Disclaimer: I don't own anything or any character from The Walking Dead. Every character and storyline from The Walking Dead belongs to the amazing creators of the comic series and television show.

Scars Burn the Soul

Summary: After the devastating events at the Grady Memorial prisoner exchange, the group moves on, and Carol and Daryl must find a way to keep themselves and each other from pulling away and losing themselves. Along the way, they find that sometimes losing yourself is the only way to completely find your way back again.

Author's Note: Daryl might be a slight bit different in this story. This takes place after the events of Coda, so keep in mind that Carol and Daryl have already been through hell and back together. While I enjoy building relationships with slow burn, I think we've all been burning long enough for our Caryl, am I right? Just don't be surprised if things get serious really fast. Just saying. ;)

Chapter 1: Crumble

Warning: This chapter contains descriptions of painful abuse upon a young child through flashbacks.

The walls of Grady Memorial might as well have crumbled behind them as they left it behind without looking back. Carol felt her knees trembling and her head spinning as she walked. She felt a hand on her waist, and she felt that hand move as the arm circled around her. She felt him bend down, catching her arm around his neck. His eyes looked everywhere but at her, and she grabbed the fabric of his vest between her fingers, clutching him, praying she wouldn't fall.

His head bent down, and she choked back a sob when his grip tightened on her. He wasn't just carrying her. He was trying to hold himself up.

"Stop," she whispered, tears clinging to her eyelashes. He stopped, and she turned to stand in front of him as the group walked ahead without turning back. Tyreese, the biggest and physically strongest of the group had taken over carrying Beth toward what would be her final resting place.

"You hurt?"

"I'm not worried about me." She put her hand on his chest, and he looked up at her, his eyes finally meeting hers. The tears slipped down her cheeks. He started to turn, but she gripped his vest. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't pull away. Don't do this. You did it when Sophia died. You're doing it again. Please. Just don't." He felt the heat rising in his face, he felt his eyes burning. He wanted to turn and walk away, but somehow, seeing the grief in her eyes made it easier. He bowed his head for a moment, and she moved her hand to his cheek. He placed his hand against hers, curling her fingers in his. "We get to move on, remember?"

He took a shuddering breath, moving her hand away only to press a kiss to her palm, sending a jolt right through her. She bit her trembling lip, and he pulled her against him, holding her, feeling her trembling in his arms, and she stroked his hair, hearing a sob escape. Exhausted and wrecked, they broke apart, and she took his hand in hers. They turned back toward the rest of the group, who had stopped a few yards up to give them their space. They looked around everywhere but at the two broken souls that clung to each other out of desperation, out of need.

Carol wiped the fog off of the bathroom mirror, wincing when she saw the swelling already starting on her right eye. A bruise was already beginning to form, and she made a mental note to try and cover it with some makeup before Sophia got home from school.

She stood in front of the mirror, gazing at the sight of her bare breasts, and she traced her finger along a tiny, pink mark, something she'd almost forgotten about. It was a burn mark from a cigarette, one of the first of many that Ed had inflicted upon her over the last few years. The rest of the marks were either from cigarettes or matches, she couldn't remember each of those, but she remembered that one. It had been her first burn, and she could remember it like it happened yesterday.

She looked at herself in the mirror, wondering who the hell this broken shell of a woman was, wondering how she'd let it get this bad. She'd taken Sophia to the shelter just two days ago, and then she'd caved and gone running back to that son of a bitch last night. And he'd really let her have it.

She traced her fingers over the three scratches on her shoulder where he'd clawed at her shirt, ripping it open before he forced himself on her after beating her half-unconscious on the kitchen floor.

"Mama?" The voice echoed through the house when the front door flew open. "I'm home!" Carol sniffled and wiped her eyes, quickly pulling her bathrobe on and tying it firmly around herself. She scrambled, trying to find something, anything to cover her swelling eye with, but it was too late. The soft knock came to the door, and Sophia poked her head around, her bright eyes widening at the sight of her mother fighting back tears. "Mama…what's wrong?"

