A/N: Hellooo there. This is just a wee story that I wrote mainly to keep myself busy because October is waaaaay too far away. It's tied very loosely to my last fic "To Fix a Broken Heart", and I've shamelessly stolen a section of that for use in this fic. Forgive me, but it's only a very short part then it goes off on a tangent.
It's quite a dark little fic, but I'm a bit sadistic like that. But be warned, there are strong elusions to abuse, both sexual and physical, so if you think that's going to bother you, please click the back button up there! However, if you're up for a rough ride then come on in and see the inside of my twisted mind.
Apologies for any OOCness but the situation may have called for it (though I've tried to avoid it where I can…let me know how I did?)
Final note here: I'm considering writing a multi chapter fic about Daryl's childhood, staying completely cannon to the show (i.e. no tangential story-line or AU-ing, purely his life up until the apocalypse including the abusive childhood etc.). If you think that's something you'd like to read, let me know either in the reviews or drop me a PM.
Anyway, onwards and downards. Enjoy!
Trigger warning: sexual and physical abuse, violence, course language.
No Pain Without Love
"Healing yourself is connected with healing others." – Yoko Ono
Every one of the residents of Terminus was dead. They'd made sure of it. In the end, there had been fewer of them than they'd thought, totalling just fifteen. After Tyreese had broken in and freed them from the train car, they'd caught them unawares, killing the eight on outdoor watches around the perimeter without being detected by the remaining seven. And the weapons they'd collected from those eight had meant taking out the others had been easier, and miraculously they had made it out with no losses, although Glenn had taken a bullet to the shoulder.
They knew there were other prisoners around Terminus, so they split off into teams to search the place. Daryl, Michonne and Tyreese scoured the inside of the main building. The large hall was littered with tables and chairs in a seemingly random arrangement, some with piles of paper, and others with plates and bowls. Around the room Daryl counted ten doors, each leading to an office or storeroom. Daryl opened the first door, finding an empty office. The desk and filing cabinets were bare, but there were a set of handcuffs secured to one arm of the swivelling chair behind it. He grimaced, not caring to imagine their purpose as he stepped back out of the room.
He moved on to the next door and was just about to turn the handle when he heard Michonne cry out his name from across the hall.
"DARYL! TY!" she shouted. She sounded panicked, frantic even.
He sprinted across to the source of the screams, seeing Michonne crouching down over something in one of the rooms. It looked like a body, but she was blocking his view so he couldn't be sure. This room was completely empty except for the object of Michonne's attention.
He reached the room before Tyreese, halting in the doorway as his suspicions were confirmed. It was indeed a body. A woman. Naked except for the bloody gashes covering her skin. Michonne was sobbing now, leaning over the woman's face, preventing Daryl from identifying her.
"Michonne?" he asked, "who…?"
He tailed off as Michonne turned to face him, tears rolling across her cheeks, and he realised that he'd never seen her cry. Never seen her show any real emotion. And it scared him.
She leaned back out of his line of vision, and that's when he looked down and saw her. Her left eye was puffy and black, her lip bloody and bruised, but it was unmistakeably her. He'd know her anywhere. And as recognition dawned on him, he felt all the air leave his lungs. His crossbow clattered to the floor, and his legs buckled underneath him, and it was all he could do not to throw up right there.
He tried to say her name, but the words caught in his throat and came out as a strangled choking sound as his hand reached out to smooth her hair back.
"Is she…?" he managed to choke out.
"She's alive," Michonne answered.
He exhaled in relief. His eyes left her face as he surveyed the damage. The deepest cuts appeared to curve around from her back, snaking across her ribcage. He fought to keep the bile from rising in his throat as his eyes fell upon the pool of blood between her thighs. He knew what that meant. And suddenly the anger rose up inside him, and he leapt to his feet, picking up his crossbow only to throw it out the door. He stormed out of the room in its wake, heading straight over to the nearest table and chair. He lifted the chair above his head, throwing it against the wall, before gripping the table and violently flipping it over on itself, scattering the pile of paper which had rested upon its surface.
As suddenly as it came, his anger drained away from him, and he collapsed to the floor, head in hands fighting the onslaught of tears which threatened to overwhelm him. This was his fault. He should have looked for her. Should've been there for her when she needed him. Even back at the prison, he should've been there to stop her killing Karen and David. To show her another way. To stop Rick from ever sending her away.
