TWD: Awakened As Rick

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The RV still smelled like oil and rust.

Dale sat on the roof, his old folding chair creaking under his weight, a mug of lukewarm tea in his hands. Below, the camp stirred—morning drills started with Shane barking at recruits, Carol was already at the garden, and Glenn and Morales loaded up supplies for another run.

He watched it all from above, like he always had.

The RV gave him height, a perch. A place to see everything, even when people didn't want to be seen.

And these days… he saw a lot.

Rick was transforming.

Not into a tyrant, not into some monster—God knew Dale had seen enough of those—but into something else. A soldier in denim and resolve. People looked to him like he was Moses leading them through the wilderness.

But Moses hadn't carried a pistol.

And Moses hadn't trained his son to shoot walkers in the eye before he lost his baby teeth.

Dale sighed, watching Carl jog across the yard with Daryl. The boy's face was harder now. Less wonder. More grit.

Another piece of childhood buried under responsibility.

That's what worried Dale the most.

Not the walkers. Not the raiders.

But the slow erosion of humanity.

Back when the world was whole, Dale had been a man of quiet retirement. His wife, Irma, had passed from cancer before the world fell apart. He used to sit with her on the porch and argue about politics, literature, and why he never replaced the squeaky gate.

She'd loved the sound of it.

Now, the world was full of squeaks and groans and things you couldn't fix with a wrench.

But still, he tried.

He climbed down the RV ladder and joined T-Dog near the water barrels. The younger man was inspecting the filtration system they'd rigged together with Rick's help.

"T's holding up fine," T-Dog said, wiping his hands. "We're good for another few days."

Dale nodded. "Good. Clean water's worth more than bullets these days."

T-Dog smirked. "Don't let Merle hear you say that."

Dale chuckled. "If Merle ever drinks water, I'll start wearing a bandana and swearing like a pirate."

They shared a laugh—brief, but real.

That was what Dale tried to do now: keep the laughter alive.

Keep the little things from disappearing.

Because once those were gone, what were they?

Just animals in coats with guns.

Later, Dale found himself walking the perimeter with Andrea. She was quiet, her gaze sharp. Ever since the Quarry, she'd changed.

Dale had tried to talk to her. Sometimes she listened. Sometimes she snapped.

Today, she just walked beside him.

"I saw Carl on the range this morning," Dale said.

Andrea nodded. "He's good."

"Too good."

She gave him a sideways glance. "You think it's wrong?"

"I think it's sad," Dale said. "The world's pushing him into a mold he didn't ask for."

Andrea didn't reply.

"He should be building treehouses," Dale muttered.

"He's building survival."

That was the end of that conversation.

By mid-afternoon, Dale returned to the RV. He climbed back to the roof, sat down, and began cleaning the old hunting rifle he kept tucked behind his bed.

He didn't like using it.

Didn't like needing to use it.

But there were more threats than walkers out there now.

He'd heard whispers—raiders gathering. Watchers on the hills. A caravan that hadn't come back.

Dale believed in trust. In democracy. In people choosing their path together.

But even he knew, sometimes you had to be ready when others chose war.

As the sun began to dip, Rick came by.

"Need anything?" Rick asked.

Dale looked up from his rifle. "Just time."

Rick nodded. "We've got a council meeting tomorrow. You're still on it."

Dale raised a brow. "You mean I'm still allowed to be the annoying voice of reason?"

Rick smiled faintly. "You keep us honest."

Dale paused. "Do you ever worry, Rick? That all this planning, the drills, the weapons—it's changing us too fast?"

Rick leaned against the RV, thoughtful.

"I don't worry about us changing," he said. "I worry about what happens if we don't."

Dale looked down at his hands.

Old. Wrinkled. Calloused from work that didn't stop.

"I just don't want to become what we're trying to protect ourselves from," Dale said quietly.

Rick said nothing.

But Dale saw it in his eyes.

He didn't either.

That night, the fire pit glowed again.

Families ate together. Merle exaggerated some story about a walker with a gold tooth. Carl challenged Glenn to a game of cards. Andrea cleaned her pistol under the lantern.

And Dale?

He watched.

Watched the people who had once been strangers become something more.

Watched Carol hold Sophia close.

Watched Shane sit apart, lost in his own shadow.

The world had ended.

And yet—here they were.

As the fire died down, Dale sat beside Glenn on the RV roof. The stars were out, faint and far.

"You think we'll ever go back?" Glenn asked.

"To what?" Dale replied.

"To... normal."

Dale thought for a long time.

"I don't think normal's something we get back," he said. "I think it's something we make again. Day by day. Choice by choice."

Glenn nodded.

They sat in silence for a while longer.

And Dale looked up at the stars and whispered to himself:

Let us not lose ourselves in the effort to survive.

Let us remember why we're still trying.

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15 Advanced Chapters on Patreon

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