Ferris Wheel Blues

Sorry for the very, very late update. I've had other things on my plate as of late. New ideas brewing and such. I hope that I can get back into rhythm of this fic. If you enjoy it, let me know. As always thank you for all the patience and continued support. I'd been sitting on this chapter for a while and finally had the sense to start it up again. Well, hope you all enjoy.

Also: I own nothing in regards to The Walking Dead. All rights belong to the copyright holder.

Chapter 5

He kicked over the trunk in his too small room out of anger not caring that he had hurt himself in the process. Stubbed his toe and scuffed the skin right off the top of his knuckles in a huffy rage. His guts were twisting in ways they shouldn't have been. He didn't like it. He didn't care that he would later regret his decision to punch the hole in the wall neither. It was the size of his fist and imbedded deep into the old plaster of the dingy wall, splinters littering the floor. Daryl paced the 4-foot width of his room like a caged-animal, head dropped, eyes set on the ground mulling over the encounter he had just had. Words rattling inside his brain like a pair of thin nails trying to claw their way out somehow.

Who the hell she think she was touching him like she knew him? She didn't know anything about him. He sure as hell knew what kinda woman she was just by her nature: frail little woman, world sitting atop her shoulders as the world and all it's shittiness beat down on her like she owed it something.

A good man? How could she fucking figure that by only a handful of meets? He'd only been mean to her. Cruel even. What was it she was seeing in him that he didn't?

He huffed in annoyance that her words were digging into his skin like they was. These claws that hooked deep in his bones that he couldn't just let loose. If it weren't enough that she had touched him, it was her words that made him question himself. He had never had anyone tell him that he was any better than the dirt on their boot or the spit in their eye. Yet, here this woman had said that he was a good man.

A good man. The fuck did she know about good men? Dixon men weren't anything but redneck trash. Hell, her piece of shit husband weren't no good a man neither. What had he done to show her that he was any good? Daryl knew he had only been nasty to her, vicious almost at times with how he'd glare at her, talking from the side of his mouth, and giving no direct eye contact to her. Despite the shittiness of her life, she still kept herself upright even if her shoulders drooped low from the burdens that carried her everywhere, eyes attentive and fixed on the other pair of eyes staring right back at her as she spoke meek-like to them.

He tilted his head up towards the tiny dirt stained window of the room, fragments of sunlight drizzled in pelting him in the face, birds chirping from their perches on the trees in the neighboring forest. He sneered at the noise knowing with all the racket he would have a hell of a time trying to sleep now. Be lucky at all if he even managed a few hours. He'd come back to his room to nap before all the festivities were underway. He'd tuned up the ferris wheel and the menagerie of other attractions he typically oversaw in the morning. All of 'em singing with no hiccups in their pitches. He figured it would be an easy enough night that he could find a quiet place to smoke and wait 'till something broke down and he was called ta go fix it. A slow night. An uneventful night.

Of course, nothing went as planned for him. He weren't ever that lucky to catch a break. She had to go and tell him that he were better than he thought he was or knew he could be. The thought was perturbing with its meaning. It wasn't just some blurt for shock. The thing that bothered him so much about it wasn't just her tone or the way she'd reached out ta him.

She meant it. There had been conviction in her eyes. Her voice had been nothing more than a barren whisper but it had been that touch and look she gave that spoke what she thought. This battered woman believed he was worth more than dirt. That he was of value to her or to anyone that cared for the matter. If he were a betting man, he'd be right.

He ran calloused marred fingers through his shaggy hair, hands resting at his temples as he paced the length of the room stepping over the kicked over trunk. Her words lingered too much like he cared that they mattered to him. But why? He'd never cared what nobody had thought of him. Not 'til now. Why did he feel now that this woman's word made all the difference of what kinda man he actually was?

His stomach roiled, palms sweating at the thought that perhaps he wanted something better for himself, that maybe wanting more wasn't something to look down on. He shook his head glancing down at the jagged red lines running the length of his knuckles to the flat of the back of his hand. Flexing his fingers he deducted no bones were broke so that was good enough for him to not get it checked out. Daryl huffed not liking that her words— Carol's words —mattered somehow to him. He kicked the trunk again and moved to lay in his too small bed. He kicked his boots off his feet, curling on his side, face trained on the wall, shutting his eyes to try and get a power nap in before he had to go back to work.

