If Tomorrow Wasn't Such a Long Time
I have a feeling this chapter is going to be the most disjointed of the bunch. Bare with me, I promise it will be well worth the wait. As always thanks for reviewing. :)
Also: I own nothing in regards to The Walking Dead. All rights belong to the copyright holder.
Chapter 7
Carol came through the door and saw Daryl asleep. She had never seen him so at peace. He must have been up for days before he had made it back to the prison. She could see in the way he moved, his actions were sluggish yet meticulous with the way he slowly would adjust himself to a new position careful to not further incur more pain from his injuries. She inched her way closer to him and watched as he slumbered. She saw the steady slow rise and fall of his chest, a sliver of scar tissue peeking out from the collar of his shirt. She initially frowned, but softly smiled. Daryl was stronger from when she had first met him. He was a better man than she had ever thought possible from when their group had first met the Dixon brothers. He had been feral and unhinged with wild fervor, but now he was gentle and patient, still temperamental and angry, but for the most part quiet and kind.
How was it that he managed to make it this far on his own? For all she knew Daryl had been out by himself for several days maybe even a week at most. She wouldn't know. He would never say.
Carol paused for a moment and just watched mesmerized by his rhythmic breathing. She found herself moving closer to Daryl. With delicate fingers she carefully swept the fringe of his bangs out of his face. She studied his features as she gently rubbed her finger along his brow. There were more whiskers around his chin even a few gray ones peeking through the auburn brown. His hair lacked the normal upkeep he would have done if he had stayed with them.
She shrugged the negative feelings of him being gone away. She couldn't hold a grudge against Daryl. Refused to do so. Life was, for lack of better words, too short to do that. Shutting her eyes, Carol leaned over Daryl and without hesitation she chastely kissed his chapped lips. Her hand caressing his cheek as she pressed her forehead to his. It was brief, but it was something she felt she needed to do. She could smell the scent of fresh earth and sweat on his skin. Carol could feel his breath hitch and his eyebrows crease beneath her forehead. She quickly withdrew from him and opened her eyes, Daryl's steely blue gaze greeting her back.
Even through all the dirt muck and dark Georgia tan, a brilliant red flashed across their cheeks in embarrassment. Carol backed away almost instantaneously. Daryl sat stoically looking away from her, a twinge of pink staining his cheeks.
"Uhm..." Started Carol, unsure of what to say to explain her actions.
Daryl continued to avert his attention elsewhere. The corner of his eye twitched when she had spoken. He sat for several seconds clenching his jaw and quickly drawing his hand to his mouth, gave a quick sweep of his hand across his lips and began chewing at his thumb.
"Daryl, I..." Carol began again. At that moment, Hershel hobbled into the chow-hall, Beth followed after with a bag of supplies. A wide smile spread across her face.
"We're glad you're back." She said and set the bag down.
Hershel set his crutches aside and took a seat next to Daryl, clapping a hand to his shoulder and giving him a good squeeze. "We really are." He reiterated. "Now let's see what mess you've gotten yourself into this time... Again."
"What? Wastin' the good shit on me?" He drawled.
"Aren't we always?" Hershel chuckled and motioned for Daryl to get on the table. "So what happened this time?"
Daryl uncrossed his legs and swung his leg over the bench so he was straddling it, his back to Hershel. Carol watched as he slowly pulled his vest off with articulated care, laying it across the table top. His fingers found the bottom button and began unfastening it. He thumbed several buttons open and found the hem of his shirt, lifting the fabric up on the left side of his waist. A swirl of blue and purple stained his side with various surface wounds scattered about his back. They looked to have been cleaned from what she saw. Strips of shredded pieces of shirt, his classic tourniquet, wrapped around his waist with leaves padding the deeper and larger gouges she assumed. She could see faint scars cascading towards his back and across his navel. The majority of his scars littered his back in gnarly crossroads, zigzagging across his tan skin.
