Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead, or any of the characters.

a/n: This is probably going to be a series of Caryl related drabbles. I have numerous half started/odd lines/sayings etc that have popped into my head, written quickly down on a notepad and saved for later use. Hope I can do some justice with these stories.

...

Of Flowers and Ashes (and Everything In-between)

Woodbury Bourbon

Daryl groaned and banded one arm about his head as light filtered thinly into his cell. He lay on his bunk in the same clothing he'd been wearing the night before, and his booted feet stuck off the edge of his bunk. His head ached miserably, and he hadn't even gotten out of bed yet. God damned noisy Woodbury asses, he grumbled to himself. He'd been in biker joints less rowdy.

Cursing, he made his way out of his cell, grabbing his crossbow off the top bunk. He paused in the doorway, eyes narrowing. Glenn had volunteered for his watch shift in the tower, and must have let him sleep in late. As if he didn't know why...must have been yet another hot date with Maggie, Daryl thought glowering.

His boots clanged every step he took down the metal stairs and he winced with every footfall. Fuckin' headache was all he needed now. He thought he'd pass by Hershel's cell, see if the old man had some painkillers, anything to take the edge of this pain burrowing through his forehead with hot knives.

A week ago, Woodbury refugees had come to the prison for sanctuary. Daryl couldn't really blame them. The Governor was one sick sadistic fucker. But...they'd overwhelmed the prison, Daryl couldn't move without tripping over some kid, or old person, and the amount of personal belongings they'd brought with them. Bagpacks, handbags, jackets lay strewn around carelessly, and while normally he didn't care nor minded, there was only a certain amount of human crap and personal debris that he could tolerate. It made him feel claustrophobic.

It had come to a head the other night, when one particularly elderly dear had gripped his arm with steely claws, asking him...well whistling through her false teeth if he could ever so possibly guide her to the ladies powder room. Daryl had fled then, in sheer panic.

They'd been celebrating last night, nothing special, but Hershel had agreed with Rick's idea that they should let their hair down for a while, good for morale and all that crap. Life at the prison had reached a steady even pace. Nothing bad, no shit hitting the proverbial fan. It was good, quiet, but good. Rick was still playing farmer with the old man's help, surprisingly even Carl had swapped his gun for a shovel. Even so, Daryl couldn't relax, couldn't help at the knot in his gut. It felt to him like the quiet before a shit storm. He did runs with Michonne, foraging for supplies, hunting, taking down walkers at the fences, more than his fair share of guard duty in the watchtower...but he never let his guard down fully. Was always on the lookout for signs of anything that would threaten their little community.

He felt like a caged animal. So, when Rick had turned up last night with Karen and a few others, the largest shit-eating grin plastered on his face, bottles of liquor clutched in their hands, Daryl had reluctantly agreed that the Woodbury folks might actually have a few good points. Especially the bottle of Jim Beam that Daryl had spied, and quickly claimed for his own.

He'd spent most of the night sat on the stairs, bottle in hand, watching the others, trying desperately to ignore the giggling coming two steps behind him from Maggie and Glenn. Pair where joined at the hip, he'd thought sourly, while his eyes had searched the group for Carol. He'd been disappointed when she hadn't shown up until later in the night and by that time, half of good ol' Jim Beam had ended up down his throat, glowing in his belly nicely.

Beth had sang, and while it was pleasant enough (some dirgy love song that he didn't know, nor cared what the words were), he'd winced as Maggie joined in loudly, causing him to spin in his seat and glare up at her. Glenn had toed his back playfully with his shoe, and Daryl had turned back around, facing the group, grimacing. The Korean hadn't drunk much, and Daryl had smirked then, remembering just how shit-faced Glenn had been that one time at the CDC.

Then Carol was there, threading her way through the group, eyes quirking in surprise at Rick, who had slumped in his chair, only to miss it, and land on the floor in a heavy tangle of arms and legs. Laughter had rung out brightly, and a giggling Michonne had helped Rick stagger back to his feet, grinning largely at the former sheriff.