"Nothing, sweetheart. I'm fine," Carol assured her, bringing her arms around her daughter in a big hug, wincing a little when her daughter hugged back tightly. When they pulled away, Sophia gave her mother an 'I know he hit you' look but said nothing. "Go on and get started on your homework. I'll get supper started, alright? Your father will be home soon."

"Sure," the girl said softly, almost in a whisper. She'd made whispering an art. Sophia Peletier knew when to make herself scarce, and that was ninety percent of the time her father was home.

"That's my girl," Carol said softly, giving her daughter one more squeeze before sending her off to her room. When Sophia was down the hall and her door was closed, Carol closed the bathroom door, leaned back against it and slid down to the floor, pulling her arms around her knees and bringing them up to her chest. She fought hard against the sting of tears in her eyes, but it wasn't long before she was biting sobs into the sides of her wrists, trying to keep the noise down to a minimum.

The next few days were a blur. After burying Beth in a meadow outside of the city, the group had abandoned the fire truck and piled into the truck they'd brought to Atlanta. Carol was given the passenger's seat since she was still in a bit of pain, and Daryl had taken over driving. At this point, they had no direction, and in the back of the truck, there were currently arguments and debates over where they should go, or even if they should go.

"We should just leave Georgia," Daryl murmured, brushing his fingers through his hair as he drove down the littered old highway.

"We could," Carol said quietly, "but we'd have the same problems out there. At least we know this area." She saw Daryl shrug.

"Don't matter," he replied. "How do we know them cops at the hospital ain't gonna just come after us?"

"They don't have a reason to. Dawn's dead. They'll have a new leader now."

"Dawn's dead. Beth's dead. What the fuck was it all for?" Daryl asked bitterly. "She was stupid."

"What?"

"She died tryin' to save that kid. All she had to do was walk away."

"Daryl," Carol offered softly, reaching over to touch his arm. He shrunk away a little, and Carol pulled her hand back. "Daryl, she was brave. They were going to kill him, and you know it."

"She was one of ours." His eyes flashed angrily as he peered down the road. "He was one of them."

"You know that's not true," she murmured.

"Don't matter now. She's dead." Carol watched him chew his lip and knew he wasn't going to say anymore on the matter for now.

"But we're not," Carol reminded him. She searched his face, but he wouldn't look at her. "What was it you said? We're not ashes? We're still here." Daryl scoffed and stepped on the gas, and Carol felt that lump in her throat. She gripped the door handle and fought back the urge to cry.

"None of this shit matters. None of it. We're gonna live until we die, and when we die, it's gonna be brutal, and it's gonna be painful, and there's not a fuckin' thing none of us can do to stop it. There ain't no point. I couldn't keep her safe. I couldn't help her. The minute they took her, she was already dead. Just another body walkin' around this God damned earth." He smirked and shook his head. "That's all any of us are. Only difference between us and them? We got a pulse. That's it. We're just as aimless as them. Ain't no point. Ain't no direction. We're just waitin' to die."

"The hell's the matter with you, boy? You still gonna cry for your mama?" Danny Dixon towered over his youngest son as the boy cried in a heap on the floor after one of his whoopings. "Take it like a man, son!"

"Daddy, no!" the boy cried out, wiping his bloody nose. At eight-years-old, Daryl Dixon had stopped fighting back. He'd once thrown a brick at his father during one of those whoopings, and he'd only been beaten black and blue until his shoulder popped out of place.

Liquor on his breath, Daniel Dixon knelt down next to his son, pressing his thumb into the small of the boy's bare back, getting a cry out of him.

"You take your whippin', boy. You take it, or I'll give Merle twice as bad when he gets home." Daryl clenched his fists, but he couldn't fight. He knew that even in his father's drunken state, he meant what he said. Merle was at his girlfriend's house, but he would surely get that beating as soon as he stepped foot in the house.

