AN; Surprise another chapter. Very angsty. During the Great Depression. They are only friends in this withhints of more to come as they are only fifteen in this story. All kinds of trigger warning in this. Death, homelessness, poverty, the Great Depression etc.
I do not own or profit from The Walking Dead
Chapter 3
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1934
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He needed to find her something to eat, she was hungry.
Daryl lifted the threadbare collar of his coat. No way was this coat suitable for the winter but he was lucky to have anything at all. Carol had stuffed newspaper into the lining which seemed to help some at cutting the cutting wind, but he was still chilled to the bone. He was headed to the docks to try to find work for the day. Anything at all, even though his stomach ached from hunger pains. His head felt slightly lightheaded. Carol needed him.
Five years ago, at the age of ten his parents had abandoned him and Merle in the city. Unable to feed the two boys, it had been no real loss to either. His father was an abusive asshole, who had taken all his rage about his current financial status out on the boys, Daryl had initial thought he'd be better on his own with Merle. The whole god damn country was suffering financially. They weren't alone in that. Jobs were at a minimum, and the price of food was, skyrocketing every day. His daddy was just an asshole. He'd been looking for a. Excuse. So, Daryl had been content, to follow Merle. Then Merle had gone out for the day to find work, and had never come back.
He'd found out later, Merle had taken a risky job at the docks, one that was very dangerous but had a big payday. He'd fallen to his death and been crushed. Daryl had not had the money to see him properly buried.
Alone, in the city at eleven. He'd wandered. Staying close to the outskirts of town, he'd hunted and scanvenged when needed. Merle before his death had made him a small bow with scraps and he'd become handy with it. He was capable of hunting squirrels when needed.
Then one day, he'd been caught in an alley. Heading back to the small shanty heMd called home. A string of squirrels on his shoulder.
He'd been jumped by three men. He wasn't no chump, he'd managed, to hold his own briefly, but he was a twelve years old, or so he guessed against three large men. They'd taken him down. He was sure they would kill him in his rage. When soundly a gun firing filled the air. The men had turned, to see a little street urchin, holding a gun on them, a stocking cat pulled down low on it's head. So bundled in a coat that Daryl could not tell if it was a boy or girl. Beside his saviour stood a large ferocious dog, baring his teeth at his attackers.
His saviour had chased off the men who seemed to realize with horror that they had been beating a child. His saviour had come closer, kneeling at his side, the hat had been swiftly pulled off to press pressure on a wound on his forehead and he saw with a gasp the most beautiful red curls, the dog whined and she turned "Hush now Angel, it's alright."
She helped him home, to the small shanty he'd built on the outskirts of town. She'd never left. Carol.
They became best friends. Her parents had passed and she'd run from an unscrupulous uncle who'd have sold her into a brothel. They protected each other. Survived together. They would do anything for one another.
He'd been shocked one day to come home and found her long beautiful curls shorn close to her head. She'd sold her hair, to a wig company." Why?" He'd asked incredulously.
She'd smiled and pulled out a small package wrapped in newspaper. "Happy Birthday" she'd said simply. Inside he'd found a hunting knife. The handle inscribed with a design of roses.
He'd protected her with a vicious ferocity he did not know he possessed, and at night he dreamed he was older, much older, fighting wars he knew nothing of, only wanting to find his way back to her.
He made sure she was feed, always, and her precious Angel feed. He'd used their last bullet to take Angel out into the forest and give her peace when it became obvious the old dog was suffering. Carol had not been able.
Although their friendship had never progressed any further, he knew that was in the future for them. His fifteen year old heart recognized his future. They simply had to survive, find better times. She was his.
Today it was raining, cold. He'd begged her to stay at the shanty. He would go find work, as he knew hunting would yield nothing today.
He loaded at the docks, for hours. Filling loads of coffee and other goods until his back ached. When he departed, he went to get food. Bread, and jerky. He felt like a failure but he knew Carol would look at it as though it was a royal feast and she did.
That night they lay together innocently for warmth only. She nestled her head on his shoulder and whispered as she drifted off to sleep "Stay safe."
Neither woke when the wind picked up that night. When the draft blew in through the slats of wood of the shanty, and tipped the candle. Setting the room ablaze. Neither woke when both their lungs began to fill with smoke. Neither woke when they both took their last breath together, hands tightly clasped, as their souls lifted from their body. Only then did the fire touch their empty shells.
Daryl stood in the forest watching the shanty burn. She stood next to him, hand tightly clasped in his.
"Someday, we will have a life together, and we will be happy." He said ignoring the pull of the light.
She turned touching his face. "Oh my love. Happiness is not a destination." She smiled tenderly "it's every lifetime I get to live with you..until we meet again Stay Safe."