Unfamiliar Happenings
A/N: Takes place after Rick and Daryl have a fight and Daryl scares away everyone except Carol. Rated ONLY for language, because Daryl has a potty mouth. Oneshot. Caryl. (I apologize in advance for typos and grammatical errors, just wrote it up real quick.)
It was strange how he accepted the emotion. In its familiarity, it was almost like a comfort for him to feel it. Even if it was misdirected. Even if it was difficult for him to control.
Swearing in a way that no one but a Dixon could, Daryl threw the crude wooden chair that Lori had put beside the fire pit into the darkness. It fell apart as soon as it hit the ground, legs snapping immediately. He felt the eyes – that one pair of owl-like, reproachful eyes – gaze at him with astonishing power. He hated it when she fucking looked at him like that. He couldn't honestly say he knew what she was thinking, but he could make a damn good guess.
"Say it," he growled, kicking at the ashes of the fire, head bowed and fists clenched. Rocks scattered in front of her, and she coughed when some of the ashes flew around her. Her eyes never left his face, though. She didn't even look alarmed. "SAY IT!" he bellowed, narrowing his eyes at her. Run away. Hide in your tent. Leave me be.
"Say what?" she murmured, her voice firm. Those fucking eyes. Always so fucking deep and careful, like she was some doctor that just wanted to assess the damage that he was so obviously suffering from.
"Call m'a freak," Daryl spat. "Call me a fuckin' monster. Somethin', just stop yer fuckin' starin'." Carol blinked slowly. She stood up, stepping over the mess he made and getting close. Too close. Daryl held his ground, though he couldn't stand that she was that close. The rage he felt… it was as if his blood was boiling, his hands itching to kill something. He could snap Carol's neck in an instant, yet she wouldn't get away.
"You ain't none of those things, Daryl Dixon." She tilted her head as she stared at him. "Rick is losing it. We all know it, and I'm followin' you till my mind is no longer my own." Daryl felt an unwanted calmness fill him that he thought might be relief. He wanted to push this woman away. He wanted the rage back. Rage was familiar; rage was home. When it was gone all he had left was mixed emotions and pointless thoughts. He just wanted to get hammered.
"You don't know shit," he spat back, turning away and lightly shoving Carol in the other direction. He went to pick up his crossbow. It was the middle of the night, but who gave a fuck? He could strap himself to a tree for the night somewhere, no problem. He didn't need these people anymore. When he reached for his crossbow, though, something strange happened. Something unfamiliar. Carol wrapped her arms around him.
She ain't scared? He thought desperately, his heart suddenly feeling too big for his chest. The woman ought to be scared. He'd fucked people up for less. Her arms were only tightening though, and she was whispering kind words, but for a moment all he could hear was his own pa's advice, so long ago…
Never lay wit' a woman ya think ya care fer, Daryl.
He felt his mind go blank as he pulled her closer to him, arms fitting themselves perfectly around her small torso, her head tucked under his chin. He felt yet another unfamiliar thing happen to him on this strange night – his eyes became wet – and he buried his face in her short hair to keep himself from completely losing it, as so many already had since the dead had taken over.