Hershel gently reached out and touched the bruising. Daryl flinched.
"Have you been coughing up blood?" Asked Hershel as he slowly began applying pressure, attempting to pinpoint any other affliction caused from his tumble out the window.
Daryl shook his head. "No." He hissed through clenched teeth. "Easy on the pushing. Hurts like a bitch."
Hershel softly laughed. "Well, you're fine. Nothing seems broken. Looks like you got all the glass. We just need to clean those up a bit better. Whatever happened to you was pretty severe, but not enough to break a rib or puncture a lung. You're quite lucky to have survived your fall."
Daryl huffed at this, his eyebrows knitting together in anguish, and pulled his shirt down, quickly re-buttoning it. He disliked the feeling of being exposed. It made him feel like he was on display. He hated more that he'd gotten away completely unscathed whereas Merle had not. He was the only Dixon boy left. The thought stung.
Hershel motioned to clean Daryl's wounds but he merely swatted him away. "I'll take care of it." He replied with a distinct commanding tone. He seemed to bristle at the kindness exhibited by Hershel. He felt bad, but he was a well of mixed emotions he couldn't control at that moment. He needed to not be prodded at. When he was ready he would deal with his cuts.
"Just take it easy the next few days. Have you eaten son?" Hershel asked observing Daryl's languid movement.
The question stole Daryl from his thoughts and looked to Hershel, who sat placidly with a soft thin-lipped smile. He was unperturbed by Daryl's sudden sharp temper. "No. I haven't caught a thing in a few days. Been working off the local fauna. Berries and roots. That's it." His stomach growled low reiterating his hunger.
"I'll fix you something." Blurted Carol. She'd been fidgeting with the excess length of her head wrap for the majority of the time Hershel had been examining Daryl. She needed something to do. She was still quite embarrassed she had been caught in the act stealing a kiss from him. Her mind was just a flurry of questions that needed answering. First and foremost she needed to make him something to eat, giving her an excuse to slow her rampant mind and help her collect her thoughts.
Carol made her way over to where the food was and started heating up water. She could feel the tension in the room, whether it was because she had put it there in the first place, she wasn't sure but it was there and you could literally cut the atmosphere. She could hear the scuffing sound of Hershel's crutches and the soft patter of Beth's feet as they left the mess hall. She and Daryl were alone again.
As she methodically went to work, Carol couldn't help but steal glances at Daryl who sat at the table cleaning his nails. From what it seemed, Daryl wasn't the least bit phased by their kiss. He occupied himself to the menial grooming of his fingers. His gaze focused on the task, but his eyes so devoid of life. They lacked that predatory spark they usually held.
Carol finished cooking the noodles and grabbed a set of tongs. She served him a generous portion, hoping he would be full and content. She hated how skinny he looked. Him leaving as he had was not the best thing he could have done especially off the cuff without food or water. She was surprised he even made it this long without water.
She set the bowl in front of him and offered him a fork. It took him a second to notice she had handed him the bowl, eyes reverting back from the spacey gaze. Daryl took the bowl from her hands and mumbled 'thanks' under his breath, digging into his food. She watched as he hastily ate, slurping up noodles, broth flecks being flung willy-nilly about the table. Carol giggled at his frantic eating. He caught her staring and stopped, a few stray noodles hanging out the corner of his mouth. "What?" he scoffed, as he thumbed the noodles back into his mouth.
Her cheeks went pink and she turned around to clean out the pan she'd used to cook his meal. "Nothing. Just... nothing." she said.
"Ain't no 'nothing' when you say it like that." Daryl replied.
Carol began biting her bottom lip. Daryl wasn't stupid. He was very observant. He could see through people's bullshit. "Are you thirsty?" She quickly offered and ambled around a pillar poking a fresh bottle of water in hand from around the corner. She waved it animatedly at him as if he was a dog and was waiting for a response.