The night went smooth, well as smooth as smooth went for Daryl. He'd sliced his hand open with a box-cutter when he'd been tasked with replacing a part in The Zipper ride. Tape being as thick as it were, caught the blade causing his hands to fumble and run along the sharp of the razor blade. Fucking thing hurt like a bitch, but it weren't like there was any kinda doctor on hand to take a look and make sure no infection would mark its way into the now open wound.

Just another menagerie of scars to add to his already growing repertoire. He growled low in his throat as he went back to his too small room blood dripping down his arm as he tried keeping as much pressure as he could. He kicked open his door looking around fer the old shredded shirt he had used days before on the cut he'd gotten on his arm. The skin there was a harsh pink from inflammation. He knew it hadn't healed at all properly. It still stung to brush the sleeve of his shirt along it.

But right now he needed to get this bleeding stopped. Blood was splattered all about the room like some crime scene he'd seen in a movie once. Only glimpsed it before. Never owned a television himself just happened by one of them old store fronts that sold them box televisions for dirt cheap. Had to have been some old trailer back from when he was a kid with how the effects were, but again it weren't anything that mattered much to him.

He found the old shirt wadded up beneath the trunk he'd kicked over earlier that afternoon. Hastily he wrapped it about his hand, tying it off as tight as he could muster with the pain being what it was. He growled low wincing at the pressure he was applying not liking that he was figuring out the cut he had was pretty deep in the flesh of his palm. This weren't going to make his work any easier now that he was injured. His hands were his life. Couldn't do much without 'em and here he was without much use of his right hand.

This definitely weren't turning out to be a good night at all for him.

The crackle of his walkie at his hip buzzed and a garbled sound came from out of it, but nothing of Daryl's concern. He sighed through his nostrils irritated at the pain in his hand, which had now become the thorn of his side for the time being. With not much else he could do for himself, Daryl set out back to his place at the edge of the carnival where he found the most respite from all the garish lights and dying fades of laughter that filled his ears. He would sit and he would smoke and he would sit some more twiddling his thumbs 'til he was called upon. Just like he had planned earlier that afternoon.

He stalked through the grass, feeling his pant legs dampen from the dew beads caught on the longer fox-tail weeds sticking up. Part of him felt like he was a kid again, running through them with Merle chasing after him. Entire time cursing him over something he did. Threatening to do worse when he was caught. It never was worse. Always something less than as he knew Merle hadn't the stomach to flat out beat him senseless unless he really had done something stupid. It had been a one time thing and nothing more that he'd ever been on that end with his brother.

Pushing the memory to the back of his mind, Daryl hurried forward, bright lights and roar of the crowd welcoming him as he drew close. He hated this part the most. Especially with how many people there seemed to be this night. Much more than there had been nights before. Reckoned it had much to do with it being a weekend night. Sighing through his nostrils, he figured he better bullhead this before it got too raucous for him to deal with anyone getting in his way.

He brushed past all the fair-goers dipping low and hobbling round the strollers that came whizzing outta nowhere. The deafening ring of their laughter and yelling wracked his nerves. It all was just way too loud fer his liking and he wanted to forget the noise as quickly as possible. As he made his way through the mass of people, he tucked his wounded arm close to his body, careful not to brush along anyone or anything. From the sharp slip of pain in his hand to the dull thrum of his arm, he was having an outstanding night.

So far… so good. His walkie hadn't crackled yet and nothing seemed broke. Taking this as his cue to skidaddle out of the line of fire from any of the carnival hands that disliked the ease of his job, Daryl stalked through the menagerie of tents, creeping by as quietly as he'd come. Most folk never bothered him, but certain nights he was barraged with a multitude of questions he hadn't the faintest clue to answering. Those were nights he wished he didn't have this debt to pay back. Same nights he wished he weren't blood to Merle. Same fucking nights he wished he had the moxie to just say no and do his own thing.

Yeah, those were some nights.

