330AN: What is this? I guess it's a oneshot. I wanted all the fluffies and empressmcbride on Tumblr wanted "Daddy Daryl" and "happy family fluff." She wanted a dash of toddler Sophia and when I asked her if there was any particular universe she wanted something from, she offered over the ZA. So here it is. I don't know what it is except a piece of utter fluff that I hope empressmcbride (and anyone else who chooses to read it) enjoys! I appreciate the prompt for the fluffies because, right now, I'm in the mood for all the fluffies.
Let me know what you think!
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"Daddy!"
Daryl put his finger over his lips and hissed at the little girl to be quiet. He couldn't be too harsh with her, though, because she smiled at him—showing him every one of the teeth that she'd acquired so far in life—and he couldn't help but smile back. She laughed to herself, her laugh already sounding a great deal like her mother's, and called out to him again.
"Daddy!" She declared. Her voice echoed in the cell and Daryl hissed at her again. Her eyes went wide, but she didn't start to cry. Instead, she simply half-heartedly pressed her finger to her lips and said, "whoops, daddy, whoops!"
Daryl reached her and pulled her up out of the pack and play prison that held her confined. He rested her on his hip and she leaned into him and rested her head against him. She offered him the best hug she could and he squeezed her in response.
"I'm hungry," she informed him the best that she could. He was accustomed to her speech, though, and he could understand everything she had to say no matter how full her mouth was of fingers or food.
"I know it," Daryl said. "You been awake more'n three seconds, you hungry. And I'ma break you outta here—but you gotta be quiet. Let'cha Ma sleep a lil' bit, OK?"
"Milk," she offered, before Daryl shushed her again and started their great escape from the cell. He hoped to get out without waking the other small child in the cell and, from there, accidentally waking everyone in the entire prison.
"You gonna have to wait on that," Daryl said. "At least—ya Ma's. I'll get'cha some warm milk. Don't worry."
Sophia seemed satisfied with Daryl's promise of milk and—even though he hadn't promised it, it was understood—breakfast. She should probably be weaned at her age, but the fact of the matter was that food was sometimes tricky to come by. They were doing well now, but Carol held onto the memory of times they'd gone without. Carol continued to nurse Sophia enough to keep herself producing milk because she feared finding themselves without food. Even if she was starving, at least she could keep her daughter going a little longer while they searched if she could offer her milk.
Daryl didn't argue with that logic. Not one little bit.
Daryl carried Sophia's clothes with him to the entrance of the prison and he dressed her quickly by the door. She was not entirely unaccustomed to the ritual and she cooperated because she knew that, once he had wrestled her into her clothes and jacket, she would be released to enjoy her freedom until he'd finished her breakfast.
When she was dressed, and Daryl was sure she'd be sufficiently warm against the chill of the autumn air outside—Daryl opened the prison door and carried her out in his arms. When the door closed behind them, he lowered her to the ground and rested her feet there.
Given her freedom, she stomped her shoes on the ground and pranced around for a moment. She was oddly always happy to hear the crunch of the pieces of loose gravel beneath her little shoes—and she liked looking at the pair of pink shoes that Daryl had found her to the point that she often had to be reminded to look where she was going while wearing them.
This time she didn't need to be reminded to look up. She looked up at Daryl and smiled, flashing every one of her teeth for him again and crinkling her nose in the same manner that her mother did when she smiled at him a certain way. Daryl smiled to himself.
"Alright," he said. "Get. Them chickens won't chase themselves."
"Daddy..." Sophia said, her smile dropping suddenly.
"I know," Daryl said, before she could even remind him of what she feared he'd forgotten. "You hungry. But I got to get the fire goin' 'fore I can get the water goin' to get your oatmeal goin', don't I?"
Her eyes, like her mother's, seemed to have the ability to grow two or three sizes whenever she looked at him a certain way. Her mother's eyes were blue, and Sophia's eyes were brown, but they were the same eyes where it mattered.
Daryl smiled at her and shook his head.
"I wouldn't never forget your breakfast, Sophia," Daryl assured her. "Now—go chase them chickens awake an' I'ma get it ready for you. Get'cha some milk 'fore while we waitin' on the water. That sound ok?"
