AN: Written for mikymowse on tumblr for the Caryl Secret Santa 2015 gift exchange. Thank you to Meeshie for beta'ing this and talking me off the ledge in the wee hours of the deadline!

Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.

"When we were out by the car...what if I didn't show up?"

"I still don't know."

He exhaled slowly, his heart thumping away in wild beats of anxiety and adrenaline. His skin felt hot and his blood was like raw electricity swimming through his veins. Just one minute. That's all he needed to try and process what was happening. From the moment he'd left the church, following her through the darkness, his heart had been hammering away inside his chest. Afraid he'd lost her once more.

Then the car with the cross. The chase. Sneaking through the haunted, deserted streets of Atlanta. The barest skeletons of a once thriving metropolis laid barren, left for nature to reclaim what once was hers. Grass growing through the cracks in the asphalt. Refuse skittering through alleys, blown about by the occasional burst of hot, humid air. Civilization at a standstill while they had to run for their lives. They always ran.

It never stopped.

But now...now he could pause, take a breath. Think.

Except all he could think was how many times he'd come close to losing her. To her being gone...just like the rest of them. Like his mom. Like Beth.

"Would you have just left us?"

He stared down at his hands, hearing the tremor in his voice and hating it, but not able to do anything about it. Not much scared him in this life, save being eaten by cannibals, but the thought of losing her terrified the shit out of him.

"You guys may be better off without me. I'm a killer, remember?"

He just barely heard the notes of bitterness, resentment, loneliness...insecurity lacing her tone. It tore at him, the helplessness to do anything to take back what Rick had done to her. The absolute impotence he felt in the face of trying to help her heal.

Hell, he was still fucked up himself. He glanced at the book lying on the desk. What did he know about helping anyone through any of their own shit, when he didn't have the first clue how to help himself?

"We need you." Daryl swallowed, desperate to find something to say to convince her. "You've earned your place," he said, echoing a similar conversation that seemed lifetimes away.

Carol just stared up at the underside of the bunk, and if he didn't know her as well as he knew her, he'd think she was unaffected, unmoved by his words.

But he knew her.

"You don't know what I've done."

She sounded so defeated. He hated that more than anything. That wasn't who she was. She wasn't that woman anymore. She was a fighter.

"Don't matter. I know you." Daryl scoffed, matter of factly spitting out the words he knew to be true. All the way to his marrow, if there was one thing he was sure of, it was that he knew her.

He reclined back on the pillow next to her, shouldering over till there was a breath's space between them and he could feel the warmth of her body seeping into his own. They stared up at the bunk together, but he didn't say anything else. He would wait her out.

The silence was heavy, but not uncomfortable. Their breathing slowed and their hearts beat slower, syncing up in each other's presence.

When she did speak her voice broke, swallowed tears thickening each syllable.

"Do you think I'm going to hell? For what I did?"

She couldn't have surprised him more than with that question.

"I don't think there is such a thing. If there is, I'm pretty sure we're already there. But no, not you."

"I think I am," Carol said, barely holding onto her composure. "I don't know if there's a heaven or hell anymore. I don't know what I believe. I want to believe there's a heaven. That...Sophia's there…"

He inhaled sharply. That was a punch to the gut, but he should have seen it coming. Just hearing that name had so much impact on them both.

"...but then, that means there's a hell, too, right?"

Daryl shrugged his shoulders. He never got into all this religious shit. As far as he was concerned it never did help anyone. But he respected Hershel, and he respected Carol, and their beliefs. And honestly, yeah, he did hope if there was a heaven, that Sophia was there. That maybe Lori was watching over her, like Carol watched over Judith.

"And if there is, then, I'm never going to see my baby again."

There it was.

And he had no idea what to say to her. No clue what to do for her.

He couldn't fix her. He couldn't heal her.

She always knew just what to say to him to bring him back around, to clear his head. To make him see his worth, and let him know his value. And here he was floundering around like a fish in the water, in way over his head.

"Look, we've all done things we ain't proud of, but we're still here. Still standin', still fightin'. We do what we gotta do." He didn't know what else he could say, how else he could make her see.

"I don't know how to help you like you always done for me. You know what to do, what to say. I don't. You gotta tell me," he pleaded with her. "What can I do?"

"I don't know…"

Her words were hushed, confused, and heavy. Like they carried the weight of a thousand suns in them.

He reached his hand down to find hers and gave it a gentle squeeze, to let her know he wasn't going anywhere. He'd be here for her. He was tryin'. It was all he knew to do for her.

His touch broke the dam holding back her tears and even though her soft, broken sobs were barely audible, he felt the mattress shuddering with each quake of her shoulders. When he turned his head, he could see the shiny trails of tears overflowing the corner of her eyes, dripping down her temples and into her ears, and dampening the pillowcase beneath her. Darkened splotches staining the cloth.

He turned to his side facing her, grabbing his handkerchief from his back pocket, and ever so gently reached up to wipe the tears from her face. She let him, reaching up with her own hand to cover his. She held his hand to her cheek, and he hoped it felt as comforting to her as it did for him. The soothing touch of another, the smallest show of affection, it was a balm to burning and ragged souls.

He could do this. He could be here for her. He could support her. He could hold her up. After all, she'd done the same for him, many times over.

He thought back to that day in Hershel's barn, when she'd come looking for him, trying to keep him from going out to look for Sophia. What she'd said about not being able to lose him.

He looked down at her streaked face, her eyes closed, eyelashes clumped together with tears, and he thought she was right. Except now it was his own truth as well.

He couldn't lose her, either.