As if on cue, Rick appeared in the doorway to the hall. There were others behind him but as Daryl's head whipped up at the sound, he only saw Rick. It was Rick's fault this had happened. His brother.
He pushed himself to his feet, wiping his eyes on his sleeve, before skulking purposefully towards Rick.
"Daryl? What's going on?" Rick asked, walking slowly to meet Daryl.
"ASSHOLE!" Daryl shouted, breaking into a run.
Rick barely had time to brace himself before Daryl was on him, hands at Rick's throat, angry tears brimming over. They fell onto the hard concrete, Daryl pinning rick, as Rick clutched helplessly at Daryl's arms. But he wouldn't stop. He couldn't. The angry haze behind his eyes kept him squeezing harder and harder.
Daryl could feel hands grabbing at his shoulders trying to pull him off. Then suddenly, stronger hands gripped him under his arms and he was ripped from Rick's body and held firmly against someone's chest.
"Get the hell off'a me!" he shouted, struggling against a hold much stronger than his own.
"You wanna calm the hell down," a deep voice growled in his ear.
"Daryl, stop!" Michonne's voice rang out.
He felt all the fight leave him, and he went limp in Abraham's arms, who suddenly found himself holding Daryl up. As Abraham released his grip and stepped back, Daryl found his footing, and turned to face Michonne.
He watched as she crossed towards him, Tyreese close in tow with Carol in his arms, a once white sheet, now covered with blood, wrapped around her body.
He came to his senses, marching himself over to Tyreese and prying Carol from his arms, taking her into his own.
Bob pushed his way past the crowd forming around Rick and approached Daryl.
"I need to take a look at her," Bob told him.
"Not here," Daryl shook his head, "we need to get away from this place."
"Daryl, we need to make sure she's OK before we go anywhere. She might not make it to anywhere else if we don't," he pleaded, placing a hand on Daryl's shoulder.
Daryl glanced down at Bob's hand, before looking up at the man and nodding. He turned and set her down gently on one of the clear tables, cradling her head as he did so.
"Someone needs to go find some medical supplies. They must have some in this place. Rest of you, out. Let's let her keep some dignity," Bob called out.
Daryl nodded at Bob appreciatively as the others filtered out.
Daryl steeled himself as Bob peeled back the sheet covering Carol, and found he couldn't continue to look. He instead chose to look at her face, stroking her hair back tenderly.
Michonne appeared moments later carrying a small briefcase.
"Should be everything you need in there," she said, handing the case over to Bob.
"Thanks. She's gonna need some stitches. She might have some internal bleeding, but there's not much I can do for that, except pray that ain't the case."
They fell into silence as Bob worked. To Daryl, it felt like forever before Bob stood. At some point, Michonne had found some clothes for her, and they set to work dressing her.
"They've found the keys to some vehicles," Michonne said, "there's enough room for us all to leave here. Ty said there was a place he and Carol were staying before she was captured, not far from here. We're gonna rest up there until Carol and Glenn are fit to travel."
Daryl scooped Carol up from the table and was lead out into the yard. People were talking to him, leading him in various directions, but he took none of it in, his focus never leaving the frail body in his arms, and the slow rise and fall of her chest.
He was herded into the back of a car, and he laid Carol out across the back seat, her head in his lap. He was vaguely aware of someone placing his crossbow in the footwell at his feet. He'd forgotten about it. Hadn't even realised he'd dropped it. Not that it mattered. Right now, only one thing mattered.
The vehicle had been in motion for maybe ten minutes when her eyelids fluttered.
"Carol?" he immediately asked, his hand falling to her cheek.
She hummed softly, her forehead creasing.
"Carol." He repeated. His voice seemed to draw her into consciousness, and her eyes finally fell open, slowly focussing upon his own.
"Daryl," she whispered lazily, the word not quite forming right upon her lips.
He was suddenly handed a bottle of water, and he lifted her head, placing the bottle to her lips. She sipped carefully, some escaping and dripping down her chin as she coughed. He wiped the water away from her lips with his thumb, handing the bottle back to Michonne in the front seat.
"It's OK, you're safe now," he whispered as her eyes fluttered closed again, and she descended back into unconsciousness.
The place Tyreese had spoken of was what looked like some kind of holiday home. A big three story house, the white paint a stark contrast to the deep green foliage stretching in every direction. The house could've been picked right out of the suburbs and dropped into the woods, if not for the thick ivy creeping up its walls.
