For my cousin, Walking Dead & Norman Reedus' number one fan! Also, this scene was just too wonderful to ignore. I had to dig deeper into Daryl's character, so expertly portrayed by Norman Reedus. Enjoy!
Light of My World
Knuckles white, Daryl Dixon jabbed the well worn knife into the concrete floor. Tearing it out, he repeated the action, not paying much attention to what he was actually doing. It was just a mindless task to keep his hand busy as his mind raced with a million different thoughts, each more horrendous than the last. The door before him, creaking open and thudding against the walker's sickening corpse in time with his knife, seemed to mock him. There were more behind the door. There always were. Hell, Daryl couldn't remember the last time he'd opened a door and there weren't a bunch of grotesque walkers snarling behind it. Not that that had stopped him before. He was scared, sure. Because honestly, who wouldn't be? There's no way he'd ever admit that to anyone, not to Rick or Glenn, or any of the rest of them. Besides, as this living nightmare continued, he focused more on his anger. He was pissed, plain and simple. He was tired of these undead freaks, and he wanted them gone yesterday. All those morons always hesitated before a door, psyching themselves up or some shit. Daryl was always the first one to bust through, to open it and start taking those walkers out left and right. But now... shit. Now he was scared. He was fucking scared of what lay on the other side of that door. Because the only person he might have admitted his fear to, was no longer with them. No, she was on the other side of that damn door, and for the first time in a very long time, Daryl Dixon was scared shitless.
The world had gone to shit, that was no secret. But it's not like all that much had changed in Daryl's life. He'd always been on his own; always had to look out for himself. Even Merle couldn't always be counted on. He'd walked away from Daryl plenty of times. Looked the other way when Pa got into one of his moods. Hell, Merle had even taken part in it once in a while. No, fighting for survival was nothing new for him, and it hadn't been for her either. Life with Ed could not have been much easier than it was with his Pa, but hell, she had a kid to look after too. A kid that Daryl had failed to save. Just like he'd failed to save Carol.
The thought nearly made him sick. Guilt over Sophia's death still gnawed at his heart, even though Carol always told him it wasn't his fault; that he'd gone above and beyond when it came to her daughter. But it hadn't been enough. Nothing he did was ever enough. Why Carol even bothered with him, he didn't know. He was just some rough redneck who wrecked everything he touched. And she was... everything. She was the one thing that kept him going. The one reason he stayed with the group. She was the only good thing he had in his life, and he had been determined to keep her safe, because in his world of anger, self-loathing, and absolute hopeless darkness, she was the one beam of light. With all the hell she'd been through, she still managed to give him hope, to tear down his walls and wiggle her way into his heart no matter how hard he'd fought against her. He wanted to protect her, to keep that light from going out. And he'd failed.
A choked, angry sob ripped from his throat as he threw his head back against the wall, gripping the knife impossibly tighter. Throwing his arm out, he drove it into the wall, the feeling of the structure giving way beneath the blow gave him no satisfaction. How could he do this? How could he kill the one person he had ever truly cared for? The only person who had ever shown him any kindness, and now he had to drive a knife through her skull. She was already dead, he knew that. What awaited him on the other side of that door wasn't really Carol. Except it was. And he couldn't bring himself to put her down.
He stood to go, kicking that damn door once for good measure, but only made it a few steps before turning back. What if the situations were reversed? He wouldn't want to live like that, and he knew Carol wouldn't either. He began to pace. She would be strong enough. She'd be fucking strong enough to put him down, to give him peace. So why was he being such a pussy? His heart pounded in his chest as he looked once more at the door. This is what she would have wanted. At the very least, he could give her that. He had to do it. As much as he was dreading it, as much as he knew it would likely strip away the last shred of humanity he had left, he had to do it.
Gripping the knife between his teeth, he grabbed the rotting corpse of the walker that was blocking the door and drug it out of the way. Without giving it another thought he turned on his heel and wrenched open the door, knife held high above his head, ready to strike. But he stopped short when he saw the figure huddled against the wall.
She was there, squinting up at him with an expectant look on her face, as though she'd just been waiting for him to find her. Daryl took her face in his hand, still unable to quite believe it. She met his eyes, a silent understanding passing between them. She wasn't bit. She was exhausted, but alive. Far too thin, but alive. Weak and terrified, but alive. Alive. Alive. Alive!
Daryl sunk to the ground, gathering her in his arms. "It's okay," he whispered, a few tears burning his cloudy blue eyes, "I gotcha. Yer alright."
He picked her up, cradling her against his chest, and she buried her face in his shoulder. "I gotcha," he continued, hoping to offer some sort of comfort he felt horribly unqualified to give, even though he vowed then and there he'd rather die than let anything happen to her again. "Yer safe now. Don't worry, I gotcha."