Chapter Text
Blake-Lee Dixon had always been a rather quiet child. She had ways of disappearing when she wanted to, even if she was in a room full of people. It was something she'd gotten very good at doing, especially since she had a father as mean and as cold as George L. Dixon.
But having a father like George wasn't the only reason that Blake was so quiet- not even with his constant reminders that she was a burden and a nuisance, and a bother in his everyday life. Rather, Blake was always quiet because she never had anything nice to say. Whenever she spoke, according to George, she would always say something slick or out of line.
She'd learned from a very young age when and when not to speak. George was very quick to anger, and it never helped whenever she would talk back, or say something smart (even if she had no clue that what she was saying was rude). So, eventually, Blake learned to just keep her mouth shut- at least around her father. It was the norm for her. Stay out of Daddy's way, and everything will be fine, she often told herself. The ways of her harsh father was all she'd ever known. She was okay with that because she was too young to understand that, just maybe, the way her father acted toward her wasn't okay.
But at least there was one person Blake found herself comfortable speaking around.
Daryl Dixon.
Daryl was Blake's uncle, and undoubtedly her favorite person. It never matter to her that he was a rather quiet person himself, or that he often tried to brush her off if she began annoying him with her talk about random subjects he had no interest in. It didn't matter that he was a cigarette addict, a redneck, or a subjectively bad person- because at the end of the day, he was always kind to her, and he always tried to protect her. Sometimes, he failed.
But he wasn't like his older brother, George. Sure, he got annoyed easily, and he didn't come around often, but he never laid his hands on Blake. He never smacked her, or punched her, or kicked her for something as simple as unwashed dishes. In Blake's book, he was the best Uncle any kid could ask for.
The morning sun beamed down atop the camp, causing the orange material of the tent to light up the small space with a pretty hue. It was a warm fall morning. A rather nice one- though, maybe not so much for Blake. She shared a tent with her father, and most days, it was her safe space. She'd spend hours in it, entertaining herself in the ways she always did- reading, drawing, or looking at her ever-growing rock collection. Outside, there wasn't much for her to do except follow her father around.
Blake would have liked to be woken up by the smell of a campfire or sunlight hitting her face, but instead, she was awoken by a harsh shake to her shoulder. Her eyes shot open, and she sat up just as fast.
By the time she was fully awake, George was on the other side of the rather large tent, slipping his boots on. He was already dressed, his rifle slung over his shoulder. Blake sat there a moment longer, wondering why her father had woken her up so abruptly. Usually, he never cared to make sure she got up in the morning, especially since she didn't go to school anymore. If she was asleep, that meant she couldn't go around bothering people, and George was happy with that. Not today though, Blake supposed.
"Don't just sit there an' look stupid," George scolded, as if she'd done something wrong by simply sitting there. As he slipped his second boot on, he glanced at her. "Get up and dressed. We're goin' hunting. You got ten minutes," he said gruffly, not waiting even a moment for her to respond as he walked through the already-open flap of the tent. At his words, Blake's heart dropped a little.
She'd only been hunting with her father a few times before, and with Daryl once, but she'd yet to kill any animals. No bunnies, or deer, or squirrels. She never liked the idea of hurting and killing animals, anyway. Just the sight of all the blood there was whenever George or one of her uncles skinned an animal made her feel sick to her stomach. Unsurprisingly, George didn't care how it made her feel. He believed that she needed to toughen up, especially now- and killing animals was apparently one way to do that.
Blake waited until he was gone to let out a small sigh. She climbed out of her sleeping bag, her bare feet feeling the rough texture of the tarp as she stood up. Outside, she could hear people moving about, close by and far away. Her uncles were probably awake by now, she assumed. Merle was the oldest of her uncles, and the oldest of his brothers. He was quite scary, even when he wasn't trying to be. And though he never treated her very harsh like George did, his presence alone was enough to make Blake shy away whenever she wanted to ask something.
Blake could already smell the cigarette smoke lingering outside, which meant that Merle and Daryl were already awake. Daryl usually woke up much earlier to go hunting, but it was quite late in the morning. Blake figured she and her father would be doing the hunting today.
Walking over to the corner of the tent, Blake knelt down next to her things. She slipped into a pair of pale blue jeans that were slightly baggy but fit fine around her waist. Then, she took off her nightshirt and replaced it with a black tank top. Despite it being warm outside, she still put on her dark blue jacket. She didn't want anyone to ask about the bruises. Lastly, she put on her belt and sheath so she'd have somewhere to put her hunting knife, and she slipped on her only pair of shoes- pink Velcro sketchers that were too small since she'd had them for over a year. She'd yet to tell her father that she needed new shoes, because she knew they he hated complaining.