Like all houses since all this began, it looked run down and neglected, but walls were walls and as the light was fading, the run down relic resembled a five-star hotel to the troupe of weary feet and minds, and certainly far more friendly than the dark, cold train cart the majority of them had come uncomfortably accustomed to.
Rick, Abraham, Michonne and Tyreese went ahead into the house, guns, and sword, raised. Daryl held Carol to him, impatiently shifting his weight from foot to foot, his eyes switching between the house and the unconscious form in his arms.
It took only a minute or two before Tyreese stood in the doorway and announced it was clear. Daryl, immediately started towards the door, keen to get Carol comfortable, and take the weight from his arms.
Tyreese led them in and told Daryl to follow him up the stairs. They turned into a bedroom just off the first floor landing. The bedroom was just one of what Daryl guessed to be around five. This room was pretty bare, with just a double bed, bedside cabinet, an old wooden chair, and chest of drawers. The lamp upon the bedside table served only as an ornament since the loss of electricity, but that, coupled with the painting of lilies hung above the bed gave the room a homely feel.
"This is where she's been staying with Judith. I preferred sleeping on the couch downstairs, you know, so I'd hear if anything tried to get in," Tyreese told him as they approached the bed, "I say sleeping, but I don't think either of us managed much of that."
Tyreese pulled the covers back from the bed as Daryl placed Carol carefully onto the mattress, lowering her head gently onto the pillow and pulling the covers back over her.
"I'm gonna go get her some water. Owner's of this place were real fans of bottled water. Guess with being this far in the woods, they liked to stock up," Tyreese said, before turning to leave the room.
Daryl nodded, grunting a thank you as he watched Tyreese head out onto the landing and head down the stairs. He turned back to look down at the woman before him. He chewed his lip, unsure what to do now. He supposed he just had to wait. His eyes found the tattered chair in the corner of the room. He crossed to pick it up and dragged it over to the bed. He sat heavily in it, his exhaustion finally taking hold.
He could hear the others bustling around below, giggling and talking excitedly. Daryl didn't understand how they could be so happy when one of their own was up here in the state she was in. But then, he supposed, they all had each other. They were all reunited, and they were all OK. The only person he had cared about seeing again was right here in front of him.
As the seconds ticked by, he wished harder and harder that she'd just open her damn eyes. If only so he'd know that she was going to be OK.
He dropped his head into his hands and tried to control his breathing. He was so tired. He couldn't remember the last time he got any real undisturbed sleep. He felt his eyes droop shut just as Tyreese reappeared in the doorway.
"Still nothing?" Tyreese asked, the concern showing in his tone.
"No, nothin'," Daryl replied tiredly, lifting his head up and taking the bottle of water from Tyreese before he had a chance to offer it.
He unscrewed the cap, placing it on the table before gently lifting her head and placing the bottle to her lips. He poured just a few drops onto her lips, as unconsciously but instinctively her lips parted and she swallowed the cold liquid. He took a swig himself before replacing the cap, offering it to Tyreese. He shook his head, so Daryl placed it on the table.
They remained in uncomfortable silence for a few moments, both gazing upon Carol's sleeping form, before Daryl's curiosity got the better of him.
"Michonne said you was with her after the prison. What happened, man?" He mumbled dejectedly, not taking his eyes from her. "How'd you get separated?"
Tyreese sighed, before crossing the room and sitting on the bed beside her legs. Daryl looked up to see Tyreese looking down at Carol, that same pity he'd seen earlier in his eyes.
"I escaped the prison with Judith, and Lizzie and Mika. Carol found us outside just after, she saw everything that happened there."
Daryl started to see where this was going. Lizzie and Mika weren't with them now. He swallowed thickly. He knew that if Carol lost them, it would be like Sophia all over again. Tyreese continued.
"We travelled around together a few days. Found this little grove. Nice house, where we stayed a couple of days. Thought we could stay there, build some kinda life for the girls, you know?"
He paused. Daryl waited for what he knew could only be an unhappy ending.
"Lizzie, she…she wasn't right. Even back at the prison, Carol said she wasn't right. Didn't understand what those things are. Thought they were still people, but you know, different. Got angry when we killed 'em. We even caught her feeding one."
Daryl's face screwed up in disgust and confusion. He'd never known the girl was like that. Carol had never said anything to him at the prison. Tyreese paused a long time before continuing, and Daryl braced himself for the rest of the story.
