Chapter Text
It’s more than two years after the end of the world and six months after the war with the Saviors when Daryl Dixon returns to Alexandria.
“I thought you weren’t coming on this run,” Tara says when she spots Daryl trotting through the gates of the Hilltop. He's carrying his crossbow and a backpack containing his few worldly possessions.
“Changed my mind,” he says, walking past her to the driver’s side door.
“Okay,” Tara answers, a line forming between her brows. She looks like she’s going to say something else; ask questions that Daryl has no interest in answering. Instead she says, “I’m driving.”
“Nah, I’ll do it. Give me the keys.”
“Go fuck yourself,” she says without malice. “If you’re coming last minute then you’re road dog this trip. Other side.” He doesn’t want to take the time to argue, so he grumbles only a little before doing as she says.
It’s a perfect day for travel, mid-March and the past few days have been warm and fine. The torrential rains of the past month have cleared, and the road to Alexandria is open. Thanks to a lot of hard work, the Hilltop now has a small fleet of reliable working cars and a stockpile of fuel to run them. One of them is the monster of a Land Rover they’re using today to deliver supplies to Alexandria.
They set out from Hilltop early in the morning along with three men who Daryl doesn’t know. He’s seen them around, of course; Hilltop is only so big. They’re closer to boys than men and regard him with a kind of wary awe that he hasn’t seen since the prison. They call him “Mr Dixon” and try to tell him how much they appreciate what he did for them during the war. He does not like them, and deliberately forgets their names as soon as they tell him.
The Rover seats seven but the boys are crammed together in the first row, the back seat bench has been taken out. It’s a large haul they’re bringing - everything from food (winter crops of cabbage and turnips), medicine (Doc Carson has been playing around with bread mold and has created a penicillin concoction he’s confident won’t kill anybody), and tools the blacksmith has created (shovels, spades, and plow blades now instead of spearheads).
The boys chat among themselves. They try to draw Daryl into their conversation without success. They have better luck with Tara even though like Daryl she hasn’t been to Alexandria since the war ended - by choice rather than circumstance in her case. She indulges them in their questions about the safe zone and Rick Grimes as they drive.
Tara goes at a steady, easy pace, eyes on the road. Cracks and potholes still mar their way. The fighting had torn the shit out of the roads, and the communities could only repair them so much. Case in point: a third of the way to Alexandria a chunk of the road is buried in a mudslide. The Rover is too overloaded and weighed down to plow through, so they are forced to dig themselves out of the mud. The boys prove to be actually useful, doing most of the digging. Daryl leaves them to it and takes out any walkers drawn in by the noise. A few hours later they are on their way.
“Might have to take a different route on the way back,” Tara says, frowning, “that was a hell of a mess back there.”
Daryl just grumbles and ignores her concerned glance.
They reach Alexandria by mid-afternoon. Tara stops when they reach the gates, leans out of the window, and waves up at the lookout. The lookout shouts something Daryl can’t quite make out but he recognizes Sasha’s voice. The gates open, and Daryl sees Rosita stationed down below. Tara pulls the Rover inside and Rosita tackles her as soon as she opens the door.
“I can’t believe you’re here!” Rosita gushes, pulling Tara in for a tight hug.
“Holy shit, Daryl ?” Sasha says as she climbs down the ladder. Rosita peels away from Tara, noticing him for the first time. He gives her an awkward smile and a clasped hand, and the same to Sasha.
They introduce the three Hilltop boys. One of them goes non-verbal as soon as he sees Rosita, eyes growing wide and zeroing in on her chest. Tara and Daryl’s appearance must have put her in a good mood because she ignores him instead of pistol-whipping him.
“How long are you two planning on staying?” Sasha asks.
“Just overnight,” Tara says, “We want to get back to the Hilltop early as possible tomorrow.”
Daryl ignores his guilt when she says that, and doesn’t contradict her.
“Our shift doesn’t end for a couple of hours,” Rosita tells Tara, “but after, if you want to meet up for dinner? Where are you staying?”
“With Rick,” Daryl says. Tara’s mouth tightens.
