EM: This was written, as a request, for Georgia from Confessions-of-TWD on Tumblr. You didn't give me specifics, so I took things into my own hands, and went to my own places. I hope it doesn't disappoint you! I've got this taking place in the winter between season 2 and 3.

Disclaimer: TWD belongs to Robert Kirkman and AMC. Not even the idea that formed this beautiful little project is mine.

Summary: Daryl and Carol are stuck. Stuck in a salvage yard, stuck surrounded by walkers, and stuck with each other. So they wait. Wait for the danger to pass.

Warning: Violence

Salvage our Revelations

|Dusk|

If she didn't know any better, she'd say this was her punishment for not looking for Sophia. Trapped in a car, surrounded by walkers. No hope of ever getting out, alive. She should have looked for her baby. She should have done something more.

Praying had gotten her nowhere.

God had gotten her nowhere.

And now look where they were. Stuck in a junkyard full of cars, none of which would do them any good, surrounded by dead that walked around and wanted to eat them.

And she still couldn't do anything about it.

She buried her face in her hands.

She couldn't cry. There weren't any more tears left in her at this point. But she was tired of feeling so useless.

"Hey," the voice to her left called. She felt a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently.

"We're getting outta here," he said with feeling, "alive." She looked up and into his face, weathered from a life that he didn't deserve. His soft blue eyes told her he believed that.

She couldn't help the feeling that rose in her.

The feeling of hope.

She reached up and laid her hand over his, gripping his fingers tight.

She didn't say anything as she laid her head against their clasped hands and sighed softly.

|Before|

He couldn't believe his damn, stupid luck.

"Daryl."

Or no luck at all.

"Dammit, woman, shut up." She wouldn't stop saying his damn name. Like it was gonna fix the problem or somethin'.

"You blind or what?" He whispered, looking back at her. She was huddled in close to his back, her face withdrawn. She pulled her raggedy sweater closer to her body and pinched her lips together, eyes flicking from him to the herd that was steadily closing in on them.

He supposed they were lucky enough to have found the salvage yard as it seemed to be deterring the walkers somewhat. He still didn't know what the hell they were going to do.

The herd was large, larger than they had seen in some time. He figured maybe fifty or some geeks, and as his luck would have, they were all headed in their direction. He couldn't say what had drawn their attention, but it didn't matter. All he knew was that it had separated them from the rest of the group and now he was stuck with her.

"Daryl." A growl worked its way up the back of his throat. He turned on her this time, thinking to shut her up again, when he saw the look on her face. She pointed in the direction of a rusted red Bronco that had its wheels intact, and windows that were completely covered in grime.

The driver's side door was hanging wide open. Why the hell didn't I see that?

"Shit," he muttered under his breath. He looked back at her, calculating how they could get to the pick-up without alerting the on-coming herd.

"Why didn't you say somethin' before?"

Her eyebrows shot up, and her mouth popped open just a little.

"What the hell do you think I've been trying to do, Daryl?" He could swear that if she could, her hands would have been propped on her hips. Never mind, he couldn't believe that she had just sworn.

"Never mind. How do you propose we get there?" Did he just see her almost smile? He shook his head slightly, and looked out at the salvage before him. Shit, if he didn't know any better, he'd have thought somebody was out to get him today.

Five cars stood in their way. The first was an old sixties Chevy sports van. Stupid looking car. Course, now it probably would have been perfect for them to travel in. Except it was missing the front right wheel and the engine was gone.

The second was a little VW bug, powder blue. Probably from the seventies. The doors were gone and the tires were flat. He could see a body lying in the back seat.

The third and fourth were Mercedes, one a convertible. The hood stood propped open on the convertible, its parts spilling out all over the ground, and scattered about its cousin. Someone must have been trying to fix up the old Benz and get out of here.

Poor choice of car, shit-for-brains.

The fifth was a Ford pickup, coal-black. The cabin had been smashed clean in.

Too bad.

