A/N – A word of warning if you didn't get it from the little blurb on what this story is about. This is ALL angst and sadness. I was inspired by my other favorite show (other than TWD) in which they veritably destroyed the pairing that I loved under the guise of it being a "bittersweet" reunion. I won't lie to you, it wasn't bittersweet. It was sad and depressing, and this totally is too. Don't hate me. :) Takes place right at the end of Triggerfinger.
Disclaimers - I don't own the Walking Dead or its amazingly wonderful characters. Also, please note that this story contains swears - it is Daryl's POV after all.
Thanks for reading!
"Stupid bitch," Daryl grumbled after Carol had left his campsite. He paced angrily in the darkness; cast a wayward glance at her retreating form heading back toward the farm. He spun away from the farm in the distance, put his back to it, tried to shove it out of his mind, and moved away. He stopped at the geek ears that he'd strung up next to the squirrels he'd caught that day… the ears that she'd been looking at when he'd caught her nosing around his camp.
He was so sick of everyone sticking their nose into his business. Why should it matter to him what Rick or Lori or Shane or Hershel or fucking Carol did. He'd put his neck out on the line for all of them, and what had it got him? An arrow in the side, nearly got his brains blown out by wannabe Andrea Oakley, and the little girl was dead anyway.
Sophia… little girl's name was Sophia. Daryl stopped his erratic pacing, crouched to the ground next to a tree and put his head in his hands, ran his hands over his face and then through his hair. He huffed in frustration.
"All ya had to do was keep an eye on 'er!" His own words to Carol just moments ago ricocheted in his head and his stomach flipped with something like remorse.
"Fuck," he muttered… "Fuck," he repeated, jumping up from his crouched position and slamming a fist into the trunk of the tree he'd just been crouching in front of.
He told himself it didn't matter when he laid down that night. He told himself it didn't matter that he'd screamed at Carol… he'd been pissed, bitch deserved it, egging him on like that… but he couldn't help the regret that coursed through his veins. And he couldn't stop the nightmares after he fell asleep, not his usual nightmares about the past he wished he could forget, but of a future he feared. He dreamed of hordes of geeks passing through, ripping this group of his to shreds. He dreamed of Lori screaming, holding a half-eaten baby; of Rick sobbing at the side of his suddenly dead wife. He saw Dale, torn up and begging to die.
But the worst one was Carol… he dreamed of being too late. He dreamed of watching her be ripped apart, shredded right in front of him and knowing that he could have stopped it… if he'd only been a little faster, a little smarter, if he'd only cared just a little bit more.
Daryl woke the next day, determined, in control of his emotions. He forced himself to clean up some, put on fresh clothes, and then he went down to meet the group. Carol didn't want him to pull away. He told himself that he wasn't doing this for her. This wasn't about her.
He was lying to himself about that, but he didn't care. Daryl didn't want friends, he didn't want romance… hell, he didn't even care if these people liked him… but somehow they'd become his group, his twisted, broken, torn to hell family. He didn't have to like it, but he'd be a part of it while he could.
He avoided Carol like the plague. He saw the way she glanced at him around the farm. He knew she wanted to talk to him, but he wasn't going to do it. He was still pissed. At her, at himself, at fucking everything. A part of him knew it was just her way – she cared about him. And a part of him was grateful for that, but another part, a larger, louder part, told him that he was unworthy. He was unworthy of being cared about, cared for. Being cared for, cared about, well, it just led to having to care back. And caring back could get him killed. Daryl Dixon wasn't about to get himself killed.
Rick, Hershel and Glenn brought that stranger from town, Randall, back to fix up his leg and then they'd planned to dump him off somewhere. Of course, that fell through. Daryl had seen it coming.
Daryl saw the way Shane watched Rick and Lori… anyone with eyes could see the way Shane was coveting Rick's wife. Daryl didn't give a fuck. Shane was a loose cannon, that was clear enough and Daryl knew that soon enough, the man would blow. Secrets and rage had a way of blowing themselves out into the open eventually, and it was only a matter of time before whatever Rick and Shane had between them would come to a head.
There was a noticeable relaxation to Rick when he and Shane had brought Randall back after the unsuccessful drop off eighteen miles from the farm. Daryl had seen it. He'd seen the bruises on Shane's face and on Rick's. He could tell Rick thought it was settled, and maybe Shane felt that way too at first, but Daryl doubted it would last.
He was fucking observant. The only people skill that Daryl had, and it was the best one to have far as he was concerned. He'd rather be observant and angry, taking it all in and keeping everyone at a distance. So he stayed that way. He avoided Carol, but he kept an eye on her. He'd keep her safe but he wasn't going to care. He didn't have to answer to her, didn't have to tell her his feelings and shit.
