Hey, everyone!
Maybe I'll post these first chapters a little faster, to catch up soon with the rest of the story :)
Still pissed at me? Come on, forgive me :) I suffered a complete block with this story!
Enjoy!
Everyone was restless that night. Not even one of them went to sleep. They were waiting for him to return from the tombs, not having a clue what to expect. So they just braced themselves for the worst. They were long used to disaster knocking their door. They were expecting it, along with the Governor's attack. But what they saw when they heard his boots thudding on the cement floor and turned towards the entrance of the cell block exceeded even their wildest nightmare. To say that he was soaked in walker's blood would be an understatement. Blood was literally dripping from his clothes as if he had taken a shower in it. Eight mouths dropped agape as he crossed the block, climbed the stairs and disappeared in his cell, his expression unfathomable.
The moment he was out of sight, seven pair of eyes were lingering on her. Carol was petrified. She was biting her lip, her gaze drifting to each one of them, desperately searching their faces for some advice. She found nothing. Swallowing hard, she stood up, lifted her chin and headed to the stairs.
"Are you sure about that?" She heard Hershel's concerned voice. Cocking her head towards him, she smirked sadly and nodded.
Rick was on her heels, but he stopped at the top of the staircase. "Be careful," he said sharing an encouraging half-smile with her. "I'll be right here".
"Promise me not to intervene unless I tell you," she requested.
"Carol-" He protested, shaking his head.
"Please, Rick! I have to be with him!" She insisted eagerly.
He gave her a hard look, lips twitching. "Ok". Reluctance was clear in his voice; she could only hope he'd comply to her will if things went south, even begrudgingly.
She stopped in the entrance of his cell, blocking his way out.
He growled, sensing her presence with his back on her. Suddenly, cornering him in a confined space like a cell seemed like the worst idea she had ever come up with. He would feel trapped, suffocated. But it was too late now; she was already here, there was no going back for her anymore. In any possible sense. The air in the cell was thick from walker stink, causing her to wince, but she didn't care.
Daryl was just standing there, puffing violently as if he was going to explode any moment now; facing the wall, his eyes digging holes on the bare concrete. His entire body in a position ready to attack an invisible enemy. Rage swirled like a red tide inside him, rushing in his veins, ready to choke or devour him.
This was it, then. She decided she would take it, no matter what. Inhaling deeply, she took a step forward, fully entering into his cell now, into whatever was lurking there, threatening to eliminate her.
She reached out her trembling arm to stroke him but thought better about it and let it fall laxly by her side. "Daryl-" she pleaded.
He didn't move.
"Daryl-" she repeated a little louder.
His head tilted imperceptibly. "Get out!" He snarled without turning around.
She gave herself a second to weigh her options. Although she was well aware that she shouldn't underestimate the wrath boiling inside him, she couldn't leave him again; he was so lost in his suffering abyss she just couldn't ignore it. She almost smiled bitterly at herself; each time logic and emotion were in conflict inside her, logic didn't stand a chance.
"No." She stated flatly.
"GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE!" He had whirled around and was suddenly screaming at her, completely out of control, spluttering all over and around her face. Taken aback by the menacing outburst, she retreated until she was out of his cell, leaning against the railing. She silently cussed herself; she should have stood her ground. At least she never broke eye contact with him. From the corner of her eye Carol spotted Rick taking a step closer from the top of the stairs with the gun in his hand. She motioned him to wait, being extra careful of not moving too fast, still holding Daryl's gaze.
But he was lost again, absorbed in a vacant space in front of him; looking at her but not seeing her.
She had no idea what to do next, the knot in her stomach was back, the sense of impotence devastated her. But again she knew there was no going back for her. She took a few light, cautious steps towards him, entering his cell for a second time. His eyes, narrowed and darkened, followed her the way a predator stalks his prey. She tried to approach him sideways, avoiding another direct confrontation.
"It's me." She said softly.
"What do you want?" He snapped at her with his glassy eyes.
Her presence was infuriating him, pushing him to the edge. Before she could say anything, he spun around away from her and crashed his fist against the wall grimacing from the pain at the sound of the cracking bone. It would have been either the wall or her skull. A shriek escaped Carol's lips as she lunged forward to grab his bleeding knuckles, only to feel the back of her head crushing against the wall. In a split second she was entirely pinned against it, his one hand locked around her neck and the other curled in a fist, mere inches away from her face; his body collided with hers.
Rick was at the door immediately, ready to storm inside, but froze dead in his tracks at her slightly lifted hand. Considering the situation she was in and the spectacle she must had provided, she was grateful to him for respecting her choices. She had made her mind before stepping in Daryl's cell that Rick shouldn't attack Daryl to protect her under any circumstances. Given Daryl's delirious haze, that would only end with one them dead; probably Rick, gun or no gun. She was determined to prevent that from happening even if it meant she'd have to throw herself in front of a bullet or a blade.