And there stood the red Bronco, waiting with its driver's door open. He couldn't believe how good it looked. And it was just waiting for them.

"We only got one chance to do this right, you hear me?" He didn't look back to see if she understood the situation. He slung his crossbow across his back, and pulled the knife from his waist, letting the weight settle in his hand. He wasn't even going to bother with his guns. The less attention he drew to them, the better they were off.

"Take hold of my shirt, and don't let go." He heard the intake of breath.

"What?" He glanced back at her briefly.

"Dammit, Carol, I ain't got time to be chasing after you. Ain't got time to be saving you." Her face looked slightly shocked, a little embarrassed, eyes wide.

"Oh," she said softly. The silence that followed made him feel a little guilty.

But the walkers were closing in, and they needed to go, now. He shook off the guilt.

"We gotta go, now," he said in a sharp whisper. He felt her hand grasp the tail end of his shirt tightly, as his breath hitched a little, and then he took off.

Once he rounded their car of safety it was like walking into a room where everybody was talking about you. The closest walkers took notice immediately and turned for them, ambling in their direction, bumbling around the cars and junk chaotically. He came up on the Chevy first and used its bulky frame to hide them behind. He could see three sets of feet coming toward them. The closest came from behind. He maneuvered around Carol, her hand never letting go, and he thrust the knife up through the walkers chin before it even had a chance to start up its moanin' and groanin'. Blood wormed down his arm, cold and viscous. He waited for the other to follow and knifed it through the head. He swiveled quickly and advanced on the walker coming from the other end, and he felt a ping of pride that Carol never once made any noise of fear or had let go of him.

The walker rounded the front of the van and a moan slipped from its throat. Daryl jerked forward, Carol's hand slipping from his shirt, and he cut its throat, blood squirting all over his shirt. The smell caught him for a moment, the fresh stench of dead walker suddenly all over him.

He reached around, quickly searching for Carol, a thread of panic starting to work its way through him. His hand stretched out and then he felt hers slip quickly into his.

The feel of her hand, slightly calloused but small enough for him to enclose within his, made him freeze.

|Dusk|

"Daryl," Carol said softly, lifting her head from her shoulder, her eyes searching his face in the fading light. His hand fell from her shoulder, and he made a shushing gesture, pointing outside the car. She looked and watched the outline of a walker through the grime, bumble around the car. It stopped near Daryl's side, head cocking to the side.

Carol's heart started to race as the walker made its way to the door, face searching for something.

"Quiet," Daryl whispered. The walker shuffled along the hood of the car, as if trying to peer inside.

"We should move to the back," she whispered back to him. It felt like her heart wanted to jump out of her chest.

Daryl didn't move. Just watched, waited, as the walker moved. "Daryl," she said, again. He turned to her this time, his face impassive in the fading light of the sun. The sunset was to her back, through the passenger window, the only one that hadn't been covered in grime.

He held his crossbow, tight in his hands, and the wound glared at her in the light. She hated herself, for what she had done to him.

He nodded to the back, telling her to go ahead. She lifted her bag to the back, and then pulled herself through. She could see that someone had ripped up the seat that had been in the back. Now it was empty except for some trash and a box of tools.

But Daryl didn't follow her.

|Before|

What the fu-

"Daryl, go!" Carol whispered fiercely behind him, squeezing his hand so hard, pushing his back with her other one.

He grit his teeth and pulled her along harshly. They rounded the Chevy, ran past the bug, where he stopped, crouching low behind the open hood of the Mercedes. He could feel Carol's hand, shaking slightly in his.

They needed to get inside the Bronco.

He leaned out, and spotted four walkers between their position and the Bronco. The rest of the herd was scattered about, milling around. It seemed the walkers further out hadn't noticed them yet, which was a good thing, he wasn't complaining.

He smelled something awful too, so maybe the walker stink on him was keeping them averted.

But that still left the four near the Bronco to take care of. He turned to Carol. She was watching those four walkers, watching the herd and never did she let go of Daryl. He pulled his hand from hers.

