Chapter Text
“You wear a wedding ring,” Rick Grimes stated.
Daryl had been sat against the wall, knees pulled up to his chest, one hand still wrapped around the neck of the wine bottle, minding his own business when the other man had come up next to him. The rest of the group had spread out, the excitement from dinner having died down, alcohol and the mad dash and stress of reaching the CDC having left everyone drowsy. It was quiet, peaceful.
“Well damn Sheriff, no wonder you were so good at yer job,” Daryl huffed, words ever so slightly slurred.
With a sigh, he set the bottle down beside him in exchange for playing with the gold band on his left ring finger. Head falling back against the wall, the redneck closed his eyes, letting the buzz from the wine wash over him. He didn’t want to think of the ring, not right now, didn’t want to think about them. He especially didn’t want to discuss them with Rick Grimes, the man that woke from his coma after the world had ended and stumbled upon his family by pure chance.
Not when his family had left him behind. Not when he was the reason that Daryl had lost his brother.
“Very funny Daryl. So are you married?” Rick said with a smirk, settling fully beside him.
“Nah, jus’ wear it fer fun,” Daryl sarked back, opening his eyes to glance over at the other man, annoyance beginning to bubble up inside.
“Where is she? Do you have any kids?” the cop continued, completely ignoring Daryl’s sass.
The redneck could smell the alcohol on the other’s breath, could hear his inebriation in the ever so slight slur of his words and see it the loll of his head. It was the only reason he didn’t turn and break Rick’s nose then and there.
“Got a kid and they ain’t here,” Daryl grumbled.
Instantly, he cursed himself for the admission, wasn’t any of the other man’s business who made up his family. He should have kept his damn mouth shut. Was the wines fault or maybe it was just a relief to say it out loud.
“Where are they then?”
“Not here.”
“Daryl…”
He didn’t trust the man, not really. Dixon’s and cops didn’t mix, never had and the end of the world was still too fresh to do much about that divide. Sides, the man had everything you could hope for in this reality, he had his wife- even if she was sneaking behind his back- and he had his boy. Daryl didn’t. No he didn’t even have Merle.
Anger pushed up through the numbness, bitter rage that shielded him from feeling anything else. He whipped his head around and snarled at the man, staggering to his feet and stumbling a few steps backwards and away.
“Who the fuck do you think ya are huh? The fuck is it any a’ your business? It ain’t so back off and leave me be,” he spat, emotion and alcohol making him shake.
“Daryl, I didn’t mean nothing by it. Maybe I could help you, used to find people as a job,” the man implored, rising up off of the floor himself.
“Ain’t nothing you can do, less you can pull miracles outta yer ass. They ain’t here dammit, leave it be. Ain’t gonna effect anyone is it?” Daryl growled in response, getting right up in the sheriff’s face.
To his credit, the man didn’t bat an eye, he simply stood a hair’s breadth away from the angry redneck and waited him out. Daryl hissed out a breath, enraged at the man, the situation, the world. None of it was fair, was like a piece of him had been ripped away and here was this prick just rubbing it in.
“If you just-”
“If I just nothing man! Fuck off, how hard is that to understand. It ain’t nothing to you, they ain’t here, they won’t ever be here. It won’t be like it was for you, world doesn’t work like that. I don’t wanna talk about it, bout them, specially not with you!” Daryl exploded.
He leant down and grabbed up the wine, swinging round and marching off down the lifeless halls towards the room he’d claimed. If he had to swipe at a falling tear that was only for him to know, was the wines fault anyway.
**********
The next person to ask about his family was Hershal.
The rest of the group had ignored the ring on his finger, his standoffishness and general avoidance of them all led to nothing but whispers behind his back. Daryl was perfectly fine with that, he didn’t want to think about the hollow in his chest left by the absence of the one he loved with his whole being. Hershal was different though, he worked different to the rest of the bunch, saw things and ignored lines.
It came up when the old man had just finished stitching up his side and Daryl had been able to cover himself back up with the sheets. He pulled the cover up gingerly, fire lancing through his side with the movement. Carol was sat in a chair next to bed him watching everything.