“Oh. Well, if you want to stay at our place you’re welcome to,” Sasha says, eyes soft. Daryl declines her offer but Tara says she’d like that, sounding relieved. Daryl tunes the rest of the conversation out. He makes only the appropriate noises at the two women’s “good to see you.” They load back into the Rover and head for the center of Alexandria.
**********
The last time Daryl saw the Alexandria Safe Zone it was on fire - the entire outside perimeter of houses destroyed and flames threatening the inner ones. The walls held but they couldn't contain the fires and Rick decided it wasn’t safe. Every man, woman and child headed for Hilltop where things had continued to go to hell in new and exciting ways.
Besides no longer being on fire Alexandria has undergone many changes since Daryl last saw it. Food growing spaces now replace manicured lawns. Almost all have people working in them and there’s a buzzing sense of energy about the place.
They drop their supplies off at the church, which is pulling double duty as town hall. A tall excitable brunette with arms covered in shiny burn scars inventories the supplies. Daryl doesn't recognize her and supposes she's from the Kingdom or the Sanctuary. Yet to his shock she recognizes him and does a double-take.
“Oh my god, are you that Daryl?”
Daryl stares at her, nonplussed. “I guess so?”
“I saw you with Rick Grimes during the battle at Hilltop, and I just…thank you so much. Things are so much better now, with the Saviors gone, it’s amazing. Can I shake your hand? Oh, I’m Annie by the way,” she thrusts her hand out at him without waiting for an answer. He stares down at it like she’s holding a dog turd in it.
Out of the corner of his eye he can see Tara covering her mouth, eyes sparkling with amusement. Annie the inventory girl’s smile wilts and her cheeks turn pink. It makes him feel like enough of an asshole to give her a quick handclasp to perk her back up.
“Where is Rick anyway?”
“Mr Grimes is running drills this afternoon, do you want me to tell him you stopped by?”
Mr Grimes, Daryl thinks. Fuck's sake. “Nah. I’ll find ‘im.”
“It was so nice to meet you!” Annie the Inventory Girl chirps.
“Sure,” Daryl says, feeling off balance. He scurries over to Tara and gives her a sour look as she coughs and tries not to laugh.
Her laughter fades as they head out. Tara tells the Hilltop boys they’re free to explore as much as they want and to meet back here in the morning. They don’t need telling twice and they rush off. Tara grows even more somber.
“Um,” she says, “I guess I’ll go to Sasha and Rosita’s place, it’s near Rick’s…we can walk together. I just need to make a quick stop first.”
“Alright,” Daryl says, voice gentle. He knows exactly where she wants to go.
Like everything else in Alexandria the makeshift graveyard has expanded. Some names have faded from the list painted on the surrounding wall, but new ones have replaced them, including, Daryl notes with black amusement, his own - hastily scratched out but still readable. Despite the new markers that have sprung up, they find Denise’s easy enough. Tara kneels down and Daryl hovers behind her.
After a few minutes of silence she says in a thick voice, “I. Uh. I’m actually going to be here a while, if you want to go on to Rick’s.”
“You sure? You good here?”
She gives a sad smile, her eyes wet, “Yeah. I just need some time alone with her for a bit.”
He gets it. “Take as long as you want. I’ll see you when I see you."
She gives another sad little smile, and turns back to the grave.
**********
Like every other house in Alexandria, the Grimes’ lawn has been converted to a garden. As Daryl approaches he spies Carl Grimes on his knees digging in the earth, Rick’s old sheriff’s hat pulled down low over his face. Daryl’s face creases into what is almost a smile at the sight of him.
"Hey boy! Yer Daddy in?” he calls out as soon as he’s close enough. Carl’s head jerks up and there is no “almost” about the smile that splits the boy’s face. He gets to his feet and runs the remaining distance to Daryl, hand outstretched. Daryl slams his own hand into it, and slaps Carl affectionately on the shoulder.
“Daryl! Dad didn’t say you were coming!” he’s grinning. The bandages of six months ago are gone; and in their place Carl is wearing a pair of aviators with the left lens popped out. There’s a bit of scarring that peeks out around it, mostly covered by hair.
“It’s a surprise. Christ boy, you got tall!” He can about look Daryl in the eye. It’s all leg; the kid is a beanpole.
