In the Sound

The last thing I said to my Dad was, 'I'm sorry.'

At the time I wasn't really sure what I was sorry for. It was just something that I felt like I had to say. He was rushing me out the door, screaming for me to get out, telling me he'd find me. That Kit would look after me, and I'd look after Kit. He told me he loved me. He told me he was proud. And I told him I was sorry. I wished a thousand times I could change that to something a little more meaningful.

The group felt the same way about Dale.

Dale died unhappily. We'd treated and mistreated him badly. They wanted to tell him they loved him. They wanted him to be happy before he died. Their happiness totally relied on his now.
It was a lingering thought over them.

At Dale's funeral, I didn't cry. I didn't say any kind words for him. I didn't comfort anybody or try and tell them how great of a guy Dale was. I didn't say anything about him because I was the last person who knew him. Hell, even Beth knew him better than I did and I was betting they'd probably never spoken before.

I wasn't really sad for Dale. But seeing Rick so... broken.

When it was finished, I trailed back to Daryl's tent to check on Kit. He'd been sleeping all day, the most tired I'd ever seen him. I couldn't help but think about how old he was getting too. Old like Dale. It wasn't long now.

I ducked my head under the small opening of the tent, eyes glazing over Kit's sleeping body.

Dropping to my knees, I hovered my hand over him. After a few moments, I drew it away. He was always so damn cranky if I woke him up. So I just shuffled around him, stretching my legs out. My knees were all cramped up and sore. I slipped my fingers around them, squeezing here and there.

"This a day spa or some'in?"

I shot up to see Daryl's head peering inside. Didn't even hear the quiet fucker walking up behind me. He would've made such an excellent stalker. Daryl's eyes sifted between me and Kit. The flaps of the tent were draped around his neck. His eyes were thin and tired, blinks slow and soft.

Smiling, I shrugged a shoulder towards Kit. "If you're lucky, we can just squeeze you in."

"Funny," he muttered.

He didn't look like he thought it was funny at all. I pursed my lips and eyed him. His own gaze was cast down at the mud caked over his boots. Daryl ran a hand over his hair, his feet kicking at the heels of his boots so they'd come off.

He squinted his eyes a little before adding, "You okay?"

"You keep saying that," I warned, "and I'm jus' gonna keep giving you the same answer. I'm fine."

After both of his boots were off, he leant down and threw them out onto the grass. Daryl scoffed, "Jus' don' seem fine like yer sayin'."

He took a step into the tent, the flaps dropping behind him and shading us. The holes pierced in the top of the tent let the sunlight streak in. There were small spots of highlights over his features. Slowly, he sat down across from me, nestled in the pile of his dirty clothes.

"You know, when my Grandad was dying, he looked so bad all the days up to it. He was totally defeated. But the day it happened, fuck. I'd never seen him so alive," I paused for a second, afraid Daryl probably didn't really give a shit. To my surprise, his eyes were fixed on me. "Dale was like that too. Weird, huh?"

It came a little softer than I wanted it to.

I wanted to look strong, like I'd seen it all before. To prove to him that I didn't need him telling me I never saw anything bad in my life. Because I had. And nothing could change that now.

He must've noticed the foul hold at my lips.

"Do ya think different now? Cause o' Dale? 'Bout me?"

My mind flickered back to that moment before he shot Dale. He looked at me, that look. Almost like he wished I could just look away for a second.

I shook my head, the corner of my mouth twitching into a little side smile.

"No Dixon. I- I'm glad you did it. Somebody had to."

"Jus' dint want ya thinkin' I do that. 'Specially when I was helpin' with that kid."

His chest rose and fell quickly, almost like he was holding a breath. Daryl leant his head against the tent wall, the hair pushing up behind him. His eyes danced towards the book beside his thigh. Immediately he picked it up and started spinning it between his dirty fingers. His shield.

I didn't quite know what to say. My lips fell open, but I soon snapped them back shut. The next time he spoke, his voice was hoarse and fast. Not a question.

"Ya know that kid, don't ya. Randall."