you got there three days after your father died. all he had to do was survive three more days and he would've been safe in Alexandria with the rest of the group.

but no. he had gone hunting with Daryl and couldn't fight off half a swarm of Walkers. and now he was dead. and you were safe. and the guilt and grief expressed itself in isolation and silence.

Carl hadn't seen you at all since they'd arrived at Alexandria, and was growing increasingly worried by the day. he was your best friend, you usually told him everything and you two had stuck together. This was weird.

since your father had been all you had left, you shared a house with Daryl Dixon. The man had felt extremely guilty for taking your father on the hunt that ended his life, and that guilt grew every time he left food at your bedroom door because you didn't come out to eat.

nonetheless, Daryl wasn't an emotional man. He didn't want to interrupt your grieving with words he didn't know to use. Daryl didn't talk about feelings, so he let you be.

Carl didn't.

one day, after not seeing you for 2 weeks now, Carl decided this was getting ridiculous. Carl showed up at the house and demanded Daryl let him see you.

Daryl eventually caved, secretly hoping Carl could talk some sense into you. He led Carl up the stairs and to your room.

There was last night's dinner still at the foot of the doorway. Cold and untouched.

Carl knocked on the door but didn't wait for a response before turning the handle and pushing the door open.

Carl's eyes softened upon seeing you. The exhaustion whittled under your eyes told him you hadn't been sleeping much.

his worry only increased.

Daryl stood behind Carl in the shadow of the doorframe, arms crossed as he analyzed your expression. If you wanted Carl gone, he'd kick the damn kid out.

Carl stepped further into the room, worry swelling in his chest as he took you in. He'd never seen you look so weak.

"{{user}}.." he muttered, voice quiet in sympathy as he slowly advanced into the room.