Sophia nodded at him.
"Thanks, Daddy," she said.
Daryl swallowed and nodded.
"You welcome," he said. "Go on, now."
Daryl's favorite job was being Daddy, but he hadn't always been Daddy.
Part of the reason for that, of course, was that Sophia was only somewhere around three years old. Part of the reason for that was because, before she could ever say Daddy as clearly as she said it now, she had simply stuck to the almost primitive sounding "DaDa" or, even more simply, "Da" to call Daryl. Part of the reason was that, when she began to call him "Da," it was very likely that she'd been trying to mimic the sound of his name and hadn't actually been referring to him as her father.
Daryl wasn't Sophia's father. At least, he hadn't been the man that had planted the seed in her mother's belly that had grown to be the little girl that he loved like the sun and moon now.
When Daryl had first seen Sophia, she'd been a baby riding in a bundle that was strapped to her mother's chest. She was small and frail and surely not fit to survive the world into which she'd been thrust.
Daryl's stomach churned when he remembered the earliest days at a camp outside Atlanta. With an infant almost always strapped to her chest, Carol still worked hard to care for the group and, beyond that, she worked to serve her husband—a man who seemed to appreciate nothing. With an infant almost always strapped to her chest, she'd shown up nearly every morning to cook breakfast, and she'd been wearing new bruises that he'd given to her the night before—bruises she would swear came from accidents that had mysteriously stopped happening after the asshole had taken a pitchfork through his brain.
It had seemed like so many of them had been against Sophia back then. Mostly when Carol wasn't around they'd grumbled about the baby and the fact that she made noises at inappropriate times. They'd complained about their worries that she'd call a herd of Walkers down on them.
Walkers, the ambulatory dead that had now inherited the Earth, were drawn to sound. A baby, they'd argued, was one of the worst things to have.
It was never fair to call Sophia one of the worst things that could happen to everyone.
Yet Daryl had even heard Sophia's father say something to Carol about the fact that Sophia was just another mouth to feed and a risk to their safety. She'd end up being eaten anyway. Daryl had caught only snatches of the conversation, but given that Carol's sobs had issued forth from the tent for most of the night, Daryl was pretty sure that the asshole had suggested simply going ahead and ridding themselves of the little girl to save them the trouble.
It wasn't Sophia that had gotten gobbled up by the dead, though, the night that a herd had attacked the camp. She'd been about six months old then, and she'd screamed with the rest of them when the dead had come, but her mother had done her best to hold them back and Daryl had helped pick up the slack where he could. Sophia's father, Ed, hadn't been so lucky. He'd been sleeping and, more than likely, they'd killed him long before they'd even made it to the center of the camp.
There had hardly been enough left of the sorry asshole to use for identification. Nobody had missed him at all, least of all Carol and Sophia.
Sophia hadn't begun to call Daryl "DaDa" then, though.
Eventually they lost the camp. They travelled to the CDC and found temporary safety there, but they'd lost that too. They'd found a farm, and they'd settled there against the wishes of the farmer who owned the place—a man who would, eventually, become a member of their family.
Sophia had just started chattering a few words—her favorites being "mama" and a variation of "milk"—when the fever had swept through the farm. They were relatively safe from Walkers there, but they weren't safe from the elements. Daryl had watched, from a distance, feeling helpless as Carol had desperately nursed and cared for her sick baby. He'd fallen asleep in the tent near hers, listening to her sob pathetically over the fear that the rasping breathing of her daughter would simply stop.
He'd stolen a horse and ridden to an overrun town in search of antibiotics—and he hadn't stopped until he'd found them nearly two towns away. The journey had taken him off-road a good bit to avoid the fact that the towns were crowded with Walkers, and a snake had spooked his horse. He'd been injured in the spill he took, thanks to the fact he'd been wearing a quiver full of bolts at the time and had been riding too close to the edge of a gorge cut by a Georgia waterway, but he'd caught the damned horse, bound his wounds, and continued on.
