This is the second-longest chapter in this fic (the first being Ch 2), but there's some action and a tiny dash of gore… sorta. Also, I wrote this before Chandler Riggs revealed Carl was supposed to be 13. I was working on the assumption that he was about 9 in Season 1, making him about 13-ish in this fic. Oops.

Recommended Song: "Crawling in the Dark" by Hoobastank

TWD has been commandeered/borrowed without permission.

It was well past midnight and Daryl was still chopping wood by the light of the lantern. He'd been at it for hours, unable to sit inside the house, helpless as his wife held back screams of agony. She had Maggie there to hold her hand while Hershel and Andrea tended to her. She didn't need him there pacing about. What she did need was firewood to keep her warm this winter.

The muscles in his arms twitched with exhaustion. He dropped the axe and sat with his back to the wood pile. He could see the lights of the house, the generator putting in some overtime to provide light and hot water until it was all over. The end, however, seemed an eternity away, especially with pain medication and antibiotics now but a distant memory.

He remembered the night they used the last of both. The walkers had invaded their land six months ago with a herd of fifty or more. They were prepared thanks to Glenn's scouting, and things were going smoothly until that damn kid got it in his head that he had something to prove. A straggler had gotten through the fence, and Carl had slipped out the back door to take it out. Things might have gone smoothly if it hadn't been for the faulty silencer.

POW!

Every walker for miles heard it and headed right for them. Rick screamed for his son, bolting out the back door with Daryl at his heels. But Carl wasn't the only one who failed to listen. Carol had already made it across the yard, half-dragging the boy towards the safety of the barn, armed only with a Louisville Slugger and her good intentions.

They found her just inside the barn, shielding the boy from a danger that was no longer there. Her body trembled, but her eyes were wild as she gripped the bat in her right hand. Her left hand was covered in blood, the last two fingers reduced to stumps. Carl looked over her shoulder helplessly, unsure whether the real danger lurked inside or directly before him.

Rick started towards his son. "Oh, God, Carol..."

Carol's shrieks stopped him mid-stride as the bat went into motion. "Back!" she screamed. "Get away from him!"

Startled, he looked to Daryl for help. "She's in shock."

"No shit," Daryl snapped, his eyes unable to leave the sight of her mangled hand. Time was short if they hoped to save her.

"Talk to her," Rick instructed. "She'll probably respond to you better than anybody."

Daryl glanced at him uncertainly before lowering his crossbow to the ground. He took a careful step forward. "Carol?"

His wife didn't respond, keeping the bat raised. Behind her, Carl whimpered.

"Carol," Daryl inched closer to her, lowering himself to her level. "Y'hear me?"

The bat began to lower as the wild look in her eyes began to fade. Carol blinked once, then twice, as if waking from a dream. "Daryl?" she whispered.

Her husband gently extended a hand towards her. "S'okay... S'alright... You're safe now."

Tears began flowing down Carol's cheeks as she threw herself into his arms. "Oh, God, oh, God!" she sobbed as her remaining fingers clung to his shirt. "God forgive me! Forgive me!"

Daryl glanced up at Rick, who was holding Carl protectively to his chest. "S'alright," Daryl murmured. "Nothin' t'forgive. Both y'all's safe-"

Her cries cut him off as each sob shook her body. "The baby! The baby! God forgive me, I've killed the baby!"

Daryl shot Rick a bewildered look towards Rick, who looked equally shocked. "Baby?" Rick mouthed.

A shake of the head was all Daryl could manage before turning his attention back to Carol. "We gotta take care'a this. Gotta take it off 'fore it spreads.

Carol didn't respond or even appear to have heard him as she stared off to a place beyond Daryl's shoulder. Rick turned to his son. "Go get Hershel. Tell him to bring his bag, that we're gonna amputate."

Carl nodded once and ran in the direction of the house. Rick knelt beside Daryl. "Let's get her over to the tack room, use the work table in there. We might be able to save the rest of her hand if we're quick about it."

Together, they lifted Carol to her feet and led her to the work table. Daryl swept the table clear with a brush of his arm. "Ain't very sanitary," he observed.

"Better than the floor," Rick reminded him, pulling the hatchet from his belt. "Gonna try to take jus' this part of the hand. Hold her still."

Daryl stood behind her, holding her arms to her body as the injured hand laid spread against the table. His fingers dug into her flesh for the first time outside their bed. He placed his cheek alongside hers as he whispered, "Try not t'scream... don't wanna attract no more of 'em."

Carol's sobs quietened as she nodded. "'Kay."

He squeezed her to him. "Love you," he murmured, then turned his gaze back towards Rick, giving him a curt nod.

She kept her word. She didn't scream, and her thrashing was minimal. Daryl held her still while Rick used his shirt to help control the bleeding. By the time Hershel made it to the barn, she had already passed out.

They laid her in Rick and Andrea's bed on the first floor to recover. Daryl rarely left her side, keeping constant vigil until she awoke for the first time several hours later, groggy and disoriented from the pain medication.

"Where are we?" she mumbled sleepily.

Daryl took her right hand into his. "Still at the farm," he said. "We got that herd cleared out."

"Carl?"

"Lil' shit's fine. Gonna change that when he shows his ugly mug again."