"Uh..." was all he could get out before she disappeared from his focal point again. Carol popped out from around the corner with a cup in hand. Daryl watched her curiously as he continued eating. He kept his eyes on her as she moved about the mess-hall. Her movement was fluid and frenetic. She was nervous, he could tell. The way she poured the water into his cup with a jerky motion, water dribbling down the sides, splashing on the table. Carol was making a mess of things. Daryl raised both eyebrows in sudden realization, and went back to his noodles, the corner of his lips curving into a smile.
Carol sat down opposite him, fidgeting in her seat. She noticed the spilled water across the table and pulled down a bit of her long-sleeve to sop up the mess.
"Sorry." She finally said after what seemed an eternity's worth of silence. Carol wasn't sure what she was trying to apologize for. Kissing him when he was out for the count? Spilling everything on the table? Being awkward about the entire situation? She supposed she was being just apologetic over everything.
Daryl had at that point finished the noodles and was drinking the warm broth from the bowl. He set it down after he had finished and looked at her, streaks of broth dribbling down the corners of his mouth. He lazily wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and pushed the bowl away from him. His eyes met hers and she quickly looked elsewhere. Carol couldn't muster the courage to even look him in the eyes she was so embarrassed over the entire situation. Daryl nervously chuckled a bit, finding the situation amusing.
He couldn't believe something completely innocent as a kiss could make her so flustered. Hell, he should have been the one embarrassed. He was the one who had no real experience with women besides the random drunken romps he would have in the back of his truck cab. Those had been Merle's attempts at making a man of him, as he had affectionately put it. Daryl wouldn't count those as real relationships, but they had been something and most he would have rather forgotten. Especially the girls that simply got mad when he'd fall asleep out of boredom or come early because he wanted the encounter to be over and done with. Those were things he wished he could forget.
His laugh somehow eased Carol's nerves. Her high arched shoulders sagged back to a more relaxed state and she let out a long sigh with an anxious laugh.
"Did I mention I'm glad you're back?" Carol finally said, looking at him. Daryl looked back at her and gently smirked.
Daryl panted as he pulled Merle up the stairs in the abandoned farm-house. His brothers' feet drug and made it near impossible to get up the stairs as quickly as he had wanted. Growling and moaning could be heard no more than a few steps behind him.
"Move yer ass Darylina. I hear 'em comin'." Grunted Merle as he staggered with Daryl up the steps.
"Merle... Shut up." Snapped Daryl as they finally made it up. The walkers were clambering at their heels.
Daryl quickly pushed Merle up against a wall and grabbed the largest hay bale he could find, shoving it in front of the stairs, hurriedly stacking a second on top. Several walkers lumbered up the stairs and reached out towards Daryl whom recoiled from within their claw-like grasp. Daryl fell backwards tripping over a bucket on the ground. He groped his way backwards, fingers grabbing hold of Merle's boots. He looked up and saw the sweat pouring down his face and the deep gray hollow circles beneath his eyes. The fever had gotten worse and the bullet wound to his chest... Nothing that could be done.
A sudden crash and hissing removed Daryl's attention back to their current situation. The walkers had gotten up the stairs. He struggled to get up with all the packs clinging to his shoulders and weighing him down.
"Git on outta here, little brother." Barked Merle. "Them biters and I're gonna have us a mighty fine time."
Daryl's brows furrowed and he threw himself up in one swift motion. He grabbed Merle by the lapel of his shirt eyes narrowed and drug him further towards the hay bales in the far corner. There was a window that they could use to get out of. He wasn't about to leave his brother to the walkers. No way. Daryl rushed them over as quickly as Merle could move. Merle sagged and slumped against the hay bale, eyes fluttering open and shut as soon as they reached the end of the pathway. He was mumbling incoherent thoughts. The fever was starting to steal his 'you' part. He had to move fast.