Upon his return to the camp, bloodied and carrying the hard-earned antibiotics, he had actually told everyone else in the group that was sick—and they remembered it with laughter now, though they hadn't laughed when he'd said it—that they could literally suck on his shit-stained asshole if they thought he was giving them the antibiotics. He'd given them, in the past, the ones his brother had left behind when he'd left the group. He'd done his part to help them, but they'd done next to nothing to help Carol. They had other group members that they were more concerned with—namely their so-called leader's family. Of course, Daryl had accepted that, mostly because he'd had no other choice, but he'd let them know that if they were playing by the game of "each to his own," then he was playing it too. He'd eventually given them what was left, but only after he was sure that Carol and Sophia were both quite well.
The first night he'd overseen the old man—a veterinarian by trade and the closest thing to a doctor they had—dosing the baby, he'd fallen asleep in the room with Carol. Absolutely nothing had happened between them except the fact that he'd fallen asleep—dosed with pain killers for the wound in his side that had been stitched up.
Daryl still remembered the soft kiss that Carol had offered him the next morning after she informed him that Sophia was resting—really resting—and her fever was broken.
Perhaps that was the moment that Daryl had started to become "Daddy," even though it was a long time in reaching what it was today.
Today was what mattered, though. Daryl would trade most every "yesterday" he'd ever known for "today," in fact. He honestly felt like every day that came was just a little better than the one before.
Daryl offered Sophia the cup of milk that he'd promised her after he'd gotten the fire started and a pot going over it for breakfast, milked one of the cows, and found Sophia's favorite cup. He waved her over and sat down on the ground before he handed the cup over. Sophia took it in both her hands.
"Thanks, Daddy," she said, smiling at him. She hugged the sippy cup to her chest like a bear and then she walked a circle around Daryl like she was surveying him. Finally, she turned around and backed rather clumsily into him, dropping down to a sitting position when she took her own legs out from under herself by running into him. Daryl caught her so that she didn't spill to the ground and steadied her. She turned up her sippy cup and greedily drank her milk like a hard-working person downing a beer after a hot day.
Daryl laughed to himself.
"You welcome, Soph," Daryl offered. "Is it good?"
Sophia hummed at him in the affirmative and then, with milk dribbling down her chin," she twisted around enough to offer him the sippy cup. Daryl laughed to himself.
"No thanks, Soph," Daryl said. "But it means a lot that you was willin' to share with me."
"I'm hungry," Sophia offered.
Daryl laughed again.
"I know you hungry, Soph," Daryl said. "But a watched pot never boils an' it's gotta boil for you to get'cha oatmeal. I'm sorry we was the first ones up an' nobody had you somethin' ready the minute you opened your eyes."
Her bottom lip rolled out.
"Never?" She mimicked the word the best she could. She understood the word meant a very long time. She also understood that was a good thing when they used it for things like the fact that they'd never leave her, but it was a bad thing when it was attached to discussion about her breakfast.
"Didn't mean it like that," Daryl said quickly. "Mean—that pot don't warm itself up too quick over that fire. And if we sit here worryin' it, it's gonna take longer. Only thing to do, Soph, is to sit here an' enjoy your milk an' don't think about the pot. Then the pot can warm quicker—OK? Get'cha breakfast sooner, OK?"
"Quick, quick!" Sophia declared, dancing around on Daryl's leg and making him wince against the bite of baby tail-bone grinding into his leg.
"Quick," he echoed. "That's it. Now—I done forgot their names. Who was them chickens called again?"
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Carol wrapped the shawl tighter around her shoulders as she stepped out of the prison and the fresh air of the morning greeted her. She shivered. It wasn't too cold. It was really just pleasantly chilly. It was honestly a welcomed respite from the almost unbearable heat of summer.
She looked out across the prison yard that had come to be home to their extended family. They'd worked hard to reinforce the fences against the Walkers that pressed down on them. They'd built various sorts of "wind breaks" and such that slowed the Walkers down as they trickled toward the fences. They'd planted crops, trapped and domesticated animals for food and labor, and they were working toward outfitting the place with solar panels.
When the spring broke on them, they'd work to expand their fence lines and push the Walkers even further away from them.
There was a lot of work to be done, but nobody rushed to get out of bed on these cool mornings. The work would be there. It wasn't going anywhere.
