AN #1: We're getting close y'all.
Disclaimer: I do not write for or own TWD or AMC.
OoO
Maybe they should just kill her.
She was going to kill someone.
And Rick wouldn't banish him, he was nearly certain of it.
But he knew Carol would never forgive him, would never be able to look him in the eyes if he did.
And looking at her now, while she slept peacefully, arms around her little sister, it was hard to be afraid of her. It was hard to believe that she was capable of horrible things.
But she was. He knew she was.
She had to be dealt with, somehow, some way, before they let their guard down and lost someone.
Namely Judith.
He stewed over his thoughts late into the night, keeping his ears peeled, trying to keep his tired and stinging eyes awake and trained on that little blonde head.
How different things would have been if he had saved Sophia. Just been a little quicker, a little smarter…
Carol came stumbling out of the room sometime around midnight, wiping her face and holding a hand out to the wall to steady herself.
He started to get up to help her, concern lacing its way through his heart, but she smiled in her small way and waved him off, staggering to the couch to collapse beside him. She sighed deep and laid her head on his shoulder.
He felt goosebumps rise on his flesh as her sticky hair made contact with his ear.
It was good. It was okay. This was okay.
"Thanks for waiting up," she breathed.
He shrugged, bobbing her head with his shoulders. "Had to. Had to watch the kids."
He felt her stiffen against him. She sat up, rubbed her face roughly with her hands, slapping her cheeks and widening her eyes.
"I didn't even think of that," she whispered, eyes flitting around to the hallway where the bedrooms lay. "Did you see where Carl and Glenn went?"
He nodded to where she was looking. "Carl's with Rick and Judith, maybe Michonne, too. Glenn's upstairs with Maggie and Beth."
She breathed a sigh of relief and nodded. She glanced at Tyreese pointedly, then back to the girls, clasping her hands in her lap and looking at them for a few seconds before training her eyes on a point on the wall in front of them.
"Lizzie tried to kill her," she released, her whole body relaxing as the words tumbled from her tongue. "She tried to kill Judy."
He blanched, tried to blink away the shock. He shook his head, breathed deep, and put a hand on her knee.
She placed hers over his, her little piano fingers contrasting with his stocky, scarred knuckles like white over black.
He wasn't really surprised; had suspected as much. But the words coming out of her mouth, the complete confirmation, rendered him speechless.
"That first morning, when I found them, she and Mika were back-to-back. There were walkers coming from all directions. Mika was able to take one down, but then her little handgun jammed and she didn't know how to fix it."
She breathed deep, dug her fingers into the couch cushion. Her eyes squeezed shut and she took several breaths before she continued.
"I guess Judith was crying. Lizzie put a hand over her mouth to hush her. And then she held her nose, too."
His mouth felt dry. The mental image, of the baby's face going blue while the little girl blocked her airways, just waiting to die, made him feel cold inside.
Carol pulled a palm down over her face again, tightened her grip on Daryl's hand. "By the time I got there, Judith was completely blue and had almost passed out. I ripped her out of Lizzie's hands, but the walkers were coming too fast, so I had to hand her to Mika while I put them down. Mika started screaming then, because Lizzie had held her so long she had forgotten to breathe and she had gone limp. Mika thought she had died."
She paused, turned to look him straight him in the eyes.
He wouldn't let himself look away.
"Lizzie didn't do anything. Just stood there, staring, while I blew on Judy's face and tapped her back until she started breathing. Didn't say anything, didn't look like she was surprised to see me, didn't so much as cock her head."
She looked away again, reached down to pull off her boots with shaking hands. Her breaths were too quick, her chest moving too fast. He knew she was probably on the edge of a flashback or a panic attack, teetering on the edge of sanity, ready to pitch off into the abyss. He had been in that same position thousands of times before.
Talking about it only made it worse.
She crossed her legs Indian-style on the couch. Watched the girls at her feet, her mouth quirking into a half-smile at the corners, trembling a little.
"And then she blinked, and just came at me, laughing and saying how happy she was to see me. Like nothing at all had happened."
She hesitated then, threaded her fingers through his again, not saying anything.
"She ain't right," he whispered, shaking his head at her, trying to drive his point home. "We gotta do something, Carol. If she tries it again…"
"Carl will kill her. I know. Believe me, I know…" she drifted off. "I don't think we should tell Rick, or Carl."