Blake didn't bother fixing her hair. She didn't need to, since it was so short that there was nothing she could do to it. A few weeks ago, a few walkers had stumbled their way into camp, and one of them had managed to grab Blake by her hair. After the incident, Blake begged and begged to have her hair cut so that nothing could grab her like that again. Eventually, George gave in so he wouldn't have to deal with her whining anymore.
Blake adjusted her pants one last time before climbing out of the tent. Her eyes went thin for a moment as the sunlight overwhelmed them.
Her family's camp was set up in a separate area, away from where everyone else had set up their things, and it'd been that way for about two months. The Dixons always valued their privacy, and where never good with other people. Merle and George were too mean, and Daryl was too reserved. By default, Blake found it hard to fit in as well, even with the other kids in camp. Though, Blake often found her father talking to Ed, one of the men in camp.
Most people were already up and moving about, pulling their weight despite the early our. Blake had never imagined that this would be her living situation- in a camp, surrounded by dozens of people who were complete strangers to her. If it weren't for the outbreak, she never would have met any of these people.
A few months ago, a sudden sickness began to spread. Something relentless and deadly. People became sick and died. Only, they didn't stay dead- rather, they began to walk. The dead would walk and walk, until they found someone fresh and alive. Dozens of people began showing up with bite marks on their arms, legs, necks. Sometimes, the dead never even bothered with a measly bite, and instead they'd rip their victims to shreds with only their hands and teeth.
The world now was much more dangerous than it was a few months ago, but after evacuating their home, the Dixons found themselves here- with a bunch of people they disliked.
Blake looked around for a few moments. She could see a few of the women in camp- Lori, Jacqui, Carol, Amy, Andrea- all helping with laundry, while people like Shane or Morales cleaned guns or boiled water from the quarry so that it was safe to drink. Dale was atop his RV, like he usually was. He was a nice old man, always trying to engage Blake in conversation on the rare occasion that she found herself wandering around camp.
Amy and Andrea were sisters, which Blake had assumed even before they told her because they were both blonde and had blue eyes. There was also Glenn, who was a younger man that often led a group on supply runs into the city. Blake didn't know much about him, other than he used to deliver pizzas.
Blake didn't bother hanging out with any of the people in camp, not even the other children. There was Carl, Lori's son. He was almost two years older than Blake but somehow shorter than she was. He had brown hair, blue eyes, and freckles, and looked a lot like his mom. Then there was Sophia, Carol's daughter. Blake liked Sophia despite not talking to her much. Sophia was rather tall- she had light brown, almost blond hair that went down just passed her chin. She was very quiet, just like Blake. Sophia's father, Ed, was not so much different from George in the way he acted toward his family.
Blake didn't see any point in making friends with the kids or talking to any of the adults she wasn't related to. At the end of the day, they were just people who would eventually turn into one of those monsters. There was no use getting attached, as Daryl would sometimes say.
It didn't take Blake very long to find her father. He was over by the campfire, packing some stuff into his backpack.
Looking past George, Blake could see Daryl and Merle, sitting by their tents as they shared a cigarette. She noticed Daryl fixing up on of the bolts that went to his crossbow. Maybe that meant he was going hunting after all.
Blake sighed quietly, walking over to her uncles. She stood awkwardly in front of them, looking at the dirt beneath her feet.
Things always felt extra awkward with Merle around. If it were only Daryl sitting there, it'd be much easier for her to speak up.
"Little ol' Blake-Lee," Merle chuckled, knowing that the girl hated her full first name. His voice was raspy from the years worth of cigarettes he's smoked. Blake furrowed her eyebrows. "Why is it every time I see you, ya look like a deer caught in headlights, huh?" he questioned, blowing out a puff of smoke.
Blake shrugged, then finally looked up at Daryl. Just slightly. "Are you goin' hunting too?" she asked.
Daryl looked up briefly, his blue eyes flicking to her brown ones for just a second before returning to his work. "Yeah," he muttered. "Headin' north, though. Think you and yer old man are goin' east."
Blake nodded slightly, and her shoulders sagged a little. Daryl seemed to notice her sudden disappointment. He wasn't very good at comforting people, but he hated it when Blake had that sad look on her face.
