Disclaimer: Copyright for The Walking Dead belongs to AMC, et al. My writing belongs to me, as do errors.

Title: "Bands"
Chapter: "Fists III"

Carl lay on the ground and cursed himself. What the fuck had he been thinking? Obviously he wasn't. Daryl had only been toying with him, and look what a mess he was. Could he be any more stupid? Daryl was an experienced fighter and he was some dumb kid with a hard-on. He'd picked a fight he had no chance of winning – hell, no chance of participating in! He'd been dragged like a rag doll through the prison, called out for being a ball-less wuss in front of a crowd, and then beaten into submission in less than three minutes. And his dad had watched.

He wanted to be pissed at his dad, but he couldn't. Carl knew that he'd have only been more pissed off than ever if Rick had tried to stop him. So, his dad had let it happen, knowing what was coming. He cursed himself again. Some fucking lesson. And he had been the only one that wanted it taught.

His whole face hurt. The initial numbness in response to the blows had been replaced by a deep ache in his jaw, and he could feel a horrible headache building behind his eyes. Holy hell, did his left eye hurt! He knew he wouldn't be able to see out of it. His chest throbbed, radiating from where Daryl's fist had landed, and his side felt like it was on fire if he bent or twisted. He'd need to see the vet. Then again, no. That would only end in a lecture from Saint Hershel. Like he needed another one of those. And the old coot might let him see Beth even less than he did now. He'd go to Carol. She'd want the whole story, but at least she wouldn't smack his head again. He couldn't be sure with Dr. Dolittle.

Painfully he sat up. He felt dizzy. Daryl's whack to the back of his head hadn't done him any good. Standing was not going to be fun. But he had to do it. Starting on his hands and knees, he unfolded piece by piece until he was fully upright. He wobbled, and had to breathe deeply for a minute before he thought about walking. Oh, god. Breathing deeply was not such a great idea either. Slowly he turned to the bleachers to retrieve his stuff. Daryl was waiting. Well, shit. What now?

Carl didn't say anything as he made his way over to Daryl. What exactly was he supposed to say? Sorry I was such a worthless waste of your time? Daryl was holding his hat. When Carl got to him, Daryl held out the hat. Carl took it and put it carefully on his head. Daryl next handed him his belt and gun. Carl put them on again. Hail Mary! Twisting to thread the belt through the loops on his pants nearly put him onto the ground again as his side exploded. He tried with everything he had to stifle his groan. Geeze. Like everything else since he'd left lunch it was a failure. Crap. Thinking about lunch made him realize the knee to his stomach had left him ready to chuck it. Daryl handed over the knife which Carl resheathed.

"So, ya wanna tell me what the fuck that was all about?"

"Can I sit down first?"

Daryl snorted. "Sure."

They sat in silence. Carl still thought breathing was quite an accomplishment with the way he felt. He figured his injured eye was leaking tears but he was a little afraid to touch it to find out.

"Y'been bitchy since the attack. Hardly anybody can stand bein' around ya 'cause ya been spoilin' for this fight fer days. I shouldn't criticize. But, you ain't me."

Daryl paused, waiting, but Carl still didn't know how to start.

"Look, I ain't interested in Beth, alright? But if you keep goin' like yer goin', she ain't gonna be interested in you. She already doesn't understand you shootin' that kid. And with how y'been to everybody, she's gonna think yer a monster, not her friend. And the old man?" Daryl shook his head.

Carl felt like bawling. He thought that was over for him back with his mom. "I – ," he started, but he got stuck. He waited, and he tried again. "There is so much. So many people that can't do anything. We couldn't keep ourselves safe, and now we're supposed to help them? And they were with the Governor! And Andrea's dead, and Dale, and my Mom, and Sophia, and T-Dog, and even Axel and Oscar. And Merle!" He looked at Daryl hard out of his clear eye.

"All of these people?" Carl threw his hand toward C Block. "They are all set to die even without walkers, and without a crazy bastard attacking us! It's tiny kids and old people. Judith is so hard to handle, and now there are how many? Jesus! My dad is close to crazy and he doesn't even care about our family anymore!" He was talking so fast he could hardly breathe. He finally had to stop because his side was hurting. And he was mad all over again, which set something to banging behind his forehead.

Daryl looked confused. "What do y'mean, he doesn't care about yer family?"

Carl breathed slowly, trying to avoid a stitch in his side. "He stopped wearing his ring," he gritted out.

"His weddin' ring?"

"Yeah."

Daryl nodded. "Asked him about it?"

"No."

"I guess maybe I'm too backwoods to get all that symbolism shit, but does he have to wear the ring to love you and yer sister? Or to remember yer ma?"

The anger was starting to ebb. "Um. You know I didn't really mean that, right?"

Daryl smirked.

"I guess he doesn't."

"So, what's yer point?"

Carl looked at him. He couldn't be serious? "Don't tell me you haven't noticed?"

"What?"

Carl scoffed. "You might not want Beth, but somebody you do want is getting a lot of my dad's attention."

Daryl swallowed and nodded, looking away. "Carol."

"Yeah. Why aren't you doing anything about it?"

"Nothin' fer me to do nothin' about." Daryl looked uncomfortable, and shifted in his seat. "We ain't together like that." He looked down at his hands, and Carl had to strain to hear him. "It ain't that we didn't wanna. But sometimes people are... too much alike. That – ," he looked off over the field, shaking his head, " – it don't always work."

Carl didn't know what to say. He had no idea that anything had happened between Daryl and Carol at all. They seemed exactly as they'd always been: on the edge of something. "Oh."

"Yeah." Daryl shrugged, and the side of his mouth tugged into a frown. He squinted over at Carl. "So, yer pissed because yer dad might like Carol?"

"I don't know." He knew it sounded like a whine.

"You don't know. You went and picked a fight with me and got beat ta hell, and you don't know?"

"Yeah! I don't know! It was like – like the last thing! And then I saw you, and I thought if you would just get off your ass with her, then my dad wouldn't have the option, and then Beth – "

Daryl cut him off. "Look, if you got trouble with Beth, it's yer own damn doin'. And you should know this, dumbass. Carol is probably the best person you'll ever meet. If she ends up with somebody, that man's gonna be one lucky bastard."

With that Daryl stood and rested is hands on his hips. He glanced back toward the prison, then up to the tower where somebody new was on watch. "This Woodbury thing, though, yer just gonna hafta deal. They ain't goin' nowhere. Think of it like this: Yer the kid of the guy that was responsible for me losin' Merle. Should I have made sure you ate and didn't get eaten that first winter?" He was staring at Carl pointedly.

"Alright, yeah, I get it." Carl blew out a breath. His side flared and he grimaced.

"Good, 'cause I don't wanna hafta pound it inta ya again."

"Ugh. Please."

Daryl grinned at that. "Maybe we could do some trainin', though. You actually had good instincts. Just rotten execution."

"Really?"

"Yep. And you need to do somethin' about them pipes." Daryl lifted an arm and did a flex of his bicep. "Need ta have you haulin' some heavy loads around the place."

Carl mimicked his gesture, and Daryl shook his head, chuckling. Carl felt a less angry than he had in...forever. He stood up gingerly. "I'm going to go make sure you didn't break anything."

Daryl's eye twitched. "Who're you gonna see?"

Carl thought he deserved a little payback. "Carol." He smiled. It hurt his face a lot, and sent a shooting pain through his eye. But it was worth it when Daryl groaned.