Carl looks pleased with himself, and says, “Wait ’til you see Judith.” He leads Daryl down the walkway to the porch, where a playpen has been set up. Judith is standing, chubby hands gripping the rim of her pen. When the baby sees him she babbles a string of almost words. Her blonde hair is getting darker, her legs have lengthened, and she’s starting to look more like a little girl than a baby.
“Holy shit,” he says, kneeling down to get a closer look.
“That’s nothing,” Carl says, and leans over to scoop her out, “show Uncle Daryl what you can do, Judy.” When he sets her down the girl stands on wobbly feet, gives her brother a smile, and toddles over a few steps to Daryl. A real smile spreads helplessly across Daryl's face when she reaches up and touches the buttons on his jacket, fascinated.
“Hell yeah, girl,” he says, “you’ll be leading runs before the year’s over. Ain’t that right, Lil’ Asskicker?”
Carl laughs, “I almost forgot you used to call her that. Seriously, I can’t believe you’re here."
Carl's face changes, and Daryl feels old. Carl looks like a goddamned man with that expression.
“Everything is ok at Hilltop, right? Jesus was just here, said you were working on getting the solar panels hooked up—”
Daryl tries not to flinch, then turns his attention to Judith so he’ll have an excuse not to make eye contact. “Things are fine. We got the crops planted earlier this month and the solar panels rigged up just last night…and, uh. Glenn’s doing real good, he gets around easy as anything these days.” This is an exaggeration, but not by much. Six months on and Glenn has adjusted better than anyone could have hoped, but he still struggles from time to time. “He and Maggie have things pretty organized up there. When do you expect your folks back? Lady at the church said your Dad was doing drills, but she didn’t say how long he’d be, or if Michonne was with him.”
Carl glances at the sky, “They’ll be a while yet. Michonne’s in the woods, she’s training people to take over patrols. You can go in and rest for a bit if you want. I’m supposed to have this,” he waves a hand at the garden, “finished by the time they get back."
“It’ll go faster with two,” Daryl says.
It’s hard work but Daryl is grateful, it helps quiet the frantic thoughts that have been buzzing around since he fled the Hilltop this morning.
As they work Carl fills him in on the goings on in Alexandria over the past six months. Daryl knows most of it already from Rick and Michonne’s letters, but he’s not really listening to the details, just using the chance to observe Carl. The kid is doing better than when Daryl saw him last. More relaxed and like the fucking kid he still is.
“There’s been a lot of new building under way, Eugene has this crazy idea to make a windmill, to grind flour. Some greenhouses like at Hilltop, so we can grow year round. Maybe a separate building for the jail, so...” Carl trails off. He stares hard at the dirt and doesn’t speak for a bit. Daryl lets him be.
Unlike Daryl and Michonne, Negan had treated Carl well during those weeks they spent as his “guests”. Negan seemed to like the kid, something Daryl found more disturbing than anything else. Carl seemed to agree. His coldness and anger after their escape scared the hell out of Daryl and Michonne both. Daryl can’t forget having to tackle him to the ground outside the gates of Alexandria. Negan’s people were laying covering fire as they retreated but Carl had stayed on his feet and kept firing. His other eye would have been shot out if Daryl hadn’t pulled him to the ground.
“It doesn’t seem right, that he gets to live,” Carl says in a low, hard voice.
“That was your dad’s call,” Daryl says.
“Do you think he made the right one?”
“Don’t matter what I think,” Daryl answers.
They work in silence for a while after that. After they finish Daryl has time for a quick shower, something he desperately needs. When he gets out he smells of soap and nothing else.
*********
Daryl is on the porch smoking a cigarette when Michonne and Rick come home. They’re walking arm and arm in a casually affectionate way that makes something in Daryl’s chest constrict. They’re almost to the steps before they notice him. Michonne spots him first, a smile lighting up her face. She’s a knockout when she smiles, is Michonne. The twisting scar on her right cheek hasn’t changed that. Rick sees him next, and his grin rivals hers. It’s embarrassing as hell. So are the hugs from both of them he’s forced to submit to.
“We didn’t expect to see you,” Rick says, when he’s gotten his mushiness out of his system.
Daryl shrugs, “It was time, I guess.”
“Are you planning on staying?” Michonne asks. She’s still smiling, and it makes something in him untwist just a little.
“For the time being.”