"Stay sharp out there, a'right?" he said, his voice oddly comforting. "If you see tracks, point 'em out. See how fresh they are- see where they lead. It'll make yer Pa proud."
Blake nodded silently, making sure to remember his words. Beside Daryl, Merle smirked. As she walked away, she wondered what was so funny.
Just as she turned around, she noticed her father slinging his bag over his shoulder. He barely gave her a glance as he gestured for her to follow him. "'Bout time. Let's go," he ordered.
Blake looked down at her belt to make sure her knife was still there. When she was sure it was, she looked back to where Daryl was sitting. He was still wathing her, his expression hard to read.
"Let's go! I ain't gonna tell you again, girl..." George shouted from the edge of camp.
Blake jumped at the sudden rise in George's tone, and she was quick to follow after him.
~~~
The forest was just about as quiet as Blake expected it to be. The slight breeze made her squint her eyes as they trekked through the trees. It was almost peaceful out there, and Blake could hear the birds singing in the distance, a few bees buzzing around a nest that they'd made far up a tall tree, the sound of the leaves rustling and falling.
It would've been peaceful if she were by herself.
Before the walkers started to roam, Blake would often go into the nearby woods behind her house, sometimes just sitting there and growing tired as the sun set, other times looking for bugs to mess with. It was quiet- it made her feel safe. It wasn't like her father cared about where she was half the time- he was always too busy shooting up or bringing some random lady home. Blake never wanted anything to do with it- so she made herself disappear, like always. The only lady she wanted in her life was her mother, but she'd been gone a long time.
Gone just like the safety of the woods. Now the woods were dangerous- now, walkers could be around any corner. No one was safe. And the walkers made it even harder to hunt because they often found the game before any living people could.
She walked behind George, not able to see past his tall stature and broad shoulders. But that didn't matter- she was more focused on the ground than anything. She remembered what Daryl had told her, and she was trying her best to look for tracks in the damp ground- all the grass made it extra hard.
She took slow, deliberate steps, as if trying to look at every square inch of the ground. She didn't realize how far behind she'd fallen.
"Hey," she heard that familiar quiet, yet stern voice- the one George always used when they were out here. Blake looked up, her expression confused and unaware. "The hell are you doin'?" George asked, a hand on his hip, his expression annoyed.
Blake bit the inside of her bottom lip, shrugging. "Lookin' for tracks," she mumbled, looking at him hesitantly.
"Well, stop. Ya look stupid as shit," George scolded, adjusting the strap of his rifle over his shoulder before he began walking again. "C'mon. Keep up."
Blake furrowed her eyebrows, pouting slightly. It confused her sometimes when George said things like that. She looked stupid for looking for tracks? How? All she was doing was looking at the ground. Did that mean Daryl looked stupid, too? And Merle?
She sighed quietly, but now too loud or she'd get yelled at for having an attitude. She quickly picked up her pace, following closer behind him now.
She tried not to seem out of breath or tired as they traveled through the woods. The sun had risen higher in the sky, and the wind had weakened. Sweat beaded Blake's forehead- this was one of the many times she was thankful to have short hair.
But there was always something about the Autumn air that made the days just a little more bearable and a little more peaceful. Of course, the moments of peace never lasted long for Blake.
George suddenly stopped in his tracks, and Blake almost tripped trying not to run into his back. George had his eye on something in the trees. Furrowing her eyebrows, Blake followed his gaze to something small in the trees. A deer.
A baby deer.
It was alone, its mom either lost or dead. Or its mom left it alone on purpose. The baby deer had its nose in the grass, nibbling and sniffing at it. It hadn't seen them yet. A sense of dread filled Blake's heart. She knew what was going to happen.
They were going to kill it. No matter if it was small. No matter if it was a baby. George didn't care. It had meat on its bones- meat that they could eat for at least 3 days. This was dinner, and this was the reality.
Blake flinched as George suddenly tapped her shoulder harder than necessary. She looked over, her eyes widening slightly as she saw him holding his hunting rifle out to her. "You're takin' the shot," he said.
Blake's jaw was slightly agape- she looked at the oblivious baby deer, then back at the gun. She knew she couldn't say no, knew she had no choice. Still, the thought of shooting it made her want to puke.
She slowly and hesitantly reached out, taking the large gun with both hands. The gun was practically as big as she was. George had taught her how to use it, how to aim and shoot, but she'd only ever shot at trees or cans. Never anything living.