Carol managed a weak smile. "What happened?"

"You don' remember?"

"No... I remember looking for Carl... then you were killin' walkers to come save me."

Daryl nodded. "You 'member gettin' bit?"

Carol frowned at him, then noticed her bandaged hand. "No, I don't... Did I lose my ring?"

A surprised laugh escaped Daryl's lips. "Dammit, woman, you jus' lost half'a your hand and you're askin' me about your damn ring?"

Even half sedated, Carol managed a look of indignation. "S'my weddin' ring!"

Her husband shook his head. "Jesus... I'll get you another one, a'ight?"

Carol nodded as her eyes began to close. "M'kay."

Daryl wasn't finished talking yet. "Hey," he said, poking her stomach gently. "When'd you plan on tellin' me 'bout that?"

An embarrassed smile appeared on her lips. "Didn' know 'til yesterday. S'gonna tell you in the kitchen, but the walkers..."

Daryl watched her carefully. "Thought it was end'a the line for that?"

Carol gave him an amused grunt. "Makes two of us... makes two... three... of us... Dixons."

She didn't open her eyes again for nearly a week. During the first night, infection had set in, causing her hand to swell as her temperature skyrocketed. Hershel was less than optimistic about her recovery. "It's fortunate we had ampicillin on hand, given her condition," he told Daryl after the third night, "but what we have might not be enough."

"Then we'll get more!" Daryl snapped.

The old man shook his head. "You don' understand, son... this is it. Between what we used to save Maggie and what we've used since we came here, our sources have been depleted. There's no more to be retrieved. Not locally."

Daryl jumped to his feet. "So what the hell we supposed t'do? Just let her lay here an' die?!"

Hershel shook his head. "She's in God's hands now. Even if we sent a group out looking for more, she'd just as likely die while you were gone than if you were right here beside her."

The hunter glared at the doctor for a long moment, fists curled tightly at his sides. "Guessin' we won' be needin' ya, then," he growled.

Hershel tilted his head. "I suppose not," he replied as he turned towards the door.

Daryl returned to his chair beside the bed. Carol was sleeping peacefully for the moment, but it was only a matter of time before the nightmares returned. She would thrash about beneath the quilts, screaming his name in such agony, it was as though he were dead. Sometimes he could comfort her, but other times she would be inconsolable.

Carefully, Daryl took her left hand into his and began unwinding the bandage. Her hand was hot to the touch, the skin turning an angry red color that extended to her wrist. The stitches looked cleaner than they had the day before, which Daryl understood to be a good sign. Hopefully in time, she would be able to use her hand again. Missing two fingers was better than losing an entire hand.

A soft knock at the door drew his attention from her hand. Andrea stood in the doorway with her hands behind her back. "Can I come in?"

Daryl jerked his head to one side, motioning her in as he began wrapping a clean bandage around Carol's hand. Andrea sat on the bed facing him. "How is she?"

"'Bout the same as yesterday. Doc's trying some souped-up Tylenol. Supposed t'help with the fever. Mostly for the pain."

Andrea frowned. "Does he think the fever might be-"

Daryl glared at her. "Ain't that kinda fever!"

She nodded quickly. "Just askin'! I was worried." A noncommental noise was as close to forgiveness as she was going to get. "Besides, I brought you something."

"Oh yeah?" Daryl's eyes didn't leave Carol's hand as he finished taping the bandage. "Not another shitty whodunit is it?"

Andrea rolled her eyes. "No, this one's a bit more useful," she promised, pulling a heavy book from behind her back. "Actually, Maggie thought you might find it useful."

Daryl took the book into his hands. He eyed the cover and raised an eyebrow. "'Pregnancy Day By Day'?"

His blonde companion grinned at his repulsed expression. "Okay, it's more for Carol, but we thought you might-"

"Who the hell told you?"

"C'mon, it's not like we get a lot of gossip in this house. Rick told me, Hershel told Maggie, and Maggie told me, but I already knew... Point is, we know and we want to help."

Daryl laid the book on the bed. "So much for privacy an' shit."

"I think HIPPA went out the window a long time ago," Andrea observed as she picked up the book. "Hershel said you didn't know how far along she is?"

His expression darkened. "I didn' know shit 'til this happened!"

"Alright, jeeze!" Andrea rolled her eyes. "Anyway, he's guessing she's about ten weeks or so just by how her stomach feels."

Daryl's confused expression was almost comical. "How it feels? The hell can he feel anything?"

"Well, surely you've noticed a change! I mean, she's nearly out of the first trimester, and you didn't notice?"

"I thought she was eatin' good!" Daryl's face had gone from confused to irritated.

Andrea patted his hand as she opened the book. "Here, look at this book... See? This is probably what the baby looks like now."

Daryl squinted at the picture. "Looks like a deformed peanut."

"Oh god, don't you ever say that to her!" Andrea laughed, rising to her feet. "I'm gonna check on dinner."

He watched her walk out the door before turning his eyes back to the picture in the book. The corner of Daryl's mouth twitched as his face softened. His fingers drifted to the gentle curve of Carol's stomach. "Lil' half-baked peanut," he murmured.

Yay, flashback! Now we know what really happened to give Carol such awful nightmares. In the next chapter… Peanut!