"She killed Mika. Lizzie. Stabbed her in the chest while Carol and I were out hunting. We got back and…the blood. Lizzie was there, with a knife in her hand. She was smiling! Wanted us to wait for Mika to turn, so that we'd understand. Said she was about to do the same to Judith."
Tyreese looked like the memory was going to make him sick, but he continued as Daryl sat in stunned silence.
"Carol. We had no choice. We couldn't leave Lizzie there, but we couldn't take her with us. We had Judith. So Carol…" Tyreese broke off, his head falling dejectedly to his chest.
"Ended it," Daryl finished for him.
Tyreese nodded. Daryl returned his gaze to Carol, warring with his anger at the injustice of what this woman had faced. He should've been there with her. Should've been the one to do what she had done. Carol had had enough blame fall on her shoulders. He dropped his head to the bed beside her, his hands fisting in his hair.
They sat in silence as the weight of Tyreese's words hung over their heads. After some time, Daryl lifted his head, and looked at the man sat on the bed with glistening eyes.
"I'm sorry, man," Daryl mumbled.
"Me too," Tyreese replied, emotion heavy in his voice, "I lost her."
Daryl's brow furrowed questioningly.
"I was looking after Jude," Tyreese continued, "Carol went out on a food run. We couldn't both go, we couldn't leave the baby, so we took it in turns. We were staying just a little ways from Terminus, keeping an eye on the place. She just didn't come back. They must'a found her. Taken her."
Daryl took a breath as Tyreese let out a sob.
"I'm so sorry, Daryl," Tyreese whimpered.
"S'not your fault, man. You did all you could," Daryl reassured him, "you saved us all."
Tyreese met Daryl's eyes, nodding when he saw the sincerity in Daryl's eyes.
"I'll leave you to it. Let me know when she wakes up," he said as he exited onto the landing, not looking back.
Daryl turned back to Carol. He couldn't stop himself as his hand reached out to her, brushing back her hair with his fingers.
"I'm sorry," he whispered close to her ear, knowing that she wouldn't hear him.
He could feel his war with his exhaustion coming to a head, and felt his eyelids drooping. He rested his head upon the mattress next to her head, and his fingers found hers, linking them together so he could still feel her there when his eyes were closed.
He watched her as long as he could, before finally the need for sleep closed in on him, and as the last rays of sunlight disappeared from the window, he fell into blackness, knowing only that Carol was here beside him, so somehow everything would be OK.
The house was quieter, with only muffled whisperings from the downstairs living room, when Daryl was woken from sleep by the twitching of fingers encased in his own. It took him a few seconds to understand the tickling against his palm before his eyes shot open and he lifted his head from the pillow.
He watched as Carol's eyes fluttered open to look into his own, and he couldn't stop the single outtake of breath that somewhat resembled laughter as he saw the recognition in them. They seemed brighter than before in the car.
"Daryl?" she asked croakily.
"Yeah, it's me," he whispered, "you're going to be OK now, you're safe."
They had been at the house for nearly three weeks now. They had been lucky with the walkers this far, with no sign of a herd passing through, just a few stragglers, easily taken down single-handedly by whoever was on watch.
On the surface, Carol's wounds had all but healed completely, but they all knew the knife went deeper than that. She barely spoke. Shied away from any touch. Ate only when Daryl refused to eat unless she did. He marveled at that; that above all her pain and suffering, she still acted in the best interest of others.
Despite those flashes of her caring nature shining through, she still distanced herself. Cocooned herself in indifference. Her eyes which once spoke so much seemed empty and cold. Ice, that cut through Daryl right to the core, and he couldn't sit by and watch any more. He could help her, he knew it. It would hurt, but he'd take that for her.
He found her on the porch, her back to the cracked white paint of the wall, knees drawn up to her chest. She seemed so small to him. Her arms crossed over her chest like she was hugging herself, or protecting herself. Her eyes were blank as she stared absently into the darkness, across the open yard, past the fence and into the dense woods.
The light cast from the full moon fell gently onto her pale skin, producing an almost ethereal glow from her face. The light reflecting in her silver hair gave the illusion of a halo around her temple.
