Alone (Henry TWD) (Needs major editing)

17.) First Lesson

"Other than that, just try to take it easy, and don't pick fights with idiotic drunks," I told him, handing him Ibuprofen.

"Thanks," he sighed as he pressed the ice pack to his forehead.

"You can sleep here but I don't suggest it. I know you don't want to walk right now but you'll be a lot worse tomorrow, plus the room service here is horrendous." He smiled a little, nodding. "I can send somebody to help you get to your house. Make sure you get to your room okay."

"That would be great."

"Okay," I smiled a little.

***

"How was it?" Henry asked teasingly.

"Shut up," I mumble. I looked at him and I knew we both were thinking the same thing. It was going to be tonight.

"It's fine," Henry shrugged.

"It's just the fact that it's stupid drama over a pickle! A pickle! A pickle caused two broken ribs, a broken nose, broken ankle, and lots of lost blood. It's stupid."

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, gently kissing my cheek.

"I just wanna sleep now," I whispered.

"Okay," he responded. Although we did both sleep in his bed, it was not tonight that it happened.

***

My first training lesson with Daryl was around noon. He went over the basics of the bow, which came quick, it was clearing the cobwebs in my head. We began the practice part of training, which Daryl said, "no matter how good you get, you're always training and practicin' when yer' out there." So therefor, since I already knew how to throw knives, I just needed practice, he decided to take me out of the walls to practice.

"We only got a couple hours 'till sundown so we gotta hurry and get whatever practice we can in."

"Okay," I nodded as Daryl examined the target he set up. He nodded, pointing to the log hanging on the string. Daryl had painted different colors on it.

"Try to hit the red dot." He instructed.

I sighed, raising the bow as I pulled back the arrow, trying to focus. I released, but the arrow hit the blue.

"Close enough," Daryl muttered. "Keep practicin'."

So I did. I hit my target a couple times, but I still wasn't that good. We then moved to throwing knives, where I hit nearly every target. Afterwards, we began walking home. Sundown was in about 20 minutes and we were an hour from the Kingdom.

"You did good, kid," Daryl praises as we walked down the road.

"That's because she's my daughter," a voice boomed from the store we were walking by. We both turned, seeing Negan in the doorway, a bat wrapped in barbed wire rested on his shoulder.

"Negan," Daryl growled. Negan took a step forward, then took another step. "Who let you out?"

"I escaped. And I found Lucille," he smiled as he pet his bat.

"Lucille?" I asked. "A-as in Mom?" I slowly frowned, shaking my head. Everybody was right. He is crazy. He isn't father material.

"Ya' ain't gonna get nowhere," Daryl mumbled. I gently placed my palm on my walkie talkie that was in my jeans. I placed my hand on the button, allowing whoever was on the other end to listen. "This is why we keep ya' locked up. Ya' trick us and try to make us think you've changed when you never will."

"I want my rights," Negan grumbled through gritted teeth.

"You gotta earn them," Daryl whispered, pulling out his knife, throwing it at him. He slid his crossbow off of his shoulder as Negan dodged the blade, raising his bat as he charged at Daryl. I yelled, running towards Negan and gripping onto the bat. He knees me in the gut, causing me to tumble backwards. Daryl quickly and smoothly loaded his crossbow, then raised it up and took a shot, hitting Negan in the leg. Negan whacked Daryl with his bat, and then grabbed his knife and sliced Daryl's vest open, dribbles of blood leaking out.

"No!" I yelled, my eyes watering as I pulled Daryl's gun from his holster, raising it to Negan as I shot him in the stomach. He growled, and then ran off.

Daryl fell to his knees, wincing in pain as he held his chest, where it was bleeding, and he fell onto his back.

"Daryl!" I yelled, falling to my knees next to him. I quickly glanced up to see Negan was gone. I was so confused, with what had just happened, but I was more focused on Daryl.

I took off his vest, and then unbuttoned the flannel underneath. I put pressure to the 6-inch cut, watching Daryl fade in and out. My hands were soaked in blood. I hurriedly ripped off cloth from my tee shirt, opening Daryl's flask and pouring whatever the Alcoholic drink of the day was onto the cloth, and then pressed it against his cut. I closed my eyes, losing my forehead to his shoulder as I silently prayed for help. I had no medical supplies with me.

I waited.