A/N. I have always been greatly fascinated by the relationship of Daryl, and Carol. They have never had a real "Romantic" moment (kissing, hugging etc.) though a wide range of fans love, and support "Caryl." I myself love the two as actors Daryl (Norman Reedus,) and Carol (Melissa McBride) so their scenes together for me are greatly anticipated. Do I see Carol, and Daryl having a close romantic relationship? Not anytime soon. But I would love to see their relationship begin going towards that. So in honor of the amazingly complicated friendship of Daryl, and Carol. I made this one shot displaying how these two people understand each other, and really mean something to one another.
Special thanks to my amazing editor: Maddy, who also has a fanfiction page under as EaglesLoveSnakes, she has some great Draco, Hermione stories, and not only is one of my close friends, but is a amazingly talented writer. So BIG thanks to her!
PS. The song lyrics are "What Hurts the Most," by Rascal Flatts. It's a really great song, and Rascal has some great music.
I do NOT own anything that has to do with Rascal Flatts, or the Walking Dead!
Daryl Dixon, the crossbow wielding, motorcycle riding, bad ass was the toughest man she ever knew. To everyone he was a machine, a rock, he kept the group grounded, and safe. He was tough, strong, and was emotionally stable. He was the only one who hadn't broken down, who hadn't showed self pity.
She always admired that in him. She wished she was more like him, or maybe she wished Ed was more like that. More like a real husband, and a real father. She had only known Daryl for a short while, but in that time he was more of a father to Sophia then Ed had ever been.
She always contemplated why, why he searched for her lost little girl so much. She had theories to why he did so. It was soon confirmed when she saw the scars on his bare back; when she was taking him his supper as he recovered from the arrow wound, and gun shot delivered to him by Andrea. She wanted to hug him close in a mothering way, and tell him that she knew his pain, and his abuse. But when he pulled the tan sheet over the scars and wouldn't make eye contact with her, she knew that he was self-conscious about them, and always wanted to hide them.
The scene broke her heart; a shattered Daryl lying on the bed, wounded and exposed. It made her sad to see the man that everyone looked to for strength, and to do the hard things, hurt. Though everyone saw him as his brother, just another rough around the edges red-neck who would shoot you dead just for pure enjoyment. But to Carol she saw him as a hurt, abused, man who learned at a young age that 'emotions make you weak.' She knew the feeling of being a punching bag, and of being scared of getting hit on a daily basis.
Wanting him to see that she was thankful for everything he did for her, and her baby girl, and to know that he was a good man with purpose. She leaned down and kissed his head lightly . He flinched, expecting a slap or punch. This made her want to embrace him more, but she stifled herself. But with every compliment, and thanks she gave him made him sink deeper, and deeper under the tan sheet.
Though it might have not appeared to either of them but in that moment, that small time they shared in that room in that old farm house, they both wanted the same thing, to hold someone, though they both might not have done it, or known how to do it properly. They wanted it, they wanted the other in their arms.
Daryl wanted someone to hold him, to place their hand on his scars, and not look at them as weakness, or as something pitiful. But most of all he wanted Carol to place her head on his chest while they hugged, just once, and never again would he want it. But he knew who he was he knew it would never happen.
He shut out the thought of a compassionate hug from a person who understood him, just like he always did. But when she kept thanking him, his want for a hug grew deeper, he had to stop this, he had to make her stop being so nice, "I didn't do anything Rick, or Shane wouldn'ta done," he mumbled in a deep southern twang.
"I know, you're every bit as good as them, every bit," she muttered as she left the room.
The words still ringing in his ears, he wondered if she really meant it. He laid there for a half hour thinking about the group, and if he even fit in.
He thought of what his brother told him, 'You ain't nothin' but a freak to them.' Daryl knew that his brother hadn't really been there with him in that river, it was all just a hallucination due to blood loss. The things his brother had told him in the vision were things that Daryl had thought of all on his own.
He knew everyone looked to him as a meth-ed out, hick. He knew they only kept him around for their own gain. They kept him because he could hunt, track, and kill. He was a machine to them, an asset.
For the first time, someone had thanked him for something he did, told him he was important, and not just some red-neck they kept for security or food. But that he was wanted in the group, and that he was a good man. Was he supposed to feel happiness, and relief that he was wanted?
Daryl didn't know how to feel. He felt like he had some importance. But his confusion turned to rage; why was she telling him this? It made him weak, and vulnerable. Was she acting like this to mock him, and to make herself feel superior?
He hated that she made him feel like this, he turned to his plate as hunger took over him. He began eating with his hands and wiping his greasy fingers on the sheets as he chewed the ham. But he still thought of what she said. He hated that she got into his head.
Daryl took a sip of the pink lemonade, grimacing at the overly sweet flavor. He reached for his jacket that lay on the wooden bed post. Pain shot through his body as he obtained his jacket, he pulled the old flask from the pocket, opened the lid, and dumped a few ounces of Jack Daniels into the lemonade.
