Chapter Text
Daryl should have seen it coming. Merle warned him, years ago in some fever dream, but he didn’t listen. You’re nothing but a freak to them. One day, they gonna scrape you off their heels like you was dog shit.
It hurts really, but that asshole was right. And “one day”, that’s now. It feels like Merle’s still here, in the corner of his eyes, mocking him. Watching him pace along the walls of Alexandria like a stray dog in a cage. Wait for someone – Rick, Maggie, Carol? – to give him something to do, to tell him they still need him. It doesn’t happen. All he gets is wary glances, apologetic smiles and blatantly disgusted looks.
He really, really should have been prepared for that, and honestly, he thought he was.
He spent many nights repeating himself, especially after the farm, that it was just a matter of time before they ditch him. The approving nods, the friendly pats on the shoulders, the gentle smiles, they were all temporary: Lori was pregnant, the winter was tough and they needed a hunter, a provider. He could do that.
Then it all became something else, with the prison, and it was getting harder to think that these people were going to get rid of him the first chance they got. They became family to him, and him to them. Valuing his opinions, seeking his advice, caring for him. He knew that he was not exactly like them, that deep inside he would never be half as good as they were, but damn. Little Carl’s earnest questions? Sweet Beth’s gentle smiles? Strong Rick’s trusting eyes? They felt like home. Like he finally found his place in this ruined world.
And even after, when the prison was gone, he still believed that he was part of it, this big family that he learned to love. He shared their grief, their hopes, their meager joys. He fought for them, harder than ever each time. He should have died, more than once, but he didn’t. They saved him. The bond they had became stronger and stronger and stronger.
That’s why, even if Daryl knew all along that he’s a fucked-up, the Alexandria thing is a bitter pill to swallow.
Oh, he should have guessed what was going to happen the moment when they met Aaron, clean-shaved guy with a naive smile, pictures of his camp and baby applesauce in his backpack. Casually offering them a place to stay like some people out there wouldn’t kill him on the spot for the tenth of what he had.
That’s when Daryl saw the place, however, that he started to understand that things were going to be a little harder for him than they would be for others. That’s when the boundary between him and them became clearer than it ever been in years. Because he can try as hard as he wants, he will never fit in the white picket fence suburban fantasy that the Alexandrians preserved even during the apocalypse. He doesn’t belong here, that’s written all over him, and even his family can’t pretend they don’t see it. Hell, they all fit in. Even Abraham, rude and massive, fits in. Even Carl, who grew up out there, fits in. Even Rick, who chewed a living man jugular, fits in.
And Daryl knows why: it’s because being inside the walls is like traveling time. It’s like they’re back to what they were before the dead started to hunt the living. And it doesn’t matter that Daryl changed, that he is barely the man that he used to be, because in Alexandria his true colors are displayed for everyone to see. He is trash. He is crass. A beaten-up redneck. And he is not someone you’d want to be neighbor with or let hang out near your kids. Not someone you’d need anywhere close.
He knows his family has a hard time adjusting to the sudden changes, too, but it’s just not the same. He can clean up all they want, dirt’s a second skin to him since the day he was born. They scold him for not trying his best, but deep down they know it won’t work for him; they’re just telling themselves sweet lies to make the transition easier. Truth is, he is not welcome here and will never be.
That’s why his family doesn’t need him anymore. Worst, that’s why he is a threat to them. Now, his mere existence, just him being here, could cause them to be rejected from Alexandria, and that’s just not an option anymore. Not with the kids, not with the promise of a future, stable and bright, away from the grime and the death of the outside. It doesn’t matter how bad Daryl wishes he could be part of it, he can’t.
Acknowledging it hurts so bad that the pain’s physical, and when he tries to ease the ache by pressing some of his cigarette butts on his arm, he barely feels anything at all.
Actually, being inside the walls is almost unbearable now. Everything around him is a reminder of the failure that he is, like a taunt of what he will never be or have, and it’s a miracle if he can get any sleep in here at all. Rick and Michonne offered him a room in their house, but he can tell they are relieved when he doesn’t use it and doesn’t compromise their integration by hanging on their porch or soiling the carpets.
He goes hunting as much as he can get away with, and when he understands that no one wants the game he brings back, he stops bringing anything at all. It’s not like anyone pays attention.
They’ve been here for days now, and Rick was given a brand-new cop outfit with a shiny badge, along with Michonne. Daryl hates himself more when he wishes it was him instead of her. But he can’t be mad at her because he gets it: in Alexandria, they need their skills from Before, and even if he’s not sure what was Michonne’s occupation from that time, being a “constable” suits her just as fine as it suits Rick. And as far as he is concerned, they don’t need someone who knows how to pimp bikes or drink themself stupid before noon. It’s not like he knows how to cook fucking casseroles or teach kids math, and everyone can tell.
So he just spends his time wandering between in and out, chain-smoking and casting defiant glances to whoever gets too close. The only one he can tolerate is Little Ass Kicker, but she gets passed around so much he barely sees her anymore.