"Look." Her face withdrew a little, at the loss of his hand or his curt dismissal of it, he didn't know. "I'll take'em out." Her eyes widened slightly.

"But-" She made to protest but he held up a hand to stop her. "You make your way to that truck, and you do it quick." She pursed her lips together.

"You got that? You don't stop for nothing." Her brows drew together, thinking. "Not even me." She looked down at the ground, her fingers playing with the hem of her sweater. He watched her chest rise as she took a heavy breath.

"Fine," she whispered back, resignedly. She pulled out her own knife and held it tight in her fist. She met his gaze and nodded.

Good girl.

"Move when I do, quickly and low to the ground." He turned and mentally noted where the walkers locations were. A fifth one was slowly making its way toward their area. If he wasn't quick, it would draw the attention of plenty of others. He held his hand up, and signaled for Carol to go. He dipped out behind the Mercedes, and headed for the Ford, body low to the ground. He didn't know how Carol would be but he couldn't take the chance to guide her.

He approached the first walker and gripped it round the head, twisting hard. He slowed its fall to the ground and took off around the back of the truck toward the second walker, the one closest to the main part of the herd. It was still trying to turn around to get to him when he gripped its shoulder and drove the knife into the back of its head. He pulled his knife out and quickly ran for the third walker, taking it down just as swiftly as the previous one. He dove behind a scrapped frame and eyed the last walker.

The walker hadn't taken notice of him yet, but it was directly in the line of the Bronco and where he had been hiding out with Carol. He didn't know where she was, or if she was okay.

That was when he heard the groan of the fifth walker, slowly making its way toward him. He looked up to see the walker not five feet to his right. He waited, not breathing, as the walker slowly passed him. When he was sure it couldn't see him, he took it down, thrusting the knife around and through its eye. He pulled it back toward the metal frame and waited.

Nothing.

He looked up to check on the last walker and froze. It was gone.

He darted for the Bronco, not even bothering to check if the herd had seen him. When he rounded the truck, he saw Carol, sitting on the ground against it, the body of the walker lying on the ground in front of her.

She was staring at it, the knife clutched tightly against her chest. Blood on her hands.

He took a step forward, and she jerked, knife thrusting out towards him.

"Whoa now," he murmured, hands up defensively. The knife was shaking in her hands, her eyes darting between him and the walker.

"Carol," he said, louder, calmly. He knelt in from of her, hands up, his own knife put away.

"Carol," he reached to take the knife from her and she jerked again, catching the edge along the back of his hand.

He sucked in a breath, pulling his hand back. She dropped the knife then, a tiny gasp escaping her, her hands covering her mouth.

Daryl looked over the hood of the truck, searching for walkers. The scent of his blood, now in the air, was like a beacon in the dark. He could see their heads, turning in their direction.

Suddenly her hand was pulling on his wounded one.

"Daryl," she breathed, running her fingers around the wound, gently. She looked up into his face. That look, made his chest constrict.

"Get in the truck." She flinched, her hands pulled tight against her. But she still didn't move.

"Git!" She rose to her feet in a jerk, and scrambled her way into the truck. Daryl watched as she maneuvered over the driver's seat, and across the console. When he was sure she was safely inside, he took off around the heaped cars.

"Daryl!" Her sharp whisper followed him. But he didn't turn. He kept running, as low as he could, and dragging that hand across any surface that he came into contact with.

|Dusk|

"Dar-" He cut her off with a wave of his hand and a grunt. But she wasn't going to stand for it this time. She reached forward and gripped his arm hard, and pulled. He turned on her, brows raised.

"Get back here, right now Daryl Dixon, or so help me," she demanded, squeezing his arm, "I will make this difficult." He scowled at her, and tried to shrug her off. But she wasn't letting go. She wasn't going to let him stay there, and put himself in danger.

She watched him debate whether to fight her on it, or to just crawl into the back with her.

