Blessing or a Curse? ➳ Daryl Dixon

11. Sometime Later

Being on the road was hard, probably harder than anything he has ever done before— of course, you’d think that maybe he would be used to it by now, but it’s not as if he was constantly moving around before he met up with this group. He had lived in a library for practically the first two months of the apocalypse, only leaving to scavenge for food. He supposed he was more ready for it then some of the people in the group, such as Beth or Jimmy who had spent the entire time in the farmhouse and hadn’t really seen much of the outside world. 

A couple of days after the farm, they were scavenging a house, and Sydney had paused in the downstairs bathroom (which turned out to be a mistake) to actually take a look at himself. He’d stared at himself for a couple of minutes, the heavy bags under his eyes and the blood stain that was still there, although faded, because they hadn’t found anywhere to wash up yet. He had spent a long time staring at his nose, the noticeable crook it had now— he should have known, especially when he had let Maggie set it back in place and not someone who actually knew what they were doing, but the sight of it was enough to remind him of who gave it to him. 

He had let Randall pick the pieces of glass out of his knuckles, watching as blood dropped onto the hardwood floors beneath them. The teen had asked what happened and Sydney had just sighed and told him that there was nothing in the bathroom of use. 

It was another current injury to add to the list, on the same hand too, a large gash across his right palm from where he had accidentally sliced himself with the hatchet. He had already reopened it once, but it was hard not to when it was your dominant hand. 

No one had said anything else about Rick or questioned his leadership since that night, and he was glad for it. Maybe everyone had finally come to their senses that they all actually needed Rick, that he was the one that was the glue holding them all together. 

He didn’t care, as long as they didn’t have a repeat of last time. 

He was also glad for it that Rick had never said anything else about, well, his immortality. He knows the other hasn’t forgotten about it, how could you? But he didn’t want to be waiting around wondering if the other was going to say anything, and he just prayed that Rick was going to leave it alone. All he cared about was that the other didn’t tell anybody (which he didn’t seem to) and didn’t try to ask him about it anymore than he already had. 

Maybe it was because they had more important things to be worrying about. 

They had found gas for the empty Silverado, at a nearby gas station from where they had originally stopped, and took as much as they could get and set off again. They spent their days going from street to street, house to house, barely finding enough food for the entire group.  They’re on their feet a lot, despite them having enough vehicles for the entire group, they spent a majority of the time out of them. He could tell it was especially hard on Randall, who was most definitely the most beat up out of all of them, even though the swelling had gone down considerably on his face and all that was left was some dark bruises and cuts. Sydney had gotten Hershel to look at the kid’s leg not that long after the farm, and he had to handle Randall crying in his arms for a straight twenty minutes after the older man had told him that he would probably never walk as good as he did before the accident. 

It didn’t take long for Randall to settle into the group, which he was relieved about, worried that some of them would still try and give him a hard time because of where he came from. But those doubts were tossed out the window when Jimmy talked to him like they were already good friends and Beth would attempt to make conversation with him, or when Glenn and Maggie would head off farther into town to scavenge, they would ask him if he needed anything they could look out for.