He is slumped against one of the walls, watching the sun disappear behind the houses after a day spent outside, when Rick comes to him, all dressed up in his cop uniform. He mumbles a greeting when the man calls his name. Rick stops in front of him, standing with his thumbs through his gun belt, and Daryl looks down on the ground.
“Rosita told me you came back from your hunt. Everything quiet out there?”
He hums an agreement and fishes in his pockets for another smoke. He has the time to light it and take a few drags before Rick speaks again.
“You have to try, Daryl. Try for real.”
That’s this discussion again, and Daryl is so tired all of a sudden. He closes his eyes.
He knows what Rick means by “trying”. He means doing small talk, putting on a front, pretending he doesn’t know that these people hate him and he doesn’t hate them back. Fake it until he makes it. But he just can’t do it, he doesn’t know how, while it seems so natural to do for everyone else. Tara once told him that he got no social cues, and even if he’s not sure what it means exactly, she said the same thing about Eugene and that asshole seems to get along the Alexandrians just fine, so there’s must be something else wrong with him. Not that he didn’t know that already.
“Deanna told me she doesn’t know what to do with you. She’s worried you might not be a good fit for this place. I know you don’t like it here, but we need to make it work.”
When Daryl doesn’t answer, Rick crouches in front of him.
“Hey, will you look at me, please?”
Daryl does and he hates what he sees. Disapproving eyes. Disappointed. That’s what he is bound to be now: a disappointment, a burden for the people he loves. It hurts so, so fucking much, it feels like someone is tearing his heart off his chest. It makes him want to curl up into a ball and cry, but he saves the tears for later, for when there will be no one around to see him sob and weep like a child.
“Everyone is doing their best here. Even Carol, and we both know she can’t stand these people. What’s the problem?”
Rick might not say it, but Daryl hears it all the same. What is wrong with you? Why can’t you just be like the others? Why are you such a pain in my ass? He hopes Rick knows that he’s not doing it on purpose, that he is not trying to ruin his family’s efforts, that he wants this place to work, too.
“I asked you a question here, man.”
Daryl can’t come up with an answer so he just shrugs, breaking eye contact. He hears Rick sigh and get up.
“We’re organizing a dinner with Deanna’s family tomorrow evening, at our place. I’d like you to be there. I don’t care that you dislike them, this is important. That’s our future we’re trying to build here.”
Without further ado, Rick walks away. Daryl still doesn’t look up. He takes a last drag from his cig and flips the butt on his skin again. He’s exhausted.
He zones out for a moment, and when he finally looks up, it’s nighttime. He gets up and his back and knees joints crack. He feels even more pathetic. He stumbles a little then reaches one of the vacant houses where he slept a few times and climbs a window, slipping into a small bedroom. Here, he keeps his crossbow and most of is meager belongings. A few worn out clothes, some jerky he made in the woods and a duffel bag filled with basic survival stuff. A rope, a flashlight, a flask of water, a few matches and some knives with a sharpener. There’re probably a pair of binoculars and a half empty first aid kit in here too.
He stands here for a little while, looking at nothing in particular, then he realizes.
He’s ready to leave.
He could just take his bag and go, climb the wall and put as much distance as possible between this place and him. They would be glad, he thinks, you’d be doing them a favor, and now he wants to puke. Would they look for you?, he wonders. Merle, still in the corner of his eyes, knows the answer. They would pretend, just to feel better, but they’d be relieved. It would save Rick from having to send you away and act like he wishes things were different.
His hands are shaking and he feels so angry and tired and sad, and he just doesn’t know how he feels anymore. He just knows that there’s pain in his chest, his guts, his bones, and he wants to end it all.
He wants to be gone.
Hell, he should be glad his family has now a safe place to stay, so why is he acting so selfish? The best thing he can do for them now is to leave. He owes them so much – is life for a start – and he knows it’s a debt that cannot be repaid, so easing their settle in Alexandria is the least he could do. Rick told him so: it’s their future they’re trying to build here. That can’t be done with him in the way, clinging to what is over, to what they left outside.
Daryl’s in a haze when he shoulders his bag and his crossbow and slips again through the window. Yeah, that’s for the best. They will understand, then they will forget. Being a memory of the past, that’s all he can wish to be now.
He jogs to the wall, he hurries before he changes his mind, before he turns around because really, leaving feels like chopping a limb off. He has to go now, while he has some determination, before he chickens out and tries to find himself excuses.
He feels a little guilty, not saying goodbye to anyone, but that’s for the best. They would try to make him stay, to come up with another solution where there’s none to be found. He caused enough trouble already. He just hopes they will tell Judith about him, when she gets older, because he loves her so much. Maybe, after years of being away, these memories will be fond.
Climbing the wall is easy, and no one is paying attention. They should really put someone up in the guard tower, but Daryl is not worried, they’re smart, they will figure this out soon enough.
Landing on the other side, he expects relief, but he just feels empty. That’s okay, he prefers that to the turmoil inside the camp.
He forces himself not to look back and runs away as fast as he can.