She took a quiet, deep breath, her hands already shaking. She couldn't mess this up.
She swallowed nervously, raising the gun. Her eyes locked onto the baby deer, a feeling filling her heart that she couldn't quite explain. Her finger inched toward the trigger, her aim steady on the small animal. In that moment, it was like she could hear and see everything- the deer's ears twitching, its heart beating, its large eyes wandering the ground.
"Take the damn shot," George whispered in her ear.
But she couldn't. She couldn't take a life, she couldn't make a pure heart stop beating just like that. She couldn't.
Her aim faltered, and she stepped back. A twig snapped under the heel of her foot and that was all it took.
The deer barely glanced to see who or what was there. It just ran, gone in the blink of an eye.
She could feel the immediate anger radiating off of George. She hesitantly looked up at him, prepared to say sorry. But before she could, he suddenly snatched the gun from her, causing her to lose her footing for a moment.
"God dammit, Blake!" he shouted, his face red with anger. Blake cowered before him, practically shrinking in on herself. "I told you to take the damn shot!"
"I didn't-" Blake started, her voice small but frantic. "I didn't mean to, I just-"
"Just what, huh?! You lost us our goddamn dinner," George shouted, grabbing Blake by the arm, hard enough to bruise. "You wanna starve? That it? You want all a' us to starve?!"
"No! No, I don't!" Blake said fearfully. She wouldn't cry. Not now, at least. But his words, his grip on her arm- it didn't stop the fear from surging through her veins.
George stared at the girl angrily, most likely trying to think of a punishment. He harshly let go of her arm, stepping back and looking at her with disgust. And before she could do anything, he whipped his hand out and smacked her hard across the cheek with the back of his hand. Blake yelped as she lost her footing and stumbled to the ground, all while holding her cheek in pain. "God damn useless as yer mother," he spat. "Yer goin' without dinner tonight. Let's go," he ordered, not waiting up as he stomped off.
Blake looked on, tears overflowing in her eyes as she watched him walk away. After a moment, she managed to gather herself- she stood up, wiped her nose, and followed behind him as if nothing had just happened.
She kept her head down, feeling utterly ashamed of herself. All she had to do was shoot one measly deer, and she couldn't even do that.
~~~
Blake walked into camp, trailing behind George. She was tense, stiff, her head down as she tried not to rub the forming bruise on her cheek. She glanced up barely, just enough to see Merle and Daryl near the unlit campfire, smoking. Daryl was still at it fixing his bolts, while Merle stood over him, talking about something Blake couldn't quite make out.
She tried to slip past them. Maybe if she got to the tent quickly enough, they wouldn't ask any questions.
But Daryl noticed. He always noticed. Though he couldn't see the bruises on her arm because of her jacket, he most definitely caught a glimpse of how red her cheek was.
So as soon as Blake disappeared into the tent, out of earshot, Daryl stood up, Merle staying behind as he sat down in his chair.
He followed George to the bucket of water they had set up near the edge of their camp. George didn't turn around, but he could hear his younger brother behind him. Still, he said nothing. He never did when he was pissed.
"What happened out there?" Daryl asked casually, trying not to cause a scene despite the anger bubbling under his skin. "Didn't catch any game?"
George scoffed, shaking his head. He set his knife down on the folding table rather aggressively. "Damn girl missed an easy shot. Baby deer, about 20 feet away- she chickens out, loses our fuckin' dinner," he mumbled angrily.
Daryl nodded, squinting his eyes out of pure habit. He looked down, messing with the bolt in his hands as he spoke. "And what'd you do?" he asked. He knew George would lie. He always did without a doubt. His eyes flicked between George and the tent where Blake was. After a few seconds, George still hadn't responded, so Daryl spoke again. "You lay hands on her?"
George scoffed, a smirk tugging at his lips. "You seriously askin' me that, brother?" His smirk faltered when he realized Daryl was being serious. The younger man didn't seem to find any of this amusing in the slightest. George stood up a little taller, taking a step closer to his youngest brother. "I didn't touch the girl. Even if I did, she's my kid. My business... not yers" he grumbled.
Daryl stood his ground. He glanced back at Merle, who was now sitting in one of the lawn chairs with a faint smirk on his lips- a bit of an instigator, he was. Daryl looked back at the George, tightening his grip on the bolt subconsciously. "I saw her face. Was all red and sore..." he began. "Don't lie to me, George."
