Dixon Family Matters

The Little Dixon

Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead (sadly)

Note #1: Rated for Dixon language

Note #2: Sophia is younger in this story. I know in the show she's twelve, but here she's 9.

            “Ya’right lil man?” Daryl asked his son as they sped down the highway and Christian nodded.

            “Ya hungry?” Christian nodded again. “A’right.” Daryl honked the horn once and Christian watched as his uncle slowly stopped his motorcycle.

            “C’mon,” Daryl said, climbing out of the truck and lifting his son down.

            “Wha’s goin’ on?” Merle shouted as he walked over, “Why the hell’re we stopped?”

            “Need food man,” Daryl said, lowering the truck hatch and lifting the boy up so he could sit.

            “Food? What we need is ta keep movin’” Merle said.

            “Sorry Uncle Merle,” Christian said quietly and Merle sighed.

            “S’a’right buddy,” he said. Merle Dixon could be a real ass most of the time, but he’d never been able to stay mad at his nephew from the day he met the boy. Christian was as tough as they came, a real Dixon man. He could cuss and fight as good any Dixon that was for sure. He also never asked for anything. Ever. So Merle knew if his nephew was admitting to being hungry he really must be.

            “He ain’t had nothin’ ta eat since yesterday,” Daryl told his brother, “Hardly been outta the truck.” He dug through their belongings until finally he found a box of crackers.

            “There ya go, eat,” Daryl said, handing the box to his son.

            “We need ta find a place to set up camp,” Daryl said to his brother, “So’s we can hunt. Eat some real good.”

            “We keep goin’,” Merle said, “Try an’ find a place ‘fore dark.” Daryl nodded and helped his son back into the truck.

            “I’m sorry,” Christian said again once they were back on the road.

            “The hell ya sorry for?” Daryl asked.

            “I know we gotta keep movin’” the boy said.

            “Don’t worry ‘bout it,” Daryl said, “If yer hungry ya tell me, a’right?” Christian nodded once. “Why don’t you lie down,” Daryl went, “Go ta sleep.”

            Christian nodded again, lying with his head next to his father’s leg. He reached his hand up and grabbed onto his dad’s pant leg, holding tightly. Daryl rested his hand on Christian’s shoulder.

            “Go ta sleep,” he repeated, “I’ll wake ya when we stop.”