Finally making it to the outskirts of the carnival grounds Daryl gingerly climbed the rail as he had previous nights and struck his match against the flimsy matchbook, lighting that cigarette he always had tucked just above his ear. Before taking his first drag, he eyed the thing a moment wondering why it was he smoked these things. They did nothing for him. Forced him to spend money he didn't want to spend because of it being habit. Figured he should have been scared shitless of them with the way his Momma had gone out.

Died in a drunken haze all 'cause she was too damned stupid to not fucking smoke in bed. And his Daddy had told her numerous times. Like a damned broke record day in and day out. It had surprised him a little that he even vaguely remembered that warning his Daddy gave her. Reckoned with all them beatings she got that there hadn't been a kind fiber in the man's body. Apparently it had been so's he had something to take his frustrations out on. Soon as she was dead and buried, his Daddy focused most heavily on Merle— the finality winding its way back to himself once Merle'd had enough that the man could dish.

Scoffing at the old memory that had slipped back into his mind, Daryl took the cigarette between his lips taking a long steady drag, letting his head fall back, exhaling the stream of smoke above his head. Watching as the tendrils wafted and lingered about like a milky haze, he blew air into the cloud. The smoke burst in waves, rippling out and away from overhead.

There was a whimper and a shuffle that had him almost falling back from where he had been leaning a little too far for his comfort on the rail. Steadying his weight to balance right proper, Daryl keened his head in the direction that he'd heard the sudden noise. No one was supposed to come this far out. Mostly there were booths for the carnival hands and a few first-aids for the rowdy fair-goer. Otherwise most civilians weren't meant to come out here.

Hopping down from his perch, Daryl tore the still lit end off, flicking it out into the dewy weeds. If somehow it lit up the field, well, that weren't his problem. He crept low as he cautiously peeked around tent corners searchin' out the source of the noise. There was a gruff voice, bitter in tone. It rivaled that of Merle's bark from what he could tell, but the one thing that had him hesitating was the edge that reminded him too much of his own Daddy's.

It was the piqued curiosity of finding whom the voice belonged to that kept him hunting for the man, but then he'd caught that soft whimper. Immediately he froze when the cry got louder and the barking just the same. Daryl didn't have to visually see what has happening to know what already was going to happen. Coming to round a booth, he ducked back catching the back of a large man and a small mousey-thing of a woman standing haphazardly close together. The area they stood in was thick with tension, could almost feel it on his skin as he shrunk back into the shadows ensuring that he wasn't going to be seen.

Daryl was sure if the man caught him, there'd be hell to pay. So he kept his mouth shut and quietly stood onlooker to the dispute.

"The fuck were you doin'? Talkin' ta him? Huh? You stupid bitch. I bet yer fuckin' him, too, ain't ya?" The man hissed, his fist tight around the woman's upper arm jerkin' her about as he spoke.

Her face was somewhat visible, but still somewhat hard to catch as the moonlight cast a harsh shadow down her features. That wrinkle in her brow was the most constant thing and the quiver of her lip as she spoke. "What was I supposed to do? Ignore him? He's father to one of my students." She whimpered ducking her head down. He knew that reaction better than most. Bracing herself for the inevitable slap that would come whipping about her face. Absently, his own right hand came ghosting across his stubbled cheek, crack of his Daddy's paw in the spot he best liked to strike him.

There was a pause where Daryl heard nothing besides his own shallow breathing and the trembling hitch in the woman's sobs. "Yer fuckin' lyin'." He growled taking a step in to her space.

Despite the size of the man, he was rather fast. Daryl had turned around briefly at the sound of a cricket chittering behind him letting out the breath he'd been holding when the man shifted. He caught the man gripping his meaty fingers tight around the woman's wrist yanking her to follow him. She whimpered in pain, a heavy crease in her brow, lip trembling. The man pulled hard on her wrist jerking her hand up high above his head so she straightened up balancing on her tip toes. She stood mere inches from the man's face, fear evident from the flicker of tears pooling at the corners of her eyes.

"Please... Ed... Please..."

A loud crack echoed in the night and her head slumped against her shoulder; the mark and swell of her cheek glistening in the moonlight from the stain of tears that had marked their way down her face. Daryl could see the anger burning in the man's eyes and the nasty curl of his lip as he dared Carol to make another sound. That was the same woman wasn't it? The same one that he'd made that promise to? The one that had made that cornbread just for him? That very same woman that had told him she found him to be a good man? That had to be her shitty husband that was treating her like she was dirt from the large gaudy silver wedding band on his ring finger that matched her own.

