he could be. And there he was, clean, already adjusting more to Alexandria than any of them, besides Carol (she was up to something, for sure...) and in his uniform and-

It occurred to Kyle that he was seeing Rick as the man he'd been. He glanced over at Carl and saw the boy smiling at his dad, and he turned back to Rick and some bizarre sentimentality swept over him and he grinned and he felt something building up in his eyes and he watched Rick go with a pride that overwhelmed any of the other bizarre sensations the day had brought on.

No matter what was happening here, Rick would keep them safe.

Kyle could relax a little. They all could, so long as they were together, still a team, and still with Rick at the wheel.

Kyle slept easy that night, curled up on the carpet among his family.

Requested by gunslingerdixon

"You know 'Parting Glass'?"

Kyle glanced up, startled, to see Daryl lingering over him. The archer had his crossbow slung over his shoulder, and his eyes were distant. He was chewing on his thumbnail and shifting his weight about, so Kyle knew better than to ask too many questions.

"Yeah," Kyle said slowly, gauging the situation. Was Daryl asking him to sing? "Yeah, I think I remember most of it."

Daryl nodded, not looking at Kyle. His head was somewhere else entirely. "Would ya mind, uh- Couldja sing it for me?"