In that moment, it seemed she belonged somewhere else. Somewhere greater than the shithole this world had become. He could almost see the invisible chains that tethered her to Earth, stopping her ascent to that better place. He could sense she longed for the end. Longed to just give up, to see her little girl again. To end the unrelenting pain that just seemed to intensify the longer this life went on. But he also felt the hopelessness; the knowledge that if it were to end, with all that had happened and all that she had done, she would never be allowed into that greater place. The knowledge that, alive or dead, her suffering would never end.
Of course, Daryl never believed that for a second. If there was anyone he knew, who he was absolutely certain would go to heaven, it was her. Every action she had ever performed had been selfless. To protect others. Always for the greater good. So he disagreed with her view. Disagreed, but understood it, for it was exactly as he felt about his own fate.
A rattling from the end of the yard drew his attention from her, and his head whipped around to the source. His eyes fell upon Tyreese, checking the lock on the fence on his perimeter watch, before he carried on walking, disappearing into the darkness around the side of the house.
Daryl turned his attention back to Carol, who was now looking across at him, the blue of her eyes exaggerated in the moonlight, stunning but blank. Emotionless.
He held her gaze, captivated, unable to form words, until she looked away and the spell was broken. She returned her stare to the darkness, giving him no further acknowledgement.
Her indifference startled him into action. He approached slowly, standing over her for only the briefest second, before sliding down the wall beside her, mimicking her posture, arms resting upon his knees and looking into the distance with her.
They sat in silence for a long time. He had so much he wanted to say to her, but the words stuck in his throat. He warred within himself, desperately searching for the right words, mouth opening and closing with no sound passing his lips.
"You don't have to sit here with me, Daryl."
His head whipped to the side. Her face betrayed no evidence that she had spoken at all. He turned back to the woods.
"Maybe I wanna," he answered, his voice finally finding its footing, "you alright?"
"Don't, Daryl," she whispered, her voice betraying the tiniest hint of sadness, while her face remained stoic, "just, don't."
"Don't what? Don't give a shit?" He asked, the helplessness in her plea driving him on. "You want me to act like I don't know you're hurtin'?"
"You don't know anything," she answered solemnly, shaking her head and looking down at the ground.
"Maybe I know more'n you think," he mumbled, his gaze also falling upon the ground before him. He was hoping he wouldn't have to go this far. That he wouldn't have to tell her things he'd never told anyone before. Hell, he'd barely admitted to himself the things that had happened to him. But it seemed like tonight was the night he'd have to come to terms with it. He would do that for her.
She looked at him then. His eyes lifted to meet hers, her eyes no longer looking blank and deadened. There was something else there now. Curiosity? A touch of disbelief. Even the smallest hint of sadness. Whatever it was, it was something, and it was enough to urge Daryl to continue.
"I know you know what kind'a place I came from," he stated matter-of-factly, "I know you've seen my scars."
She blinked almost in acknowledgment, and her gaze seemed to intensify. So much that he knew if he was going to continue, he couldn't keep looking at her. He once again turned his eyes to the dark of the yard.
"And I know you know it was my Dad."
He took a deep breath, steeling himself to continue.
"It wasn't always bad. Merle and my Ma got the brunt of it when I was little. Whenever it looked like he was gonna beat on me, one of them, whichever was around at the time, they stepped in," Daryl spoke softly, careful not to show any emotion. After all, he didn't want her sympathy; he only wanted her to know she wasn't alone.
"Ma died when I was nine. Burned to death in her bed 'cause she was too wasted to put out her cigarette. That's when it started. When Merle was around it was worse on him, so he started goin' out more. Stayin' away long as he could. Guess he thought our Pa wouldn't hurt me since he never did before, you know," he paused briefly, but knew there was no going back now. He still couldn't bring himself to look at her, though he felt her eyes on him.
"Problem was, with Merle out all the time and no Ma, there was nobody else for him to beat on 'cept me. Merle never knew, not til right before he died. Pa was real secretive 'bout it. Said he'd kill us both if I ever told Merle he laid a finger on me. I think he must'a known that Merle would'a killed him if he knew."
"Then when I was eleven, Merle got sent to juvie, and shit just got worse. Pa had nobody to hide it from. I had to quit goin' to school most days. Didn't want people askin' questions. Only so many times you can fall down the stairs," he paused, finally turning to look at her, "but you know that better'n anyone."
She gave the slightest nod of agreement, and he looked away before he lost his nerve. He knew the next part of his story would be the hardest to tell, but it was the part she needed to hear the most.
