I've been picking away at this ever since I posted the first chapter. It finally started flowing tonight.
This one takes place the following night.
Disclaimer: The Walking Dead and all related characters do not belong to me.
Dread lay heavy in his gut as he moved. But he had to move. Had to find her. She'd been swallowed by the tombs, and it was his responsibility to find her and end it. He owed it to her.
Searching the tombs was impossible. Each time he turned, something different was behind him. Walls moved, corridors changed, doors that were there one second were gone the next. The floor sucked at his feet, dragging him down and keeping him back from his duty. The walls rippled and bled, changing in front of his eyes. The ceiling bulged downward, threatening to ooze over him, suffocate him, crush him.
He could hear walkers everywhere, could smell their rancid bodies and fetid breath, but he never saw them. The knot in his gut twisted in fear that she was among them, rotting and hungering for fresh meat.
Finally, he could hear it – a creaking door as it bumped up against the body holding it closed. Nausea washed through him, because he knew what was behind the door. He followed the sound because he had to. He followed it because he knew it would mean the end. When he ended her existence, it would end his own, because he couldn't BE without her.
Slogging forward through the resisting hallways, he pushed on toward the sound. It grew louder and louder until it rang in his head, obscuring all other senses. Creaking and bumping. Creak. Bump. Finally he could see it in front of him. Solitary. His skin tried to crawl back down the corridor without him. As much as he was driven to find her, he was afraid. He didn't want to find her – seeing her like...that...would destroy him. The dread inside him curdled and churned, and he swallowed hard to keep it down.
And just like that, he was there with the door towering in front of him. The metal was cold and black, absorbing the warmth of his body, sucking at his very life. He feared the door, but he had to open it. Clenching the knife in his teeth, he gripped the edge of the door and pulled. And pulled. Finally, it started to move, swinging slow and heavy outward. As it swept past him, he grabbed the knife and prepared himself for what he knew he would have to do. The handle of the knife was slippery from the tears it had intercepted on his cheek. Tightening his grip, he stepped forward, peering into the swirling darkness of the cell.
A shape moved in the blackness.
It was nearly pitch black in the prison. What little moon there was tonight wasn't up yet, and precious little light filtered in through the tall cell block windows. Carol hadn't been able to fall asleep yet and shifted restlessly under her blanket, trying to find a place that allowed her mind to shut down enough for her body to relax into sleep. She'd made a game with herself, counting her breaths and willing her conscious mind to slip further back in her brain, hoping she might trick herself into dropping off, but so far, she'd just frustrated herself.
She finally sat up, shivering in the cold air, to look for her boots. Maybe she could find herself something warm to drink in the kitchen. There was probably still some of last night's soup stock left. Tugging on her long sweater and picking up a small flashlight, she slipped out of her cell to walk softly to the common area.
Cranking up the camp stove, she put a small amount of stock in a pan to heat. It only took a few minutes since there was so little of it. She shut off the stove and poured the soup into a coffee mug to take with her. Breathing in the steam, she took a sip, loving the warm feeling as it pooled in her belly. It was getting so cold at night lately. She never liked the cold.
Picking up her flashlight again, she headed back to the cell block, intending to finish her soup and try again to get some sleep. But as she entered the cell block there was more than just the usual rustling and snoring from the sleeping residents. She was sure she heard something else. Listening carefully, she tried to figure out where it was coming from. She followed the sounds up the stairs to the cell at the end. Daryl's cell.
"Mmmngh. Hf. No! Ummm." He was mumbling in his sleep. She couldn't make out most of it, but the 'no' and the frown she could see in the beam of the flashlight told her it wasn't a good dream.
"Daryl?" she said softly. Maybe she could wake him enough to shake him out of the bad dream and let him sleep peacefully again.
"No!" He started shifting in his sleep, but was thoroughly tangled in his blankets, his feet and one arm twisted up and trapped.
Not wanting to invade his space, she took a small step into the cell before trying again. "Daryl? It's me – wake up. You're having a dream."
His shifting increased, and now more resembled thrashing as he fought with his blanket. The murmuring was punctuated with whimpers now.
She bit her lip. Deciding to ignore any potential hurt feelings over privacy invasion, she moved into the cell, leaving her flashlight and mug of broth on the stack of boxes just inside the door. She didn't want to touch him in case he lashed out in his sleep, so she spoke a little louder this time, crouched at the side of his bunk.
"Daryl, it's me. You're dreaming."
With a jerk of his head and a sharp inhalation, he stared into her face, but didn't seem to be really seeing her. His eyes were glassy and a little frightening in their fury. His free hand snapped out and grabbed the side of her neck roughly. "No! It ain't right."
"It's okay, Daryl, you're having a dream." His grip on her tightened until it hurt, but she didn't try to pull away.
"I can't do it," he moaned. There was pain in his voice, turning it ragged.
"Please wake up? Everything's okay, just wake up."
She could see the change in his face as he came truly awake. There was confusion as he recognized she was there in his cell, and then he clamped down on any expression he might have had as he yanked his hand away from her. She moved back, far enough he wouldn't feel threatened in the aftermath of the dream and just enough to be out of his reach. Even though his hand was gone, she could still feel it on her skin.