He thought about it. It wasn't safe for Judith to not tell, but it wasn't safe for Lizzie to tell.
"Maybe…," she started, eyes watering and chin quivering. "Maybe it was just a one-time thing, you know? Maybe the moment just got away from her, and-"
"Carol."
She whirled on him, bringing her free hand to her head. "I don't know what to do, Daryl!" she whisper screamed, eyes blood-shot and watering, turning the light blue of her eyes electric in the candlelight. "I promised her father I would take care of her like my own, and I promised Lori I would take care of Judith – and Carl – like my own. I don't know what to do."
He drew her into him without even thinking, without even acknowledging that hugging her meant touching her, meant her touching him.
She needed someone, and he was the only one there.
"I don't know what to do," she sobbed, hiccuping and trying to stay quiet, her arms wrapping around his core and resting on his lower back. "I don't know what to do."
"We'll think of something," he muttered. "'S okay. 'S okay."
She nodded into his chest and breathed deep, one breath after another, until she had stopped her sobbing and he was just holding her, her head resting against his heart, hammering away at a million miles a minute.
She felt so warm and alive and real and even though the crap they were dealing with was possibly the worst thing the Turn had thrown at either of them, he would give anything to have her here, in this moment, with him.
He was bad for her, he knew that, but right here, it didn't feel so prominent. He felt like he was being of use. He could hold her against him, and she would stop crying. He could do that.
He could do that.
She was quiet, silent except for the occasional stuttering breath that comes from crying too hard. He found himself rocking her slowly, just like he had done for Judith, clutching her tight and hugging her and letting his movements lull her to sleep.
Her eyes eventually fluttered shut, and he stopped his rocking and sighed deep. She was asleep.
But an hour or so later, her eyes flew open and she took in a fast breath, gasped, choked on the air she got, and fisted his shirt into her palms roughly.
The sensation on his back was so sudden, and so very different from what he experienced with her and so similar from what he had experienced at home, that he saw stars and rocked, had to restrain himself from tossing her, throwing her away from him, running and hiding in the woods, away from hands that tried to hurt and succeeded.
She didn't mean to.
It was just a nightmare.
Be a man.
She seemed to sense it though, and immediately dropped her hands, brought them to her mouth. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, trying to make eye contact with him, her eyes still hazy with sleep but wide with fear.
He shook his head, glanced at her from hooded eyes and clasped his hands in his lap, not letting those thoughts take him over.
He wouldn't let them. He wouldn't let it take him over.
He wouldn't.
He made himself take her hand again, give her a small smile.
He would not let her feel bad about this. This was him, this was his idiocy, his evil.
He would not let himself taint her.
He would not.
oOo
They stayed like that, hand in hand, for the next several hours, talking lightly about the people in the house.
"Hershel didn't make it out, did he?" she whispered to him, searching his face for the answer.
He felt himself tighten, felt everything in him contract and shudder with guilt and pain.
He had done nothing. He had waited and watched and then it had been too late and everyone had been screaming and crying and he had done nothing.
He didn't have to say a thing. Carol leaned forward and placed an easy hand on his cheek, her eyes clear and sad.
"It's not your fault. Do not ever think it could be your fault."
Her voice was strong, not shaky and broken like he expected her to be. He expected her to start crying again, but she didn't, she was strong, so much stronger than him, and she was staring him down with a bossy look on her face, her eyebrows drawn in, her thumb stroking his cheekbone as she spoke.
He looked away. Didn't want to argue with her, because he didn't want to talk about it. He knew he could have done more, and he didn't. She wasn't there. She couldn't have seen.
He had stopped searching for the Governor months ago. He had stopped helping Michonne, and if he had just kept it up, just went out with her a little more, they could have found him.
They could have, but they didn't.
He looked away in shame, couldn't stand to have her looking at him like he was some saint, some angel that just needed to be convinced of his own righteousness.
He knew what he was. And he wasn't what she thought.
She moved his face back towards her when he turned, shook it a little.
"Don't do that," she commanded. "If Michonne couldn't have found him, than you couldn't have, either. It just wasn't possible, Daryl."
Her words sent tremors through his body. It was the words he wanted, needed, to hear, but they weren't working, they weren't true, it wasn't true, and his list was a mile long and none of it mattered.