"My Pa had this friend. Big guy bout his age called Jack. Started comin' round and drinking with my Pa. They started shootin' up together. Heroin I think. Pa made me call him 'Uncle Jack', though course he weren't my real uncle. Asshole used to beat me worse'n my Dad."
Every part of him screamed at him to stop now. Not to say any more. But he knew he had to.
"This one time, I got home from huntin'. Hadn't caught nothin', really I was just out to keep outta their way. I was ten years old. Pa was out cold in his chair, needle still pokin' outta his arm. Could see him breathin' so I knew he wasn't dead. But Uncle Jack, he was just sat there on the couch, beer in his hand, just…grinnin' at me."
Daryl looked down at his hands, the fingers of his left hand picked at the calloused skin on his right palm. He found it calming, grounding. It seemed to balance him and keep him in the present; it stopped him falling too deeply into the past, which he knew could consume him if he let it.
"He told me to come sit next to him. And I knew I was in for a hidin' if didn't do what he said. So I went over and sat on the couch, far from him as I could. But he slid along the couch, right til I was stuck in the corner. I remember the smell of beer on his breath. Made me wanna run away or puke, but I couldn't do neither, so I just sat there."
"He says, "you love your Uncle Jack, don't you, Daryl? You know I'd do anythin' for you, kid." And I just look at him. Figured he was just drunk and talkin' shit."
He frowned at the memory, praying that he could hold himself together.
"When I don't answer him he starts leanin' closer. And I'm tryin' to move away but I can't cause there ain't nowhere for me to go. Next thing I know he's crushin' me. Getting' way too close. I panic and punch him in the jaw. His beer bottle flies outta his hands and smashes on the floor, and he lets go long enough for me to get off the couch and run for the door. But he trips me as I run past him, and he's on me again, and I'm pinned down."
As he recounted the memory, he felt it becoming more vivid, and he couldn't stop his eyes screwing shut. His whole body tensed as he fought the nausea. But then he felt her hand grip his bicep gently but firmly, and his eyes snapped open as he looked across at her. Her expression took his breath away. There were tears in her eyes, just on the brink of spilling over. It calmed him instantly when she spoke.
"Daryl, you don't have to tell me more," she whispered, her voice shaking.
"I do," he whispered, before finding his voice again, "I need you to know that I understand."
She breathed deeply and nodded, and he looked back down at his hands.
"I try screaming for my Pa. I'm screaming and screaming, but he don't wake up, don't even stir. And all I can feel is his hands on me, and the broken glass from the smashed bottle cuttin' into my cheek and my chest. I'm strugglin' and strugglin', but he's too strong and too heavy. And then, he…he starts…he…"
"Daryl, it's OK," she whispered.
And her hand was there on his arm again. And he was surprised when he felt a tear roll down his cheek. He hadn't even noticed he'd been welling up. His hand swiped up across his cheek, banishing the offending droplet.
"After…" he tailed off, knowing she understood what had happened, and grateful that he didn't have to say it, "after that, he passed out on the floor next to me. I stayed there for so long, too scared to move in case I woke him. Eventually managed to get myself to the bathroom. Cleaned myself up. At least I tried. Never really felt clean again after that. But I thought maybe that was a one-off, you know. That maybe now he'd gotten what he wanted he'd leave me be. But it didn't stop. Not til the bastard was killed in a bar fight when I was fifteen. My Pa never found out what he did."
"Why'd you never tell your Dad?" Carol asked, as her hand travelled up and down his bicep soothingly.
"Was embarrassed, I guess. Thought my Pa would be ashamed of me, you know, for lettin' someone do that. Or he wouldn't believe me. He never believed anythin' I said," he laughed humourlessly.
"Daryl, I'm so sorry, I didn't…" she broke off, her hand reaching up to his cheek. He looked straight in her eyes then.
"It's fine, I don't want your pity. I just need you to see, you're not alone. You don't have to fight this by yourself," he lifted his hand to cover hers upon his cheek, "and I swear, as long as I'm alive I won't let anyone even touch you. You don't have to be scared any more."
Tears sprung from her eyes at that and she pulled him to her, burying her face in the crook of his neck and pulling his face down to her shoulder.
"Thank you," she whispered against his neck, and he let the smallest of smiles flutter onto his lips because he knew he had done it. He was bringing her back, and it was worth every second of the pain, and for the first time he felt at peace with his past.