Contemplating Light in a Dark World
A/N: This is a little one-shot from Daryl's perspective. It's totally Caryl with a bunch of love for the whole group.
His father had locked him in the storm cellar when he was young. It was the first wave of punishments that his father hailed on him when he was deemed to be too much of a pussy, a sissy boy. To be completely honest he preferred the lashings that followed to the captivity he faced in the rank darkness of the dirt floored cellar. The darkness of the boxcar and the muggy, salt-sweat smell of too many unwashed bodies reminded him of that dark, unforgiving cellar. There on the floor of the boxcar Daryl alternatively clenched and relaxed the muscles in his arms, his hands aching for a comforting grip on his crossbow.
He listened to Rick, Glenn, Maggie and Michonne continue to plot and plan their way out of Terminus. Carl slept against Michonne's side and, in the slant of moonlight that crept through the walls of the boxcar to hit Carl's face, Daryl could see how young the boy truly was. Absentmindedly, the warrior woman guarded the boy with a dark, muscular arm; as if daring the residents of Terminus to attempt to part her from the child. He also saw Rick glance at the protective embrace with varying looks of relief, gratitude and jealously playing over his weary face at an unfathomable speed before he focused once more on their plan of attack.
Daryl was tired of surviving. He was tired of trying. They had discussed and discarded the same plans of attack over and over again, to no avail. He closed his eyes for a moment. He thought of what he thought he had lost and what he had managed to find. In the dim trickle of moonlight he looked at Rick, at all of the people in the box car with him. At how tightly Maggie and Glenn clasped hands. He had been reunited with the people that were family in every way except blood. Some of them, at least. He closed his eyes, as he tried not to think of those who were lost to him.
Patrick, who had looked up to him with undeserved hero-worship in his eyes.
Hershel, the strong father who had so much faith in the humanity of their little group, but when he blinked he saw the blood drip from the katana that the Governor held in his hand.
Beth, who had grieved as a girl caught between childhood and womanhood might. A tangle of sadness, anger, surrender and fight. His reminder that, even at the end of the world there could still be innocence. His strange young friend with music that fell from her lips like a prayer. Daryl had recognized it in her voice as she sang: that even when her father was gone she had sung for him still. But Daryl had failed her. Like he had failed to save Sophia. That failure threatened to rise up and choke him where he lay.
Other names and faces drifted through his mind. Lil' Asskicker… Daryl's brain choked on the infant's face and refused to contemplate the awful fate of the child.
As he sat quietly, the moon drifted behind the clouds and one by one the rest of his group fell into a silent, restless sleep. Glenn on Maggie whispered to each other quietly, as they took their turn on watch together, taking the opportunity for the closest thing they might have for privacy for some time. The same darkness that had overtaken the others crept behind his eyes. But before sleep could take him flashes of one last face shimmered within his mind, and he didn't push the images away, instead he clung to the phantom image.
Blue eyes. Short grey hair that looked soft to the touch. Her slim shoulder brushing lightly against his as a joke fell from her lips, knives on her hip and child in her arms. She was lovely. She was deadly. There in the darkness he held her image in his mind's eye. He didn't know if she had killed Karen and David, but he could understand why she might have done it. He knew that she had it within her to do it. To keep them safe, the Carol he knew would do almost anything. This world had sharpened her, and he had helped encourage that process along. He was the first to put a blade in her hand. After they had fled the farm, she had come to him when she felt the need to learn how to defend herself and he had taught her willingly, quietly admiring the speed in which she became comfortable with close combat with the walkers.
Even then, however, he had known that she had never seen human life as easily expendable. Rick was his best friend, his brother even. But he was erratic. Carol was not. Carol was steady and sure. A balance of caring and calculation. Daryl didn't look deeper as the faith she engendered in him. He simply knew that if he believed in anyone at all, he believed in her. He just wished for a chance to talk to her, a chance to understand. Daryl was comforted momentarily by the knowledge that she had been safely away from the prison when the Governor had attacked. Rick's banishment had been a gift in some ways. But he knew, that even with all of the strength she had gained, she could not survive this harsh new world alone. He needed to find her. He needed to be her protector once more. He sighed in frustration. He just wanted her back. It didn't matter why or how. He just wanted her to be safe. He moved his lips with the words, although no sound escaped.
"Stay safe."
He would fight a little longer. If he could find so much of his family perhaps he could find her too. Perhaps they could heal after everything that had happened. Perhaps, he thought, as exhaustion drained the cynicism from his bones, perhaps he could help save them all.
Perhaps, when the morning came he would be ready to fight.