This is a one-shot about how Daryl feels/copes with the loss of Carol in the episodes 3.4-3.6. Hope you like it.
It had started out as a pretty good day. He'd thought his biggest worry was figuring out what they were going to do about those two prisoners, but they didn't seem like too much of a threat. Then they'd seen Hershel walking on his new crutches. It was a miracle that he'd survived and they were all thankful. But that one joyful moment had been ruined when they heard Carl yell out "Walkers!" Daryl's heart dropped as he saw the onslaught. He'd run like his life depended on it, trying to keep an eye on their people in the courtyard.
By the time he, Rick, and Glenn had reached them, only Hershel and Beth were left. He felt his panic reach a new level when the old man said T-Dog had been bitten. Carol had been with him. Goddamnit! He was itching to jump into the search when the alarms started blaring. He knew they had to stop the ringing, but he was torn. He needed to know she was safe.
There'd been so much confusion; walkers were everywhere. And then Andrew was there, a crazed look in his eye as he tried to kill Rick. Daryl had thought for sure that Rick was a goner when Oscar grabbed his gun, but then he'd done the unthinkable. He'd shot the other convict instead. When they finally got the alarms shut down he moved with purpose out into the corridor. They would find their people; he would find her.
With every hall they cleared he felt his hope building. No bodies meant they might still be alive, and that's when they saw it. A few walkers huddled around a disemboweled figure: T-Dog. He didn't even have time to feel the sadness when his eyes lit upon the dirty piece of material laying off to one side; beside it a gun. He recognized both immediately: Carol's scarf, Carol's gun. He felt the bile rise in the back of his throat, but swallowed it down. Now isn't the time; we've got others to find.
He'd pushed himself to keep busy. He'd gone looking for whatever they needed to keep Lori's baby alive. He did it for the group; they needed hope that this wasn't the end of them. But mostly he did it for her. She'd been looking forward to the baby as much as, if not more than, its actual mother. She'd worried over Lori's health and gone without so that the pregnant woman had more to eat. Once, she'd even grabbed Daryl's hand to put on Lori's stomach as it jumped from the kicks of the child inside. He hadn't looked at Lori, instead keeping his eyes on Carol; her hand over his.
He couldn't allow that line of thought to continue; it hurt too much. He'd failed her again and this time the cost had been her life. He saw how Rick had lost it; his grief overtaking every other emotion. Daryl knew he didn't have the luxury of breaking down, so he just kept going. For her. He held the baby for her, tried to keep the group's spirits up for her, and now he sat in front of a grave they'd dug for her. There was no body in this grave and he couldn't help but be grateful that he hadn't had to see her mangled corpse or worse walking mangled corpse. This way he'd remember her smile and the kind words she always had for him.
He fashioned her name with rocks, brushing the excess dirt away. "I'm sorry Carol. I didn't find Sophia; I couldn't be there to save you. You deserved better." He felt the tears spring to his eyes and blinked them away. He wouldn't cry. If he went down that path he didn't know if he'd make it back again. Getting up he promised her that he'd take care of them, for her. It was the only way he could think to honor her memory.
It was two days later, when they were clearing the underbelly of the prison, that his world fell apart. He'd been fighting his sorrow and desperation, but when he pulled her knife out of the walker's throat he felt his resolve snap. Oscar had tried to pull him away, but Carl had known; he'd known Daryl needed to be alone with his demons just as Rick had.
Once they'd left him, Daryl slid down the wall his gaze divided between glaring at the dead walker and the knife in his hands. He'd given her the blade, pressed it into her hands and taught her how to use it. It wasn't enough! He felt his anger overwhelming him and wished for something on which to take out his rage. Daryl pounded the knife into the cement, the ricochet vibrating up his arm. The pain didn't faze him; if anything, it fueled his anger. He brought it down again and again, willing it to purge his anger, but knowing it wouldn't.
He had hoped that her death had been quick, but now he knew how far she'd come, how hard she'd fought. She'd been alone and afraid at the end and he hadn't been there.
The door moved again. With an otherworldly knowledge, he was sure it was her in there, what was left of her anyway. He didn't want to see her vacant eyes and hear here moan as she advanced on him. But he needed to know. Her death, the loss of her, wouldn't be real until he did. If this wasn't her, he promised himself that he would search for her. He rose, paced, than kicked the door. He was getting himself ready to do what was necessary. He knew it would send him over the edge, but he owed it to her. They had all promised each other that if ever one of them turned someone in the group would put them down. It was better than letting her remain one of those fucking monsters.
Wrenching open the door, he was ready for the walker to come at him, but nothing happened. Looking around, he saw her on the floor and she turned to him with eyes that still held life. His heart stopped beating in his chest and his breath caught in his throat. All the anger he'd been steeling himself with melted away at the sight of her. She couldn't be real! How was it possible? He reached out to touch her, to make sure his mind wasn't playing tricks on him. Picking her up, his initial relief turned to concern. She hardly responded to his touch and her head lolled to one side. But he knew these things were manageable. The important thing was that he had her back and he wouldn't let her go again.