A/N: Hey guys, back again. So yesterday I wrote the first 1000 words of my dissertation (yay me) so in celebration I decided to…write this! Damn, it's a good job I like writing!
Anyway, this little thing that started off as a one-shot in my head is growing and growing and now I give you chapter 3!
Again, no idea if I will write more. Depends if the ideas keep flowing…
If you like this, please do drop me a review. Or if you want to tell me how bad I am at writing, that's cool too :)
EDIT: In response to an anonymous review (and therefore can't reply) I've just had on Chapter 1 where I was more or less told not to write anything to do with the mid-season finale because "it isn't done right and just serves to further the shipping war", I would just like to say that in no way am I forcing anybody to read what I write, nor do I care enough about this "shipping war" to attempt to fuel it. It's a TV show...it's about time people saw it as such. I will write what I want to write, that is my right (lol). I'm not insulting anyone or hurting anyone by putting pen to paper about fictional characters on a fan fiction site where the entire point is freedom of expression. I clearly wrote in the summary of this story what it was about and warned it was Caryl. Don't like, don't click. Simple as!
Anyways, sorry for ranting. If you've enjoyed what I've written so far, you presumably have no stick up your behind! So please, keep reading and enjoy my third instalment :)
ONWARDS
It was nightfall by the time they found the house. Rick had spotted the entrance to a wide dirt path just off the main road, curling off deeper into the woods. Though overgrown, both the fire truck and the box truck easily brushed through the creeping undergrowth that stretched like tendrils across the path. The scratching of branches across metal as they made their way deeper into the trees broke the silence uncomfortably. It reminded Daryl of nails scraping across a chalkboard, eliciting a shiver that crept up his neck.
He quickly glanced to his side to find Carol still slumped against the window, peacefully oblivious, eyes closed and features more relaxed than he could remember seeing them in a long time. Her quiet breathing, in time with the gentle rise and fall of her chest, lulled him, almost seeming to massage the tension from his shoulders without even a touch. She calmed and terrified him all at the same time, and he struggled to recall a time he'd ever felt that before, though he knew without a doubt that he hadn't.
A short time later, the break lights of the fire truck lit up his vision as it pulled to a stop. Daryl drove round alongside, rolling his window down when he came into line with the passenger side window of the fire truck to find Abraham sat beside Rick.
"What d'ya think?" Rick asked, leaning over Abraham slightly from the driver's side to speak to Daryl, gesturing into the clearing ahead.
Daryl squinted, trying his best to survey the area with only the headlights of the two vehicles and the gentle dusting of moonlight to illuminate the view. He could make out the house easily enough, though. It was a modest building. It stood two stories high, and Daryl reckoned it probably had three, maybe four bedrooms. It would be tight with the whole group in there, but it was four walls and a roof, and a hell of a lot better than sleeping out on the dirt or huddled up uncomfortably in the back of a truck.
"Let's check it out," Daryl nodded, turning back to Rick.
"OK," Rick nodded, as they both killed their engines.
Daryl turned to look at the sleeping woman beside him, loath to wake her. But as he cut the engine and the steady rumble was silenced, she seemed to rouse on her own, eyes fluttering open and looking around before finding his blue ones looking at her almost reverently. She smiled slightly.
"Mornin'" he spoke softly in his gruff tone, a slight smirk on lifting the corner of his mouth.
"Where are we?" she asked groggily, wincing at the pain that assaulted her ribs as she tried to lift herself up fully in her seat.
"No idea," he grunted, looking back out at the house, "think we found a place to hole up."
He nodded ahead as she looked out at the house. The sound of the fire truck doors slamming as Abraham and Rick climbed out kicked Daryl into gear.
"I gotta go help clear it," he said looking back at her as he opened his door, "stay here."
She nodded, and he threw her a half smile as he turned to clamber out, pulling his crossbow from where it lay on the seat between them and slamming the door behind him. He circled round to the back of the truck, opening the hatch to let out the occupants.
"We've found a place for the night," Daryl grunted by way of an explanation as they began to file out, stretching their legs, "Glenn, wanna give us a hand clearing?"
"Sure," Glenn said, turning to Maggie as if asking for permission. She nodded mutely, releasing his waist and sitting back on the truck bed as Glenn gazed at her worriedly.
Daryl clapped Glenn on the shoulder, guiding him round to the front of the truck to meet the others.
