Contrary to popular belief, Daryl had a bucket list.
Actually, that was a bit of a false statement-not the bucket list part, but the popular belief part. Daryl wasn't quite sure what the popular belief around him really was anymore, as all he could gather from any snatches of conversation he'd managed to accidentally listened in on he'd gone from the seemingly errant hunter of the group to the roguishly handsome and unattainable deerstalker. He was also, officially, now Rick's right-hand-man. He figured the warm fuzzies he got from that were similar to what pre-End-of-the-Fucking-World married-to-my-career types felt when they moved from run of the mill pencil pusher up to office manager supervisor or head secretarial keystaff or what the hell ever it was.
So, yeah, Daryl wasn't clueless about his position, he just knew that he still had surprises about himself. And one of them was his bucket list. It wasn't a very long one, and it had gone through a few revisions since the dead started nibbling on the living, and definitely didn't have all of those semi-practical, hopeful items that people listed like "visit Paris" or "retire to the Mediterranean" or whatever. He didn't want to climb Mount Everest or save a rain forest or fix up old vintage cares or some shit. Daryl was a pragmatic man, in every aspect, and he had reasonable dreams. Dreams that some might-some being a particularly handsome Korean man rifling through his stuff-might giggle at, but dreams Daryl enjoyed.
"You've never tried Nutella?" Glenn's smirk was clearly beyond amused as Daryl jerked the list from his grimey palms. "Really? It's in every damn super market."
"And in mine it was four dollars a damn jar." Daryl narrowed his eyes over the worn and frayed list. The newest ink was from his revisions and those marks stood out amongst the old pencil and ball point scribbles. "Ain't really somethin' I was aimin' to throw dollars I ain't had at."
"But there are places where it was cheaper," Glenn reached a hand out for the list again but Daryl pushed him back. "And surely there was some point where you could have picked it up."
That was true. Daryl was rarely truly starved for cash and those times were normally Merle's fault. But he couldn't ever justify it in his head, wasting four bucks on a plastic container a third the size of similar-priced peanut butter.
"Okay, fine." Glenn put his hands on his hips and watched him. "But you still can't explain like, half the shit on there."
"Well, for one, a stuffed lobster. I mean, I guess I can see how you wouldn't get that kind of toy easily, but you also want balloon animals. Balloon animals? Come on, I hated clowns and I still had balloon animals at all sorts of points in my life."
"Well ain't you special," Daryl sneered at him but it was brief, and playful. It had been a long time since he'd ever been truly annoyed with Glenn. "That one was a joke. Never had a real little kid's birthday party. Folks weren't the type, you know? Ma'd make some cake or some shit and dad would give me a new booze and Merle got me a paintball gun and let me shoot him in the nuts when I was fourteen but that was really 'bout it." His voice took a slightly sad, somber tone at that and Glenn's amused look faulted a little bit. Daryl was rarely this open with his past, but he was never dishonest. He guessed, since they'd been together for some time now, that Daryl was feeling comfortable with revealing that part of himself. It stung to know that part was some sad kid with silly dreams.
But Glenn said nothing about it and instead reached out and tugged the list away, then folded it up. "Come on," He grabbed Daryl's hand and pulled him close. "I know something that can cheer you up."