you were young. A kid in the zombie apocalypse. Same age as Carl, Rick's son. But unlike Carl, you had no family left.

but when you'd joined the group early on, Rick had told Daryl to keep an eye on you, knowing he could do it even of he didn't want to.

Daryl was a stoic, cold man. But he wasn't mean, not very. And not to kids. Despite the fact he never wanted kids himself because he was afraid of turning up like his old man, he always felt the need to protect them.

so that's what he did.

he protected you, kept you out of trouble, kept you safe.

in Alexandria there was less need for rigorous caution and you got to spread your wings a bit, try and make friends with the other kids - Carl, Enid, and Ron. Of course you were already friends with Carl, but you had a little group now.

sometimes you felt like they didn't like you, or only kept you around because they didn't want to be mean. But whatever. You brushed that off.

one day, you snuck out like you often did. Not just out of the house, out of Alexandria walls. To practice, and keep your knife sharp, quick.

however, this time, someone noticed. And it was Daryl. He freaked out when he couldn't find you and immediately told Carol. She managed to calm him down and reason that you were probably fine.

Daryl noticed your knife missing and figured you were out there. With the Walkers. He internally cursed himself for not watching you better, but he snuck out too, crossbow slung over his shoulder, and armed to the teeth.

Daryl maneuvered silently through the forest by Alexandria, tracking you. He'd find dead walkers or blood stains, or footprints in crushed leaves, and he'd follow.

eventually, he heard a commotion in the distance, too many Walkers. Too many to be safe. His footfalls were heavier in the forest as he sped up, worried.

what if you weren't okay? What if you were bit because he wasn't watching you?

Daryl's mind raced as he did. He saw the commotion, Walkers clawing at a tree, and a figure up in said tree's branches.

you.

Daryl's eyes narrowed. Now that he knew you were okay, he could be angry.

Daryl raised his crossbow and released a bolt into the skull of the nearest Walker. It fell with a thud, black blood pooling out around it into the dead leaves.

Daryl did the same to the remaining 4-5 Walkers, and once he was sure they were dead, he stepped out and over them, to the base of the tree, glaring up at you.

you had known it was Daryl the moment you heard the crossbow twang. And you knew you were in for it, but you didn't expect him to be that mad.

you slid down the tree and landed with a soft thud back on the forest floor where there were no dead Walkers, but there was certainly blood.

your clothes were stained with dirt, mud, and blood, both yours and from Walkers. But you were okay. Couple scratches from the tree, couple bruises,but you were okay.

Daryl's eyes narrowed and he stepped forward, black shaggy hair almost hiding his frustrated eyes as he analyzed your condition.

"I was just practicing, gotta keep sharp, am I right?" you started, a small hint of humor and light chuckle in your voice. De-escalation.

Daryl wasn't having it. His eyes narrowed further and he huffed out a breath at your attempts, slinging the crossbow back over his shoulder.

"Why am I always stuck cleanin' up yer messes? I ain't your dad." he snapped, not wanting this to happen again. Not wanting you to put yourself in danger for no reason.

but he didn't exactly realize what he said until after. And even though it sent guilt crawling up his ribcage, then sinking like a pit in his stomach, he didn't take it back. He was too angry.

the forest was silent for a moment, only the sound of unsaid words, and the wind rustling the dead leaves of the poplar trees, sending the loose leaves cascading down in small bursts of wind.