A/N: Ok, so I've decided to turn this one shot into a multi chapter fic, probably around 4-5 chapters long.
Spoilers for the comic book "all out war" arc, which I've unashamedly taken the plot for, changed up some characters, taken out the boring bits and given it some Caryl goodness.
So, please enjoy! And let me know what you think?
Chapter 2
When Daryl arrived back at the Kingdom, after leaving Carol at the little house just a few miles away, he practically fell from the horse. His physical fatigue melded with his mental and emotional exhaustion, and he found that all he wanted to do was sleep. Maybe for a week. He returned Carol's horse to the stables, silently thanking the mare for getting him back without his input, because his mind had certainly been elsewhere for most the journey; namely, back with her.
It had taken every ounce of strength in him to step back, climb up into the saddle, and ride away from her. He'd almost turned back a few times, the memory of her warm smile and her even warmer embrace was burned into his nerve endings. But it was for the best. The longer he stayed there, the more chance there was of putting her in danger. After all, thanks to Dwight, Negan should hopefully believe that Daryl had been killed by now. He just prayed that the crossbow-stealing, vest-thieving little prick really had changed his allegiance; everything depended on it. As much as Daryl hated to admit it, Dwight was now possibly the single most important piece of the puzzle, if they were to stand a chance against Negan.
He headed back towards the room he'd stayed in the past few nights before he'd found out Carol was nearby, and audibly groaned when he heard his name called from a little way behind him. The fact that he recognised the voice didn't compute until he turned, and his eyes fell upon the source.
He couldn't speak. Couldn't react. It was Rick. And that prick from the Hilltop, Jesus, or whatever he called himself. They were stood with Ezekiel and Morgan outside the theatre auditorium, the King's faithful tiger at his side looking distrustful of the unfamiliar people.
Daryl made no move to answer or approach. How could he? What could he say? I'm sorry I got our brother killed. I'm sorry I couldn't fight back when Negan took me? I understand why you hate me? None of it seemed enough.
But then Rick broke the awkward silence, approaching Daryl with unshed tears in his eyes. He couldn't help but flinch as Rick stepped into his space, raising his good arm in defence. But Rick ignored it, his arm coming up around Daryl's back as he pulled him into a tight hug, his fist clutching at the loose material on the back of Daryl's hoody.
Daryl stood stock still, unable to return the embrace. Unable to compute what was happening, and why Rick wasn't punching him in the jaw. When Rick stepped back, his hand remained on Daryl's good shoulder, holding him at arm's length, and Daryl found his gaze dropping to his shoes as Rick's eyes seemed to burn holes through his forehead.
"I'm so sorry," Rick muttered, and Daryl's eyes snapped up in confusion, unsure he'd heard him right.
Rick seemed to understand Daryl's confusion, as his hand squeezed tighter, and he shook his head.
"Hey, man, it wasn't your fault. You know that, right?" Rick said gently.
Daryl's eyes dropped down again, and even as Rick repeated his point, he couldn't find it in himself to acknowledge it.
He seemed to realise that Daryl wasn't ready for that conversation yet, so he moved on quickly.
"How did you get away?" Rick asked.
"Dwight," Daryl explained, "Says he's had enough of livin' under Negan's rules. He's got a wife there. Negan don't let him see her."
"So he let you go?" Rick asked.
Daryl nodded, still not looking up to meet his friend's eyes.
"Helped me escape. Set up this other guy to take the blame for it, while I hid. Negan sent him out after me to bring me back, but he brought me here instead. Said he was gonna tell Negan he found me dead."
"Dwight's on our side, now," Ezekiel interrupted, approaching the men with Shiva and Morgan at his side, "We had a lengthy discussion, and I believe we have come to an agreement."
"You trust him?" Rick asked, somewhat incredulously.
"He brought us Daryl. He told me of his wife, and of Negan's control of she and many other women in his group," the King explained, "and while I may not yet trust him implicitly, I do believe he is our best…perhaps our only chance, at overthrowing Negan."
Daryl watched as Rick's jaw tensed, a tell-tale sign that he was giving Ezekiel's words some deep thought. He abruptly turned to Daryl.
"What do you think?" he asked gently, "Can we trust him?"
