Survive | Daryl Dixon ¹

𝐱𝐱𝐱𝐢𝐢. 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲

Dale's mouth opened as if to speak, but the words seemed to evaporate before they could manifest. A tremor seemed to electrify the air, and Daryl, sensing Astrid's turmoil, gravitated closer. His movements were subtle, a mere inching closer that conveyed more than words ever could. Astrid's chest tightened, her breaths deep and ragged as she tried to calm herself back down.

Shane swallowed audibly. "Astrid makes a damn good point," He highlighted. "I'd kill any number of Randall's men just to keep one of our own safe."

As the room's many stares effectively bore down on him, Dale's voice trembled. "Well, then, maybe it's just me and Glenn," He confessed.

Glenn's discomfort was suddenly noticeable, the weight of his loyalty to the group clashing violently with the belief of sparing a life still so tainted by uncertainty. "Look, Dale, I think you're pretty much right about everything, all the time, but this—"

"They've got you scared!" Dale insisted.

"He's not one of us!" Glenn argued back, standing his ground. "We've lost too many people already."

Maggie eyed her new partner with concern and laid a gentle hand on Glenn's shoulder. "Couldn't we continue keeping him a prisoner?" She suggested.

"He'd be just another mouth to feed," Daryl muttered.

"Or he could be an asset!" Dale implored earnestly. "Give him a chance to prove himself."

Rick's authoritative tone sliced through the fractured debate. "We're not letting him walk around," He stated firmly. "I don't think anyone should be subjected to being his escort."

"Rick's right," Lori confided. "I wouldn't feel safe unless he was tied up."

"Well, we can't exactly put chains around his ankles and sentence him to hard labor," Andrea reminded them.

"Okay, look—maybe we let this kid join us. Maybe you're right. Maybe he's helpful, maybe he's nice," Shane began, tendrils of skepticism wrapped around each word. "But what if we let our guard down, and he runs off, bringing back his thirty men?"

"So, the answer is to kill him to prevent a crime that he may never even attempt?" Dale demanded, appalled. "If we do this, we're saying there's no hope. The rule of law is dead. There is no civilization."

"Could you drive him further out?" Hershel suggested. "Drop him off like you planned?"

"We barely made it back last time," Astrid countered, shaking her head. "Between the walkers . . . The car could break down, or we could get lost. There's too much to worry about to consider trying it again."

"We shouldn't risk it when we already have a better option," Shane insisted sharply.

"Better option?" Dale exclaimed. "Killing him is the better option?"

In the crevices of her thoughts, Astrid considered the unsettling concept again. Maybe, she almost whispered. Yet, she held her tongue, feeling sick.

"If you go through with it, how would you do it?" Maggie wondered, voice wavering. "Would he suffer?"

"We could hang him . . . but shooting seems more humane," Rick admitted with a heavy exhale. "I don't know what we'd do with the body, though. Probably bury it or burn it."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Dale cried. "You're all talking about this like it's already been decided! This is a young man's life! It is worth more than a five-minute conversation!" He yelled angrily. "God, is this what it's come to? We kill someone because we can't decide what else to do with him? You saved him first, Rick, and now look at us. He's been tortured, and now he's going to be executed. How are we any better than those people that we're so afraid of?"