Another Caryl fic. :) (Umm, mindless drabble. I have no idea where this is going)
I don't own the Walking Dead
Hope was a four letter word that neither of them could really quite define.
A long time ago, Carol thought she knew exactly what it was. For a while, she had a lot of it. She hoped that her life would get better. She hoped that God would hear her prayers. She hoped that everything would turn out okay, because hope was a thing that you had when everything else failed. Everything had failed, and for a while Carol still had hope, because she had a beautiful little girl, and there was always tomorrow.
She didn't have her daughter anymore, and tomorrow was even less of a guarantee then it had always been. For a while, she didn't know if she could hope anymore, but that was all they had left.
Hope that they would live to see another day, hope that they could find someplace safe, hope that they wouldn't lose anyone else, and hope that they could survive.
They'd found a safe place, but they'd lost someone else, and Carol was afraid that she was about to lose herself too.
She'd ran for her life, leaving T-Dog behind. She'd fought her way through, killing only the walkers in her way, no need to push fate beyond the limits it had already stretched to. She'd lost her knife, and she could feel in her heart that she was done for.
She didn't have hope for herself, but, lying in the dank darkness of the supply closet she had tucked herself away in, she hoped and prayed for everyone else in her group, in her family.
They'd lost enough already.
Daryl had never had much time for hoping. Hoping, begging, praying and pleading never got you anywhere in life, he'd come to find out. You fought for what you wanted. It didn't do you any good to go around hoping for good things, because it would usually only let you down.
Sure, it made sense for some people, made things a little easier when their hopes and prayers didn't come true, because they had something else to blame.
He'd lost his will to hope and pray for anything when he was a little thing, and he had kept it that way.
He had heard Maggie's voice on the run yesterday, her hoping that things could still work out, and he let her have it. He didn't tell her that it was pointless to hope for anything anymore, and it always would be. When you got your hopes up, you had to much to lose.
They'd all lost enough.
She didn't know if it would do her any good, but when she heard their voices down the hall, she hoped that they would find her. She pushed at the door with everything she had left in her, which wasn't much. She couldn't scream, there just wasn't enough energy left in her, and her throat was to sore. She couldn't do it. She pushed the door and hoped that it would be enough.
She could hear the voices getting closer. She could hear Daryl's voice just outside the door.
Daryl please! Please, just open the door. Please. Please. Please.
She kept pushing the door, but he never opened it.
"We'll take care of it later."
No! Now! She wanted to scream, but she still couldn't do it.
But she didn't need to hope, he would come back.
He'd found her knife, and his world had come crumbling down.
He'd said his goodbyes, and for the first time in years, he had let himself feel just a little bit of hope.
He'd hoped that she was someplace safe, and wherever that someplace was, he had hoped that she was with her daughter, smiling down on them…on him.
But he found the knife, and then all that hope seemed stupid, just like it always had. Hope always let you down.
She'd probably been bitten, and been dragged down screaming.
He had her knife in his hand now, and he clanged it against the concrete of the floor with all the strength he had. It hurt, but he didn't care.
He was done hoping for anything. He wasn't going to hope anymore, he was going to make it happen. He wasn't going to lose anyone else. He was going to prove that he was as good as she thought he always had been, even if she would never be able to see it.
She could him right down the hall. She didn't know how she knew it was him, she just did. It had to be Daryl.
She kicked at the door, made her arms move enough to push it. Everything was tiring, but she kept moving. He would hear her. He had too. He would. She hoped he would.
She tried to muster up enough sound in her throat to scream his name, to scream anything, but it just wasn't happening.
The creaking of the door down the hall made him sick. He hated it. He hated whatever the hell was behind it too. That damn walker, all those damn walkers in the hall were probably the last thing she'd seen, fighting her way all the way down here, only to be caught, so close to safety.
The knife struck against the wall behind him, and he was on his feet. He didn't know how many walkers were behind that door, but he would kill every one of them.
He had denied it, but he had hoped that she loved him. He had hoped that all those things she said were true. He would never know.
The door swung open, and he was confused. Nothing lunged at him, but then the movement at his feet caught his attention.
Blue eyes, and the most relieved expression he had ever seen. He touched her face carefully. She was real, she was here, and she needed him.
He had her in his arms, and the world they had patched together for themselves seemed almost right again.
He didn't need to hope to know that she would be okay, he knew, because when she rested her head against his shoulder, and she murmured his name, and things were balanced again.
I don't really know what I feel about this one, I just don't. I might not keep it...
What do you guys think?