DIRT DAD !

TURNING AROUND and heading to the kitchen. She grabbed a pot, and filled it half way with water before putting it on the stove. Grabbing a few peaches, and a watermelon from the counter. Retrieving a bottle from the fridge, feeling extremely grateful that they figured out how to get power the past few months. Finishing up cutting up the fruit, just in time to test the bottle to see if it was done. Grabbing both the plate, and the bottle before going back to the livingroom. “That suits you, you know? Having a baby in your arms.” Maggie teased before sitting next to them. Handing the bottle to Daryl. “Wanna feed him?”

Naomi chuckled, close to actually laughing.

“Oh, no, no trick, m’amigo. If you really must know, I was born before the Civil War. I was in Tombstone for the shootout at the OK Corral and even got to shake Wyatt Earp’s hand once.”

Best not to mention who her sire was - who her revolvers had belonged to before they were passed on to her. That would be a little too much information to divulge straightaway.

🔫 “Nah, he won’t forget. He’s too good for that.” And it had been long enough. They’d trained him long and well and if he ever forgot, it wouldn’t take much to remind him. Between the two of them, Carl was always the one weak for animals who just wanted love, attention or food. Many times at the shelter he’d dropped whatever he was doing to satisfy the animals, whether they wanted to run around the room chasing something or just wanted to lay in one spot and sleep on him. Leaving the shelter in other people’s hands when he left Alexandria had been so difficult, but he always made sure to visit his animal family when he stopped by.

With his treats finished, Morley moved to lay comfortably beside Carl. The differences in how he and Daryl ate always lightly amused him, but no scraps were flying today for Morley to target. Between bites of his fish, he would stop and rub the back of Morley’s neck, distracted as usual by the looks he gave Carl. “Is there a law in any science book about the gravitational pull of animals? Did they just not figure it out in enough detail before the world flipped itself inside out?”

HE FINISHES OFF his dinner pretty quickly, wiping his both with the back of his arm once he’s done & tossing the plate to the ground. His attention then focuses on the sight of Carl and Morley before him, cuddled up, and not for the first time it occurs to him that this is how he’s meant to live. It’s not perfect, not by a long shot, and there are weeks when they struggle, but --- Daryl’s on his own, alone with Carl, in the best way possible. He only has to worry about one person & he doesn’t have to think about getting tangled up in the politics of the other communities. Just Daryl, his son, and his dog. That’s all he needs. That’s all he’s ever needed; it’s a wonder it took him this long to figure it out.

🔫 The idea of picking up bad habits had him shrugging again, but it was a quicker, more childish shrug than before. If he hadn’t picked up any bad habits from Shane yet, Daryl wasn’t going to make things much worse. Carl knew better than to follow Merle around and try to imitate the man’s action, so that was totally out of the question. Lately, seeing the way adults had been reacting to the assumed end of the world made him feel a lot less like… a child. Less far away from adult behavior. He may not have been an adult yet, but there were plenty of adults he had seen that were acting like children younger than Carl.

If nothing else, Daryl was a breath of fresh air to all of that. Impulsive and more likely to shout at someone than many others around here, but much less likely to bother with anyone who didn’t bother with him first. When they finally got out of that disaster of cars the night everyone heard the bombing, Carl had been watching the people who had split off with them more carefully. They were, after all, surrounded by essentially strangers at that time. Part of him didn’t even really truly want to make friends here. People were going to die at some point - that much he was certain of. Thinking like that was lonely though, and he wasn’t the only loner around here.

All things considered though, Daryl had laughed. A small smile crept onto Carl’s face in response, wondering if perhaps he’d done more in that moment for anyone than he had since arriving at this camp. “I won’t pick up any weird habits. Besides, I’m not hanging out with Merle. I’m hanging out with you. I don’t think Merle really likes me anyway.” Carl picked his own friends, whether Lori or anyone else had anything to say about it or not. He’d just learned to go with his gut with this kind of thing, so here he was. “There are some card games and board games lying around. Come find me later and we can do stuff. We could tell each other some stories about our lives, too, over dinner or something. That’s not too bad, right?”

DARYL’S NOT TO KEEN on the idea of swapping life stories with anyone here, let alone the kid, but he’ll admit that playing some games would be somewhat fun. It isn’t like he has anything to do until he needs to go & check his traps, and the best time to do that is early in the morning. And Merle’s still out doing god knows what --- maybe he will hang out with the kid for a while, for lack of anything else to do. After all, he’d made him laugh, which is a hell of a lot more than anyone else around here can say. An olive branch has been extended, and Daryl decides to take it, however hesitantly.

IT’S BEEN YEARS.   Daryl hasn’t stopped searching for his body once. For the longest time, it had been the only thing that drove him. His one mission. And as the seasons changed, the hunter became more accustomed to life outside, grew comfortable & content with his small living arrangement with Carl. But he never stopped looking, even if he was only ever keeping an eye out instead of spending days attempting to track him down. The thought was always there, whenever he left his camp:   will I see Rick today ?

The possibility off him still being alive has never crossed his mind. Daryl is too pessimistic for that, and ever since the bridge blew up he’s been tracking walkers. The lack of a body doesn’t indicate anything but the fact that Rick came back, and the thought of him being one of them hurts almost as much as him dying in the first place   ------   Rick Grimes, dead, wandering around, only to be killed by some stranger who never knew him. It’s not right. That’s not how he should go out; he deserves a burial. Daryl owes him that, at least. And yet, there’s never been any sign of him. It’s been years, and as much as he keeps one eye open just in case, he knows at this point that finding him is a lost cause.

Daryl’s out hunting with Dog when he sees him. The back of his head, entirely recognisable even after all this time, and his heart skips a beat. Rick fucking Grimes. He doesn’t want him to turn around, doesn’t think he can bear to see his face again, not dead. Not cold & rotting & emotionless; that’s not the Rick he wants to remember. So he lifts his crossbow, aims a bolt to the back of his skull, and as he hesitates to pull the trigger the walker is turning, blue eyes bright as ever, and saying his fucking name.

                                         ---------         ‘   Daryl !   ’