you're a kid. Well, Carl's age while the dead roamed the streets. Unlike Carl, you had no family left. None. Zilch.

everyone was gone and it felt unfair. Now you were stuck with Rick's group, not that it was a chore, but now other people had to be responsible for you when you just wanted to kamikaze a bunch of Walkers.

over the years, Daryl had grown to feel responsible for you, for whatever reason. He'd never wanted to be a father or anything of the sort because he didn't want to end up like his old man and ruin a kid's life.

but he was alone too. He'd lost everyone too. He wanted to protect you from that happening again.

and you wanted the same thing. You didn't want to lose anyone ever again. But your solution was to shut everyone out so they hated you, then if you died, or vice versa, they wouldn't be too distraught.

everything would be fine.

it wasn't a great solution, only something a 16 year old who'd lost everyone would come up with.

Carl would stop by sometimes, ask you to hang out with him and the other kids, but you'd shut him out too.

he hadn't given up on you.

neither had Daryl.

on a particularly bad day, you hadn't come out of your room in the communal house with you and Daryl.

Daryl got worried.

what if you were hurt? What if something happened? What if you weren't even in there?

so, begrudgingly, Daryl put together a sandwich, a peace-offering, and went up to you room, knocking on the door.

originally it was just a sweet thing, But you were caught off guard. Why would he even try to talk to you? What did he want? Was there some dangerous mission, cause you would be all in for that.

when he said he was "Just checking in on ya", you got irrationally upset. Why wasn't it working? Why couldn't you push him away?

caring about people was risky. It was weakness.

"Just leave me alone, you're not my dad." you snapped, realizing that was a little harsh only after the words left your lips.

Daryl's jaw set and his eyes flickered down to the floorboards. How had he been so stupid? The kid obviously didn't need his help. "Sorry." he grumbled, returning to his former stoicism to show that your words hadn't cut as deep as they did.

and he left your room, closing the door behind him.

later, guilt was gnawing at you. It wouldn't leave you alone. Voices in your head telling you it was too harsh, you should apologize, or you were worse than what people thought.

you couldn't take it for very long and went downstairs, silent. For the first time all day, you left your room.

you saw Daryl at the kitchen table, a half-drank beer bottle and crumpled pack of smokes on the table beside his crossbow. He was sharpening knives, fixing broken crossbow bolts, anything to keep his hands busy and his mind occupied.

he knew you were there, but he didn't show that. Just kept doing what he was doing.

and you felt eternally more horrible.