Daryl swung his crossbow to his shoulder and began picking off walkers. He had to make these count. He only had 6 bolts left. He took one down in the eye, its head snapping back and falling to the ground with a loud thud. The walker behind it tripped and began crawling across the floor. A blessing in disguise he supposed. He dropped his crossbow to the ground and placed his boot on the cocking stirrup for leverage to draw back the string.
The biters lurched closer towards them. Daryl could hear his heart hammering in his ears. The loud drumming in his head sending a panic throughout his body. The string snapped and he nocked an arrow in place. He swung the bow to his shoulder and loosed another arrow into the walker clawing at the floor to get closer. Its head dropped and it stopped in its tracks causing a pile up. Daryl quickly dropped his bow again to reload. He was knocked off-balance by a walker that had fallen over the one he had just killed. He stumbled back and lost the arrow he was loading.
He could see the broken rotten teeth of the walker as it moved swiftly towards him. It's thin nobly fingers frantically clawing for him. In seconds, the walker was put down. Merle had rammed his shiv into its head. He kicked it off the side rail and looked to the wide-eyed Daryl.
"I can't go with you. Not this time little brother." Replied Merle, his mouth opening and shutting with each heavy pant. Daryl could see Merle's chest struggling to take in each lungful of air.
Daryl's jaw went slack and he scrambled to his feet, snatching his bow. "What're you talkin' 'bout, Merle. Maybe there's somethin' we could do. There's gotta be-"
"It don't work like that son. We know what'sa comin'. I ain't becomin' one of them. Now git your sorry ass outta here 'fore them biters getcha." Merle glanced at Daryl, pushing him away. There was fear in his eyes, but a general acceptance of what was to come. Daryl shook his head.
"No... I ain't leavin' ya again." He stammered out. Daryl tugged at Merle's shirt. "C'mon, let's go." A look of plea filled Daryl's eyes and Merle looked away. He couldn't stand to see his younger brother like that. To look up to him and wonder what's next? There was no 'next time'. There would never be another one of those kinds of times for them.
"C'mon Merle. We gotta go." Daryl hissed, tugging his shirt once more.
"No, yer on yer own this time, little brother. I ain't gonna beg ya. Now you go on. Leave ol' Merle behind."
Daryl shook his head in protest and began pulling harder. Merle threw a swift punch to Daryl's arm, urgency in his eyes. He motioned again for Daryl to move, but firmly shook his head once more.
A wild-eyed look crossed Merle's features, every rigged line in his forehead pulled down in anger. He punched Daryl again. An oomph sound escaped his lips as Daryl hugged himself trying not to cough and retch. He hesitantly looked up as Merle lumbered towards him.
"NOW GIT YER ASS OUTTA HERE BEFORE I KNOCK YER TEETH IN." Roared Merle as he grabbed Daryl by his shoulders spinning him around. Without hesitation, he brought his boot up and thrust it into Daryl's back sending him out the window, shattering it into a million pieces as he watched his brother fall out of sight.
"I'm sorry Derle." Whispered Merle as he pulled his gun from his hip and pulled the hammer back.
Daryl landed on his back. He lost his breath on impact and gasped to reclaim it. He rolled to his side and off the large rock that surely had broken some of his ribs upon meeting the earth. Shards of glass embedded into his back. He cursed to hell and back at the blood seeping through his shirt and the pain ebbing up his spine. He felt ripples of numbness spike up and down his legs as he struggled to regain his composure. He heard the cries of four bullets go off and then a fifth shot ring out. Silence. The air was still.
His eyes widened as he realized what had just happened. Daryl sat up pulling his knees to his chest as he tried hard not to scream and shout. He could feel hot tears streak down his cheeks at the loss of his older brother. He gripped his pant legs till his knuckles turned white. He could taste copper on his tongue as he bit deep into his cheeks attempting to drown out his sorrows.
