Consumed | 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐥 𝐃𝐢𝐱𝐨𝐧

eighteen.

–

Driving up to a small house, Daryl stops his bike and I quickly climb off. A swingset sit in the garden and I stop. This was probably once a happy family's home. I wonder where they are now. Probably dead like everyone else. "Stay close." Daryl tells me, "Company's near." Ignoring him, I shake open the metal wired fence and walk through the overgrown garden. A climbing frame comes into my view as I come closer to the house. Maybe we could haul these over to the prison one day for the kids.

Looking into the house, I smash the window with my gun before slamming my hand through it with my sleeve covering me. Daryl looks out behind me as I climb into the window. Landing inside, I look around at the toys thrown across the floor and the two cribs sat next to eachother. A collage of small hand prints were painted across the wall. This wasn't a house, it was a day care.

Spotting a cabinet, I begin rummaging through it and find bottles. I throw the bag off my back and chuck them in before shoving items I thought would help into it as well. Daryl leads out into the hall way with his torch and I follow behind him. A crash comes from a room and we both look at eachother. Daryl puts his flashlight in his mouth as we lean against either side of the door way. He slowly opens bottom half of the door and tiptoes in carefully. I move in after him.

The pantry door shakes back and forth slightly. Daryl nods at me and I swing the door open. An opossum hisses at us moments before Daryl shoots a bow into it's tiny body. "Hello, dinner." He mumbles with the torch in his mouth.

"That ain't going in my bag." I tell him as I rummage through the cupboards. Two tubs of formula sit there in front of me and a smile comes to my mouth. I shove them into my bag quickly before looking through the cupboards for more things. A few tins of baby food sit inside the cabinet and I throw them in also. She'll need these in a few months.

I swing open another cupboard and to my surprise two bottles of whiskey sit there. On the cupboard door, it shows me a recipe for a teething trick including the whiskey. Surely that wasn't safe for children to consume alcohol ever. Taking a bottle, I slip it into the bag but no way was I using this to help with teething. It was for me. I damn well deserved a drink after this shit show. "I think he have everything for now." I tell Daryl with the possum over his shoulder. I will never get used to this man carrying dead animals over his shoulder somehow it always disgusts me. Daryl nods before setting down his animal for a moment on the countertop.

Pulling me close to him, he wraps his arms around my shoulders and rests his head on the top of mine. I sling my arms around his waist as he rocks us both side to side. "Why are you being so nice?" I ask in suspicion, "You were being a prick earlier." I move my head to look up and he shifts his to look down at me.

"You needed a hug." He shrugs.

–

Rushing into the cell block, the baby wails loudly as Carl rocks her. I remove all the baby stuf out of the bag and call Beth over to help as Daryl checks on the baby. He shushes her as he takes her into his arms and she settles down a bit. Quickly putting together the bottle, I shake it a few times to make sure everything is mixed before handing it to Daryl. "Shh. Come on." He coos at her as he puts the bottle in her mouth. She latches on begins to drink up immediately. Carl watches his little sister intently and smiles. I pull him to my side and rub his shoulder.

Daryl sways with the baby as he feeds her, muttering sweet things to calm her down. Looking up, he smiles at everyone and nods happily. I never thought Daryl Dixon was someone who liked babies. I always thought he would never engage with a baby or even care much about it. "She got a name yet?" I ask Carl.

"N–not yet, but I was thinking– maybe Sophia?" He inputs, "Maybe Carol, too. And– Andrea." He huffs. Carol? Judging my the tone of his voice Carol had died from earlier and looking around it seemed T-Dog did too. 3 people gone in one day. "Amy, Jackie, Patricia." He lists off all the dead women. "Or Lori." He shakes his head, "I don't know." Carl shifts from foot to foot. My eyes water as I watch him mope around.