When Rick asked him to get information out of Randall, Daryl had been fine with it. What did he care about some asshole who'd been trying to kill his boys? He didn't mind. It would feel good to let off a little steam. And he'd been right not to mind when he'd seen the way Randall looked, talking about those poor girls and their father. Randall's barnyard confession had made Daryl's blood boil; made his stomach ill just to look at the other guy's face.
Daryl had thought about Carol then. In that barn, as he beat Randall bloody… he'd thought about Carol, about someone hurting Carol and he'd let it all loose. No one was going to hurt her, not if he could help it.
She'd asked him what he'd done after he'd told the others what he'd found out. She'd asked in that soft, sweet voice of hers. Everyone could see the blood on his knuckles; everyone already knew what he'd done. But she'd asked. There might have been a hint of judgment to her tone, but a part of him knew why. Carol was kind; she was soft and sweet and good. She was motherly, and mothers don't beat the shit out of bad guys. At least not unless they had no other choice. Daryl's mother had never beaten the shit out of any bad guys, the baddest of which being his own father. Nope, his mother had just taken whatever beatings she had to take, and shut her mouth up about it. He imagined Carol had been the same way.
Not that he thought she was always going to be that way. He'd seen the way she'd taken the axe to Ed's skull. He'd seen the fury on her face and the sweat on her brow as she'd buried her demons. Carol was stronger than anyone gave her credit for, Daryl saw that. Daryl knew that much. It was only a matter of time before she found her voice, before she realized that her opinions mattered.
The thought made Daryl smile, but only inwardly. He'd like to see a Carol who was strong and stubborn. The woman who told him to "go ahead" back at his campsite, the woman who didn't back down from him even when he screamed, when he beat her down with his words, even when he reared back in anger before stopping himself. He'd seen flashes of that Carol, that stubborn and strong Carol, and he'd be glad to see her again someday. So when she'd questioned what he'd done, he hadn't minded because he'd heard that tone in her voice… it wasn't holier than thou, it was matter of fact and it was honest, and it was just a step away from that stubborn and strong woman he was waiting for.
"Group's broken," Daryl had muttered to Dale. And he believed it. They were broken. He'd been off on his own again. Still avoiding Carol, still avoiding everyone. He'd rather watch from a distance than be involved. He liked Dale though, nearly as much as Carol although he'd never admit it to either of them. The man had spunk to try and talk everyone into keeping Randall alive. Daryl respected it, but he couldn't shake the idea of a group of men tearing through their camp, leaving the men dead and the women wishing they were. He'd failed Carol once… failed her little girl… and he wasn't about to fail her again.
Daryl had almost spoken out… not to back Dale, but to back Carol. He understood her frustration when she told the group to just make a decision, her words directed at Rick and Shane and Dale. "You can't ask us to decide this…," she'd said or something of the sort. Daryl understood. She wasn't the woman he knew she was going to be yet. She wasn't strong on opinions yet… sure, she had them and plenty of them about him from what he could tell – none of which he wanted to hear by the way – but she wasn't used to being heard. A person gets beat down enough for thinking, for feeling, for speaking, and eventually they stop knowing how to do it. Takes a long time to realize that it's safe to feel, to think, to speak, and even then, some people never get the balls to come back from the life that Carol had had with her husband. That Daryl had had with Merle and his old man. If he had to tell anyone in this group about his past, it would be Carol, because he knew she'd understand what he'd gone through the best of any of them.
Daryl hadn't really believed Rick would kill Randall anyway. Not outright… that wasn't the man that Rick was, even in this shitty world. Shane would do it, Daryl was certain. But not Rick… not yet. Daryl was fine with it either way. He didn't mind going off with Rick to dump Randall somewhere, long as the asshole was far enough away that he'd never come back. All Daryl cared about was getting Randall as far away from the group as possible – dead or alive, didn't matter.
The loss of Dale resonated with Daryl in ways he wouldn't have expected. Dale had meant something to the group. He'd thought Daryl was a decent man… the only other person to ever say that to Daryl other than Carol… and then Daryl had to put Dale down himself. Well, he hadn't had to. Rick would've done it, but Rick had put down Sophia for Daryl when all he could think about was stopping Carol from running to her death… Rick had put down Sophia, so Daryl put down Dale.
It seemed to Daryl that no matter how much Rick planned for something, the plans always seemed to find a hitch. Dump Randall, plan number one – fell through. Kill Randall, nope, not going to happen. Dump Randall, plan number two – fucker just up and disappears. Go figure. Daryl wasn't really that surprised, and he smelled something funky in Shane's story, but there hadn't been time to waste. If there was even the slightest chance that Randall was out in those woods and alive, there was a chance Randall could find his group and break hell loose on the farm.