Liquor was hard to find in this hell hole, but he knew where to look. His flask was almost empty but he needed a bit of the liquid to make him forget the pain. Finishing his supper he set the plate on the side table and finished his spiked lemonade.
Closing his eyes, he drifted off the sleep as a mixture of whiskey, pain medication, and exhaustion took over his body. Though the last thought he had was of how secure he would have felt if she had only hugged him.
Daryl carried his anger, and rage for a while after this meeting. He sat thinking of what she had told him, though it wasn't like he had better things to do. He laid in his tent on his cot, poking wholes in the mesh with his final arrow that was now stained with his own blood. Andrea entered his tent apologizing for what she did. 'What was up with these people?' Daryl thought. All they ever did was complain and bitch, though he just blew it off like always. He was mad that she disobeyed everyone and went against the whole group. But he knew that staying bitter about it, would be no help at all.
"Next time you shoot me, you best pray I am dead," she smiled as he threatened and left his tent. He examined the book she gave him once more. Not intrigued, he set it down beside him. Reaching down he grabbed a book from the stack beside him, most of which he took from Hershel's house. He opened the one he took with the words "The Holy Bible," written on the cover. He wasn't much of a Godly man, but he thought it might pass the time. He flipped through the pages, reading line after line, and trying to decide what they all meant.
After twenty minutes of skipping pages, he came to the book in the Bible called Zechariah. Like every book before this, he would read the first few paragraphs then get bored and put it down. But not this book, he read for a while until he came to its fourteenth verse, twelfth line.
"And this shall be the plague with which the Lord will strike all the peoples that wage war against Jerusalem: their flesh will rot while they are still standing on their feet, their eyes will rot in their sockets, and their tongues will rot in their mouths." He read aloud again.
"Zechariah 14:12," Carol muttered as she showed up in the tents opening. She was surprised to see him reading the Bible, and Daryl was just as surprised to see her.
"Can'ta man get any damn privacy round this place, good Lord." Daryl proclaimed, shutting the Bible and placing it on the floor.
"I was bringing you some water," She said as she handed him the glass, "I find it funny, by how the Bible seems to make sense of everything."
"Yeah, it's all shits, and giggles, ain't it," he said. "Why is it then that through this time that your Lord, ain't here?"
"It isn't for me to know, Daryl," she muttered. He flinched when she said his name. "Want me to leave you to read?"
He shrugged as she lifted up the Bible. "Look up, Proverbs 24:16," she muttered as he handed him the book. She smiled and left the tent, leaving Daryl and the good book alone.
He sat for a minute then flipped through the pages attempting to find the verse. "Damn book is too big," he muttered under his breath. Finally achieving the verse, he read it quietly to himself. "For a just man falleth seven times, and riseth up again: but the wicked shall fall into mischief." 'What was she trying to say to him?' he thought. 'That he has fallen?
Anger filled him as he contemplated the options. The damn women was trying to get inside his head! Or was she trying to say that though he is injured and useless at the time, that he must rise again and continue? That even though he has lost the last piece of family that he had left that he should continue and carry on.
He laid there thinking of the possibilities, but a thought kept entering his mind, he knew he should be looking for Sophia, but no one would let him leave. Let alone make new arrows. These people weren't the boss of him, if he wanted to go look for Sophia, that is what he was going to do. If he wanted to go make some arrows then he was going to do it. He tried to sit up but a sharp pain shot through his side. He laid back down out of breath trying to recover from the failed attempt of getting to his feet.
A sweet humming filled his ears as he looked out the mesh to see Carol cooking supper over the fire as everyone else had left, except for Dale who sat on the top of the RV like always.
She sang a soft song that made him wonder who it was directed towards, "I'm not afraid to cry every once in a while even though, Goin' on with you gone still upsets me, There are days every now and again I pretend I'm okay, But that's not what gets me." He assumed it was about Sophia, until she sang the second verse, "What hurts the most, Was being so close, And havin' so much to say, And watchin' you walk away."
He had heard the song once or twice on the radio before the world went to crap.
He turned and lifted up his saddlebag and pulled out a small leather bound journal. He opened it to see his drawings all over the began scribbling a photo of Carol leaning over the fire.
Carol turned to see Daryl writing something into a small book, she had seen him many times writing in that journal, and she was curious to what he wrote in it. Her curiosity took her over, and she tip-toed over to the opening flap of the tent.
Daryl turned to get another look at Carol for his drawing, and noticed that she was gone. Realizing he had to finish it by memory, he grunted.
"What are you drawing, Daryl?" she asked from the opening.
Daryl jumped when he saw her and shook his head, "Nothing." He shut the book and shoved it under his pillow.
"Can I see it?" She asked as Daryl shook his head. "Why not?"
"Because it is non of ya damn business."
"It must be about me then."
"What would make ya think that? It ain't about you," Daryl said nervously trying to hide any bit of suspicion.