Carol loved the mornings, though, despite the fact that she was exhausted and didn't feel the best that she could possibly feel.
Daryl loved the mornings too, and he was usually one of the first people awake. Sophia was usually the very first person awake, though. She beat them all up nearly every day and often sounded the alarm that morning had come.
It wasn't hard to find Daryl. He was sitting near the cast iron cooking pot that would be bubbling away with oatmeal before long. From the smell of it, he was cooking meat on the other small fire that he was tending at his side. It was rabbit. Carol could identify it immediately from the smell that wafted through with the smoke. It turned her stomach, but she did her best to swallow it down. Her stomach was empty. She'd have no contents of which to rid it if even if she wanted to.
While Daryl cooked breakfast, Sophia sat on her knees a few feet away from the fires and worked on something she seemed to be intently focused on. It appeared to Carol that she was arranging rocks on the ground, but it was clearly serious work. She stopped in her labors, once, to pick up the sippy cup that she treasured. She turned it up and then wiped her mouth with her hand, dramatically, before she returned the cup to the ground and went back to her rocks. She called out to Daryl and, when he responded, she garbled something to him that only the two of them could understand—and if Daryl couldn't understand it, then he did a fine job of convincing the small child that he could.
They didn't notice Carol until she was almost on top of them, and then it was only the crunch of some pebbles beneath her shoes that gave her away. Sophia glanced at her and offered her a toothy grin, but she didn't abandon her rock work.
"Hi Mama!" Sophia declared.
"Hi, baby," Carol responded. "Good morning, Sophia," she added, hoping her daughter would pick up some version of the words soon. Sophia simply smiled and returned to what she was doing.
"What?" Daryl asked. "No good mornin', baby, for me?"
Carol laughed to herself.
"Good morning to you too, baby," she said. "Good morning to all my babies."
Daryl laughed to himself.
"You sound like you overrun or somethin'," he teased.
Carol laughed to herself, but not as much at his joke as he thought.
"How's breakfast coming?" Carol asked.
"It's cookin'," Daryl said. "It'll be ready soon. Nobody else up yet?"
"Just us," Carol said.
"Lazy assholes," Daryl said with a laugh. He wasn't sincerely angry about it. He hadn't been angry in—Carol couldn't remember the last time she'd seen Daryl genuinely angry with the members of their self-made family. He'd spoken his piece, once, some time ago and then he'd reached something of an understanding with everyone in their extended family. He didn't appreciate the way that some people seemed to be more important than others, even though he understood that was the way that things had always been, and he wasn't willing to bust his ass if "him and his," as he'd put it, weren't going to receive the same benefits as "them and theirs."
It had changed a lot of the way that things had been run in the group, though some things never changed entirely, and Daryl hadn't had too much reason to be mad at anyone or anything inside their home for a while.
He was, in all honesty, a very easy-going person and Carol appreciated that more than she could ever say. He was the greatest contrast to her ex-husband that she could possibly find. He seemed to genuinely love her and appreciate everything about her. He treated everything she did for him like a special gift. He treasured her daughter—their daughter—even though she was truthfully not his responsibility.
He had been patient with Carol and, rather than scold her for what she didn't know, he'd taught her a great number of things that she needed to survive their world. Because of him, she could hold her own next to anyone in their family.
And though they weren't officially married—because, perhaps, he feared the idea of marriage for what it had represented to him, growing up in a home where an angry father had taken his frustrations at the world out on his sons and wife—he was the best partner that Carol could imagine.
And even though he feared that his relation to that hateful father would lead him to be a man that he didn't want to be, and that he might, somehow, follow in his father's footsteps—he was a wonderful Daddy.
And he would be a wonderful Daddy.
Even if Carol hadn't let him know, just yet, about the little secret she was keeping.
Carol eased down next to him and he put his arm around her and hugged her close to him. She rearranged her shawl and got comfortable so that she could rest her head against him. She groaned at the smell of the rabbit that he forked with his free hand and turned on the pan near him.
"That smells horrible," she said.
He laughed to himself.
"You like rabbit," he said.
"Not right now, I don't," Carol said.