Daryl surrendered to his father's anger, and when he felt the belt lash at his back, he bit his lip to keep from screaming out. He gripped the rug between his fingers and closed his eyes, praying for his father's arm to tire quickly or for him to just be so dead drunk he'd pass out in the middle of the beating.

After about six lashes of the belt, Danny stumbled backward and sat down in his chair, opening another beer.

"You think about that next time you run your mouth at your daddy, you little sumbitch." Danny tossed an empty beer bottle in Daryl's direction, narrowly missing his head. Daryl pulled on his Scooby Doo tee shirt and wiped his bloody nose on the back of his hand. The blood from the open cuts on Daryl's back soaked through that shirt, and when he turned to walk back to his bedroom, he vowed to himself that one day, when he was bigger, he would fight back, and maybe for the first time in his life, he'd win.

For the first time since that night at the CDC, Carol Peletier stood in an honest-to-God shower with honest-to-God hot water pouring over her tired, aching body. She ran her soapy hands through her hair and over her skin, washing away the sweat and dirt and blood that had seemed to be collecting there for far too long. She moaned softly and leaned her forehead against the shower wall, feeling a little dizzy and grabbing a hand rail for support. She heard the beeping of her timer, alerting her that her three minutes was up, and she groaned, abruptly cutting off the water and feeling cool air rush over her.

Trembling and naked, she stepped out of the shower and limped over to the sink, where a fresh pair of clothes waited for her, fresh out of the dryer. She pulled them over herself, aching with each movement, still feeling a tremendous amount of pain from getting hit by the car outside of Grady Memorial. She was still a little disoriented from being unconscious for a few days, but she was thankful that she had woken up, that the group had found her, and that she'd survived.

The last couple of days had been heartbreaking and grueling. After Beth's death, they'd moved on, everybody too emotionally exhausted to even think straight. For Carol, every time she looked at Maggie, she wanted to cry. Maggie was emotionally distant from pretty much everyone except for Glenn, whom she clung to as if her life depended on it. Daryl was just drained and completely without hope. She knew that losing Beth had been a devastating blow to him. She knew he was probably thinking about losing Sophia, because it was all she could think about lately, too. He'd tried so hard, but in the end, there had been nothing he could do. It was over.

They'd stumbled upon an old nursing home, and after clearing out the walkers that roamed around inside, they'd discovered the generators in the basement, and everybody had settled in to enjoy some clean clothes and hot showers before the generators gave out completely, which would probably be in the next few hours.

Carol wiped the fog off of the mirror and looked at herself. She grimaced and forced herself not to look away. While the shower had washed away the dirt and blood, it had really brought just how bruised and scratched up she really was. She looked away and turned to walk out of the bathroom. Daryl was waiting out in the hall. She gasped a little when she saw him, all clean, his wet hair dripping onto his bare chest as a towel hung loosely around his neck.

"Feel better?" she asked.

"Feel cleaner," he muttered. "You?"

"Same," she said quietly. She saw Michonne coming down the hall with her pack, a wide smile on her face at the idea of getting a hot shower.

"You done?" she asked.

"It's all yours," Carol said, stepping out of the way. Michonne sighed and stood there, staring at the shower in awe.

"Just in case I'm dreaming, please don't wake me up," she laughed. Carol gave her a little smile and leaned against the door when Michonne closed it behind her.

"You goin' to bed?" he asked, his eyes searching hers.

"Yeah. You?" He gave her a little nod, and the two walked toward their room together. They hadn't talked about it. They hadn't skirted around the issue. They'd just brought their things to the same place and picked their beds.

It was nice. There were two beds, and Carol imagined that two little old ladies must have shared it, judging by the various crocheted doilies and other knickknacks around the room. She didn't care, though. They had walls, and they had beds, and for a little while, anyway, they still had electricity.