Carol had hard time breathing again, knowing how vulnerable she was under his grip; her heart was hammering, jostling violently against her chest, knowing he could just snap her like a twig in a flash. She kept her eyes locked with his, nevertheless, refusing to let panic take hold of her. Somewhere deep inside this enraged, wild lion in front of her, there was still Daryl. He had to be. And Daryl would never hurt her. He. Would. Never. Hurt. Her. Never.
"Please, Daryl. It's me. It's just me." She begged, dumbfounded by the sobs distorting her voice. How long had she been crying?
The hunter's grip was unyielding, though; teeth gritted, jaw fixed, a muffled growl escaping his throat. His ragged breaths were burning her face, numbing her senses, making it impossible to think clearly when she was longing for nothing else but to glue her lips on his. The reek of rotten flesh that was radiating from his toned body and the blood staining her skin were bringing up a new wave of nausea.
It's Carol. It's just Carol, a frantic voice was echoing in his head. His mind was yelling at him to stop before hurting her, reminding him the person he was about to beat to death or strangle or both, was the one person he had sworn to protect and keep safe from any danger, wherever it came from; even from himself.
She locked her hands around his wrists while hot tears were streaming uncontrollably down her cheeks. His inner struggle plain as daylight in his contorted features and the incomprehensible expression spread across his gorgeous face. She couldn't stand the pain and the sorrow he was in, she couldn't care less about her life or he well being any more, not when he was hurting like that not even a breath away from her.
"Do whatever you have to do, Daryl," she whispered and sealed her eyes shut, ready for everything.
It was that last thing she said that ultimately did; the blank check she selflessly and stoically granted him that he could kill her right there, right at that moment and she would still forgive him. A switch flipped inside his head and he finally recognized her; the realization hit him like a punch in the jaw. He was hurting Carol. He kept her nailed on the wall, ready to smash her head with his fists. Carol's head. As if she was his fucking punching bag; he was ready to do to her what that asshole husband of hers used to. No. It was Carol.
He blinked and immediately dropped his bloody fist fall, taking a step back and stomping on his feet, struggling to maintain his balance. Her eyes fluttered open as she was suddenly freed from his steel clutch and she stopped crying, stopped even breathing; she froze, standing completely still in her place, staring at him, wary eyes darting all over his face. He was cringing and frowning now, disgusted by himself, deep wrinkles spreading on his brow. Rage was wearing off as her presence there started sinking in to him. It was Carol. But the ebbing rage cracked open a slit for shame tangled up with sorrow to creep in and take over him. He suddenly couldn't get enough air in lungs; the lump in his throat was suffocating him.
Carol unglued herself from the wall and reached out to him; her own breath strained. When he didn't flinch away she moved closer and cupped his face with her hands searching his eyes in terror, her heart clenched, aching for him. The wild animal was nowhere to be seen, a helpless boy broken to the core had taken his place.
"I put him down," he gasped, his eyes wild and desperate locked with hers. "I had to put him down". He reiterated wincing, as if he had only just deciphered the meaning of these words.
And with that, as even he had only just processed the grim events of the day, he burst into crying, defeated, agonizing sobs penetrating his broken body. She threw herself to him then, locking her arms around his waist, tugging him as close as she could, sensing every single muscle tensing and jolting bolting under her touch. A glimpse of Rick bowing his head and walking away to allow them some privacy was the last thing she registered before closing her eyes, unable to withhold her own tears. She had reached him, he was finally right there with her. He would share his grief for his brother's demise and let her carry some of his sorrow. Nothing else mattered right now.
"I'm here. I'm not leaving you. I'm here," she choked between her own whimpers.
He froze at the contact and remained stone still in his place as he channeled everything left inside him not to recoil; hot tears still stinging his eyes; his arms hanging loosely by his sides as he was taking in her body snuggled against him, her tight embrace and her quite sniffles scorching his chest. It took him a while before he wrapped his good hand around her back; took him a little bit longer to bring his mangled hand at her nape; took him even more to bury his face in the crook of her neck. When he did, though, he just let go; hugging her tight, he surrendered once again to his heartbreaking mourning. Merle was dead. But Carol was there. And she wasn't leaving him.
As time passed and he continued lamenting his bereavement, Daryl clung to her like she was the last barrier standing between him and madness, the last ray of hope in his downward spiraling.
After a while, his shuddering deteriorated significantly, taking control of his body before he had a chance to compose himself. He felt his knees buckling and, as her petite frame was too weak to support his slumping weight, they both collapsed on the ground, never letting go of each other.
To be continued...
This is so heartbreaking, even re-writing it is painful :).
I'm crying my eyes out right now, for the second time!
But I really believe Daryl wouldn't know how to deal with his grief and Carol is the only person who could reach him.
Thank you for reading :) I would be more than grateful for a little feedback!
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