AN: This was also a tumblr prompt by therealsonia. It's just a little holiday Caryl. Nothing serious.
I own nothing from the Walking Dead.
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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Once a year it was just good damn karma to do something for someone else. Not the everyday little deeds—like letting someone get in front of you at the grocery store or letting a car out that had been had waiting a while in traffic—but something really good. And karma, one way or another, would come back around. Daryl had seen a lot of it in his life. He'd mostly seen bad karma come around to bite people in their asses, of course, but he'd seen some good karma too, even if it was only finding a twenty in your pants when you were down on your luck to make it to the end of the week.
So every year, at Christmas, he did something that would serve someone else. Christmas, for Daryl, wasn't a greeting card holiday. There were no feasts prepared by loving mothers and grandmothers. There were no trees decorated up with lights and ornaments who had their bases packed with gifts. Christmas, for Daryl, was just like any other day. If he stayed home, and wanted to make it special, the most he might do was light a candle while he ate a microwave dinner in front of the television. That meant that Christmas was his favorite day to do something for someone else. After all, it usually made someone else feel good and, by extension, that usually meant that it wasn't an entirely shitty day to Daryl.
For the past few years he'd been volunteering with the "Santa Mission" project that took place downtown. They gathered up presents from donations—toys of all types—and they wrapped them. Families that couldn't afford things for their kids got their kids to write letters to Santa requesting items. Some of them would read the letters, do their best to find a toy that matched each request as closely as possible, and then they would sort and deliver the items to the houses—always dressed like idiots—declaring that there had been a mix up at the North Pole and Santa had sent out "helper elves" to deliver last minute presents that just hadn't happened to make it on the sleigh. Daryl hated the costume, and he hated having to talk to people—he'd have much rather just handed them the present and left—but he loved the look on the kids' faces when they saw the package and dreamed that it might be what they hell they really wanted instead of the food and socks they probably got.
More than once, actually, Daryl had taken some of the letters and gone shopping himself to make sure the kids got exactly what they wanted. There had been too many Christmas days, in his own life, when he'd been convinced he was the worst kid ever because everyone at school got what they wanted and he got jack shit for Christmas. Finally, Merle had told him that it was his parents that didn't get them shit simply because he'd figured that Daryl already expected that kind of thing from them and he didn't want him believing that some fat old man that lived a million miles away hated him just for being him. Because of that, he was particularly interested in making sure that some kids got what the hell they wanted when they were likely to get a whole lot of nothing, either because their parents couldn't afford it or weren't willing to buy it.
This year, though, the "Santa Mission" project had more volunteers than they needed. People who hadn't signed up for it in the past years were wanting to do it and, afraid that they might need them and not have them, the project had accepted everyone. Since it was overbooked, that morning the people running the whole operation had asked some of their regulars if they'd be willing to spread out and help make some of the other things the city did run smoothly. Daryl had been one they'd asked to go somewhere else. Though he hated the idea of leaving his spot as "Helper Elf," he was willing to what had to be done. At the end of the day, it was still going to make someone have a Merry Christmas, after all.
Of the jobs suggested to him, judging by the number of volunteers they were reporting and the amount of traffic they were suspecting, Daryl had chosen to go to the soup kitchen. It was offering up a real holiday meal, fixings and everything, to anyone who needed it. Free of charge. Daryl had spent a couple of Christmas days, too, with a can of spaghetti as a meal, so he figured it was as good a charity as any of the others. He'd left the warehouse, made it across town, and arrived at the kitchen while they were still setting things up to serve. The food, he had to admit, smelled better than anything he'd eaten in a while. It took all he could not to just sit down and join someone for a meal himself.
Given his orders, Daryl took an apron and went to the kitchen. His job, it seemed, was to shuffle around pans. He brought them in from the serving line when they were almost empty, scraped them into the full ones waiting to go out, and delivered a full pan to the serving line. He was the muscle while some people served, some cooked, and some walked around offering beverages. And the day, it seemed, would go on until they were sure that nobody in the area that needed food had gone hungry for at least one day of the year.
There weren't many people working at the soup kitchen. At least, Daryl didn't think there were. He wasn't sure how many people usually worked there at Christmas, but it looked like there just wasn't a good turnout. He assumed, though, as he carried the heavy pans out to the front, that it was probably owing to things like his brother had ignorantly said about charity work—he didn't want to help a damn soul that didn't help themselves.