She was relieved when he opted for the latter. He passed her the crossbow and crawled into the back with her. She held the talisman tight in her hands, the feel of it sleek, yet deadly. He sat across from her, snatching it back from her hands.

"I'm sorry," she said softly.

"Would you quit it?" She looked away from him, ashamed.

"Always sayin' sorry. Shit." He gripped the crossbow tight, shaking his head. "What am I supposed to say?" She looked up at him, shocked by his response. She didn't expect him to say anything.

"I don't-"

"You expectin' me to say its okay or something? That everything's gonna be just fine?" His face screwed up, and he tossed the knife down at her feet. She didn't flinch. She could hear his words, echoing in her memories. He had said Sophia was going to be just fine.

"Well it ain't. You thought the world was screwed up before?" He gestured around them, making an arc with his arm. "Well you better think again."

She could see the anger in his eyes, but whether it was pointed at her, she wasn't sure. She sighed and rested her head back.

She hadn't wanted to make him angry.

"I was scared, Daryl." She looked for his eyes in the orange glow of the setting sun, the slash of light now directly highlighting his face. It lit up his blue eyes just so, and she felt her chest ache.

"And I'm tired of being scared." He looked down, breaking her gaze. He fidgeted with the bow.

"I don't want to be a burden anymore." She sat forward on her knees, closing the space between them. His eyes grew wide, and she sensed sudden fear and anxiety from him.

"And don't tell me that I'm not a burden, because I know that I am. I haven't done anything to help keep the group safe, other than mother them." Carol turned away shamed then, thinking of Sophia. "And even then, I couldn't do that right," she whispered, her voice breaking. She hadn't kept her daughter safe, hadn't gone looking for her.

Daryl's hand stretched out to meet one of hers, hesitantly. It shook just a little.

"You wouldn't have known what ta do anyway," he said, she suspected in comfort. But it did nothing to comfort her. Her head dropped.

"It doesn't matter Daryl. I should have gone looking for her. I should have fought every walker in that damn forest looking for her." She looked at his face, eyes wide with unshed tears.

"She was my daughter." Carol watched as Daryl sighed heavily, his body sagging. "But I was afraid." She looked down at the knife beneath her other hand, the weapon heavy and blood-spattered. She picked it up, her left hand gripping Daryl's unconsciously.

"Ed never let me do anything." She studied the knife in the light, the blood already turning black. "It's not an excuse, but…" She inched closer to him, his body in return shifting closer to the truck behind him. "When Sophia was lost, when Rick came back and told me she was gone, I should have run after her. I just didn't know how." She closed her eyes, her heart a lead weight in her chest, and her eyes, dry. "I should have died."

Daryl's hands were gripping her shoulders hard, shaking her. "Shut up," he whispered harshly. "You shut up." She heard his voice catch at the end and she looked up.

"Daryl," she murmured, reaching forward to touch his cheek, his eyes shiny with unshed tears.

"Don't," he forced, turning his face away from her. She pushed forward, between his legs, put the crossbow aside, and ignored his wild-eyed look.

She lay against his chest, one arm looping around his waist. She could hear his heart hammering beneath her ear, and his body was stiff beneath her. She breathed deep, the smell of walker-stink, sweat and earth heavy on him. But it felt right, being there in his arms. She had never felt safer, had never felt more like the world had finally done her something good.

And when his arm finally came up, hesitantly, around her waist, and he breathed a sigh, she couldn't help but bury her face in his filthy shirt, close her eyes and smile a little.

|Night|

"We should go." Carol shifted in his arms, sighing a little. He swallowed hard. Carol, in his arms, was something he had never imagined. She was soft and warm, and he couldn't deny that he liked the feel of her against him. But he didn't like that she had seen him get emotional. That had been a mistake.

He still couldn't decide if the whole thing was a good idea or not.

She looked out the window of the Bronco, most likely searching for Walkers. She looked back at him, her face questioning.

He cleared his throat, and looked away. "Haven't seen any in a while. I saw a way out, when I was leaving a blood trail for the geeks." He nodded South, towards the direction the group had been headed when they had been separated.

