Outlive | Daryl Dixon ²

𝐥𝐯. 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟

Carl listened in silence as Astrid poured out her heart. After all, despite everything, her fears would still not disappear overnight. Or even over two months. When she finally fell quiet again, he reached forward and slipped his hand into hers. "Both you and Daryl are going to be around a long, long time, and you're going to raise that baby together."

"And I'll help," Bailey said. "I've always wanted a little sister. And even if it ends up being a boy, I'll help too. At least I know how to handle a little brother." Her expression faltered momentarily. "Well, I knew how."

Astrid's mind drifted back to the cruel, unforgiving image of Finn Stratton trapped behind cell bars as a walker. Suppressing a shudder at the memory of driving her knife through his little brain, she cleared her throat. "You'll always be a big sister," She assured her surrogate daughter. "Finn would be proud of you."

Bailey offered a light, kind smile before wordlessly hopping from the porch railing and disappearing inside the house, closing the door behind her. Astrid's gaze held to where Bailey had sat, then shifted back to Carl, who remained entranced by his little sister. She watched him for a short while, simply taking him in. Relishing in his existence. It had not come easy.

Half of his face was still concealed by thick, white medical gauze, even if he no longer needed it, and Astrid's heart sank beneath the insinuation. She had glimpsed Carl's damaged eye only a few times since that night, and her offers to help clean it had always been met with rejection. He preferred tending to it himself—a silent struggle she could feel but not fully comprehend.

Astrid hesitated for a moment, then focused purely on her hands clasped tightly together in her lap before daring to speak. "Carl," She began slowly, "do you blame me for what happened to your eye?"

Instantly, the teenage boy shook his head, his denial accompanied by a swift response. "No."

"Then why won't you allow me to help you?" She questioned. "You won't let me examine your eye, to make sure it's healing properly. You won't even let me touch it. And when I'm around, you avoid discussing it altogether. I understand that you don't have to give me an answer, but I also can't bear the thought of you hating me."

"I don't hate you, Astrid. I could never hate you," Carl said. "I love you." He took a breath, turning to face her, his lone blue eye finding her green ones. "I don't blame you for what happened to my eye. But I know you blame yourself."

Astrid held her silence, acknowledging the raw truth in Carl's words. Though she had managed to convince everyone, including Daryl, that she was content, that she was happy, the weight of remorse and guilt still thrived within her. Night after night, even within the arms of her husband, her most primal protector, nightmares replayed, searing into her brain—Carl collapsing to the ground, blood pooling beneath his head. Powerless to intervene, she relived the agony alone, never to absolve herself.

"You were only ever trying to save my life, Astrid," Carl persisted. "No one could have known what would happen. Ron had a gun pointed at us, and you pushed me out of the way. I would have done the same for you if I thought it would have kept you safe."

"I pushed you into the line of fire," Astrid argued. "Your eye is gone because of me."

"But I'm still alive because of you," He returned. "Denise told me that if it wasn't for you, I would have bled out on that gurney. You stitched my eye, kept me alive, and then went outside to save my dad. I should be thanking you right now." His cheeks flushed as he startled. "Why are you crying?"

Despite herself, Astrid began to laugh through her sudden barrage of tears and hastily wiped them away. "Hormones."

A playful smile grew on Carl's face. Then it grew warmer, and his features softened as he shook his head in admiration. "You're going to be a great mom, Astrid."