That was where Merle and Daryl differed. Or, at the very least, it was one of the places where they differed. Daryl liked helping out where he could. Merle only helped out when some judge somewhere sentenced him to community hours to make up for something stupid that he'd done. They'd come from the same place, and they had the same life—give or take a few experiences—but it had shaped how they saw people who were down and out on their luck. Merle hardly had a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of, but he prided himself on the fact that everything he had—all the nothing that might be—was something he got for himself. He worked and he made his money. It was up to him how he pissed it away. He figured that he'd had as sucky a life as anyone else and he'd still managed to survive, no matter how meagre that survival had been at times, so he had very little compassion for anyone who might admit that they needed the help that he should have admitted he needed more than once. Daryl, on the other hand, worked for everything he had but he understood that sometimes somebody just needed a hand. Even if it wasn't someone with their hand out, as Merle would say, asking for something for nothing, sometimes there were just things you needed.
Sometimes it was as simple as just needing to know that somebody, somewhere, gave a damn—no matter how small or fleeting the damn they gave might be.
Maybe Merle didn't give a damn because he felt like nobody had ever given a damn about him. Maybe Daryl gave a damn because he wished somebody had. They weren't really that different, in the grand scheme of things. The brothers—always yin and yang in some ways—really just saw things from different sides of the mirror.
Despite the fact that everyone wore name badges, Daryl hadn't learned anyone's name. By the time the third, and final, big wave of people came in to eat, he'd only begun to identify some of the people in his mind by some characteristic of themselves.
Bossy drink lady was abrasive. She carried pitchers of water and sweet tea like she was taking mead to kings. Hairy mole serving woman looked like everything that Daryl had ever associated with a stereotypical witch's appearance, but she seemed to have a pretty good personality and chatted with everyone in her raspy long-term smoker's voice. Clipboard organizer was a nervous man who could do with a good meal. He was rail then, far too nervous for his own good, and he seemed to be sure that everything would go wrong today—and somehow that would land him in front of firing squad. Besides them, there was kitchen man, who thought that he should be on television cooking instead of turning out three pound casseroles, and there were a handful of teenagers who'd given up an afternoon with their families and friends to chop vegetables. Among the teenagers was one girl, a little strawberry blonde, who kept Daryl laughing because every time he passed through there she was cracking some joke or another at the expense of overly nervous clipboard organizer. There, were, too, a number of people out front that were serving whom Daryl hardly got to even notice unless they were barking orders for more of something.
He'd nearly collided with one of the women when she came into the back, interrupting the flow of things, and she'd done an elaborate side-step to try to keep him from losing control of the macaroni and cheese.
"Sophia, sweetheart, if you're going to eat—you need to get out there," she said, after tossing a quick apology at Daryl. "We're finishing soon. What's going out is the last to go out."
"Last call!" Daryl announced loudly, stepping through the door to take out the macaroni.
As he was coming back in, an empty pan for green beans that would be replaced with the last full pan, he dodged the strawberry blonde girl as she took off her apron while walking out the door. He noticed that she'd been replaced by the woman who had told her to eat, and that the woman was now scrubbing dishes to try to get ahead of the rush.
Daryl brought her the empty green bean pan.
"How much more is coming in here?" She asked.
"I got two more pans to go out," Daryl said. "And then—everything that's out there's gotta come in."
Daryl glanced at her name tag. Carol.
"We all eat here or...?" Daryl asked.
She cocked an eyebrow at him.
"If you want to," she said. "But if you're going to eat you better get out there quick. We're going to run out, I think, before everyone makes it through. I hate the idea of sending people away—but it's a bigger crowd this year than last year."
Daryl shook his head.
"No," he said. "No—I didn't mean I had to eat here. I just meant...I thought with you tellin' her to go out there."
"Sophia?" Carol asked. Daryl nodded and the woman smiled. "She's my daughter," Carol said. "And—she's working tonight with the community center. It's the teen's program?"
Daryl shook his head. He didn't know anything about it. Carol continued to wash the dishes, but she hummed at him and also put some of her energy into explaining the whole thing to him.
