TRIGGER WARNING: attempted sexual assault, violence similar to the show
A/N: I do not own these characters. As of Episode 4.10 Inmates, this story is AU, but will follow canon as closely as possible. Special thanks to atoizzard for being a beta reader. Thanks for reading!
It took all of his willpower to push away the haze creeping into his vision. Though he couldn't discern the words through the ringing in his ears, he clearly understood the tap of the cold barrel against his temple. Stay conscious or they both die.
Daryl was on his knees on the concrete floor, hands lashed behind his back. He concentrated on the zip tie tearing at his wrists, the bite of plastic teeth focusing his vision on her. He noticed a fresh welt swelling around the trickle of blood staining her cheek, but she seemed otherwise unharmed. She sat compliantly in a wooden chair, hands folded on her lap, appearing almost meditative as he knelt across from her. The red rimming her eyes was the only indication of discomfort while she endured a blond man cowering over her, toying with her hair.
"I asked you a question, asshole," the sentence filtered into his brain as his ears began to clear. "Where'd you get it?" the gunman growled, thrusting the barrel harder against his skull.
Carol's eyes met his and he remained mute. He didn't like what she had convinced him of earlier, but he trusted her. Everything had gone south when they were caught and they were out of options. He knew it was their only chance at making it out of here alive. Their last contingency plan.
"Screw you," Carol answered the man holding the gun to Daryl's head.
The gunman turned toward her with a cool expression. "Patience, darlin'. You'll get your chance soon enough," he replied stoically. She fought to keep her nerve as she noticed his eyes mirrored the cinderblock walls surrounding them. Cold, gray and … flat. The vacancy of emotion sent a chill through her. She could deal with anger and rage, had years of experience with that, but this…. She forced herself not to think about it.
"But since you're feelin' chatty, how 'bout you tell us where you got this?" he asked, holding up the semi-automatic pistol that matched his own.
They'd left the owner of that gun tied up in the back room of the post office, alive, but unconscious. She was certain the guy's luck had run out a while ago. If this pair hadn't been so wrapped up in making her watch as they beat Daryl within an inch of his life, they might have been able to save their friend. Carol shifted slightly in her chair and braced herself for what was coming. "Your man's breathin' … or he was an hour ago. Probably the midnight buffet right about now," she replied steadily, surprising herself with how casual she sounded.
The fingers in her hair seized and forced her head backwards as the blond man leaned in close, his rank breath smothering her. "I think we oughta teach this bitch to show a little respect, Smitty," he suggested, his anticipation making her skin crawl.
Daryl flinched, but the gun against his head kept him tethered to the spot. He took a breath to tamp back the adrenaline threatening to spread through his bloodstream. She was doing exactly what he had tried to talk her out of before. Exactly what she had spent years of her life with Ed trying to avoid. All that practice of smoothing things over before they got out of hand, and now she was turning that skill upside down, drawing the ire. Provoking.
He'd done that once too, the last time he saw his daddy. The smell of bourbon hung thick in the air and it hadn't taken much to poke the bear. He remembered the satisfaction he felt when he ducked the bottle aimed at his head. He could claim self-defense, if it ever came to that. The sheriff didn't much care for his family so an investigation probably wouldn't be at the top of the man's priority list.
He'd walked out the door that night with a bloody nose and bloody knuckles, cursing himself for his impulsive act. Sometimes he still wondered if he would change the way it ended if he could go back. He'd never forgiven himself for letting the son of a bitch live. He wouldn't make the same mistake with these bastards.
Carol tried not to breathe too deeply. Even adapted to the stench of death, she felt sick from this man's breath in her face. The sense memory slammed into her and she was right back in one of Ed's fits of rage. But this wasn't Ed, and she couldn't let herself go there. Daryl was depending on her. She looked up at the man holding her head back and let a slow smile spread across her mouth. "Teach me respect? Like you could teach a woman anything," she whispered just loud enough for him alone to hear.
He was crushing her with his body weight before her brain even registered the pain of impact with the hard floor. She yelped when his teeth tore at her lip and he forced his knee between her thighs.
"Don't even think about it," the gunman commanded Daryl as he turned to watch to the scene unfolding in front of him. "Alright, get it out of your system. I could use a little light entertainment before the main event."
Panic threatened to overtake her. She knew this would happen. Counted on it. But living it was far more difficult than she had anticipated. Her screams echoed off the walls before she could push the terrible flashbacks out of her mind, each bite and slap from the monster on top of her doubled with the weight of her past. She glimpsed Daryl and saw the pain etched into his features. She recognized that he was nearing the breaking point. The one where he would ditch the plan and just do something, anything, the way he used to do when they first met. That would mean the end for both of them, and she couldn't bear the thought. She forced herself to watch for an opportunity to make her move. It didn't take long. The blond reached down to rip at the button of her pants, and she flipped the scalpel out of the sleeve of her free arm.
The gurgling of air bubbles subsided almost immediately, but the blood continued to flow from his throat, the warmth of it soaking her arm and chest as she tried to catch her breath. She looked up to see the gun slip away from Daryl's head and take its aim at hers.
Daryl hurled his shoulder upward into the gunman's hip, sending them both crashing into the wall. The ringing returned to his ears and he lost his balance, his bound hands preventing him from catching himself before he hit the floor. A stabbing pain replaced the air in his lungs when the steel-toed boot made contact with his ribcage. But the burning pressure in his chest was quickly forgotten as the butt of the gun came down against his skull, rendering him unable to move. He desperately wanted to see her face one last time, to apologize for failing her, but the room was fading too quickly. He heard the shot and everything went black.