Daryl had grunted, and when his gaze met with Carol's, he had felt his own shit-eating grin plaster across his face as he drunkenly swatted at the space next to him, motioning her to sit. He'd been aware of her eyes, guardedly watching him, bright, voluminous and oh so blue, and he had thought then that he could quite happily drown in those eyes. Her knee had brushed against his thigh as she took her place next to him, and he had felt himself flush at the contact, his skin warming pleasantly, more so when she placed her hand loosely on his knee. He'd asked why she was so long joining them, and had felt an immediate annoyance when she said that she'd put the kids to bed, read them a story. Like no-one else in the whole fuckin' prison could do that. It was always her, and it pissed him off no end that Rick and everyone else would just damn well let her.

He had growled at her, and she had put her hand up to her mouth, eyes crinkling as she laughed behind her palm. Daryl had had to admit that her whole face lit up when she laughed, and it made him feel happy. She was just too god-damned beautiful for her own good. Ed had been a prick, didn't appreciate just what a woman he'd had. Daryl was glad that the sorry son of a bitch was dead. It still angered him how a man like that, could so much as lay a finger on a woman as wonderful as her. Nobody would ever touch her like that again, he'd vowed. He would see to it.

The rest of the night had passed in a blur, which Daryl put down to fatigue more than the amount of bourbon he had downed. Least he hoped. He also hoped that he hadn't done anything untoward. He knew that the booze had freed up his voice a little, freed up his overt shyness and awkwardness of being around others.

...

He paused on the way to Hershel's cell, trying to wrack his aching head for anything that he could have said, or done. Then with a pang, he remembered his head drooping on to Carols shoulder, her arm slipping about his waist, of how he didn't complain much at all about that. Daryl rubbed a hand over his face, calloused palm rasping against his stubble. Couldn't remember much else apart from being repeatedly kicked in the ribs by that grinning Korean.

Hershel's voice sounded strained, and from the sounds of it, the old man wasn't having much luck getting a word in edgeways over the barrage of other voices. Daryl saw at least five former Woodbury residents herding around the entrance, one of them being the old broad with the whistling teeth. Daryl flattened himself to the wall, the compulsion to back pedal his way to his cell tempting . The words haemorrhoids , heart burn, and bunions reached him and sighing through gritted teeth, he moved from the wall and thundered his way to the cell.

Daryl stood there for a split second, before saying loudly, "That man ain't no quack. He's a fuckin' veterinarian!" He was instantly rewarded with a few gasps of shock, eyes wide as mouths gaped open. Daryl smirked at them, most of the Woodbury people didn't know that Hershel wasn't what they thought he was, and while his group was comfortable with Hershel treating them, the Woodbury lot were used to real doctors. Bunch o' pampered asses Daryl thought, the smirk growing wider as they pushed past him, voices low as they muttered between themselves, rushing from his cell.

He nodded at Hershel, saw that the old man looked tired and pale. "Ya a'right, man?" he asked gruffly.

"I am now. Thank you, son," Hershel smiled at him wanly. "Not a minute to myself lately. Although now they realise I am just a mere vet, I would hope to see them less. I would hope."

Daryl shrugged at him, murmuring, "S'okay." He wanted to ask for some pills for his headache, but seeing the pained look on Hershel's face, he decided against it. Decided to let the guy be. He'd cope with the headache...maybe he could find Carol, and she'd have some stashed in her backpack. He smiled inwardly at the thought of having a good excuse to see her. Maybe she'd want to pamper him, and maybe he'd let her if he could reign the cowardice back in for a while.

...

Stepping out into the courtyard, he glanced up at the dull sky. It was heavy, overcast and he felt the first spatters of rain coolly hit his face.

"Hey, Daryl."

He looked as Glenn made his way hurriedly across to him, a strange smile on the young man's face. Daryl narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Usually when Glenn looked like that, the younger man had a secret he was bursting fit to yak on.

"Was just wondering if I could ask you something, but don't yell," Glenn asked quickly, amusement tinting his voice.

Daryl sighed, the pain in his head increasing tenfold. "What?"

Glenn grinned broadly at Daryl, taking a step back, looking as if he was poised to run. "Last night, we erm... overheard you talking to Carol. And me and Maggie have been taking a bet. So...what exactly is a Pookie?"

...