Sorry guys, this one took forever to write. Anyway, enjoy! :)
Glenn was rummaging through the bag of medical supplies, searching frantically for Tylenol. Finally he found what he was looking for. The little red label gave it away immediately. He gave the bottle a swift shake. There wasn't much left. Maggie wandered over, holding out her hand.
"Hand 'em here, I'll give 'em to her."
Glenn had just passed the medicine to Maggie when Carol's pleas for help tore through the prison. Maggie dropped the Tylenol, pills scattering across the floor, and they took off without a moment of hesitation.
.:|:.
Hershel and Beth were tending to Judith in the dining room. Beth had the baby swaddled in a blue blanket and tucked into the nook of her arm. Judy drank her formula ravenously; greedily. Every once and a while they would have to lift the bottle away for a few seconds so that she wouldn't choke herself. Beth's blue eyes were big and hopeful as she stared down at the little bundle of innocence in her arms. Everyone in the prison was smitten with Judith.
Suddenly, all three of them snapped to attention when shrieking ignited, muffled by distance. The voice was distinctly Carol's: full of terror and desperation, yes, but Carol's. Judith stopped feeding. Even babies know when something is very wrong. She began fussing. Beth restrained herself from panicking, handing the baby off to her father.
"Where's Axel?" Hershel asked he took Judith into his arms.
"I don't know!" Beth cried, her hand diving for the gun resting at her hip. She checked the cylinder of her revolver. Two of the six chambers were loaded. She glanced up at Hershel one last time, eyebrows bent high in worry, asking silently for support. He nodded. She took off.
.:|:.
Merle's knees buckled when he felt Carol's teeth sink into the soft, tender flesh of his tongue. He growled and spat a mouthful of blood out onto the wet bathroom floor. He wiped a blotch of crimson from the corner of his lip. The intense hatred and disgust flaming in his eyes nearly rooted Carol to her spot against the wall.
"Fucking bitch!" he snarled. He staggered forward and swung his fist, aiming for her face. She ducked in the nick of time. His hand gave a mighty crunch when it connected with the hard, solid wall. Then the bathroom door burst open. Glenn rushed in. Merle was doubled over, knuckles split open and howling in agony. Carol was crunched in a corner wearing naught but a towel. That was all the motivation Glenn needed to attack.
Glenn Rhee wasn't very large or tough. He'd been wielding around heavy firearms long enough to develop a bit of firmness to his arms, but other than that, he just wasn't built for hand-to-hand combat. It didn't stop him from trying, though, and before anyone could react, a full-out assault had begun.
It started with a blow to the side of Merle's face. Carol's breath hitched in her throat. His only good hand crippled with pain, Merle had no means of defending himself. Knocked off his center of balance, he slumped to the floor, allowing the cool tile to appease the throbbing in his sore cheek. But Glenn wasn't done, and the sound of his fist connecting with Merle's face echoed through the prison for several more minutes of utter chaos.
Hershel appeared in the doorway, and Beth buried her head in her shirt, terrified. Nobody had ever seen Glenn act so ruthlessly towards another human being. Maggie cradled Carol in her arms, doing her best to comfort the traumatized woman. Carol watched wordlessly, remembering the day back at the quarry when Shane near ripped Ed's face off after her now-dead husband had struck her across her face. He'd clouted her so hard she'd nursed a sore, split lip for days. Afterwards, she'd nurtured the pathetic bastard and apologized for what had happened. She'd been tricked into feeling sorry for a person who'd done nothing but hurt her. She wouldn't make that mistake again. So when Merle coughed up his own teeth, there was not a trace of pity in her body.
.:|:.
Carol was curled up in her bed, pale face devoid of emotion. She just clutched her knees and stared into the distance, torn between wishing Daryl would return and wishing he wouldn't.