Daryl had caught Carol's eye when she'd yelled out that they shouldn't go, that they didn't know what was out there. She had looked panicked, worried… but about what? About him? About Rick? Shane? Glenn? They still hadn't said more than two words to each other since that night out by his campfire. He could tell from her glances and her fleeting touches when she passed him a plate of food at mealtime that she wanted to talk, she wanted to kiss and make up or something. Not that they'd ever kissed in the first place. Furthest thing from Daryl's mind… well, maybe not the furthest but he forced himself to bury it deeper at the thought of it now.
It hadn't taken long for Daryl and Glenn to find Randall – walker Randall that was. Daryl figured out pretty quick what had happened, but he kept most of it to himself, let Glenn draw his own conclusions. Daryl was sure that Shane had killed Randall, it was obvious from the broken neck, no blood on Randall at all, but somehow there was blood on a tree. And blood on Shane. Didn't take a rocket scientist to realize Shane killed Randall and bashed his own face into the tree to make it look like Randall got the jump on him.
Randall turning though, that was something else. It opened up the room to possibilities Daryl didn't want to consider. Were they all already infected? Was it something in the air, in the water, in the food? And all they had to do was die to unleash it?
There wasn't much time to consider what it could be, what it all meant. As soon as they were back at the farm, everything went to hell real fast. Walkers, geeks, roamers, fuckin everywhere. And Hershel wanted to go down with the ship… er… farm. Daryl was fine with that. Grab his bow, his gun, all his shit's by the bike anyway, and fuckin' go… killing walkers the whole time.
He cast a quick glance at Carol as he got on the bike, watched her go with Lori and he was confident she'd be okay. He'd see her once they were off the farm and things quieted down.
He waited for the others, only a few more bullets left in his gun, waited at the edge of the farm until he heard the scream. Daryl had known instantly it was Carol… he had to get to her. He popped the clutch and he was off… he had to find Carol.
She was running, awkwardly, clumsily, exhaustedly, and he spun the wheels in front of her in a clear path for her to get on.
"I ain't got all day," he mumbled as she got on, but he wasn't quick enough. The tires didn't have a good hold on the gravel and they spun, giving just enough time for the walkers to swarm. He felt Carol's arms tighten around his waist and heard her scream, he fired the gun once, twice, and then the tires caught hold and the bike went shooting off and away from the threat.
She was trembling against him in the darkness as the bike vibrated forward. He kept his focus on the road, on putting distance between them and the farm. He'd check on her after, as soon as they were safe. They made it a little more than a mile before he heard her choke out in his ear, "I need you to stop, Daryl… I need you to stop."
He braked but even before the bike had fully stopped, she was half-off, leaning over and vomiting on the road.
"The fuck…," he growled, jumping off the bike and away from the spray of vomit.
He went around the front of the bike and over to her as she sat up again on the back of the seat, wiping her mouth. Her eyes were glassy and her cheeks were pale and wet. That's when he saw the blood-stains on her shirt, the way her shirt was torn open on the shoulder, the thick red blood dripping out and coagulating around a vicious wound that looked just like a bite mark.
"Oh shit, Carol," he said, "yer bit…" The words left his mouth and all other sounds seemed to die around him.
Carol got off the bike weakly, turned her head and used her hand to move the torn fabric of her shirt so she could see. "Yea, Daryl… I'm bit." She looked at him, smiled a defeated half-smile at him and shook her head sadly.
A million emotions flooded Daryl. Carol was bit. He watched Carol take a few steps off to the side of the road and she sat down on the grass there, kept her feet on the ground, knees bent and put her head in her hands. Then she looked at him, saw the look on his face and said, "It's going to be okay, Daryl… it's alright."
"It ain't a'right," Daryl snapped angrily. "None of this is a'right!" He spun on his heel, paced a few steps up the road and then spun back, moving back to her, crouching down on the road in front of where she sat. He crouched there, a foot away from her, but unable to look up at her. Instead, he stared down at the road, fighting the feeling of helplessness that had fallen over him.
"Daryl…," Carol said, putting her hand on his arm.
He looked up at her, met her eyes. "I shouldn't-a yelled at ya… the other night… it wasn't yer fault what happened to yer lil' girl."
Carol smiled at him, her eyes shining in the moonlight. "Sophia," she said even though she knew he knew her daughter's name, "I never really got to thank you, you know… you did more for her than… well, you know. You kept looking after everyone else gave up. You truly cared, Daryl. You were so wonderful to do that, to keep looking, to care…" She paused, hissed slightly and touched her shoulder.
"Ya okay?," Daryl asked, instantly hating himself for the words. Of course she's not okay… she's bit, she's going to turn, she's going to die. Carol is going to die. The words hit him like a ton of bricks… like a semi-truck going eighty down an open road. Carol is going to die.