"How's she doin'?" Daryl asked, fearing he knew the answer.
"Not so good," Glenn answered sombrely, "She's barely spoken since the hospital."
"I'm sorry, man," Daryl replied quietly, feeling his guilt wash over him again.
"Hey, wasn't your fault," Glenn answered, placing his hand on Daryl's shoulder as Daryl refused to meet his eyes, "We all know that. Maggie knows that."
Daryl looked up, doubt written plain in the angry curve of his brow.
"Glenn, Daryl, let's go," Rick interrupted, kicking them into action.
They followed Rick, Abraham and Michonne up the porch. Daryl stepped forward to jimmy the lock. In seconds the door was open, and they cautiously stepped in, weapons raised.
They all stood in the entryway, waiting as Michonne knocked her sword loudly against the wall, hoping to draw out any walkers.
Seconds passed with no sign of life or afterlife. They split off to search the house, Rick and Abraham taking the first floor while Michonne, Glenn and Daryl took the ground floor. The light from their torches danced across the walls as they split off, with calls of "clear" ringing out as each room was deemed safe.
As he treaded softly down the corridor, Daryl took in the building. The downstairs was spacious, with a large kitchen with the dining table in the centre. There was also a living room, with two three-seater couches and plenty of floor space. Half the group could sleep in here and there'd still be plenty of room, he thought.
Across the hallway there was a small study with a smaller couch and a bathroom. Daryl came across another door, seemingly leading to the basement. He tried the handle but it seemed to be locked from the inside. Just as he was reaching for his knife to bust the lock, he jumped backwards as something on the other side threw itself at the door, familiar snarls muffled by the wood.
"'Chonne," he called out, as the samurai appeared in the kitchen doorway, "Got ourselves a friend," he commented, gesturing to the still closed cellar door.
Michonne nodded, taking her place beside the archer, sword raised in readiness. He crouched forward, pressing his weight on the door and keeping it closed as his knife slid between the door and the frame. At the click of the lock, he placed his knife back in its holster and raised his crossbow at the ready.
"Three, two…" he whispered as she nodded in time with his counts, "one!"
He pulled the door open, jumping back as the mangled walker stumbled forward. Michonne's sword swung past in a whoosh, cutting the walker's head clean in half as it crumpled to the floor at Daryl's feet. Daryl noticed the single bite mark on the walker's neck, but other than that and the normal signs of decay, it seemed relatively uninjured. Not for the first time, Daryl considered how just one bite, just one scratch and that was it. You were done. So little separated you from being alive, and being one of them.
Shaking away the thought and stepping over the body, Daryl approached the top of the stairs leading down to the basement, and shined his torch down. He almost gagged at the sight that met him. In the corner, on a blood stained blanket, were the half eaten remains of what appeared to be a mother and a young boy. From the size of the mostly fleshless bones, Daryl guessed he had to have been close to five or six years old. There was no movement from the child, but the mother's mouth opened and closed slowly, the wretched snarls coming weakly from what remained of her throat.
The sound of Michonne's gasp as she peered past his shoulder woke him from his stupor, as he glanced back quickly to look at her.
"Son of a bitch must'a been bit, locked all three of 'em in here thinkin' they'd be safe," Daryl muttered, finding his voice as his brain constructed what happened here.
He didn't need to elaborate, knowing Michonne would've put two and two together. He tried to shake the images flooding his mind, of the mother, trying desperately to shield her child from the father as his reanimated body stumbled towards them, teeth bared and dead eyes glaring.
Taking a deep breath and throwing his crossbow across his shoulder, he almost jumped down the remaining steps, plunging his knife angrily into the temple of the mother, turning away as the bile rose in his throat. He spotted a pile of blankets on the other side of the room. Deciding there was no point in moving what was left of the two bodies in the cellar, knowing they would crumble before he could carry them out, he carefully threw the blankets over them.
He stood over their covered forms as Rick and Abraham appeared in the doorway.
"What's going on?" Rick asked, "What's under there?"
Daryl turned, making eye contact only for a second before looking down at the floor at his feet.
"You don't wanna know," he replied.
Rick looked at Michonne, who just shook her head at him solemnly. Rick nodded, before sidling past the samurai and heading down the steps and looking around the room. There were three small crates of tinned food and bottled water under the stairs. He picked one up, turning and walking over to Daryl. He nudged the archer's elbow to get his attention. Daryl turned, taking the crate from Rick without making eye contact before heading for the stairs, storming past the others with his head down.