“We’re glad to hear it,” Rick says, and clasps Daryl’s shoulder, “We missed you. Come on inside.”
**********
It turns out Alexandria has adopted Hilltop’s custom of communal meals. As that was probably his least favorite thing about living there, he is happy when Michonne suggests making dinner here, just the family. Also less chance of running into Tara. He’ll be able to put off telling her he’s not coming back a little while longer.
Michonne does most of the cooking with Carl as her loyal assistant. Rick offers to help, but Michonne and Carl just give him a look and the former tells him to stay the fuck away from the food.
“Yes ma’am.”
“You can put the baby to bed if you want to make yourself useful. Then make sure Daryl’s bed is set up.”
Rick jumps up and goes to follow her orders. Daryl sits in the kitchen at the table, watching Carl and Michonne work and doing more catching up. He asks after Eugene and Father Gabriel, then if she’d heard much from Carol.
“Probably less than you, Jesus goes to the Kingdom more than anyone here,” Michonne answers.
“Is the tiger still shitting on her bed?” Carl asks gleefully.
“Last letter she said that she and Shiva have come to an understanding to have joint custody of Ezekiel,” Daryl says. He’s glad Michonne doesn’t notice he’s been rattled by her casual mention of Paul.
“I miss her,” Michonne says, “but I’m glad she seems happy.”
“Yeah,” Daryl agrees. Her letters convey a feeling of peace he doesn’t think she’s had in a long time. Daryl still thinks “King” Ezekiel is a bag of wind and bullshit but the man apparently treats Carol like a queen so Daryl tolerates him.
“Stuff is settling down a little, travel between communities should be easier. We always need more runners to the Kingdom if you were interested.”
Daryl gets a lump in his throat. He misses Carol all the time but he’s gotten used to it for the most part. Michonne casually suggesting that he pay her a visit brings the feeling back to its original intensity. He badly wants to talk to Carol, she’s probably the only one he thinks he could talk to about everything.
“I’m interested,” he says with feeling.
**********
“So the trip here went ok?” Michonne asks after they’ve settled down to the table and are filling their plates. She and Carl have made a rich potato and venison stew. It smells amazing.
“Mmm-hmm,” Daryl mumbles, tucking into his bowl. It’s thick and hearty and just what he needs after a long trip and a day of hard labor.
“You want anything to drink with that?” Rick asks, “we’ve got some of that cider Eugene concocted, have you tried it? Jesus said he’d give some to you.”
“It tasted like shit,” Daryl says, too fast, “what’s this training thing you’ve been doing?” he asks Michonne.
She stares at him for a second, and Daryl does not like her expression. It’s entirely too sharp and Daryl feels like she can see right through him. Sweat breaks out at the back of his neck.
She doesn’t question his abrupt subject shift, however. Instead she describes her training program. They want every single person able to fight for this place, and every single person able to survive if they have to flee again.
“You’d be a big help, if you were interested,” Rick chimes in, “Not many people know how to hunt or track period, much less do it as well as you. I want everyone to know the basics, down to the kids eventually. We’ve got a lot of kids whose first trip outside these walls was when we all went to Hilltop.”
“You want me to teach kids shit? Like…scouts or something?”
Carl finds the notion of “Scoutmaster Dixon” hilarious. Daryl endures some good-natured teasing. Michonne says they can make him a uniform if he wants. There is a lot of laughter, and Daryl finds himself joining in more than once. Every now and then he catches Michonne’s eye, and she is always giving him that assessing look.
**********
Carl retreats to his bedroom after dinner while the adults head for the porch.
The sun is setting, turning the sky pink and orange. It’s still chilly in the evenings, but Daryl likes it outside. At Hilltop people are going to and fro at all hours of the day and most of the night. Here the street is empty and the community is quiet save for a few distant noises from the church, where community dinners are held.
Daryl doesn’t have long to enjoy it, because after only a few minutes he spots a figure walking down the street towards the Grimes residence. He recognizes her immediately, and his heart sinks. He was hoping to put this off until tomorrow.
“Is that Tara?” Michonne asks.
“Yeah,” says Daryl, and takes a drag from his cigarette to fortify himself as she comes up the walkway then mounts the steps to the house. Rick gets to his feet, smiling hopefully.
