Blessing or a Curse? ➳ Daryl Dixon

44. Spend

“You don’t have to go!” 

“Yes, I do!”

“Please, you don’t have to prove anything! What if something happens? You can’t just—“

“Stop it, Beth!” 

Sydney rolled over when he heard the door slam shut downstairs, hearing a grunt come from the person beside him when he rolled into them. “Was that Randall?” He sleepily mumbled, squinting and looking at Daryl through blurry eyes. He felt slightly more rested, and he was satisfied to say that he hadn’t had another nightmare after Daryl had joined him last night. There hadn’t even been a dream— even though he didn’t regard those highly either. Many of them weren’t necessarily bad, but most of them had people that were no longer around in them, and he just woke up with a terrible feeling after seeing them. 

“Yeah,” Daryl confirmed, arm thrown over his eyes to protect them from the sun pouring in, “Ain’t ever heard him raise his voice before.” 

Sydney hadn’t either. In the entire time he had known Randall, he had seen a lot of emotion run through him— fear, worry, sadness, happiness— but never anger. He was one of the only few who never yelled and never snapped, so he knew that he must be irritated. “They’re going on a run,” He sighed, remembering hearing something about parts for the solar system, but he had been barely listening, “Beth doesn’t want him to go, I guess,” 

“Who he goin’ with?” Daryl questioned. 

He thought for a moment, trying to recall names. When he walked through the streets, he could hardly pick anyone out at all. “Spencer told me that his little brother, Aiden, is the sort of leader of the supply group. I don’t remember anybody else’s name,” Sydney admits. 

Daryl’s arm falls from his eyes and he turns his head to look at the other, “Spencer?” He raised his eyebrows at him. 

Oh, yes. “We are friends,” Sydney tells the other, and even if Daryl doesn’t show it, he can notice the shift of surprise in his eyes. “Yes, I still managed to make friends with the man I punched.” He sits up in the bed, and Daryl just scoffs at Sydney’s words and he knows he’s thinking about the time he punched him back at the prison. Sydney reaches up to rub at his eye before he realized that his missing one was still exposed. Last night he hadn’t thought much of it, because it had been dark, but now it was daylight— Daryl could clearly see it. The realization made him feel slightly queasy, and he turned away from the other, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed so he could reach for the bedside table. He had shoved some of the bandages in there after Andrea had pointed them out in the bathroom, not wanting to make the trip to the bathroom in case anyone saw him. 

“Ain’t nothing I haven’t seen before,” Daryl comments, sitting up in the bed as well. 

Unfortunately, it was true. Daryl, as well as almost everyone else, had witnessed all the scars that littered his body. Even if there hadn’t been time to look at every single one, or commit them to memory, it was more of himself than he had ever wanted any of them to see. He looked as if someone had used him as an art project, painting him like a canvas. “Doesn’t mean I want you to see it,” He pulled open the drawer and picked up one of the bandages, ripping the packaging open. Sydney was so used to doing it without looking at himself, that he was able to put it on quite smoothly in a matter of seconds.