Red ~ TWD (Daryl Dixon)

This Little Piggy

"Did you know she was teachin' 'em that stuff?" Daryl asked as we made our way outside.

I shrugged, distracted, focusing all my attention on the granola bar wrapper that was fighting me. I swear you needed a degree in aeronautical engineering to get them open.

"Gimme that."

He snatched the bar away from me, deftly opening the packaging and handing it back. I grinned in return, shoving half the bar in my mouth.

"Thanks," I replied around a mouth full of granola. He rolled his eyes, hoisting the crossbow strap higher on his shoulder, looking at me expectantly. "Did I know who was teaching what?"

With my mouth full it sounded more like "did I owe ooh was eaching wat?"

I was stalling. There was no way to answer that question without someone screaming at me.

"Red," he warned.

I swallowed my granola, washing it down with a swig of water.

"Don't Red me." He looked ready to strangle me. "I can neither confirm nor deny that Carol is using story time to teach survival skills."

Carol was my friend, but Daryl was my husband and I would take her wrath over his any day of the week. Daryl PMS'ed with the best of them.

He stopped, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket and lighting one. He inhaled deep, eyeing me hard while I fought the urge to squirm under his critical gaze. This was completely unfair. I was neither a council member nor the one teaching toddlers how to slit someone's throat. If he had a problem with his BFF's methods take it up with her.

"Rick ain't gonna like it," he finally said.

I snorted, "Rick's not on the council."

In reality that made little difference. While the official transition of power was complete the council still considered Rick's viewpoints, opinions, and reactions at every turn. Old habits die hard and the majority of the council was made up of the core group who'd survived under his leadership since the beginning. In fact, the only outsider was Sasha. Daryl didn't look convinced my answer was a good one, and I sighed. He was so high maintenance sometimes.

"Don't tell him. Wait until the timing's right," I suggested and he cocked his head to the side considering my advice.

"When would that be?"

"That's what deathbeds are for Katniss." Problem solved.

"That dog won't hunt," he frowned.

Dogs? Hunting? I thought we were talking about lying to Rick? He ignored my confusion so I ignored his redneck.

"They may be kids, but they have to learn some time."

As much as I wanted to believe otherwise our little bubble of protection could burst at any moment. Although I disagreed with the subterfuge Carol's intent was sound. Everyone needed to be able to fend for themselves outside the fences.

"I guess," he conceded.

I understood his reservations. Every time someone showed the children a new way to kill the dead, or the living, a tiny piece of their innocence was stolen away before its time, but it was a small price to pay for saving their lives. The world didn't suffer the unprepared.

"Ya seen Merle?"

"Hot damn, yur going too Samurai?!"

"Never mind."

The two of us shared a knowing look as he flicked his cigarette to the ground, stomping on it before we walked to the waiting cars. Merle was grinning hard at Deadpool who stared through him like he wasn't standing two feet in front of her. Her Zen was on point.