AN: hey there. This is me messing around,

Not sure where I am going with this but I was browsing books and I saw this idea in the summary Of a book I have never read. The book was a paranormal book this won't be, the stories will not be the same, just the initial idea of the letters. This will only be a few chapters long I know I have a lot of wips right now but writers block is killing me. I gotta write what comes to me. Let me know what you think?

I do not own or profit from The Walking Dead

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Chapter one

Daryl Dixon stared at the ceiling as the noise of someone having a nightmare filtered through the night, sweeping around the hospital ward awaking all the sleeping patients. Or at least he had been trying to sleep.

Third degree burns covered his back and legs, curtesy of an grenade that had gotten a little to close. He had never liked sleeping on his side, but it seemed now that was all he could tolerate.

He'd been on a routine patrol, in Kandahar his squad had been been stopped, giving out chocolate at a school. Inspiring good will his commander called it. The happy faces had been distracting. Most of the men in his squad had kids of their own. Those kids who had seen the horrors of war struck a little close to their hearts.

Daryl was the only one in his squadron with no children. Hell he was the only one without a family. His daddy had drank himself to death when Daryl was sixteen, after a years of viscous beatings.

His momma had died when he was six leaving him and Merle at the mercy of their old man.

Merle hadn't stuck around long. When Daryl was ten years old Merle had disappeared and never returned.

Daryl had been alone. The sole focus of his father's violent rage. The old man had hated him with a passion. The relief Daryl had felt, when the cops had come to tell him the old man had crashed his truck and died, was great. He should have cared, been sad, in some way, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. The old man had broken something inside him he was damaged.

He simply went on with his life. Signing up for the army seemed as good of an idea as any. That's how he had ended up there that day. On the side of a dusty road in Kandahar handing chocolate over the fence to kids whose eyes were all too familiar. He'd seen those eyes himself as he looked in the mirror everyday. They were savaged by the war in their country, he'd been broken by the war in his house.

The guys were smiling talking to the kids, most thinking of their own children at home. Daryl had kept his sense on high alert. Something hadn't sat right with him all day. He could feel it.

Then a truck had passed by, speeding through the little village, with obvious ill intent. He'd seen the grenade before the others, screaming as he jumped forward. Attempting to shield as many of the kids as he could with his body, the blast of the explosion hitting him in the back. Burning his back.

He'd woken two months later, in a hospital

In Germany. A medically induced coma. That's what they had told him, it had been necessary they said, he wouldn't have been able to tolerate the pain.

He'd awoken to the news that he was the only survivor. The only fucking one from his squadron. It was a fucking joke, fate was a bitch. He was no one, he had no one. No one would care if he was gone. Absolutely no one. Every single one of the men in his squadron left behind widows, and kids. He replayed that moment in his mind over and over. Could he have done something? Anything that could he have changed things?

He'd watched online the news footage of the honour drapped caskets returning home. Kids clasping their mommas hands tightly. The memory of those little faces would haunt him forever with the guilt he felt in his soul.

No one would care if he was gone, except for maybe her...Sophia.

Daryl grunted and rolled over opening the drawer of the night stand next to his bed where he kept the letters.

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Dear Mr. Dixon

My names is Sophia Pelletier. I'm nine years old and I am in fourth grade at Parkside School in Atlanta.

For our social studies class we were assigned a project to write letters to wounded soldiers.

I've never written a letter before. My momma says it's a lost art. I'm not really sure how art can be lost, I once stayed up real late and watched a movie when momma thought I was sleeping. A man in the movie was stealing paintings... so maybe that's what momma meant. I dunno.

My teacher said you were hurt when you saved some kids from getting hurt. You're the bravest man I've ever met. Well we never met, but I don't know anyone braver. Momma said that must have taken honour to do what you did. I'm really proud that your my pen pal :)

My momma's name is Carol. (Your names rhyme!) She's my best friend. She and I are living in a shelter (the ones were you go when your dad's a real bad man. I don't like calling him dad anymore. He's Ed the jerk- I would call him worse but I'm not allowed to cuss.

He hurt my mom, a lot. He always made her cry. It was scary to live at home when Ed would yell at me. I knew someday he would try to hurt me. (He's a jerk, that's what jerks do), but momma never let him hurt me. He tried one night, and that's why we left.