He placed the crate down in the hall, before rushing for the front door, needing some fresh air to clear the stench of death that had filled his nose and his thoughts. He stepped out to find the rest of the group stood outside the trucks and looking up expectantly. A strange nervousness hit him as he saw all their eyes on him, before he made eye contact with Carol. Concern was evident on her face.
"S'all clear," he muttered, heading down the steps as the others jumped into action, heading for the warmth of the house.
Carol's feet remained planted in place where she leaned against the hood of the truck, but she stood up straight as he approached, watching him look down at his feet the whole way.
"You ok?" she asked as he came to a stop before her. He looked up at her, and she noticed the strained, almost tired look on his face.
"M'fine," he answered, "come on," he tilted his head as if telling her to follow him, holding out his arm.
She stepped into his embrace as he supported her weight, his arm wrapping around her midriff as she clutched his shoulder. They made their way slowly towards the house. Halfway there, Carol watched as Abraham dragged the male walker down the porch steps and away from the house. Daryl pointedly refused to look, focussing instead on the uneven ground at their feet.
When they reached the top of the porch steps and stepped into the hallway, Daryl noticed the basement door was now shut. Quickly, he slipped from Carol's embrace, stepping up to the door and pulling out his knife, deftly carving a large "X" into the wood.
When he was done, he placed his knife back at his hip, and turned to find Carol gazing at him quizzically. He just shook his head, knowing she would understand and know not to ask. He took his place at her side again, helping her into the living room. Both couches were occupied, but as Daryl and Carol entered the room, Noah quickly jumped from his seat at the end of one sofa, allowing Daryl to gently lower Carol into it.
Daryl nodded his thanks at Noah, who threw a half smile before setting himself on the floor by the window. Once Carol was settled, Daryl sat on the armrest beside her, and she leaned her head to the side to rest against his ribs.
Rick entered the living room carrying one of the crates of food, followed by Michonne carrying another. They set them down in the centre of the room.
"Anyone hungry?" Rick asked, smiling at the faces that lit up all around him at the promise of something in their empty stomachs. He didn't wait for an answer before passing the cans out around the group as Michonne hurried off to the kitchen in search of forks and spoons.
The promise of food loosened jaws, and before long there was a gentle hubbub of voices, never growing too loud for fear of attracting walkers. Rick handed Carol a can of peaches, knowing she had a fondness for them. She smiled her thanks. Rick tried to hand Daryl a can, but he pushed it away.
"I'm good," he muttered. Rick nodded, knowing there was no point in arguing with the stubborn redneck.
"Daryl, you gotta eat," Carol chastised, looking up at him.
"I'm not hungry," he answered truthfully. The sight from the basement had turned his stomach right over, and food was the last thing he wanted right now.
"When was the last time you ate?" she asked, not giving up.
In truth, he couldn't remember. There was the bag of chips he'd had in Atlanta when they were looking for… His brain stopped that thought before it could continue.
"I dunno," he answered distantly, "day or two."
She sighed as his eyes focussed anywhere but on hers.
"Please," she asked softly, pulling his gaze down to her.
He knew he shouldn't have looked at her the second his eyes fell upon her features. Though she was trying to hide it, he could see how worried she was about him. Damned if he was going to let her feel like that. He huffed, frowning down at her in faked annoyance.
"Fine," he snarled, as Rick immediately held out a second can of peaches, which he took none too gently, ripping the lid off by the ring pull and handing it to Carol, before taking hers and doing the same.
He felt a nudge on his arm as Michonne gestured for him to take the two forks she held out to him. He grunted his thanks as he took them, handing one to Carol.
The chatter continued around them, though Daryl and Carol ate in silence. He tried to ignore the pain on her face as she chewed, knowing the bruising on her cheek must be making eating that much more difficult. He found the sickness in his stomach settled after the first couple of bites, and he was overcome with hunger. He'd wolfed down the entire can before Carol was half way through hers, throwing the empty tin and fork down on the floor by the crates.
"Thought you weren't hungry," Carol snickered, trying to hide her smirk.
"I wasn't," he answered.
"Then I'd hate to see how fast you eat when you are," she smiled.
"Just eat your damn peaches," he grunted, nudging her arm playfully.