Daryl closed the door behind him, and Carol felt her stomach jump at the sound of the latch clicking into place. She sat down on the edge of one of the beds, and Daryl stood there looking at her. She watched him, saw the way his gaze wavered between looking at her face and anywhere but there. Carol tilted her head a little, watching as gathered up the nerve to move or speak or do whatever it was that he was thinking about in his head. So, she eased him out of his uncertainty.

"Did you mean it?"

"Mean what?"

"What you said in the truck the other day? About there being no point?" He said nothing. He just sat down next to her on the bed. She brushed her hand over his arm. "That's what I thought when I saw Sophia walk out of that barn. When I saw her like that…all I could think about was when I first held her in my arms on the day she was born. And then I thought, what's the point? We come into this world and have no control over the conditions we're born into. And we spend every day just trying to survive." She brushed her knuckle over her eyelash, wiping away a tear. "But now I know. We can make a difference, no matter how small. We just keep trying."

"What changed your mind?"

"You did." She gave him a little smile when he looked up at her with surprise. She couldn't read him at that moment, and her stomach felt twisted and tangled.

He watched her, the blood screaming and tearing through his veins, his heart thundering beneath his chest. He looked into those pretty blue eyes and saw she still held hope. Even after being hit by a damn car and being held at some freak show cop hospital, she was still Carol. She was still that same strong woman that had fought for way too long to find that strength inside and use it. She was the same Carol that he hadn't realized—until she walked into sight in those woods after Terminus—that was like air for him. She'd been through a hell of a lot more than he'd ever even thought about in the last couple of years, and she was still standing. She was still getting through it.

In that moment, he looked at her, studying the way her eyes sought his, so open, so deep, so relieved to be alive, and he felt a tug in his chest. He'd lost at every turn lately. He'd lost Beth when his only job had been protecting her when they were on their own. He'd tried to guide her and let her experience the things she needed to experience after her dad's death, and he hadn't even been able to keep an eye on her. She was just a kid, and he'd lost her, and it had been like seeing Sophia walk out of that barn, knowing that all the pain, all the searching, all the reassuring Carol had been for nothing. Seeing Dawn put a bullet through Beth's head had been like watching Sophia peer out of the darkness of the barn, staring at them all with dead eyes.

"Daryl," Carol said softly, placing her hand on his, "we get to survive. We get to keep pushing toward something better." Daryl looked away, his cheeks burning hot. "We haven't lost everything. Not yet. We've lost before. We move past it. We have to." He looked at her again, and she drew back a little bit, wondering what he was thinking. Why wasn't he speaking? But when she felt his hands on her shoulders and saw him leaning into her, she took a deep breath, closing her eyes and waiting for him.

It wasn't slow or gentle or anything like she'd expected a first kiss from Daryl Dixon to be. With all the awkwardness that had happened between them the past couple of years, she expected something a little more shy and conserved, but his lips pressed against hers firmly, and she heard his breaths coming in shallow gasps when she opened up to him, his tongue hard and probing against hers.

She groaned against his mouth, twisting her fingers into his hair, pulling him against her, feeling his hands gripping her hips, holding onto her, unable to let go. He broke the kiss for only a moment to catch his breath, and when Carol opened her eyes, she saw him starting into her eyes, his eyes dark with desire but with something else, too, a yearning, a need for something, a pleading. Despite her aches and pains, her body was responding to him, and she felt her breath grow shallow in her lungs when he kissed her again. Her head swam with thoughts, and her heart raced as his fingers grazed her neck.

She pulled back gently, placing her hand on his chest. She saw the worry in his eyes, the need, the questions, the pain, and she felt her lip trembling as the tears came back. He brushed her cheek with his calloused thumb, and she leaned into his touch, sniffling and blinking through the tears at the evolution of what once was to what was now, what was present.

And then she fell into him, her mouth against his, opening up for his eager tongue, feeling it slide against hers, a little more gently now but with as much intensity as the last kiss, and when she felt herself falling back against the mattress, she shut off all thought and let herself feel.