“Hey Rick,” she says, shaking his hand, “Michonne.”
“Tara. It’s good to see you,” replies Rick. Tara gives him a smile that is a little strained but still genuine.
“I’m sorry I didn’t catch up with you earlier,” she says, looking down at her shoes for a moment, “I had some things to take care of.”
“It’s fine, I’m just glad you’re here,” Rick says, and he means it.
“We just ate, but if you’re hungry we can get you something,” Michonne offers.
“Nah, I’m going to go eat with Rosita and Sasha. I wanted to talk to Daryl for a second. And…and I just wanted to come and say hi. To all of you.”
Rick’s eyes grow soft. “Well, you’re always welcome,” he says. When Tara smiles again it’s warmer.
“I am glad to see you,” she says, and looks down at her feet, embarrassed. “Um,” she lifts her eyes to Daryl, “we’re leaving early tomorrow...in case we run into anything else unexpected on the road."
“I thought you were staying?” Michonne says, a frown line between her brows.
Daryl becomes very interested in his lighter, flicking it on and off. Unable to meet Tara’s eyes, he gives a curt nod, “Yeah, that’s right.” Tara looks shocked and hurt when he finally meets her eyes.
“You didn’t tell me that this morning! What did Glenn and Maggie say? What did J-”
“It ain’t a big deal,” Daryl answers.
“Did you tell anyone ?”
“It was a last minute thing,” he shrugs, “I talked to Maggie and Glenn about it, but hadn’t made up my mind.” Daryl is very aware of Rick and Michonne’s eyes on him. The latter of which looks like she can tell how full of shit Daryl is. He had talked to Maggie and Glenn about the possibility of him returning to Alexandria, but that was over a month ago. And he had most definitely made up his mind not to return within minutes of waking up this morning.
Tara looks from Daryl to Rick and Michonne, shifts her feet and says, “look, can I talk to you for a second?”
Daryl wants to tell her there’s nothing to say, but he knows if he does that Tara will speak her piece in front of Rick and Michonne. So he gets up and follows her down the porch steps and along the walkway to the street.
Tara stops, and turns around, glancing at Rick and Michonne.“Um,” Tara says, “this doesn’t have anything to do with what we talked about in the library, does it?”
Daryl considers playing dumb, but knows that will drag things out longer and wants this done, “No, it don’t.” It’s technically true, “Just wanted to come back here. They don’t need me anymore up there.”
“We need everyone up there,” Tara says, “come on, Daryl. After all we’ve been through, I thought,” she trails off, “I don’t know what I thought.”
Daryl feels like shit, but he doesn’t bend, “Look, sorry it came up all the sudden. It’s not like you’ll never see me again, the roads are being fixed, it will be easier to travel this summer. I’ll probably show up ‘fore too long on a run myself.” This is a lie, but she doesn’t notice it.
“I just don’t understand,” she says, “are you sure you don’t want to come back tomorrow?”
Daryl scrapes his shoe against the dirt and nods. He doesn’t meet her eyes.
“Do you have any messages or anything you want me to bring back?”
"Nah.”
Tara looks like she wants to say something more, but doesn’t. When Daryl glances at her she looks on the verge of tears. Guilt twists in him, and he gives her shoulder an awkward pat. It doesn’t seem to help much.
“Ok,” she says, “ok. I’ll see you around, I guess.”
“Yeah,” Daryl says.
**********
“Tara seemed upset,” Rick says after Daryl rejoins them on the porch.
Daryl shrugs. “Yeah. Well. Must’ve gotten used to me. I was there for a while.”
“Yeah, you were. I’ll be honest, I’m surprised we didn’t see you sooner,” Rick says. He doesn’t sound accusing, just a little puzzled.
“Was hurt too bad, then Glenn needed help,” he shrugs again, “then the weather, you know.” This is only partly true, a lot of things kept him at Hilltop for the past six months, not the least of which is the guilt he gets whenever he catches sight of that scar on Michonne’s cheek. The feeling’s not as strong as it had been six months ago, but it’s still there.
“And now?” Michonne asks. She’s staring at him hard, and Daryl doesn’t like the look on her face. How do women always fucking know everything?