She winced as he jolted her injured shoulder.
"Shit!" he cursed, jumping up from the armrest, "'m sorry."
"It's ok," she smiled through the pain.
"I forgot," he answered shyly, looking around embarrassedly as other members of the groups looked up at the disturbance.
"It's ok, I'm fine," she said softly, "Come on," she said encouragingly, gesturing to the armrest.
He chewed his lip and then the side of his thumb as he slowly sat back down beside her, and everyone continued their conversations.
Soon after everyone had eaten their share of food, Rick stood up to address the group.
"So, upstairs there's four bedrooms; two doubles, one single and the last room has two single beds. Then we got the two couches in here, and one in the study. I think what would be best is if Abe and Rosita take one double, Glenn and Maggie the other. Ty and Sasha, you can take the room with the two singles. Michonne and Tara, you can have the couches. Carl and I can sleep on the floor in here with Jude. That leaves Gabriel with the couch in the study. Carol, you can have the last bed. Daryl, Noah and Eugene, you guys good to find some floor space?"
"I don't need a bed," Carol interjected, "let Carl or Noah have it."
"No, we need you to heal," Rick shook his head, "better chance of that happening quicker if you're in a bed than on the floor."
"But I don't…" she began to argue.
"You're taking the bed," Rick turned to stare her down. Knowing it wasn't worth the argument, she kept her mouth shut. Taking this as her backing down, Rick turned back to the rest of the group, "Everyone happy?"
He was met with nods and hums of approval.
"Good, ok," he declared, "tomorrow we move out, so try and get some sleep."
As he finished speaking, people started getting to their feet, moving to their allotted beds.
Daryl stood, leaning down to help Carol up. She lifted her arm around his shoulder as she was once again pulled into his side. Her body seemed to have seized up in the time sat on the sofa, and every movement sent pain through her entire body. Daryl noticed her face contort with every step, and by the time they reached the bottom of the stairs her fingernails had almost clawed a hole in his ribs where she clung to his side.
Bending forward slightly and lifting her arm round his shoulder, he placed on arm round her back and one behind her knees, scooping her up into his arms as gently as he could manage. At first she gripped his shirt tightly, wincing at the pressure on her ribs, before relaxing as the pain dulled. By the time the pain had passed enough for her conscious thought to return, he had carried her halfway up the stairs.
He spotted the room with the single bed as he reached the top step, and made a beeline for the bed; despite how little she weighed these days, carrying someone up a flight of stairs with nothing but a can of peaches in your stomach could really take it out of you. He silently thanked the owner of the bed for leaving the covers half way down, as he gently set Carol down upon the mattress.
At the feel of the soft bed beneath her, she sighed. She leaned forward to try and undo her boots, but the pain left her breathless and she fell back into the pillow.
Daryl lurched forward, setting himself on the edge of the bed beside her and reaching for the straps of her boots. She smiled at the concentration on his face as he worked each strap, his brow furrowed as he chewed on his lip. His long hair fell over his eyes like a dark curtain, and she had to stop herself from reaching out and brushing it aside.
Once he had removed both her boots and placed them on the floor by the bed, he helped her shrug out of her jacket as her eyes screwed shut against the pain. Dropping the discarded jacket to the floor beside the boots, he pulled the covers up and over her as she settled back into the mattress, melting into the soft sheets.
"Thanks," she whispered, smiling up at him softly.
"No problem," he shrugged, standing awkwardly at her bedside.
"Where you gonna sleep?" she asked tiredly.
"I'm not really tired. Might take first watch," he answered. She nodded, knowing that arguing with him would prove fruitless.
"Just make sure you get some sleep," she whispered.
He nodded, throwing her one last unreadable look before turning and walking out quickly, pulling the door behind him so it rested slightly open, and hurrying down the stairs. Within minutes of his silhouette disappearing, she had fallen back into her dreams.
Daryl sat alone on the porch steps, gazing out into the blackness of the woods. The night was silent and calm, and he felt his thoughts drifting as his chin rested on the butt of his crossbow. He couldn't seem to shake the image of the bodies he'd found in the basement earlier. Just that one bite the father had received, and that was it. What with that, and everything with…Beth, he forced her name out in his head, he was reminded just how fragile life is these days. How the tiniest mistake, the smallest wrong move or the most pointless distraction could spell out the end, and it could all be over.