Daryl wasn't quite sure how to answer that. He wasn't sure he trusted his own judgement any more. But Rick wanted his opinion, so he'd give it.
"He got me out of there. Ain't a smart thing to do unless you got a real good reason."
"What if it's a set-up?" Morgan asked. "What if Negan told him to act like he's changed sides?"
They all paused to consider it.
"It's possible," Rick agreed, but his eyes looked haunted when his gaze fell back upon Daryl, "but he's our only chance. Negan has to pay."
Despite his exhaustion, Daryl was restless that night, just like every other. It seemed like every time he fell asleep, his brain flooded his dreams with memories of baseball bats and dog food sandwiches, and that god-awful song they'd tormented him with for weeks. But worst of all, he was haunted by the memory of Maggie on her knees in that clearing, and the sounds she'd made as she'd lost the man she loved.
He was dreading the following day. They'd decided that it'd be too dangerous to take Daryl back to Alexandria; Negan's men were watching the place closely, and he was meant to be dead, after all. Rick would go back to Alexandria, and prepare for war, while Daryl and Jesus returned to the Hilltop. Which meant he'd be seeing Maggie. He wasn't sure he could cope when she inevitably shunned him. But then he'd have to deal with it, because whatever her reaction to his return, he knew it was wholly justified. He would take whatever verbal or physical reaction she might have.
Morning came too quickly, and before he could really make sense of what was happening, he'd parted ways with Rick, Morgan and Ezekiel, and was curled up in the boot of a small estate car, with Jesus at the wheel, heading to the Hilltop. The boot was cramped and damp, and his shoulder ached terribly, still swollen and painful after Negan had dislocated it a few days prior. Each bump of the car jolted him harshly, making every bruise, every cut on his body, feel fresh and brand new. But he couldn't sit in the main cab; if any saviours spotted him, the whole thing could be blown. Still, he had one thought that brought him comfort: Carol was safe. Morgan had promised to keep her in the dark about the coming war, to keep her out of it. It seemed the other man was just as keen to keep her safe as Daryl was; he wasn't sure if he should feel jealousy at that.
When the car rolled to a stop, his relief at arriving at the Hilltop undetected was short-lived, when he awkwardly crawled from his hiding space, and was hurriedly rushed towards the manor house at the centre of the grounds.
"Christ, man, what's the rush?" he grunted irately, shrugging Jesus off from where he clasped his forearm and dragged him forward.
"Our guys outside the walls saw some of Negan's group heading our way. It's not collection day for another two days; it can't be good news if they're coming early," Jesus hurriedly explained, "We have to get you and Maggie out of sight."
Fear gripped him then, at the thought of being discovered by Negan this quickly; he wasn't sure he could survive any more time in that place. He'd well and truly reached breaking point, both mentally and physically.
He allowed Jesus to herd him into the house, up the stairs and down one of the long hallways to a back bedroom. He was practically pushed through a doorway off the room, into what could only be described as a large broom closet, unfurnished and lit only by a dim, bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. At the same second he stepped through the door, it was closed behind him, and the following scraping sounds could only mean that some large piece of furniture, probably a wardrobe, was being slid over to hide the door.
But all those details only registered in the back of his mind, when his eyes fell upon someone's small, curled over form, sat against the back wall with her knees tucked up to her chest. Maggie's eyes widened when they landed on him, and he stood, stock still above her, too terrified to move. He waited silently, his breathing shallow and eyes blinking rapidly in the dim lighting, waiting for her reaction to his presence.
His eyes automatically scrunched closed tightly when she silently pushed herself to her feet, and he braced for whatever onslaught he was about to face.
When he felt her arms close in around him, her head falling to his shoulder as she clung to him, his eyes snapped back open and he breathed in sharply.
She seemed to notice his confused immobility, because she pulled back quickly, taking his face in her hands.
"You're ok," she breathed, and he found it hard to believe that he was hearing relief in her tone. Her voice was thick with tears, but he couldn't look into her eyes to confirm their presence.
"Daryl, look at me," she whispered.
He couldn't. He couldn't speak. He could barely breathe; he could feel his whole body shaking and his laboured breaths trembling.
"Please," she begged, and how could he deny her, after everything?
As his gaze met hers, he felt the grief pour out of him.
