THINK ABOUT LIVING | Daryl Dixon

006 | However We Survive

━━━━━━ CHAPTER SIX ━━━━━━
However We Survive
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          FOR A WHILE, HE'D BEEN PAINFULLY QUIET. It was the only silence Mallory did not want nor find herself capable of accepting, so of course, she begged him without a strain of shame to say something, anything, thinking she'd be ready to hear whatever it was that crossed his mind in the moment, be it as heavy as promised by the movement of his head bowing or by the statuesque station which followed in forevermore contemplative silence.

Really, the last thing she would have expected was to hear him inquire whether she'd die again from the same wound or not. If it didn't get a proper treatment, she was going to bleed out faster than she could heal, of course. It was a question otherwise addressed quietly, barely above the status of coherent mumble.

Confirming it for him, Mallory could at least appreciate that he finally understood why she couldn't have had him take her back to the prison — had she died there, she'd sooner get a blade through the brains than have someone wait for her to wake up in hopes of a miracle. People have grown out of hoping for miracles these days. Instead, Daryl offered to find a way to the nearest infirmary.

It was hurting her, to know he didn't want to talk about it, nor call her condition for what it was, but Mallory decided not to push him on it, first because her throat could use a little break and second because she feared the probability of the worst case scenario. Had he lashed out, she would most likely find herself unable to retaliate.

Daryl was aware of the tension his silence was creating, but he didn't want to risk speaking of something he was having trouble understanding in the first place, not just yet. There was too much he had to think about, and they had too great of a need for him to remain in top shape in order to get them both to an infirmary for him to take away from his attention and give to this matter exclusively. He hoped that by the time they reached that place, he'd have a better understanding of his own thoughts, but then again, anything would be better than the buzz he had within his mind back in that diner.

Immune, he thought in that moment, inevitably thinking of how lucky she really was before anything else. And she dared tell me she's bad luck. It was a quick thought to brush off with images rather fresh on his mind of her deaths — the plural on that laid heavily on his mind. Daryl had seen plenty of Walkers die and he had seen plenty of humans kick the bucket too. Between the two, Mallory's deaths were closer to a humane passing than a lifeless, monstrous one. To die in pain and come back to pain, he realized then, overwhelmed beneath a wave of pity. A rough deal.

In fact, given the progression his mind was making to dissecting the uncharted territory presented to him and all it entailed, more than halfway through the town, he conceded he had his thoughts sorted out.

It had been a long and sleepless night, but just a little after sunrise, they made their way into a corner shop easier to clear than the last they came across. Daryl was running low on arrows, with only three left and though he had no hope of finding any just laying around, nor material to makeshift some there, the stop was more for Mallory's sake than it was for his. He could make due with what he had, but she was starting to grow pale again, try as she might to deny that she felt herself getting weaker too — the signs were written plainly to his eyes.

Given his mind had cleared out at last, Daryl could finally take a deep breath and start using conversation as a means of making sure Mallory doesn't lose consciousness while they look in different parts of the shop for medical supplies or anything that can count as that. It was better than standing right by her side and covering less ground.