And Carol. Look how close he'd come to losing her. He'd lived in a bubble of denial for too long, believing no matter what that she'd be ok because the alternative was too much for his brain to contemplate. But now, he saw clear as day the truth of it. That he could lose her, just as easily as they lost Beth, and Hershel, and Merle. She could be gone in a split second, and there'd be nothing he could do. For the first time in a long time, he was terrified.
He was so enveloped in his thoughts that he didn't hear the sound of the door closing softly behind him, or the footsteps approaching him from behind. It wasn't until he felt the hand on his shoulder that he realised he wasn't alone, and he jumped up in shock, almost falling down the porch steps as he swung his crossbow round and came face to face with Rick.
"Hey, whoa," Rick said quietly, raising his arms up in surrender.
Daryl fought to control his breathing, dropping his crossbow down to his side and running a hand through his hair.
"Sorry," Daryl grunted, turning away from Rick.
"It's ok," Rick reassured, "everything alright?"
Daryl turned to face him, as the hard indifference returned to his features.
"I'm fine, just tired is all," Daryl responded, trying to find a suitable excuse.
"You go on in and get some sleep. I'll take over," Rick offered.
Daryl nodded, not wanting to argue, but suddenly feeling the need to be upstairs where he could see her.
"Thanks," Daryl grunted as he climbed the porch steps two at a time, silently entering the house and creeping up the stairs.
He felt his hands shaking as he quietly pushed the door to her room open. Through the dark, he could just make out her form, lying on her side facing the door. Judging by her deep breathing, she was asleep, and he wanted to keep it that way.
Placing his bow down and leaning it against a chest of drawers, he left the door slightly ajar and crept to her side. The moonlight filtering in through the open curtains illuminated her face, and she looked so vulnerable. And in that moment, he felt entirely vulnerable along with her. He crouched down beside her bed, leaning his back against it and drawing his knees up, listening to her soft breaths behind him. It soothed him somehow, and he felt the fear dissipating slightly as the minutes stretched on.
"Daryl?" he heard her whisper. He turned his head to find her watching him, and he was suddenly embarrassed that she'd caught him having snuck into the room.
He stood up suddenly, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.
"Sorry," he mumbled, "I just…" he tailed off, not knowing really what he wanted to say.
She considered him for a moment, before reaching back and peeling back the cover on the other side of the bed.
"Come on," she said, gesturing with a nod to the spot beside her, "no sense you sleepin' on the floor."
He opened and closed his mouth several times, not knowing how to respond.
"Come on," she said again, and he found his feet moving around the end of the bed and coming to rest on her other side.
Before he could consider what he was doing, he shrugged off his angel-wing vest, tossing it to the side, and toed off his boots. She held back the cover as he collapsed onto the mattress, before lifting it back over him. He lay on his back, and she could feel his tension.
"You've been off since we found this place," she whispered when his eyes stayed glued to the ceiling and he showed no signs of relaxing, "what's going on?"
"Nothin'," he answered, refusing to look at her.
"Bullshit," she replied.
His head turned to look at her and the concern in her features wore him down. He considered how to explain it to her without sounding like a total dick.
"Just," he started quietly, "we keep losin' people. Just like that, you know, they're gone."
She hummed in agreement, while he tried to find courage to say what he knew he needed to.
"You…" he tailed off, almost losing his nerve. Her brow furrowed in confusion.
"…You're all I got left," he mumbled, looking back at the ceiling quickly.
Suddenly she understood. She curled onto her good side, facing him while he point-blank refused to look at her.
"Daryl," she said softly. When he refused to acknowledge her, she reached out her hand and rested it gently upon his jaw, pulling his face to look at her. Nervously he complied, and his eyes fell on hers, "You won't lose me. I promise."
He swallowed thickly, but found he couldn't look away as she smiled sadly at him. Though he couldn't find it in him to believe her completely, he felt some comfort at her words, and he found himself rolling into her. She rolled onto her back as his head settled in the crook of her neck and he wrapped his arms gently around her torso.
He breathed her in, clutching her to him as she stroked the back of his head soothingly. It was overwhelming how safe he felt here in her arms, and the feeling of rightness that washed over him lulled him into a semiconscious state. He could feel her breathing deepening under his cheek as she fell back into slumber, and as he curled his leg over both of hers, he felt himself follow her.
Please review…they make me so very happy ^.^