"What's wrong?" Daryl asked.
"Just doesn't smell good," Carol said. "I'll eat the oatmeal, though, when it's ready."
"Soph'll sure gnaw her a piece of rabbit," Daryl said with a laugh. Carol swallowed back her desire to be sick over just the thought. "I done let her have a little cooled piece. She'll be satisfied for a bit. I wanted you to sleep some. I know you didn't sleep good last night. What got'cha up?"
"Just not feeling well," Carol said.
"I hope you ain't comin' down with something," Daryl mused. "Some bug or somethin'."
Carol laughed to herself.
"I don't think it's a bug," she said. "In fact—I'm certain it isn't."
"All I know is you ain't been sleepin' good," Daryl said. "An' it's that time of year that people gonna start comin' down with things."
Carol laughed to herself again. She wiggled around, leaning closer against him. He didn't mind. He let her burrow into him. He could manage to hold her, keep an eye on the breakfast, and entertain Sophia when she called out to him without even blinking an eye.
"I know it's that time of year," Carol said. "But I also know what I've come down with. And—maybe I haven't mentioned it because it's going to be a long winter cooped up in that prison and I know you've got the potential to be absolutely insufferable."
Daryl sat up and furrowed his brow at her. She offered him a smile to let him know that she was teasing him and some of his concern melted away, but certainly not all of it.
"What you talkin' about?" Daryl asked.
"Daddy!" Sophia declared, snatching his attention momentarily. "Look!"
"That's a beetle bug," Daryl said. "Put him down, Soph. Don't smash him 'tween your fingers. He's got him a beetle bug family he's gotta get home to."
Sophia's bottom lip rolled out.
"Home?" She asked.
"He's gotta go home," Daryl said.
Sophia put the bug down. She was fearless over most things like that. It resulted in her bringing a great deal of slithering, crawling, creepy things into the prison. Thankfully, Daryl was pretty good at getting them out again, and he was pretty good at teaching her when to be careful around things. She was still learning, though, that much was certain.
"I'm sorry, Daddy," Sophia declared when she put the bug down and quickly realized, much to her horror, that she'd already smashed it. It didn't try to run away when she pushed it with her finger, so she gathered it up again and, crying out in pain and agony that only a small child can know over a tragedy so great, she barreled toward Daryl. She avoided Carol entirely for a second and slammed into Daryl, offering him apologies and the bug corpse as she begged him to "fix it."
Daryl pushed her off of him and wiped at her eyes with the palm of his hand. He held the bug corpse in his other hand.
"Sorry, Soph, but there ain't no fixin' this," Daryl said. "He's just—gone."
"He goes home!" Sophia declared.
Daryl laughed to himself, but quickly swallowed his laughter because Sophia wouldn't appreciate it while lost in the throes of agony.
"He's gone home, Soph," Daryl said. "Just a different kinda home. I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry," Sophia said, truly sounding heartbroken over the loss of her very temporary friend.
"I know you sorry," Daryl said. "It ain't nothin' but an old beetle bug, Soph. Just don't smash the next one, but it ain't nothin' to be sore about."
"You fix it?" Sophia asked again.
"Can't fix it," Daryl said. "But—tell you what. After breakfast, we'll have him a nice lil' funeral, OK? Bury him—bury him over there by the guard tower, OK? Real nice. You an' me an' ya Ma. Send him off to a different kinda home. Would that be OK?"
Sophia had to understand death on a different level, perhaps, than children ever had to before. She was surrounded by it, literally, and it had a very different meaning than it once had. She nodded solemnly at Daryl and he told her to go get her milk and play a little more. Soon it would be time for breakfast. Carol watched as Sophia, already feeling lighter, walked back toward where she'd left her cup. Daryl carefully put the beetle down where he could find it later.
"Are you really going to have a funeral for a beetle?" Carol asked.
"I reckon I am," Daryl said. "If it'll make her feel better. Not so sorry."
Carol placed a kiss on his cheek.
"You're a good Daddy," Carol offered.
His face lit up at the compliment.
"It's nothin' nobody else wouldn't do," Daryl said.
"I can think of a few," Carol offered.