"Then let me see it." She entered the tent and reached under his pillow. Daryl grabbed her arm in a tight grip, took the book from under his pillow and hugged the book to his chest. "Daryl, what do you have to hide?"
"It ain't your business what's in it!" he yelled as he tightened his grip on her small fragile arm.
"Daryl, let go, you're hurting my arm," she ordered as she ripped her arm from his grip and held her red wrist.
"I didn't mean to..." He started but couldn't find the words, He held out the book to her, and turned over so he didn't see her. "Leave me be."
Carol left the tent with the small book pressed against her chest, and walked over to the a stump and sat down. She ran her hand over the binding and opened up the front cover, in big letters on the from page it said, "Property of Daryl Dixon. Read this and I will beat your ass." She smiled, and turned the page. On the page she saw a drawing of a sparrow, then a drawing of a squirrel on the second, and other various perfectly drawn nature sketches on the next twenty pages.
The next ten sketches were of rotting walkers and a burning Atlanta. She examined each page to great extent, admiring each breathtaking sketches. The next image was of Jaqui sitting beside T-Dog as they held hands, then the next of Glenn and Dale laughing.
The sketches captured various events; Merle's bloody hand sitting on the roof of the department store; Andrea holding a dead Amy; Dr. Jenner explaining the end of the world. Then she gasped loudly as a sketch of her swinging the pick-ax into Ed's head. Then the next one was of Sophia sitting beside Carol, at the CDC eating dinner.
Tears filled Carol's eyes, she looked at many other sketches many of the group, and just as many of her. Each photo of her small Sophia made her heart ache. Then she came to the last one, a unfinished sketch of her cooking supper that took place just seconds before. She turned to see Daryl looking at her over his shoulder as he lay on his cot, then turning back.
She closed the book and went to return it to its rightful owner. Entering the tent she cleared her throat, Daryl turned and saw her in the doorway, "You here to rip out ma stitches?" he asked.
She sat on his cot beside his hip, "Sit up," she ordered. He sat up with a painful grimace, "Let me look at your stitches," Daryl slowly and cautiously unbuttoned his shirt letting her look at his wounds. She lightly moved her hand over his muscular torso, trying not to hurt him.
He tried his best to cover up his scars, feeling self-conscious about them. He stared at her with big blue eyes, and a expression belonging to that of a small scared child. She grabbed the shirt and slowly began to remove it so she could get a better look at the wound, "Watch it," he gasped. Then he took a deep painful breathe as she set the shirt over her knee.
"You are really gifted," she said, referring to his drawings. He looked out the mesh window trying not to make eye contact with her, "You are a jack of many trades, Daryl Dixon." She moved his messed up hair lightly and ran her fingers over the gash on his head. He flinched and moved back as she attempted to look at it again, she placed her hand on the back of his hand in a motherly way.
Moving her hand to his cheek, she looked into his blue eyes, he surprisingly kept her gaze, "Daryl, you don't know how much of a wonderful person you are. No matter what anyone tells you, you are a good man, Daryl Dixon, you are a good man." She wrapped her arms around his bare torso, and brought her head under his chin.
Flinching, at first, Daryl sat there for a minute unsure of what to do. His didn't feel pain for once. Wrapping his arms around her awkwardly he pulled her in closer. It was so foreign for him, a human being hugging him, it was real passionate human contact. But he felt so strange, and unsure of what to do. Though a small smile appeared on his chapped lips as he closed his eyes. It was everything he ever thought a real hug would be like, and some.
Carol's hands moved slightly on his back, feeling every scar he had, but they didn't matter, Carol didn't care that she was touching them, or that she was lying against his scarred chest. Her light touch gave him shivers, as her cold hands made small circular rubs on his back in a loving way. He could feel her warmth, and her compassion, she did this not out of pity, or loneliness, she did this because she cared.
Carol felt it to, she felt him wrap his arms around her, and she knew that he didn't mind hugging her. She could feel each scar on his back, but the thought slipped away, as safety, and security filled her. She was safe with him, she had a friend now, a real friend. Though they didn't have to say it, they both knew. But they also knew that this would most likely never happen again. And both accepted it.
She pulled away from him slowly, and stood up, and kissed his forehead. "Get some rest." She turned to leave the tent.
"Carol," He called as she turned to him, he wanted to thank her for hugging him which no one else had ever done other then his mother, and for not judging him, but he couldn't find the words, "Thank...," he began. "Close the flag behind ya," he said as she nodded and shut the flap. "Thank you, Carol," he muttered silently to himself once she was gone.
She heard him through the mesh and smiled, "You're welcome Daryl," she mumbled under her breath.
A/N. After this happens I know Daryl, and Carol get in a confrontation in the barn, but I feel Daryl did that because of what she told him about giving up on Sophia.
I hope you enjoyed! Thank you for reading you guys are the best! Please leave reviews 3