"I'm sorry," he breathed as his head dropped forwards in defeat. He kept whispering it, over and over again, even as she pulled his head to her shoulder and held it there gently.
"It's not your fault," she cried quietly.
But it was. And not just Glenn, but Beth, even Hershel. Maggie had lost her entire family because of him. And yet she was stood there, not blaming him, comforting him even. But he couldn't argue. He could only stand, even as his legs threatened to buckle underneath him.
Maggie seemed to feel how unsteady he was, because she guided him down to their knees. She released him, and they each settled back against the wall beside one another, knees to chests, Daryl's good arm curling around his shins, and Maggie's hands absentmindedly caressing her baby bump.
They sat in silence for a long time, until Daryl could bear it no more.
"The baby ok?" he asked quickly, "I mean…" he trailed off. Because of course the baby wasn't "ok". It was fatherless, now, thanks to him.
"He's fine," she affirmed gently.
"He?" Daryl's eyes snapped up in wonder.
"Yeah," she smiled sadly, "It's a boy."
Daryl half-smiled, just for a moment, before remembering the truth of the situation once again, and his face fell.
"He'd a'been happy," Daryl mumbled, staring at the floor between his knees.
"Yeah, he would've," she whispered in reply.
Silence fell again briefly, and he could feel her eyes on him, though he dared not look up.
"I meant it, you know," she told him, clearly trying to hold back the emotion from her voice, to keep her composure, "it wasn't your fault. He wouldn't have blamed you. I don't."
"Should'a controlled myself," he mumbled, "was so fuckin' stupid. I didn't know he'd…"
"I know."
"I thought he'd kill me, not…him," he explained, noticing how desperate he sounded.
"Negan killed him, Daryl," she said, and suddenly he heard a confidence there, a strength he could only admire, "It was Negan. Negan killed Abraham. Negan killed Glenn. It's not on you. And we will beat him."
He wasn't sure he could accept that, but the relief he felt at her abjuration of his guilt was staggering. And her strength even more so. After everything, after all that time with Glenn, for it to end like that, and yet she was still here fighting. Ready to take arms, and risk everything to do what was right. It was amazing to him; he wasn't sure he could carry on if he lost…anyone else.
"Would you do it all again?" he asked nervously, not quite sure that he was getting his question across properly, "With Glenn, I mean. Knowing it could all end like that. That quick."
She seemed to understand, and she smiled at him sadly.
"In a heartbeat," she answered, no doubt in her tone.
He nodded slightly, eyes falling back to his knees as he worried his lower lip with his teeth.
"Maybe even more so," she continued, and he lifted his gaze to watch her, as she stared absently at the wall in front of her, "It would've been easy to keep our distance from each other. Maybe it would hurt less now, if we had. But what we had, because we made that step, because we took the risk…I'll never regret that."
She turned to face him then, eyes locking to his in earnest.
"It's worth it, Daryl," she told him with certainty, "you gotta take the good where it's given in this world. It's the only thing makes it worth living anymore."
He understood. They fell back into comfortable silence, and he found his mind drifting far away, to a little house just outside the Kingdom, while they waited for the all clear. Whatever Negan's men had come to the Hilltop for, it was apparent they weren't searching for Maggie or himself; maybe they'd gotten away with faking both their deaths. This plan could really work. In just a few days, Negan and those other assholes wouldn't know what hit them. And most importantly, Carol would be far away, safe in that house.
3 days later
Ever since Daryl had ridden away on that horse, Carol had found it hard to concentrate on anything but him. Having him there, alone with her for the first time in so long, it had almost felt like old times. It had felt like coming home. There'd been so much distance between them lately; they'd both been guilty of pulling away, as they each navigated this new world at Alexandria in their own separate ways. She'd seen him struggling. But he must not have seen the same in her; after all, she'd hidden it well, underneath layers of false smiles, flowery blouses and never-ending casseroles. She'd hoped it had been obvious to him that it was all for show, but the way they'd diverged in these past weeks had been evidence to the contrary.
But her game was up. He'd come and found her, and now he knew what had really been going on with her. It had been a weight off, to tell him about the girls. She hadn't even realised how heavy the lie, the secret, had been weighing on her. She could finally be honest with him, and know that he'd understand.