"You were dreaming." She felt compelled to explain what she was doing intruding on his personal space.
He nodded, then scrubbed his fingers through his hair and dragged his hand over his face. Looking down at himself, he started untwisting the blanket from his limbs.
She continued her apology. "I'm sorry. I couldn't sleep, and I heard you when I came back from the kitchen."
Once he got his bedding sorted, he sat up but didn't look at her.
"Do you want some soup? It's just broth, really." She took the mug from the box and offered it across the gulf between them.
He turned his eyes to her finally, but they were the narrow, guarded eyes she remembered from the quarry. It hurt to see those eyes again. Just when she was about to pull the mug back, he reached for it, careful not to let their fingers touch. He gave her a barely there nod of thanks as he accepted it. Focusing all his attention on the mug, he sipped at the soup and kept quiet.
The cold concrete where she sat on the floor was quickly sapping her body heat. Eventually she started to shiver, so she pushed herself to her feet and turned to leave him to his soup.
"Stay." His voice was low and rough, and she felt it wash over her skin like a breeze.
She nodded. "But I can't sit on the floor anymore. It's freezing."
Pulling his feet up from the end of the bed, he turned to lean up against the wall like they had done yesterday. "There's another blanket on the top bunk if you want it."
She dragged the blanket down and bundled up before arranging herself to lean against the wall near him. Neither of them spoke, and she wondered if they would just spend the whole night here wide awake and silent. If that's what happened, she decided that was okay, since she wasn't sleeping anyway. He handed the mug back to her, and they continued passing it back and forth, finishing the now lukewarm broth.
Some time after she'd set the empty mug on the floor, he dropped his head and spoke to his knees. "You ain't gonna ask?"
Pressing her lips together, she studied him for just a moment. "No."
His head lifted so he could search her face.
"You'll tell me when you want to. IF you want to. I know that."
He nodded and dropped his eyes again. They sat in silence. Carol pulled the blanket tighter around herself and shivered. The weather had turned, and she was beginning to realize how terribly cold the prison was going to be this winter. Assuming they survived that long.
"You okay?" he asked her suddenly.
"Just cold."
"You said you couldn't sleep." His voice had softened.
She shrugged.
"Dreams?" he asked.
She shook her head. "Haven't slept enough to dream."
He grunted a response and chewed on his lip. His eyes traveled over the room, looking at everything but her. Finally his eyes flicked her way for just a second before returning to glare at his knees when he saw she was looking back. He started picking at one of his thumbnails.
"The dream. It was the one I told you about last night. That fuckin' cell in solitary. It's- I just- Fuck!" he spat before falling silent, scowling down at his hands.
Tugging to rearrange her blanket, Carol turned to face him, leaning her shoulder against the wall. "I know it won't stop the nightmare, but I'm okay because of you. I didn't turn because you found me. You saved me. Again."
His eyes flashed fire. "And what the fuck happens when I ain't there the next time, huh? I can't always be there to save your ass! If you fuckin' die and leave me alone-" He bit his words off abruptly and jumped to his feet. "Out. Go on, git. I don't need you holdin' my goddamn hand here. Just go back to bed."
She knew the venom in his words was fueled by fear – residual fear from the nightmare and fear of leaving himself vulnerable – but it still stung. She stood and tried to hand the blanket back to him, but he brushed her off.
"Take it. Just get the fuck gone." He wouldn't meet her eyes.
She picked up her mug and flashlight, turning back to him in the doorway. "Good night."
He huffed through his nose.
Carol tried to ignore the prickling behind her eyes as she made her way back to her cell. She crawled into bed, settling in to try again to get some sleep. At least now she was warm enough with the extra blanket, but the soup wasn't sitting well in her belly anymore.
She wasn't sure how much time had passed with her tossing restlessly on her bunk when she heard the faintest scrape of a footstep. Daryl was there, a hovering silhouette in her doorway. He stayed silent, even though he must have known she was awake from her rustling movements.
Finally she whispered, "What?"
He shuffled a bit on his feet. "'M sorry for bein' an asshole."
"I know." He was always sorry for being an asshole. Maybe someday he would stop having to be sorry by not acting like an asshole in the first place.
"Still can't sleep?"
She sighed. "No."
"Me neither." He fidgeted around some more, and she suspected he was probably struggling to find a way to say whatever he was really here to say. She waited, but he said nothing.
"Will you stay?" she asked after he remained quiet for a minute. With how quickly he stepped into her cell, she was sure that was it – the thing he was here for.
Without a word, he wrapped his blanket around his shoulders in a swirl and sat at the end of her bunk in the same place he'd been last night. He was reserved at the best of times, but it seemed he was even less interested in conversation than usual. Carol didn't mind.
She bunched her blankets up under her chin and curled up on her side. She didn't feel the urge to toss and turn with him there, so she gratefully let herself slip toward oblivion.
Before she fell fully asleep, she was startled when she felt Daryl touch her foot through the blanket. Only half-awake, she thought she might have dreamed it, but it happened again later. He touched her foot for just a moment, as though reassuring himself she was still there. Eventually, she dropped off, and if he touched her again, she never knew it.
She slept soundly with no dreams that she remembered, but in the morning, she woke in her cell alone.