George scoffed in disbelief, looking away for a short second. "Ain't no harm in a little tough love. You of all people should know that, baby brother."
Daryl looked his older brother up and down with a look of pure disgust. "Yeah. I know. You wasn't much better than dad was. Ya still ain't. That lil girl ain't done nothin' wrong-"
"-That don't matter. She lost us dinner, is what she did." George spat suddenly as he stepped closer to his brother, practically getting in his face. His expression became dark in that moment, almost dark enough to instill fear inside Daryl. Almost. "And it ain't none a' yer damn business what I do with my daughter. Thought I made that clear a long time ago." He said, his eyes narrowing.
Yes. Daryl remembered clearly. That night had ended with him having a black eye and a nearly-broken nose, no thanks to George and his ego.
Merle just smirked a bit as he chuckled, leaning back in his seat. "Don't get yer panties in a bunch, bro," Merle said. "She's a kid. How many bucks 've you missed at her age?"
"That ain't the point," George said, looking past Daryl and at Merle. "The point is, I told her to do somethin' and she didn't do it. You stay outta this." George growled. Then he turned back to Daryl again, scolding the youngest brother as if he were a child. "And you. You stay outta my goddamn business. Blake's my kid. Not yours. You question me like that again, and I'll break yer fuckin' face in worse than last time," he said, his voice a low, angry rumble. He made sure he saw the faint fear in Daryl's eyes before he turned away and walked back toward his and Blake's tent, his shoulders tense.
But Daryl didn't seem to want to give up.
He quickly followed after George. "Hey..." he called out quietly. "Hey!" he shouted when George ignored him. Quickly, he reached out and grabbed George's shoulder in an attempt to get the man to face him.
This seemed to be the last straw for George. The man didn't hesitate as he turned around and socked Daryl square in his face.
Upon hearing the commotion, Blake quickly climbed out of the tent. By the time she'd done so, George and Daryl were already in a full-on brawl. Throwing each other to the ground, kicking and punching each other, all while Merle stood by with no intent to stop it whatsoever.
Blake rushed forward, her eyes wide as she watched the scene before her. "Stop it!" she shouted, her hands balled into fists at her sides. "Daddy! Stop it, yer hurtin' him! Stop!" she begged and cried, but her pleas fell on deaf ears.
With all the noise they were making, people from across camp quickly noticed what was going on. People began to gather, but only a couple of the men actually stepped forward to put a stop to the fighting.
Shane and Morales rushed forward, each of them grabbing one of the Dixons. "Hey! Hey- that's enough!" Shane shouted as he pushed Daryl away roughly. Shane used to be a cop, Blake had found out a while ago, so he was probably used to seeing things like this happen.
"Calm the hell down!" Morales ordered as he held George back from tackling Daryl again.
"The hell off me, man," George spat as he aggressively pushed Morales' hands away.
By now, Daryl had a bloody nose and a bruise forming under his left eye. His breathing was heavy as he glared past Shane and at George. "You hurt her again, I kill you!" he shouted, pointing a finger at his older brother.
"Oh, real fuckin' bold comin' from you, baby brother-"
"Enough!" Shane yelled. When the brothers finally seemed somewhat calmer, he spoke up again. "Someone wanna tell me what the hell's goin' on?"
"I don't think it's any of your God damn business..." George snapped.
As Blake listened to George and Shane argue back and forth, she suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder. Flinching, she quickly turned around and took a step back. Lori was standing there, a kind but sad look on her face.
"Honey, why don't you come sit with me a while?" she offered. "We've got snacks in the RV, and Carl's been wanting someone to play with."
Blake wasn't sure what to say. She'd never gotten that sort of offer before. She didn't know Lori very well, and the same could be said about Carl. Blake didn't need this woman's help, and she was sure her father wouldn't want her accepting the help either.
For a long moment, Blake just stared at Lori like a deer caught in headlights. Then, without saying anything, She pushed past Lori and bolted into the tent.
Lori looked on in both pity and confusion. Something very wrong was going on between Blake and her father, and she felt helpless. She'd noticed bruises on the girl for months.
Daryl watched silently as Blake ran away . His jaw clenched almost painfully tight, and darkness lingered in his misty blue eyes. He wasn't worried about his niece anymore, because this would be the last time George Dixon pushed him around.
This would be the last time George Dixon had the chance to hurt Blake.