"They'll be waiting for us, searching for us. We gotta go if we don't want them thinkin' we're dead." She extracted herself from him, sitting on the opposite side of the Bronco again. He felt like himself again, with her over there. He still couldn't look at her though.

"Right," she said, all quiet-like. She pulled her bag across her shoulders and picked up the knife. She nodded to him, signaling she was ready to go.

Daryl crawled out the front, and gently, quietly opened the passenger door, eyes alert for any walkers. The cold hit him hard, and his breath puffed out in front him, a cloud of white. He could hear Carol coming up behind him, her body pressed close, a beacon of warmth. His body flushed with the remembrance of hers against him.

He stepped out quickly, beckoning her to do the same. Her feet landed with a thud behind him.

He moved quickly, stepping around the junk, and the frames, the vehicles and the bodies of the dead. Carol stayed close, always close.

When he spotted their way out up ahead, he picked up the pace, the absence of the walkers making him wary. He started jogging; the crossbows weight a comfort in his hands.

And then he heard it, Carol's voice breaking through the silence. Daryl turned and stopped. She was hiding behind a car, a walker approaching from their right.

He didn't stop to think, didn't stop to consider what might happen, he just ran, crossbow raised. When he was close enough in the dark, that he was sure of the shot, he took it.

Carol came forth, looking around them. When she found his face again, she smiled a little.

And then her face twisted. "Daryl!"

He turned; bow raised and knocked a Walker in the jaw, the bow falling from his hands. He cursed his shit luck and searched for his knife at his waist, when the walker's hands were on him. He forgot the knife and grappled with it, forcing it to the ground, straddling it.

"Daryl!" He didn't have time to think about Carol, he just started punching it. But when he felt its jaw, its teeth, against his skin, he panicked and jerked back.

Giving the walker the moment it needed to reach forward and grab Daryl by the neck and the hair, its jaw, bloody and snapping, coming far too close for comfort. He pushed it back, and rolled onto his back. When he found purchase he kicked the walker away with his feet, giving himself a moment. He looked around, for anything to use as a weapon. And then he saw the bumper of a car.

He kicked the walker, and it fell, its head not a foot from the bumper. He reached down, slammed the walkers head onto the bumper, blood coating the rusted steel.

And then he drove his boot down on the walkers head, crushing it against the bumper, the crunch of bone echoing out in the silence, blood bursting from the cavity.

He stood there over it, breathing hard, the cold air stinging his lungs. He looked around the ground, looking for his crossbow. He stooped to pick it up, noting the blood on his hands, his or the walkers, he couldn't tell.

Carol.

He stood quickly, looking for her in the dark. She stood a few feet away from him, eyes wide, and body visibly shaking in the dark.

He took a step toward her, hand outstretched. And she stepped back, away from him.

He froze, breath caught in his lungs.

"Carol," he said, tightly, taking a small step forward. She didn't move this time, but she wrapped her arms around herself, caving inward, her face filled with fear. She didn't answer him.

He couldn't approach her. Couldn't do anything to take away that look of fear on her face.

Because he had put it there. Anger boiled up inside him, and he wanted to kick the walker on the ground until there was nothing left but parts and blood and bone.

But he couldn't. He couldn't do that to Carol again.

So he just turned, and walked away, looking back now and again to make sure that she was following.

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A/N: This story does not follow any of my other ones (Don't Forget Me, My Angel in the Dark, All We Are), but please, feel free to go read my other Caryl fics. This was written in response to a request. To be fair, they didn't exactly give me EXACT details. So I went places with it. They did specify curb stomping, which was an odd one for me to include in a fic. I tried my best to fit it right in there.

This is also a One-Shot. It will go no further (possibly...). I can't really see it going anywhere, but I don't know. I see people following the story, like I'm going to continue it, but it's complete folks. There might be a chance that I would continue with it, but...your chances are better off following me! Haha, anyway.

Thank you for being here in this Dead world of mine.