It wasn't long before she found herself in the grip of drowsiness. Her eyelids felt like lead and she had to fight to keep them open. Her pillow, once flat and shapeless, suddenly seemed very inviting. Her normally itchy blanket lost its unpleasantness and all the lumps in the mattress faded away. She was powerless as the tides of a dreamless sleep swept her away. Hours later, she awoke to someone jostling her softly and whispering her name in her ear.
She cracked her eyes open only to see the fuzzy outline of a face. She recognized the blurry features and hazy silhouette of shaggy, dark hair. Her lips parted slightly yet no sound escaped. She was parched and her mouth was dry as a bone. Daryl pressed the back of his hand to her forehead.
"Fuck, you're burnin' up, ain't you?"
Carol nodded meekly, the blanket sticking to her sweat-slicked body. He tugged the heavy wool cover back a bit to make her comfortable.
"Broughtcha a glass o' water an' some Tylenol," he said and offered her a black mug, chipped around the rim. She received it gratefully, propping herself up against the wall. He extended his hand and uncurled his fingers to reveal two white capsules nestled in his palm. She laid them on her tongue, took a sip of water and swallowed promptly, instantly relieved of her thirst. She passed him the mug and he set it down by his foot.
"Glenn and Maggie told me what happened."
Carol sighed and titled her head back, eyelids drifting shut, but the sensation of his fingers suddenly closing around her own pulled her out of her dazed state.
"Carol, I'm so sorry. I shoulda been here t'-"
"Don't." Carol cut him off briskly, startled by how weak and miserable her voice sounded. "Don't blame yourself. This wasn't your fault."
Daryl nodded, though he looked unconvinced. Suddenly he reached back, drawing his red rag out from his pocket, and knelt down. Hershel had requested for Daryl to take a basin of water to her bedside and lay a damp, cool rag on her forehead. Originally he'd been given one of the prison's tattered washcloths, but he'd opted not to use it.
He dipped his rag into the crisp, clear water, swishing around a bit to ensure it was soaked completely before wringing it out. He draped it gently over her forehead. Little beads of water formed in her brows. She smiled.
"Ain't ever told you how I got this damned thing, huh?"
She shook her head softly.
"Well, it ain't that great of a story." he drawled, his eyes suddenly becoming vacant as he gazed off into a memory. "But hell, I guess I'll tell you anyways: when my mama died, my daddy didn' want her stuff hangin' 'round their bedroom. He got real depressed, y'know, an' he didn' like lookin' at it. Merle was away, so I was the one stuck with havin' to pack up all her stuff and sell it. So one day, I was goin' through a box in her closet, an' there was this red t-shirt tucked away in the bottom. An' it was real dusty, y'know, so I accidentally sneezed all over it. I figured it weren't fit to sell no more, so I threw it out. But 'fore I did…I cut it up an' kept that piece."
Carol reached up weakly and used a finger to stroke the damp fabric. She blinked away tears, knowing Daryl would hate to see her cry; hate to think she was feeling sorry for him. But the truth was that she did feel sorry for him. She couldn't begin to imagine the pain he'd endured, and at such a tender, young age. Still, she swallowed her sympathies.
"Guess it was sorta like a security blanket for a while. Used to smell like 'er, too: cigarettes an' wine." He chuckled grimly. "Now it jus' smells like lemony shit."
"Sorry."
"Nah," he shook his head sadly, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. "Smells like you now."
.:|:.
Merle had been relocated to his old cell, the one far away from Daryl's perch and, more importantly, Carol. The sun was going down, casting orange strips of light across the prison, when Daryl approached Merle's cell, the keys at his side jingling.
"Well, lil' brother, 's about time you-"
"Shut up." Daryl snapped, inserting the key into the lock and turning it swiftly. He cracked open the door, just enough to slip inside, and shot a look of death upon Merle, who seemed to shrink under the venomous glare.
"Come on, Daryl. You don' really think I'd-"
Merle's sentence was severed abruptly by Daryl's fist slamming into his already-sore jaw.
"I told you to shut the hell up," he growled, looming over his brother. "An' stay away from Carol."