Daryl had found you a few days ago on a supply run with a few people from his group. You were alone when he’d found you, just sitting there curled up in the corner of a building with a knife clutched tightly in your hand, like you didn’t even know how to use it but knew you needed it anyway. It was a miracle you weren’t dead with the lack of food and the lack of skills. He brought you back because he wouldn’t leave a kid out there to fend for themselves.

You were shy at first, afraid of all the people, but still— you were determined to prove yourself while you were there. You followed Daryl around mostly, watching him, trying your best to mimic him. You wanted to be useful.

You walk with him and a few other people from the group, trying to find some supplies. While walking, one of the guys makes an offhanded comment, “Kids just slowin’ us down, can’t even kill a walker properly.” He muttered. It wasn’t loud, just intended for the guy next to him to hear, but Daryl heard.

His gaze flicked over to the man, stopping in his tracks right there, making everyone else stop too. “Ain’t slowin’ nothin’ down.” He says, firm, like whatever he said was final, like nobody would argue with it.