the real people| TWD

twenty-three

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE,
stay with me.

Richard Pelletier
The Woods

               Richard doesn't know how he mustered up enough energy to stand; let alone drag Daryl to shore— but he managed.

The red neck man laid on the ground in front of him; a large gash on the side of his head. Richard used Sophia's flannel to tie around the arrow sticking out of Daryl's stomach; slowing the bleeding as much as he could. It was soaked through now, it's blue fabric was stained with crimson red.

Richard would've thought Daryl was dead if it weren't for his dazed rambling.

For the past half hour the redneck had been drifting in and out of consciousness. When Daryl was awake, Richard couldn't get through to him, the man was loosing a lot of blood; causing him to hallucinate.

The last time Daryl was conscious, he just stared, as if he had no clue who the boy was; he only muttered Merle's name to himself.

Richard stared at the cascade across the quarry, his head lent against the boulder he lent against. The throbbing pain in his foot was excruciating, he couldn't focus on anything else; Richard's broken enough bones to know he was going to need a cast. He couldn't imagine Hershel had one— the thought made him wince. If it were damaged enough they'd have to cut it off— if he survives til then.

His eyes fell on his swollen ankle; the pain caused tears to prick his eyes.

It was twisted back at an angel; his swollen foot was beginning to turn purple.

"I'm sorry", he could hear Daryl's groggy voice. "Tried like hell to find you. All you had to do was wait, I went back for you".

Richard slowly lifted his head to stare at the delirious man. 

"She had nothin' to do with it". Daryl lifted his head, his eyes squinted, as if looking at something in front of him. He was hallucinating again. "Carol".

Richard's head snapped up, his eyes narrowed into a glare, "Daryl".

"I'm gonna keep my promise— swear", Daryl closed his eyes again, his head falling back in defeat. "Why didn't you tell me?".

Richard's face twisted up, "knock it off!".

"Should've told me", he whispered. "—could've been there".

Richard angrily grabbed a stone from the ground and threw it as hard as he could at the man— hitting him in the stomach. "Fuck you!".

Richard's whole life he wanted to imagine his biological father didn't know he existed. He wanted to believe that one day he'd learn about him and he'd come rescue him from the torture and abuse he was forced to endure.

That was, until he met him.

Richard was five years old the first time he met his biological father; the first time he met
Daryl Eric Dixon. The second time was when he was sixteen years old when him and his brother, Merle, showed up at the camp.

He remembered how furious his father got that night; how they almost packed their things and left. He remembered vividly what his father did to him that night as well, what he did to ensure Richard knew he owned him; that he was his. Richard knows he shouldn't, but he blamed Daryl. He knew he existed, Daryl knew Richard, and he knew the man Ed was.