"Rick would do it for his kids," Daryl said, referencing their leader as though he were someone who had fatherhood all figured out—a man who had a rocky relationship with every member of his family from time to time.
"You're every bit as good a Daddy as Rick," Carol said. "Better, if you want to know my opinion." She cleared her throat. "And—you're only going to get better at the job."
Daryl's cheeks were pink with the praise.
"I just—do what I can for Soph," Daryl said.
Carol laughed to herself.
Daryl wasn't great at picking up on things. If she wanted him to know something, she had to be straightforward about it. She had to come right out and say it. She couldn't help but smile at him when he looked at her.
"What's so damned funny?" He asked with no genuine bite to his words.
"You do what you can for Sophia," Carol said. "And you do it well. You're the best Daddy she could ever...and I mean ever...hope to have. And I already know, Daryl, that you're going to be the best Daddy that our baby could ever ask for."
Daryl swallowed. His face changed colors again.
"If we...if it ever..." he said. He shrugged his shoulders and let his words drop. He moved away from Carol enough to move the meat off the fire.
"How does—maybe spring sound to you?" Carol asked.
Daryl looked at her.
She smiled. She nodded her head gently.
His mouth fell open as realization sunk in. He blanched.
"Spring?" He asked.
"Around there," Carol said.
"You mean...?"
Carol nodded again.
He made something that Carol could only describe as a choking sound. He wasn't eating anything, though, so he was choking on spit if he was choking at all.
"You OK, Daddy?" Carol asked.
His eyes were wide. Carol wasn't sure that he wasn't going to cry. She wasn't sure, either, for a split second what was going through his mind. He practically dived at her, though, and pulled her into his arms. She was sure he had to hurt his knees in the strange leap he'd done over the hard ground, but he didn't complain about it.
"You mean?" He asked again.
"Yeah," Carol said, hugging him back. "But I meant what I said—don't be insufferable. Or too suffocating, OK?"
Daryl choked out a laugh. He pulled away. His cheeks were damp, but Carol didn't draw attention to it. He shook his head at her.
"No ma'am," he said. "Just—just sufferable enough. Just—just suffocatin' enough."
Carol laughed.
"That sounds perfect," she said. "And—just like you."
The way Daryl was looking at her made Carol's throat ache. She'd never imagined anyone looking at her like that—with that much awe in their eyes. She could feel a tremble run through him and into her as he held his arms around her.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" Carol asked.
"It's been you that's—brought everything good into my life," Daryl said. "And every time—I'm thinkin' that it don't get no better? It seems like you find a way to make it just that much more better."
Carol smiled at him.
"That's exactly how I feel about you," Carol offered. She laughed to herself and winked at him when Sophia called his name, headed back toward the two of them with her sippy cup and a new toy that she'd found—a rock that was of particular interest.
"Daddy! I'm hungry!" Sophia called.
"She's a Daddy's girl," Carol offered. "Duty calls."
Daryl laughed to himself.
He leaned over and kissed Carol. The kiss was sweet and it said everything that Carol needed to hear. He smiled at her again when he pulled away.
"Mama!" Sophia barked, practically climbing over Carol to try to get in between them and gain the attention of both of them. "Mama! You hungry, too, Mama? You hungry?"
Sophia's concern, though she pretended it was about Carol, was not at all about Carol.
"Alright," Daryl said. He pulled away from Carol, got to his feet and reached his hands down to Sophia. "Come on, Soph. Let's go get the bowls. We'll sit out here an' eat our breakfast with your Ma."
As he started to walk off with her to get the bowls, Sophia looked over his shoulder and called out to Carol.
Carol smiled at her and waved.
"Go with Daddy, Sophia," Carol said. She fixed her shawl again and sighed, happy to wait for their return. Around her, she could hear sounds of the rest of the family waking up. They would all soon be coming to get something to eat. Carol smiled to herself. "Go with Daddy," she said quietly to herself since Sophia and Daryl were already inside the prison gathering bowls. "He'll take care of you. He'll take care of all of us."
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AN: I hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think!
I'm in the mood for some fluffies, so if you've got anything in mind, just let me know!
