Adapting (A Daryl Dixon/ The Walking Dead Fanfiction)

Chapter 58

Gemma's P.O.V
The wind howls around the barn, it shaking with the force of the wind. The group is spread around the barn, either sleeping are being alone. Maggie sleeps off near the door, alone and Glenn glances at her every now and then, worry on his face. Abraham drinks from his bottle of liquor and I resist the compulsion to drink with him. The others are spread out amounts the barn.

I sit with Carol, Glenn, Michonne, Rick and Daryl who are trying to make a fire with the wet sticks and kindling from outside. It's freezing and I wrap my arms tighter around myself and lean back against the wall, Carl's head in my lap. He is fast asleep, Judith held tightly to his chest. I look down at them and I run my fingers through his hair, thinking to myself.

I remember back to when I first met him, in the elevator at the CDC. He was so young, so innocent. We didn't speak much until he was shot and I saved his life with Hershel. So much has changed since then, he's changed since then. He isn't the small scared boy, he's a man. A warm feeling over comes me as I stare at him and his little sister, feeling a motherly protection over the two. If this is how I feel towards them, what will I be like when my baby comes?

I hear a sigh of frustration and I look up to see Daryl tossing the sticks aside, sitting back in a huff.

"Let me try." Glenn suggests.

"Nah, it's too wet." Daryl grunts.

Rick looks over at Carl and Judith, worry etched on his face. He looks up and his eyes meet mine, which are drooping in exhaustion.

"He's gonna be fine. He bounces back better than any of us do." Carol says to Rick.

"I used to feel sorry for kids who have to grow up now, in this. But I think I got it wrong. Growing up is getting used to the world, this is easier for them." Rick says.

"This isn't the world. This isn't it." Michonne counters.

"It might be, it might." Glenn murmurs.

"That's giving up." Michonne states.

"It's reality." Glenn counters.

"It's until we see otherwise, this is what we have to live with." Rick says, the group going silent.

My fingers continue to run through Carl's hair but my eyes remain on Daryl. He leans against the stall wall, his arm on his knees staring into the makeshift fire. As I look at him I long to run and hold him in my arms, to tell him that everything will be okay. But as I look at him and see the hopelessness and the saddness, I know that I won't be good enough. Rick begins to speak and I reluctantly turn to look at him.

"When I was a kid, I asked my Grandpa once if he had ever killed any Germans in the war. He wouldn't answer, he said that was grown up stuff. So I asked if the Germans ever tried to kill him, but he got real quiet. He said he was dead the minute he stepped into enemy territory. Everyday he woke up he told himself rest in peace, now get up and go to war. And after a few years of pretending he was dead, he made it out alive." Rick says.

He pauses for a moment before speaking again, "That's the trick of it I think. We do what we need to do and then we get to live. But no matter what we find in DC I know we'll be okay, because this is how we survive. We tell ourselves that we are the walking dead."

The group is silent as we take in Rick's words but Daryl speaks, "We ain't them."

He sits up and begins fiddling with the sticks for the fire.

"We're not them, hey we're not." Rick reassures him.

Daryl puts the sticks down and stands up and looks down at Rick, "We ain't them."