𝙷𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚂𝚞𝚗 ☼ 𝙳𝚊𝚛𝚢𝚕 𝙳𝚒𝚡𝚘𝚗

ɪᴠ. ᴡʜɪᴛᴇ ᴡᴇᴅᴅɪɴɢ

You woke up with the bed to yourself for the first time. You stretched out your arms and yawned. It felt too big now that it was just you. Your back and neck were stiff and your whole body was antsy to move. Rick had come back with your belongings yesterday, as he had promised. Your packed-down tent sat at the end of the bed along with a rucksack carrying some of your things. Patricia had taken your dirty clothes out of it and said she would wash them. You didn't know whether that would salvage them, in all honesty, but you thanked her nonetheless.

You had stayed in the sick bed with Daryl for two days and a night together before he insisted on going back to his tent, letting you take the bed for yourself. You didn't complain, but felt slightly guilty seeing him shuffle out of the room by himself. The first day you'd spent in the bed, the two of you mainly just dozed in and out of sleep. Daryl had handled the painkillers much more gracefully than you had, seeming level headed whilst you slurred and nearly vomited on more than one occasion.

That night, the two of you were wide awake, having slept most of the day away. You'd asked him questions about the group - their names, where they'd been before, and how they came here. He gave you brief answers but it was enough to start piecing things together. From what you could gather, his people and Hershel's hadn't come to a solid agreement yet. It made you nervous since you thought the farm was the perfect place to set up. You could only pray that they let you stay there.

You spoke a bit more to him, but nothing deeper than surface level questions and answers. You gave a brief account of what happened at your own camp, leaving out most of the details in shame. He didn't press any further, but you still felt as though you were deceiving him. After, you made light conversation about the search for Sofia, and the routes you could try taking when you next went out. He got quieter then, so you decided to talk about any other nonsense that came to mind. You told time about how you were reading Le Morte d'Arthur and thought you were going crazy when you heard horses, and you recounted the meeting with Shane and Andrea, too.

Eventually he told you to shut and stop talking but you didn't take it to heart. At some point you were pretty sure you had stopped talking to him anyway, and was rather talking at him. You were surprised he'd let you ramble on as long as you did in the first place.

You had been like that since you were a child. You'd store memories in your head of things you wanted to say, stories, thoughts, until one day you'd find someone who'd listen and they'd all just come pouring out. You blamed it on the medication the following day, and he just hummed in response.

On that second day you met Lori and Carl, who both came to sit with you briefly. Carl thanked you for looking for his friend and you couldn't stop thinking about how much he looked like his father. Lori brought you and Daryl food later in the day, too. She'd told you about Carl getting shot, even though you'd already heard about it from the man beside you. The Greenes also flitted in and out of your room often enough that you got acquainted with them pretty quickly, as they came to check on you and change your bandages.

You were being looked after well and had nothing to complain about, but you itched to leave that bed by the second day. Daryl must have felt the same way, too, because he got the hell out of there before a second night. Hershel had tried to convince him to stay at least one more, but he didn't listen. You'd waved him goodbye as he left and told him to be on the lookout for any more cliffs, in case he took another fall. He cursed at you before going.

This morning you felt more well rested than you had in a long time. The pain had subsided enough that you could move around again and you felt it was probably time you left the Greene house like Hershel suggested, much to your dismay. That bed would definitely be missed when you returned to your tent. You could hear the antics outside, through the window which Maggie had opened to let the fresh air in. Only recently had you realized that the sounds of Carl playing, of people chatting and working, drowned out the usual ringing in your ears. Before, the silence had been louder than anything else, deafening almost. It was a small, simple thing. Yet, just listening to the background noise of daily life meant so much to you.