He was upset. He could feel a swelling rage building inside him. This was all the Governor's fault. They'd gotten caught while hunting and Merle had taken a bullet for him. Pushed him out of the way. Daryl had managed to rid Merle of the larger bullet fragment but the smaller pieces had been imbedded deeper into his chest. So deep that Daryl couldn't muster the courage to whittle his knife deeper, chance hurting Merle by slicing an artery or major vessel. The tourniquet had slowed the bleeding, but the trek back to the prison for Hershel's medical care was so far off; Daryl knew they could never make it in time. And they hadn't. The smell of blood had drawn the walkers to them. A drove of them had wandered aimlessly nearby their camp and the two brothers had been on the run since.
A loud crash and thud stole Daryl from his mourning. The low guttural sound of a moan and the gentle brush of grass being waded through could be heard a few feet away. He looked up from his knees and choked on his yelps of surprise. The gnawed up body of Merle reached out to him. Its pale yellowed lifeless eyes staring at him right back. Putrid stink of death filling his nostrils caused him to clamp a hand to his mouth to prevent himself from heaving up the nothing in his belly. The half-eaten corpse continued snarling and snapping as it clawed its way closer to Daryl who sat paralyzed by the sight. Flesh was stripped off Merle's hands and arms, the milky white bone stained with red, stringy muscle dangling and dragging from the ground as the ravenous corpse groped for Daryl.
Finally finding his senses, Daryl started shifting back away from the now walker-turned Merle, bloody fingers jerking and clambering to get a hold of him. Daryl suddenly felt his back pushed against a tree; the glass pieces inching further into his skin. He'd edged himself so far back he hadn't realized he'd cornered himself. Merle found Daryl's pants and began ravenously climbing up his body, coagulated blood dribbling from his snapping jaw. He grasped Merle by the neck to keep him from climbing further up his body and ripping a strip of flesh from his neck. Quickly Daryl pulled his buck knife from its sheath, the corpse starting to dig its fingers into his shoulders.
"Ain't nobody gonna care 'bout you 'cept me little brother."
"No. No. No." Daryl screamed as he shut his eyes, tears and snot running down his face.
A deft shake of his shoulders and he thrust his knife across the length of his body. A yelp escaped his lips and his eyes snapped open. Daryl sat up sweat pouring down his face, his throat dry from his heavy panting. He stared at Carol who sat wide-eyed and scared in front of him. The large buck knife held just underneath her right cheekbone. A thin red line had appeared and blood started to creep out of the cut. Daryl pulled his knife away and tossed it to the ground of his cell. The clang of metal on concrete rung loud in the empty silence of the prison echoing off its walls.
His lip curled up in a sneer, teeth gritting to and fro. He looked away from Carol. Daryl shut his eyes and clenched the bed sheets in his fists.
"Daryl..." Whispered Carol. "Are you OK?"
He looked to her. Looked at her. Daryl could see her pupils dilated, very little blue showed, but it was evident that she was trying to keep herself together. Carol put a reassuring hand on his arm. He could feel her hand trembling, her fingers cool and clammy on his burning skin. She was trying not to show her fear of him in that gesture but her body deceived her actions. He jerked his arm away and got up.
Without a word spoken, Daryl left the cell grabbing his crossbow from the top bunk. Carol sat in Daryl's cell alone. Terrified. Her hand went to her cheek where he'd grazed her with his knife. It lay abandoned at her feet. Its grizzly glare shone bright from the moonlight bouncing off its body. She could feel the warmth of the blood droplets on her fingers. She withdrew her hand and looked to see the extent of the cut. Nothing more than a light graze. Carol could feel her heart sink in her chest as she sat still, eyes dancing about her hand.
"He was having a nightmare." She whispered.
A/N: I purposely spelled Daryl as Derle because of Mike Rooker and the few times he has said Daryl's name. Also there's a video of behind the scenes clips on Survival Instincts where he spells it out and says: it's not Daryl, its Derle, lol! A mini tribute to the wonderful Michael Rooker and his portrayal of Merle, you shall be deeply missed.