"Every Christmas, some of the local teenagers volunteer their time at the community center. They have this big—movie night. I think they do some hot chocolate, some decorating. Everyone brings a—you know—a cool gift? The whole thing is for teens that don't have anywhere to go for Christmas. It gives them someone to hang out with. It gives them something fun to do. It's the first year that Sophia's old enough to do it, so she's kind of excited. But if she doesn't eat now—I'm afraid she's not going to get anything besides a cheeseburger or something on the way over there," Carol explained.
Daryl smiled to himself.
"That sounds nice," Daryl said. "Sounds—like she's a good kid."
Carol smiled.
"She is," Carol said. "She's a very good kid. She always has been."
"You're a good Ma, too," Daryl offered. "Otherwise—she wouldn't be willin' to spend her Christmas doin' something like that. Would rather be—doing whatever the hell it is she'd be doing if she weren't doin' that."
Carol laughed and hummed.
"We do what we can," Carol said. "This place? The community center—so many places around here...they did a lot for Sophia and me. They—helped us out a lot. It's only fair to do what we can to pay it forward. Help someone else out. You never know, you know? You never know when it's that one little thing—that one little promise—that changes someone's life."
Daryl swallowed and nodded.
"The give a damn," Daryl said.
Carol furrowed her eyebrows at him in question and he laughed nervously to himself. He shook his head at her.
"It's nothin'," he said. "Just—sometimes I think it's the just knowin', ya know? The knowin' that somebody gives a damn? It's that what keeps people from...whatever the hell it might be they was headed for. Just knowin' that somebody gives a damn."
Carol nodded.
"Yeah," she said. "And—it's Christmas. It's the caring season. Maybe—it's the time that people care the most? But it's certainly the time that I think most people realize if nobody cares."
Daryl laughed at that. It wasn't funny but, perhaps, it hit a little close to home. He gestured toward the food that he still had to take out.
"I'ma take this on out," he said. "Bring you back them other pans that need to be washed?"
Carol thanked him for his help—small as it may be and entirely wrapped up in his "job description" for the day.
Daryl moved and picked up a pan, heaving it up to replace the one that he'd just brought in, and then a thought struck him. He stopped and passed back over the where Carol was. He stood there for a second until she looked at him, stopping her dish washing, and offered him a soft smile of curiosity.
"Is there something you need?" She asked, genuine request behind the words.
"Was just thinking," Daryl said, "that—well—if Sophia's gonna be there you..." Daryl stopped himself and shook his head. "You probably got a husband. Kids to get home to."
Carol looked at him and he saw her swallow, like it was difficult for her to get down. She shook her head.
"I've only got Sophia," she offered. "What is it?"
Now Daryl could feel his stomach burning. The nerves were getting the best of him, even if they really shouldn't. It was just a simple invitation. It was just something nice to do—and he liked doing nice things. But, for some reason, it suddenly seemed almost impossible. He sucked in a breath and set himself to proceed.
"Was thinkin' that you gonna be alone," he said. "And—I'ma be alone. And I don't wanna eat no food that oughta go to somebody that can't afford it. So I ain't gonna eat here and...well...I was just wonderin' if, when we get off, you might wanna—get something to eat?"
As soon as it was out, Daryl realized how weak it sounded. He couldn't take it back in now and fix it, though. It was out there, in the universe. Carol seemed to consider it a moment. She halfheartedly scrubbed around at the pan that was in her hand, and then finally she nodded. And from the nod, there came a smile.
"Yeah," she said. "I'd—like that very much."
"Yeah?" Daryl asked. He got another affirmative nod to his question. "Then—I'll just take this stuff out. Help you wash up?"
"And then we'll get something to eat," Carol offered.
Daryl nodded his confirmation of the plans and then finally stepped out to take the hot pan to the serving line when Carol reminded him that he needed to do so before he burned himself through the oven mitts that he was using.
Daryl took the pan out, greeted the woman with the hairy mole as he traded her the pan for another empty one that was on the table, and then he looked out at everyone there that was scarfing down the hot meal that would, more than likely, make their whole holiday seem better because without it they'd be going to bed hungry.
And he wished them all a Merry Christmas in his mind. In some small way, Daryl had helped them all to have a good Christmas dinner and—whether it was something nice or just something picked up at a drive thru—Daryl was pretty sure that he'd helped himself along the way to have the same. Good things, after all, come to those who give.