The spray of the creek splashed his cheek as he leaned back, head resting on his arms under the shade of the pines. The smell of fresh earth surrounded him and he watched the treetops sway lazily in the breeze. The whoosh of the water over the rocks next to him was starting to lull him to sleep. He'd spent the day out in the woods, as usual. It was more of a home to him than that rickety old house had ever been. He would stay here forever if he could.
Another splash hit him and he thought he heard something. Someone. There shouldn't be anyone for miles, but there it was again. A voice. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked around for the source. The voice sounded frantic. She was in trouble. She needed him. A sudden, searing pain gripped him and he thought his head might split in two. The sunshine dissolved and he heard her again, clearly this time.
"Daryl! Daryl, wake up. Please wake up. Please." Another tear fell onto his cheek as she rocked back and forth, holding his head in her lap and begging him to hear her. Carol watched his eyes flutter open and close again. She balled up her fist and ground it against his sternum, eliciting a low growl. Relief washed over her when he responded to the pain. He was conscious. His eyes opened to slits and he grumbled, "What the hell? Tryin' to kill me or what?"
His sass caused a few more tears to fall from her eyes, but they were no longer shed in fear. He would be okay. He came back to her. "I could never," she replied, hoping he didn't notice the quiver that had slipped into her voice.
He opened his eyes fully and searched hers. The concussion hadn't made him any less observant. Then he remembered the shot. He thought his name was on that bullet, but the pain rolling through him wasn't from a gunshot. He gingerly sat up, letting Carol help him balance, and saw the man who took it. The thug who'd been holding the gun to his head was sprawled in front of him, eyes open and glassy. Her bloody handprint painted the grip of the stolen pistol next to him on the floor.
Carol stared down at her shirt, saturated and beginning to stick to her skin. Now that she knew Daryl was alright, she began to feel the impact of what had just happened. The metallic smell of blood was immediately overpowering, and she yanked the shirt over her head and threw it into the corner.
Daryl touched her shoulder, but she shrugged away from him. "I'm okay," she said, her voice lined with an unintentional edge. He shifted to face her head on. "I'm ... I'll be okay," she tried to assure him, but he wasn't convinced. Not wanting to push her, he remained silent as she stood and walked out of the storeroom and into the front of the building.
They'd been taken to the gas station, and she was all too happy to rummage through the touristy clothing rack near the register. She grabbed a Georgia Tech t-shirt and ripped the tags off before unhooking her red-stained bra and letting it drop as she slipped the shirt over her head. She could still smell the blood on her skin, but it was a start. She glanced at the nearby cooler cases, long ago emptied of their contents. She'd have to wait until they found some other source of water before she could scrub her skin. "Out, damn spot," she thought as she turned back to the storeroom.
Daryl gathered up the guns and slipped the dead men's knives into his belt, holding his ribs as he went. The darkness would be lifting soon, and they needed to get to the trees. He found his crossbow just inside the door to the storeroom and winced as he slung it over his shoulder. Carol took the guns and a knife from him and they headed toward the exit. Two walkers were wandering around the parking lot, but there didn't seem to be a patrol nearby. They slipped out and skirted the now disabled car Daryl had driven into town.
They both breathed a little easier when they got close enough to see the walkers weren't diseased. Knives swinging almost synchronously, they eliminated the threat and headed for the woods. The sound of an approaching patrol reached them just as they stepped onto the soft beds of pine needles. It wouldn't take long for those men to discover the scene at the gas station, so they risked moving faster over covering their tracks. In a matter of minutes, they were picking their way through thorny shrubs, the branches stabbing into their skin with each step, hoping nature's deterrent would prevent anyone following them.
Carol didn't mind the distraction of the scratches. It kept her from thinking about the past 24 hours. The roller coaster of emotions had pushed her to her limits, and she felt her thoughts seeping through the cracks of the walls she had built around them. As the sun began to lighten the sky, she watched Daryl's back heaving with labored breaths and marveled at his ability to trudge onward. He was almost certainly concussed and his ribs were bruised at the very least, and yet, he was almost losing her as he pressed forward. She remembered how much her own bruised ribs had hurt. How each breath had felt like a dagger below her heart. She made a mental note to check his ribs for cracks once they stopped. If they ever stopped. She was beginning to wonder if that moment would come when Daryl slowed his pace.
She startled when he spoke; neither of them had said a word since leaving the gas station. They'd simply fallen into their routine of easy silence. "Looks like a good place to rest," he said, pointing at a tree ahead. She never would have noticed the camouflaged hunting blind halfway up if he hadn't pointed it out. "If they're following us, they won't find us very easily." He walked ahead and found the makeshift rope ladder hanging from the blind. "Lemme check it first," he said, laying his crossbow against the tree trunk and putting his knife in his teeth as he started climbing.
Carol held her breath when he reached the top and disappeared inside. "All clear. We got lucky. There's some water and jerky up here, too" he said as he leaned out of the opening above the ladder. She exhaled and realized she hadn't let herself think about her thirst until that moment. Her mouth went even drier. Daryl started to climb back down for his crossbow but she waved him back. She threw it over her shoulder and started up the ladder. He needed to stop moving, and the sooner she was in the blind, the sooner she could soothe her throat and wash away some of the blood, dirt and sweat that made her skin itch with every tiny movement.
She pulled herself into the blind and took in the sight of the tight space. It wasn't much in the way of comfort, but to her it was a miracle. It was a space to rest, away from the hell she'd been living in the past couple of weeks. She pulled the rope ladder up into the blind and closed the flap over the entrance, shutting out the world.