He was wary of the little mousy woman in a way that probably wouldn’t make much sense to most people. He knew that she was observant in a way that the majority of people weren’t, she saw too much. Her eyes were piercing, her gaze missed nothing- much like Daryl’s own. Came from a lifetime of having to watch your own back.
“I see you’re a married man Daryl but your wife is not in this group. Has she passed or is she still out there?” the man asked calmly as he tidied his supplies.
At any other point, Daryl may have snapped at him, told him to fuck off and mind his own. In that moment he was feeling somewhat generous, the old man had just stitched him up, saved his life and given him so good pain medication to go with it all. Daryl definitely owed the man a great deal and supposed that a good way to start by not cussing the guy out.
Instead, he let the silence stretch for a moment, sluggish brain and general unwillingness turning the response over and over in his head. The quiet was getting to him, Carol’s eyes on him making it harder to think, to form words or make a decision on what he may even want to say.
“She might be ‘round, don’t know really. She wan’t in Georgia when everything went ta shit,” Daryl muttered.
“Did you ever look for her Daryl?” Carol asked.
The woman lent forward and carded a hand through his lank hair. For once the man didn’t shy away from the touch, instead leaning into it and letting his eyes fall shut- he didn’t feel like he had the energy for anything else. These people could very well be the last people that he ever had at his side, these people could be the people that he survived with. He was too tired to keep them at arm’s length anymore.
“She din’t tell me where she wen’, I waited s’long as I could but… I don’ know where they are,” he breathed.
“They?”
“Her and my boy,” Daryl confessed.
He opened his eyes to look at her. Her little girl was gone, his little boy was gone and in that moment she knew. He could see her understand why he’d gone as hard as he could, why he’d done everything to try and bring her baby back. He had that same hollow in his heart that she did.
“How old is your son Daryl?” Hershal asked quietly.
The redneck flinched slightly, having forgotten that the old man was even there, so lost in his silent communication with Carol.
“He’s fourteen. Hunter. Tha’s his name,” Daryl told them, focusing on creases in the sheets.
His chest felt tight as he spoke; he hadn’t told anyone about Hunter, hadn’t said his boy’s name since well before Merle fucked off. He knew that the two others were revaluating how they saw him, forming a new image of who he was as a person. Daryl just hoped that they never got the full image, never found out who he really was before the world ended, that he wasn’t the strong like he pretended. Couldn’t even keep his family together.
**********
She came up to him three days later as he sat outside his tent cleaning his bow, sitting down silently beside him. He knew that she had been hurting, that her heart was broken but that she was trying to carry on regardless. That was probably the reason that he didn’t flinch away when she sat so damn close.
He never would have allowed it before but when he felt her lean into him, he felt something in him crumble, felt like a weight had been lifted. The touch was a comfort he didn’t know he needed. Probably why he showed her the photo.
The hunter reached into the pocket of his vest and pulled out the picture- his most precious possession now. It was creased and crumbled at the corners and slightly faded. It was the picture that he had carried around with him for years now, long before the world had crashed down around them. He kept it in his vest pocket, right over his heart when he would always be.
He handed it over to Carol with only the slightest hesitation. The woman took it with delicate hands and curious eyes, instinctually knowing that it was something precious.
“Is this Hunter?” she asked after a moment.
“Yeah,” he muttered, looking out over the trees unable to bare seeing her face right now.
The boy in the photo was only ten. His hair was a lot lighter than his fourteen year old self, long and blond because the little fucker made such a fuss about haircuts. His mom hated the hair. Daryl secretly loved it. He was stood in the woods with Daryl behind him, a huge grin on his face as his dad hugged him from behind. Merle had taken the photo, the three had gone on a hunting trip over a long weekend and it was one of his best memories.
He told Carol all that, speaking more to her than he had to anyone in a long time. By the end, his chest was tight and his eyes stung. He still couldn’t look at her but when she took his hand he squeezed it in return.