All That's Left (The Walking Dead FanFiction)

Chapter 8

He’s left me here, alone. Then I notice the three backpacks lined against the front door. If he had really left, he wouldn’t have gone without the supplies. Especially the baby supplies. I sigh in relief. He has to be here. He and Sam have to be here.

I hear a small laugh come from the garage, I quickly go for the door and open it. There’s stuff everywhere. Storage bins are scattered across the concrete floor. There’s garden tools along the wall. Daryl stands in the far corner, searching through one of the bins, and Sam runs around the perimeter with a small garden shovel in his tiny hands, giggling to himself.

Daryl looks up at me but doesn’t meet my eyes. “Hey,” he says.

“Hi.”

I wonder how much he remembers from last night. I don’t know how alcohols works. I don’t know how much you have to drink in order to not remember things.

“Sam, if you don’t stop runnin’ around with that shovel you’re gonna knock a tooth out,” Daryl warns.

Sam stops running and looks at his father. Seeming to understand the tone of his father’s voice, he drops the shovel to the ground, but keeps running in circles around the garage.

Daryl motions towards me. “Make yourself useful and look for anything we might need in these boxes.”

Okay, so he’s talking to me. That’s a good sign.

“Her parents just had all these boxes of stuff laying around in here?” I ask as I remove one of the lids and begin rummaging through the bin.

“Yeah, they hoarded a lot of shit and never got rid of nothin’,” he replies.

I stare at him for a second. There’s no sleeves on his shirt and I can see the definition in his arms.

“Do you wanna talk about what happened last night?” I question. I had to do it. I had to ask him.

“No,” he grunts. “I don’t.”

“Okay,” I say.

So we don’t talk about it. As time passes, the tension between us slowly decreases. My heart still aches from some of the things he said to me. It kills me to know that I hurt him. To know that just by looking at me he hurts. I think it kills me even more to know there’s nothing I can do about it.

Sam continues running around the room. Ever so often he approaches me, trying to sneak up behind me and grab something from the bin I’m searching through. I don’t say anything. I just let him take whatever he wants.

“Sam, put down the toe nail clippers,” Daryl says, grabbing the clippers from his son. “Where the hell are you finding all this stuff?”

I smile, and don’t say anything.

Sam giggles and as soon as Daryl turns his back, he comes running back up to me and steals a water gun from my box. Miraculously, there’s still water in it and once he realizes this, he immediately shoots the gun at Daryl.

I expect Daryl to be pissed but he just laughs. “Sam, where do you keep finding this stuff, man?”

Sam keeps shooting the water at him.

“All right, son. You can stop it now, you’re starting to make Daddy mad.”

A small laugh escapes my mouth.

“You think that’s funny Macy?”

I immediately look to the left. “No, no I don’t think it’s funny.”

“Daddy have water,” Sam giggles, pulling the trigger of the water gun again.

“Samuel Andrew Dixon!” Daryl says, attempting to keep a stern face but failing miserably.