"They're all dead," he croaked.
Her hand softened on his skin, then dropped completely to his knee. Her eyes were wide with concern, her face pinched and pensive as she waited for him to explain.
He took a shuddering breath, pulled his free hand through his hair and stared straight away. "This morning, when I went out? A herd was passing by the fence."
Her eyes widened even more, if that could be possible, but she didn't say anything, just waited for him to continue, rubbed circles with her thumb on the inside of his knee.
The sensation was distracting, but not enough to distract him from the horrible memory, the horrible image of his three friends, the sickening knowledge that they could not have been alone, that there were others that had died and were part of that herd, and their remaining families would never know.
He sucked in a deep breath, and released it with his words. "It was from the prison."
She sighed slowly, but didn't move. Just closed her eyes and nodded her head.
"It's the Governor's fault, Daryl," she whispered. "Just the Governor. No one else could have stopped it, and no one else caused it.
"You aren't responsible."
He shook his head, pin pricks of flame starting beneath his eyes. Shook his head fiercely and took his hand back to rub his eyes, his face, to ward away the tears.
He would not cry. He would not.
"I brought most of them," he rasped. "If I hadn't-"
"They would have died a long time ago in the wilderness, all alone," she quipped.
He shook his head again, not really believing her, not ready to forgive himself.
He was despicable. He had killed them. He had killed every last one of them.
She reached forward and touched his hair, and he stiffened at the contact. Felt her slowly comb it out of his eyes, swipe it back, and it felt good. It felt soft.
"You can't carry it around with you," she murmured, looking at him pointedly as she said so. He watched her as she ran her fingers through his hair slowly, softly, and it was almost hypnotizing, the way she moved.
"We have to learn to let it go."
He sighed deep and closed his eyes, let himself relax at her touch, willing his muscles to release their tension and to accept it.
She wasn't going to hurt him.
This was okay.
She took her hand down slowly, then scooted down to the end of the couch.
"I'll watch," she whispered, beckoning him to lay down with her hand, nodding to him. "Try to get a little rest."
He hesitated. He wasn't really comfortable with being so close to her, to having her watch him sleep.
But when she was near him, he didn't have the dreams.
He laid down stiffly on his back, face up. She didn't touch him, but she smiled.
"Wake me up so you can get some rest," he muttered.
She rolled her eyes at him, but he was too tired to care.
OoO
He awoke to kitchen sounds, beautiful noises that fooled his sub-conscious into thinking none of it had happened, that he was still at the prison, that the Governor had never came and killed and taken everything from them.
But then he opened his eyes, and saw Mika and Lizzie curled around each other on the carpet, saw Tyreese sitting up and rubbing his eyes. Someone had thrown a threadbare blanket over the girls, but they didn't need it. It was borderline stifling in the house.
His first thought was that Carol wasn't there. His second that she hadn't woken him so she could rest.
He made himself stand, and stumbled towards the kitchen. Sure enough, Carol was there, the bags beneath her eyes large and purple, her hair a mess, but a big smile on her face.
He hated her self-sacrificing spirit sometimes. It was downright stupid of her. She'd gotten barely an hour of rest, and her bloodshot eyes proved it.
She grinned at him, and proudly flicked one of the knobs on the stove.
"Gas-powered," she chirped, as she lit a match and a flame bounced out from under the metal grate.
He smirked at her, and she bumped his hip with hers, momentarily jolting him off balance. "Stop," he growled, reaching for one of the boxes of granola bars that stood with all the other canned goods.
She slapped his hand and ushered him away from her.
"Go get us something good!" she whisper-hollered at him as she pushed him towards the back door.
He pretended to be aggravated, but in all honesty, her unmistakably chipper tone only made him feel better, made him feel stable. Her morning cheer was something that was constant.
So he rolled his eyes, still smirking, and went and grabbed his crossbow by the front door.
It was late morning, and the sun was high. The morning dew was evaporating into a fog that blanketed the trees and shrubbery.
He sighed. It was back to the same old thing. There were…15 of them? Not counting Judith?
And unless they wanted to start going on runs – and often – he had to do his job.
They all had jobs to do.
oOo
AN #2: Thank you everyone for reading! I really hope I'm not sucking at this. My apologies if the Caryl was more awkward than I meant it to be… But we're getting close to the end. It kind of makes me sad.