It's ok living at the shelter. Momma and me share a bed. Sometimes we stay up late at night, talking about our dreams. Momma says the world is our oyster now. Ed's not holding us back anymore. She didn't seem real happy about though, I heard her crying later that night when she thought I was asleep.

Do you have kids? I bet you treat them real good. Momma said that you're proof there are still good men out there, doing the right thing. That you must have a real good heart to throw yourself in front of kids you don't even know. Ed the jerk face sure as he(double hockey sticks) wouldn't.

I hope you feel better soon, our teacher says you're too sick to write back right now, that's ok, I'll keep writing. Take all your medicine and eat popsicles(they make me feel better when I am sick).

Your friend

Sophia

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He wasn't sure why he had written back. He'd kept the first letter with him for almost a week, slipping it out from under his pillow, to read again and again.

The letter had gotten under his skin, touching a nerve, digging up old wounds he had stamped down. He wanted to throw it out, but somehow he couldn't. He felt connected to this girl and her mother. They shared a common history.

He found himself thinking of them often, wondering if they were ok, how her mother was. Carol.

Thoughts of Carol rolled around in his head, hell he ain't ever met this woman, he didn't even know what she looked like, but somehow the thought of everything she was going through alone pissed him off. She was so brave, somehow it pulled at his heart.

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Dear Sophia

Daryl's fine (Mr. Dixon's my daddy, and he was a jerk face too).

Thank you for your letter, I ain't brave I just did what anyone else would have done. But it was nice if you to say so.

I'm not much of a letter writer, ain't much for talking either but I'm figuring since you took the time to write me, I should answer you back. You're momma's right about letters being a lost art, and honestly I ain't never found it.

Your momma and you are the brave ones, I don't know you're momma but I'm real proud of her for leaving Ed the jerk. Sounds like he was a real prick(I'm allowed to cuss, I'm an adult.) like I said my daddy was a jerk too, it ain't easy to do what she's doing, I bet you help her a lot.

I can't write much yet. Still healing from my burns.

Your friend

Daryl

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Dear Daryl

Oh wow! I was the only one in the class to get a return letter. Everyone was real jealous. We all looked at the stamps and the postmarks from Germany. It was so cool!

You are brave Daryl. I told my momma what you said and she said that you probably did more for those kids you saved then anyone else has their whole lives, and that was something special.

Momma eyes got real red and stuff when I told her you called her brave, I thought she was gonna cry, but then she smiled.

My momma and I are moving out of the shelter next week. They helped momma find us a small apartment and momma a job. It's a lot smaller than before but I don't care. I do worry though, that Ed might come looking for us. I don't tell momma though. I don't wanna upset her.

I already upset her this week. Penny Blake was bugging me on the monkey bars, she was telling me how my momma was pathetic and nothing but a punching bag for my uhhh Ed. Anyway I told her to shut her stupid ugly mouth and she tattled and I got detention. She's a jerk too. Momma cried when I told her what happened. That night we went out for ice cream.

What's a prick? I've never heard that cuss before.

You're friend

Sophia

I included a picture of me and momma

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Daryl had stared at that picture more than he cared to admit. It had become his most valuable possession. Carol was beautiful, somehow in his head, he started to think of her and Sophia as his girls.

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Dear Sophia

You had quite the week. Penny Blake sounds like a jerk. Sometimes in life you gotta stand up for yourself. Seems to me you handled the problem the best way you could. I'm proud of ya.

I'm glad you and your momma are moving, try not to be too scared. Ed sounds like a real bully, that's what bullies want and if you're scared you let him win. Maybe when you feel that way you can give your mom extra hugs, I bet she would like that.

I forgot to tell you I ain't got kids. It's just me. I have a brother but I haven't talked to him in a long time. Probably for the best, don't think I'd be much of a dad.

Daryl

P.s a prick is someone really annoying, (annoying like getting pricked by a needle.) probably best you don't say that word though.

P.s.s - probably best you don't tell your momma I taught you that word.

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When he'd been ready he'd been moved state side. Daryl had been honourably discharged, he'd never be able to serve again with his back messed up like it was. The letters kept coming. Sometimes she told him little details of her life. More than once he found himself laughing out loud at her wit. More and more Sophia and her momma Carol slid under the walls he'd built around his heart.

He dreamed of a future that could never happen. A future he could never have. One with a freckled face little girl and her momma with deep blue eyes.