“Now he’s fine,” Daryl answers, or a given value of fine, he supposes, “he manages. They’ve accomplished a lot over there.”
“So we’ve heard,” Rick said, “I know you were a big help with that, she said so in her letters.”
“It was mostly her ‘n Glenn,” Daryl says, uncomfortable at this praise. And Paul , a traitorous part of his brain reminds him.
“Things are good,” Rick says, “we’ve all come a long way.”
The three of them sit on the porch and thankfully talk of nothing more than planned projects — Michonne wants to eventually start building settlements outside the walls, clear out the dead and strengthen more territory. The success of the solar panel installation at Hilltop makes them both want to try it at the other communities, maybe figure out a way to set up some form of communication.
Daryl listens to them talk, both of them sounding content and full of hope for the future. It makes his heart ache. Glenn and Maggie are much the same these days, talking about trying to get pregnant again, the idea of raising a family no longer a dangerous delusion. Daryl misses the days when it was just the group of them fighting for their lives. Things seemed much simpler then. He knew where he belonged and what he needed to do, there was a certainty in everything he did.
**********
His room in the attic is unchanged from the last time he was here, just a spare mattress on the floor. He falls into it with a heavy sigh. He’s exhausted and just wants a few hours of rest.
It doesn’t come to him. He hadn’t been prepared for how seeing Rick and the others would stir up things he thought he’d buried over the past six months.
That night in the woods replays when he closes his eyes. The memories haven’t bothered him in a while, but they still maintain their typical hellish clarity.
Crouched shivering and bleeding and so weak he could barely stay upright. After the first swing of that fucking bat half of Abe’s face caved in, he’d been hit so hard his eyeball had popped out and lay on his cheek. The smell of blood and shit filled the air.
“Damn! Taking it like a champ!” Negan crowed in his hatefully cheerful voice.
After had been worse.
“I’m going to kill you,” Rick said, “maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow. But sometime.” This just made Negan grin a sly Cheshire Cat grin.
“I can see you’re still having trouble learning the rules. It’s cool; I can see you’re a slow learner. But a good teacher works best with slow learners! Hmmmm…”
Negan studied the lineup, bat slung over one shoulder. He gave Rick another sly smile, then walked over to Maggie.
“You’re the Asian kid’s over there, right? Not you,” he hummed again, studied Sasha and Rosita who were still staring at Abe’s body and sobbing. Then he zeroed in on Michonne. She met his gaze without fear, even as he raised the bat high above her head.
Rick erupted at that. Daryl even tried to get up, only to receive a savage kick in his injured shoulder. “Stay down, asshole,” Dwight hissed, too late. Negan paused with the bat still raised, looking from Rick to Daryl.
“Ooh, what was that?” Negan sounded delighted. He lowered his bat and moved to Daryl, maintaining eye contact with Rick.
Daryl found himself on the other end of that fucking bat again. There were bits of gore and bone caught in the barbed wire. Daryl could see a few ginger hairs stuck in the blood.
“I’ll make it easy on you, Rick. Which one?”
Rick looked sick, with a scary blankness on his face. Daryl had no illusions over who Rick would choose. He wouldn’t have it any other way, even if it hadn’t been Daryl’s fault she was in this mess to begin with. He looked at Michonne, her eyes were bright but she wasn’t crying, even after everything. Wouldn’t give Negan the satisfaction.
“Rick? I need an answer or I’m doing them both.”
“I’m sorry Daryl,” Rick’s voice was barely audible. Daryl nodded at him, thinking it’s ok, it’s ok, it’s ok, at Rick as hard as he could. Then he closed his eyes and waited for the end.
It didn’t come. Instead he heard Negan say, “Ok, the boy, the vagina, and hardcase here. Those three.”
He was pulled roughly to his feet, and when he opened his eyes he saw the same thing happening to Michonne. Rick held it together until they went for Carl. It took two men holding him back and a third punching him in the gut to stop him.
“Now now, I promise not to harm a single hair on his head, or a splinter of bone in his empty socket. Same for your vagina and hardcase. They’re going to stay with us for a bit, as insurance on your good behavior.”
Even beaten and restrained, Rick nearly pulled free. His eyes were wild and Michonne was saying something, trying to get him to calm down. It wasn’t working.