But she still couldn't go back. After all, nothing had changed. That was the paradox of her feelings, right now: she wanted so desperately for him to stay with her, or to follow him when he left, but she was still terrified of both options. She yearned for his return, and dreaded it at the same time. Because she still couldn't kill. And she still would, for him.
So, no, nothing had changed. But holy hell, did she miss him even more now that she'd seen him than she had before.
She found herself thinking of him again, now, even as she did something as mindless as peeling potatoes. Until she heard horse hooves outside, announcing the arrival of a guest from the Kingdom.
She went to the front door, first peeking through the spyhole to check it was a familiar face; you could never be too careful these days. When she saw that it was Ezekiel climbing down from the saddle, Shiva beside him on her leash, she opened the door to greet him with a smirk.
"To what do I owe the pleasure?" she asked as he approached, letting himself in through the tall gates.
"Can we go inside?" he asked in his true southern drawl, abandoning his false royal cadence as he always did when they were alone, "There's some things we need to discuss."
She noticed he was more serious than usual, lacking his standard animated tone. She nodded her consent, stepping aside to let the false king and his pet into what she'd reluctantly come to think of as home.
"What's going on?" she asked, as she followed him into the kitchen.
"There's a lot I need to tell you. Let's sit down," he suggested, and she reluctantly took a seat across from him at the kitchen table, frowning in scepticism.
Shiva curled up on the floor at his feet, and Carol watched as he appeared to steel himself.
"We are going to war tomorrow," he started bluntly, "the Kingdom, the Hilltop and Alexandria are joining forces."
"To war with who?" she asked, brow furrowing as the only possible answer came to her, "Negan's group? But I thought…Daryl said they hadn't been around for a while."
"Daryl lied to you," he said sadly, and she had to suppress the urge to stand up punch Ezekiel in the jaw for suggesting it, "to protect you, no doubt."
"What do you mean?" she asked irately, desperate for more information.
"Daryl was a hostage of Negan's before he came here," Ezekiel began, and Carol felt the air knocked out of her, "that's why he was in such a state. He'd been held captive for nineteen days. Since you arrived here, actually."
"What do you mean?" she asked, unable to hide the concern in her voice, "How?"
"I wasn't there, I don't know the full story. All I know, is that Negan's group ambushed a group from Alexandria on the road as they were travelling to the Hilltop. He killed two, and took Daryl hostage."
"Killed? Who did he kill?" she was bordering on panic now.
"I believe their names were Abraham and Glenn," Ezekiel stated, and she felt like the wind was knocked out of her.
"Glenn's dead?" her voice small. She felt the tears welling in her eyes.
"Yes," he affirmed, his eyes sad, "You were close?"
"We…" she started, but her voice broke, "we were family."
"I'm sorry, Carol," he told her gently, honestly.
Glenn was dead? And Abraham? Oh, God, no wonder Daryl had been so distraught the other day. She'd known something was wrong; she should've pushed it, got it out of him. And he'd been Negan's prisoner for nearly three weeks? The arm sling, the bruised face, the cuts, the hopelessness; what the hell had happened to him in that time?
"Why didn't he tell me?" she asked out loud, not really expecting an answer.
"He wants you safe. He asked us not to tell you about the fight tomorrow, but I believe we need all the strength we can muster. Negan's army is still bigger than our three communities combined, and Morgan told me of your…skills."
"He told you I'm a good killer," she assumed, stoically.
"No, he told us that you're a good fighter. That you'll do anything to protect the people you love. That you'll always stand up for what's right. We need people like that; like you."
She frowned at the familiar, yet distorted description of herself. She had all those qualities, but it had been a long time since she considered them a positive thing.
But then she pictured Daryl's face when he'd turned up at her gate four days ago. She visualised his injuries, the tear-stain he'd left on her shoulder. She remembered the feeling of his chest heaving against his sobs as he clung to her, desperately trying to convey the pain he was in, but trying to keep it secret at the same time. To protect her. He really would do anything for her; as she would for him. And for Glenn. Even Abraham.
Negan wouldn't get away with it.
"Will you help us?" Ezekiel asked her after what must have been at least minute of silent contemplation on her part.
"Tell me the plan."
