Title: Badlands
Summary: She was changed by the world they lived in. That's what Rick said. That's why he took her away, left her. Maybe he was more forgiving than Rick, but she'd always just be Carol to him.
Notes: I'm not saying this is Caryl... it's just what it is. But it's mostly about them.
For the ones who had a notion, a notion deep inside
That it ain't no sin to be glad you're alive.
There were three tents.
Three tents filled with those that survived the siege on the prison, the few possessions they'd salvaged as they fled. They had bigger tents. Back at the prison, stored up in the bed of one of their trucks. It was ready, in case they had to leave in a hurry, but that vehicle was quickly taken care of when the attack happened. Burnt out. They'd scavenged what few things they had now.
Daryl hadn't really wanted to share a tent with the others at first. Had kept watch the first night. Just in case. Spent a few nights sleeping beside the tree they'd settled near but then it grew colder and he figured it was better to just suck it up and get whatever he could.
He lay there one morning having woken when Carl turned in his sleep and ended up with his back against Daryl's shoulder blade. The warmth of another against him was strange and uncommon enough that he couldn't settle while the young boy rested against him.
Instead he listened to the rain. Felt that uncomfortable pull in his side that hadn't abated any since they'd left the prison behind. He wanted to think it was from the losses they'd suffered. The stain on his filthy shirt told him otherwise. Part of him knew he should do something about it. Say something. But it'd do good. They had nothing. They were barely able to scrape together enough food for a day.
And the rain had hardly let up. Fit well with the groups mood since they'd run. But as Daryl lay there that morning, it started to ease up and by light, it had stopped all together.
He pulled his boots back onto his sock covered feet, he didn't even bother taking the socks off any more, and stepped into the muck outside the tent. The water squelched under foot and he headed to check on the food they had. A few tins of beans, some fruit and a unmarked tin.
He was going to head out, planned to eat first but there was so little. He'd eat later. At least he could pretend that aching, dull pain from his side now that he was moving, he could fool himself that it was down to hunger.
He headed into the woods. When the rain started again, it didn't matter so much. He knew he should go back. He'd not find anything, not in weather like this. But he couldn't. Couldn't stand to face the others. Didn't even want to go back. Not without something good to show them. Something to show them. Anything.
So he just walked on. Barely noticed when he left the woods and was walking through a field. He regained some awareness when his senses made him alert, like something was not quite right. He dropped lower, the tall grass in the field helping him to hide himself. He scanned around himself, watching and waiting. He always let his sense guide him, trusted his instincts completely. He could barely believe his luck when he saw a deer emerge from the woods on the other side of the field.
He watched eagerly as the doe made her way into the field, ears twitching nervously as she made a slow walk in his direction.
Daryl knew he couldn't afford to get anything short of a perfect shot on her. They needed this, the group. He had to get it for them. So he waited. Gave her the time she needed.
She was slow, nervous. Maybe she knew something bad was about to happen. And she was right.
But it had nothing to do with him.
Daryl watched her bolt, ran into the woods where he'd come from minutes ago and he watched, fired a wild stray shot that just landed on the ground somewhere out of sight, but she was gone and he watched as from the woods, following her, a herd of walkers. He lowered himself into the mud, let the grass cover him as they passed by. Close enough he could hear them squelching through the mud but not that they could see him.
He waited until it was silent. The growls distant and just the rain pelting the ground beside him the only remaining noise. He stood up and looked around. No walkers. No deer.
He was cold and wet enough that his whole body felt numb. He should go back. He knew.
But the walkers were in the woods he needed to travel through, could even stumble across their tiny camp. The others might flee, or he might lead the walkers there. And really, he didn't want to go back any more.
Didn't want to do anything. He considered just dropping back down in the mud, in the rain and not moving. But that was too pathetic. He couldn't quit. He kept heading for the trees. Where the deer had come from. Maybe he'd get lucky. Just before he reached the woods, he saw something move between two trees. He cursed, louder than he should and spun quickly so his back was against the closest tree. He looked to his crossbow, remembered he'd fired it and cursed again, bending down to reload it.
He hadn't even got the bolt in when he stood back up, hearing the sounds of something running towards him. It was quicker than he expected and he dropped the crossbow, numb wet fingers grasped for his knife instead. He had a hold of the handle when a thin hand grabbed his wrist with a tight grip.
He pulled away, tried to before he looked up. He hadn't really paid attention to the fact that the hand had been soft or that there was no growling accompanying it. And so when he looked up and saw her, saw her face, a mirror of the shock on his, he wasn't completely sure this wasn't a dream, a delusion. He moved his arm free from her grasp as they just stared at one another.
"I never thought I'd see you again," she finally whispered. There might have been tears in her eyes, running down her face, it was impossible to tell in the rain. And then she moved closer to him, just one step and she moved her arms towards him a little, to touch him, to feel him, but he jerked away a little. "I..." she started, wanted to explain but she stopped herself. Smiled at him and she reached up to his face, pushed back the soggy dripping strands of hair that lay across his face. "It's really me," she told him, hands leaving his face and finding his body. She barely touched him but he felt it enough. Knew this wasn't some insanity bought on by the hunger or his guilt, or anything else. She was real and here and touching him and he reached his hand to the back of her head and pulled her towards him, nestled her into his shoulder so he could really feel her. Her arms wrapped around his back and held him.
His body felt so cold against hers, she could feel the tremors that shook him from the chill and she was suddenly desperate to break away from him, to get him back somewhere safe and warm. She pulled back slightly and he released his grip let his arm relax so she could pull away but he didn't break contact. His arm rested on her shoulder as she looked at him, her own arms slid round to his side.
She grazed her hand across his injured side and he reacted, body tensing, jerking from the touch.
They both looked at the area at the same time. "You're hurt," she said.
"It's old," as if that was good enough.
"Come on," she said as she went to lead him into the woods.
"I can't. The others. They're waiting for me."
"I can get you some food to take back. Supplies." She knew if he were injured and hadn't had it taken care of, then the others couldn't be in much better shape. "Let's get you taken care of. Warm you up and then you can go back, okay?"
He nodded as she picked up his crossbow, slung it over her own shoulder and she looked round to him.
"Ready?" she asked, before she lead the way towards her own camp.