You're 14, going on 15 last time you checked. It was hard to keep track in the apocalypse. In Alexandria you lived with Carol and Daryl, next to Rick's house with Michonne and Carl, and across from Glenn and Maggie and Eugene, Tara, Rosita, Abraham, Sasha, etc. Long story short, you'd been at Alexandria for a while now, adjusting to it.

Daryl was a recruiter with Aaron, but recently he'd been home. Which is good, it felt a lot safer when Daryl was in Alexandria, like if anything happened at least Daryl was here.

Daryl felt responsible for you. How could he not? You'd practically clung to him when you joined the group, years ago now. But every time Daryl felt responsible for someone they died. The bitter truth seemed to be the only thing Daryl knew.

the sun set low over the horizon, painting the sky a deep navy in the sun's wake as it was graciously replaced by the moon.

the smell of pasta drifted into the dining room as you and Daryl sat down. Carol had called you two to eat, they were like your family. Like the people you'd lost.

you chatted to Daryl as he silently sat down at the table, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. Daryl was never much of a talker, but you seemed to always talk to him. he didn't get it, but he didn't mind.

today had been rough, tiring. Daryl felt he had less patience than usual, but he kept that to himself.

Carol set down a pot of spaghetti on the table and took her own seat, also now listening to your rant about your day.

"I'm usually a better shot, but I had harder targets, I swear. It was crazy, da-" you paused. You talked quickly, it was a habit, and the slip up didn't happen often. You almost called Daryl 'dad'.

"I'm not yer' dad." Daryl grumbled out, almost immediately, seeming snappier than usual, and gaining a confused and disapproving glare from Carol as he focused on his food and ignored the regret that built as soon as the harsh words left his lips.

that guilt only grew as Daryl took a bite of his food and took note of your silence.