"It hurts," Carol said softly, looking back up at him.
"I'm sorry," Daryl said.
Carol shook her head. "Don't be sorry, Daryl. You've nothing to be sorry for…"
"I didn't protect ya," Daryl said gruffly, looking down.
"Hey," Carol said, moving her hand to his chin, letting her fingers trace his jaw line as he tilted his head back up to meet her eyes. "You've done more for me than anyone. You're my hero, Daryl… my white knight… in shining… I don't know, sleeveless shirt?" She giggled softly at that and Daryl smirked despite the emotions that were ravaging him inside and out.
"Don't know what yer talkin' bout, woman," Daryl said.
"I'm going to miss you, Daryl. I should feel okay about this. I mean, I get to go now, I get to see Sophia, and Jacqui, maybe even Jim… not Ed though, Ed won't be there, thank God. But I'm going to miss you." Carol's voice was quiet as she spoke, the words rambling out and her face was paler than before, red staining her mouth as she spoke. Her fingers still on his face were hot, feverish to the touch.
Daryl felt his eyes water, swallowed the lump in his throat and forced himself to blink the wetness away. "Ya mean a lot to me, Carol… I know I'm not one to say it, not even one to show it. I pushed ya away when… when that's not what I really wanted…"
"What did you want?," Carol asked then, interrupting him.
He averted his gaze for a moment and then brought it back to meet her eyes. "Well," he cleared his throat, "you… I wanted you." He said the words so quietly they were practically under his breath, his usual southern lilt all but unrecognizable in the softness of his tone, any quieter and she wouldn't have heard them.
Her smile was wide, her teeth pinkish from the blood. Daryl averted his eyes again, shifted uncomfortably as he crouched there. Carol moved the hand that was still hovering at his jaw line to the back of his neck, twined her fingers into his hair and pulled him forward, crushing her lips against his.
It was unexpected to him, to suddenly be kissing Carol. But her lips were hot and hungry on his and he responded accordingly, moving his tongue into her eagerly awaiting mouth and letting it dance with her own. He pulled his lips off of hers hesitantly, reluctantly, and she sucked his bottom lip for a moment before raking her teeth against it softly. He groaned at the feeling and kissed her hard again.
He was breathless when she pulled away and whispered softly, "I wanted you too, Daryl, oh God, you can't even imagine how I've wanted you." Her voice was strained as she spoke and he could see the pain in her eyes.
"I don't want ya to go," Daryl said suddenly, wiping a tear away that escaped Carol's eye with his thumb. He left his hand there, his thumb softly grazing her cheek, and his hand cupping the side of her face and head, feeling the softness of her short hair on his fingers and palm.
Carol choked a sob back and smiled at him, "and I don't want to go, but I have to, Daryl. And you can't let me turn… you have to end it before I turn."
Daryl shook his head, a sudden and unexpected tear rolling down his face. "I'm not sure I can…"
Carol nodded, "you can, you can… promise me."
He leaned forward, still cupping her face, she tilted her head forward slightly and their foreheads touched, their eyes still locked on each other. She squeezed his free hand in between her own.
"Promise me, Daryl," Carol said softly, her eyes getting heavy and her voice hoarse and grim as she spoke. She was weak, he could hear it… she was going; he could feel it in his heart.
He kissed her gently on the lips and removed his hand from hers, wrapping it around her and scooting forward to sit down on the grass with her so that he could face her and wrap her up into him. She smiled as he held her, he could feel her head was heavy in the palm of his other hand now, her eyes glistening but somehow still peaceful, no fear, no pain. He cleared his throat, and nodded, unable to speak the words, to actually give voice to the promise he didn't want to make but knew he would.
"I love you, Daryl… I know we haven't known each other long, but I do, I really do. Don't forget that," Carol said under a rasping breath.
Daryl blinked, shook his head at her. "I won't forget, woman… I love ya too," he said huskily.
Carol grinned widely again, one last time, her eyes sparkling up at him as he held her and then he felt her exhale a final breath before the light disappeared from within her and she died in his arms.
Daryl laid her body down gently on the grass and rose to stand. He wiped his face hastily with the back of his hand, felt the salty wetness of his tears and huffed out a ragged breath. He'd made a promise, and he'd keep it. He pulled out his gun, checked to see that he had one round left, knelt to the ground beside Carol and aimed, the gun inches from her head. He couldn't watch, closed his eyes in the darkness, felt his hand tremble as he pointed the gun, as his finger tightened on the trigger.
Into the silence that surrounded him, he whispered, "I love you," as he pulled the trigger, felt the gun buck at the bullet's release, and heard the heartbreaking, gut-wrenching sound of the gunshot echo around him, through him, and within him.