Title: Protect Your Own
Summary:
Notes: I got inspired seeing this piece of artwork Caryl: Protector by Sakura-Akira on tumblr and it really made me want to write something, even though I'm no Caryl shipper.
Set in Season 4 in some future time frame in possibly a AU. ;)
She'd stumbled into the room in a daze.
Everything was unclear, chaotic and there was a dimness to the building as evening turned to dusk. She'd lost the others somehow, and she kept pushing on, hoping to find one of them again, knife held firmly in her hand, ready to use it against the walkers that lurked throughout the building.
When she first saw it, she thought it was a dead body maybe a dead walker, maybe someone who'd been killed, she didn't really know. It wasn't until she made her way across and round a corner and her foot kicked into something hard that skidded across the floor that she paused in the room. She frowned as she sought out what she'd kicked and saw a weapon, a crossbow.
It froze her at first, like she couldn't comprehend what she was seeing. And she didn't instantly think it was Daryl's. Not until her eyes picked up on the colour of the bolts, the white and green that she's became familiar with his newer crossbow. And she stepped backwards. Kept moving numbly backing away from the discarded weapon until she was looking back to the body in the corner.
She kept moving closer until she could see the figure better. It was Daryl.
His bloody hand was close to his head, like maybe he'd tried to protect himself from a blow to the head.
Kneeling down beside him, Carol tried to rouse him. There was blood on his face and she realised with some regret that she was kneeling in blood. She guessed it was his. Leaning in close to him, she looked him over. Checked to make sure he was alive, hands resting on his body, knife resting in her lap. She could feel him breathing beneath her.
Her eyes moved to his face, his cheek bloody from a cut upon it. Nothing serious to worry about, at least not with that one. She ran her hands over his head, found a sticky wet mess at the back of his head.
Her hands drew away from it as a groan behind her forced her to turn. She wiped her hands on her top, wiped off Daryl's blood best she could, the sweat too, so her purchase on the knife would be good. The walker stumbled towards them, and she stood up quickly before it came too close and plunged the knife into the socket of the walker, it falling to the ground as she shoved it's body away from them.
It fell to the ground with a vicious thump and she turned back to Daryl, shaking him gently, trying to rouse him.
"C'mon, we gotta get out of here," she told him. She knew if he could hear the level of desperation in her voice, he'd be fighting to keep them both safe. But he couldn't.
He was out and she had to keep them both safe. She heard another groaning from a walker and looked behind her. It wasn't in sight yet, but she could hear the shuffling getting closer, knew there was more than one this time. She moved closer to him. "I'll keep you safe," she promised him aloud.
"Carol..." Daryl's weak voice sounded out. She looked at him, stared hard willing him to stay with her, to stay conscious but all he managed was to stretch his arm out towards her slightly before it fell limply beside her. "Damn," she muttered to herself.
There was no time for anything else, the walkers started to filter into the room. She was going to stand, knew she could defend them both better if she was fighting on the same level as them, but as she moved, she found that Daryl had somehow snagged a thin piece of her trousers between his fingers, like he couldn't let her go. And she couldn't bring herself to pull away from him, to let him think he'd been left alone. She twisted her body round so that her back was to Daryl. She'd be able to protect him better this way. She looked down to his hand again and she put her hand on his back, across his shoulder blade, the way he was hunched up on the floor, it was the most natural way to keep the contact with him, but she wanted him to know that she was there, that she hadn't left him. He couldn't get the warmth from the little slip of fabric between his fingers that he would from her hand upon him.
The first walker was upon them. A female in a pretty dress. Or it would have been if it wasn't ruined by all the things that stained it, ripped it in places. The walkers bony fingers went to grip Carol's wrist but she was able to twist herself away, let the knife slip upwards into the walkers brain. She slipped to the floor dead. Carol glanced quickly to the next creature reaching out for them, four or five all close, God knows how many more behind them. Her grip on Daryl's shirt tightened a little.
If they died, at least it would be together.