Survive | Daryl Dixon ¹

𝐱𝐢𝐱. 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐬

Night fell steadily, and Astrid still did not return back to the RV where the group was gathered. She did not know how she possibly could. How could she attempt to sleep beneath the same roof as the mother she had lost the child to? How could she sleep at all knowing Sophia was out there lost, somewhere in the dark Georgian woods still filled with walkers? She simply could not.

Eventually, Daryl came to find Astrid in the darkness. Stars littered the sky overhead, but it was the moon that revealed the expression on his face when he found her. He looked as defeated as her. Quietly, Daryl set his crossbow down and lowered himself to sit beside Astrid on the dented hood of a vehicle that had been abandoned on the outskirts of the traffic snarl.

For a long time, neither of them spoke, and for that Astrid was thankful. It was a relief to have someone who chose to simply sit with her in the dark, rather than try to pull her from it too soon. Gradually, Astrid was beginning to understand just exactly who the hunter was beside her—and, for once, she was grateful for his presence, knowing that—perhaps—he was beginning to understand her, too.

"It ain't your fault."

Astrid did not know how to respond immediately. But when her words finally escaped, they were broken and choked. "I lost a little girl in the woods," She whispered.

"We'll find her," Daryl promised.

Astrid brought her hands up to her face. She wanted to counter him again with the fact that they should have found her that afternoon. Why had they not? Where had she run off to? Where was she now? Was she cold? Was she hungry? Was she alone? A final—vile—question occurred next. Was she even still alive?

But Astrid did not voice any of these concerns aloud. Only lies would suffice for answers, and Astrid was too exhausted to hope right then. She was too exhausted to do anything at all aside from sit beside Daryl in the shadows of the night and breathe. Breathe—because it was the only thing that kept her from breaking and crying all over again.

Suddenly, Daryl's hand found Astrid's shoulder in the dark. She did not tense up. She did not shake him off. She did not grab the hand, either. Instead, she just let the cold and calloused hunter touch her, let him console her in the only way that he knew how. And knowing it was Daryl that even tried, when all anyone else seemed to do was turn away, it was enough for Astrid.

So, the quiet beat on around them, and the stars twinkled on above their heads, unsuspecting of the tragedy that threatened to consume them. No words were spoken between them again for several hours, even as the dawn began to break and the stars went away, but, upon a single touch, a single exchange, an unsaid universe had now sparked itself into existence between Astrid and Daryl, even if neither would ever dare to acknowledge it, dare to see it, until perhaps it was even too late to do so.

➸➸➸

"MAKE SURE YOU DON'T forget this."

Rick's words reached Astrid through a gloomy haze that next morning. She eyed the sheriff as he held her machete outward for her to take. Astrid nearly glowered at the weapon. How different yesterday might have been if she had been carrying it in the woods and been able to kill the walkers that had stalked her and Sophia. She would not let such a mistake of memory corrupt her again.

Without a word, she accepted the blade and attached it to her belt. Then she turned her attention back down toward the small arsenal of weapons that had been collected from a car yesterday afternoon. These were to be their protection as the group prepared to take on another day of searching for Sophia. Astrid would make sure it was the last day.

"These aren't the kind of weapons we need," Andrea Harrison voiced irritably. "What about the guns?"

Most of the group was currently gathered in the shade of the RV. The day was already proving itself to be a long and hot one, and annoyance was quickly reaching a peak. "We've already gone over this," Shane muttered. "Only Daryl, Rick, and I will be carrying. We can't have people popping off rounds every time a tree rustles."