“Stop!” shouted Carl. He’d gotten to his feet and was glaring at Negan. “Dad, stop! Get your shit together!” Rick froze, and turned his glazed eyes to his son.
“Look at that! You’ve got a giant set of balls on you, young man!” Negan crowed.
“Carl…” Rick sounded small and broken.
Carl didn’t even glance at his father. He just stood there straight backed and steady, not even batting his eye when Negan sauntered up and got right in his face. After a long time Negan burst out laughing, “I’m not going to lie to you kid, you scare the fucking shit out of me,” he said in that good humored voice. “Get ‘em in the van.”
Carl glared with pure disdain at the Saviors who came to collect him , and headed for the van before they could lay hands on him. The kid didn’t look back, and in spite of his pain and horror and grief Daryl was proud as hell of him.
Daryl tries to push those memories away. If he lets them take hold, the entire fucking war will decide to replay itself in his head, or when he falls asleep he’ll dream of it. Neither option is appealing. The last time he dreamed of that night in the woods he hadn’t been able to sleep for days after, not until- he tries to cut that line of thought off, but it’s too late. The memory that comes is just as unwelcome as any from the war.
Sleep was still impossible, every time he closed his eyes he saw Abe’s head bust open. So he poked around his dark room and found the crossbow bolts he’d been working on. They needed fletching and it was a good activity to occupy himself with as he didn’t need to be mentally alert.
He went to the trailer’s living room, lit a lantern, and settled down on the floor to work. He was only at it for a few minutes when he heard a stirring from Paul’s room, and the man himself came out not long after.
He gave Daryl a rueful smile and said, “still can’t sleep, huh?”
Daryl nodded, glad he didn’t have to explain. Paul understood better than anyone about sleepless nights. “Didn’t mean to wake you,” Daryl said.
Paul shrugged, “I’ve been awake, I heard you get up. Figured if you were up I’d use your light, read for a little bit.” Supplies were tight and Paul had been religiously efficient about burning lantern oil. Daryl murmured companionably, and Paul stretched out on the couch. Daryl shifted closer so the lantern could be put between them. An hour passed, and Daryl rubbed his eyes. They were hot and itchy, sleep had only come in snatches the past few nights.
He was so danged tired. He put his arrows aside and leaned against the wall. He closed his eyes, lulled by the sound of Paul’s steady breathing. “What are you reading?” he asked Paul eventually.
“The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius. This isn’t my favorite translation, but it was the only one I could find,” Paul answered, “One fine day I will brave a trip into DC so I can raid the Library of Congress and the Hays translation is number two on my list.”
“Fuckin’ nerd.”
“Guilty,” Paul said, and Daryl could hear the smile in his voice. “Have you read Marcus Aurelius?”
“Do I look like I’ve read ‘im?”
“I’ve learned not to make assumptions about you, Mr Dixon.”
“What’s it about? Name sounds familiar, was it a movie?”
“No, but Aurelius was a character in a very terrible and inaccurate movie with Russell Crowe. He was a Roman emperor. And it’s about…it’s letters he wrote to himself. His thoughts and how to be a virtuous man.”
"Sounds like a good insomnia cure. Read it to me?” Daryl asked.
Paul was quiet for a bit, and Daryl heard the rustle of pages turning, then, “the Emperor writes: ‘Though you should live three thousand years and as many times ten thousand years, still remember that no man loses any other life than this which he now lives, nor lives any other than this which he now loses. The longest and shortest are thus brought to the same. For the present is the same to all, though that which perish is not the same;and so that which is lost appears to be a mere moment. For a man cannot lose either the past or the future: for what a man has not, how can any one take this from him? These two things then you must bear in mind; the one, that all things from eternity are of like forms and come round in a circle, and that it makes no difference whether a man shall see the same things during a hundred years, or two hundred, or an infinite time; and the second, that the longest lived and he who will die soonest lose just the same.’”
Paul kept reading, his words a soothing murmur. Daryl’s eyes were closed for what seemed like only a few minutes, but when he opened them again weak morning light was filtering through the trailer’s windows. Paul was gone and there was a blanket tucked around Daryl’s shoulders.
In the Grimes family house months later Daryl stares at the ceiling and does not sleep for a long time.
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