He couldn't forget a thing like that. Hell he'd tried forgetting that he'd even met the damned woman, but she somehow managed to creep back into his mind. That fuckin' gaudy silver band ever so reflective in his mind.

Daryl could feel the dig of his nails in his skin as he stood an onlooker to her beating. It weren't his business. What was she to him anyhow? She had just been a nuisance to him the past few days. Keepin' him away from his work. Buggin' him to talk and shit. What would it matter to her if he stepped in anyhow? She'd just get the shit beat outta her later that night anyway for some random stranger stepping in to stop the beating she was already gettin'.

He caught her eyes starin' right at him. Daryl didn't think she could see him from where he stood in the shadows. He'd been hiding away to smoke when he had heard the berating of the man. The loud words had drawn him closer to the edge of the tent he had been hiding near, carefully peeking around the corner to see who the voice had belonged to. Lo and behold it had been that Carol woman. She looked like she was silently pleading with him. Eyes wide and sad with how the world seemed to fall onto her shoulders every chance it got. Not even in public did she have a chance of any semblance of normalcy away from the abuse.

Those blue pleading eyes made him question himself. Question whether or not he wanted to be that 'good man' she had thought he was, hell even believed he was. He took a step back outta sight of those eyes that had been beckoning him to step forward and take that hand that had gently touched him with her strong conviction. He was fucked up either way.

Running his fingers along the frown lines of his chin, tangling in the whiskers there, he took a breath. All he heard was the exhale and another loud crack that came from behind him. The wail broke the stilling silence over the dull sounds of the carnival that seemed lost in the tumultuous confrontation playing out. Daryl continued to stand listening as the man... Ed had been his name... Continued to slap the woman.

Slowly cocking his head over his shoulder, he could see Carol still standing. Her shoulders sagging lower than before. Cheeks puffy and swollen from the repeated crack of his hand against the soft flesh. Just as the man was arching his hand up once more, Carol's dropped gaze slowly drew up and for a split second Daryl could swear again that she knew he had been there the entire time. Swallowing hard, heart thrumming faster than it had since he'd left his Daddy's house, Daryl turned his body over more.

"Ya gon' cry 'gain? 'Aint gon' hear ya whinin' 'bout this no more." Ed growled low cocking his hand back more.

Just as Ed was to bring his hand down on Carol once more, Daryl felt a burst of speed come from his legs and he hurried out from the shadows. "'ey! Git yer hands off 'er!" He barked whirlin' the man around and swiftly bringing a fist against the man's face.

A sharp exhale fell of Carol's lips as she backed away clasping her hands over her mouth, tears still runnin' down those swollen cheeks of hers. The man stumbled back hand angrily wiping at his nose where he'd started bleeding. "The fuck're you?" He hissed glancing over towards Carol then back to himself.

Daryl bristled up taking a step forward shoving the man back. "Don't matter who I am. I ain't havin' ya commitin' shit like this on the property. Take yer sorry scrap outta here 'fore I get the cops." He bluffed waving a pointed finger back to Carol to keep her from running over towards Ed. He'd heard the scampering of her feet bustlin' over towards the side of her shitty husband, but Daryl stopped her. Kept his hand poised behind him tellin' her no.

Despite the fear he knew was burstin' through her bones right now, he didn't feel right just letting her go back to the man. Vicious cycles as they was weren't no good for anyone, but just as he knew and had been telling himself before: she was nobody to him. Why did she matter to him?

It had been the words in her eyes and the hope she shot at him. Furrowing his brow, he took a step forward albeit hesitant. Ed having heard the mention of police being presumed to come in at any time to reprimand the situation backed off somewhat. Pointing a wagged finger at Carol, he hissed, venom dripping off each word, "Jus' you wait when you come home, ya hear me."

Throwing his hands up, Ed stalked off kicking over boxes that had been stacked behind one of the tents cussin' a storm as he went along. His heart was beatin' loud in his ears as the adrenaline that had been coursing through his veins came down from the high he'd been feeling. Letting out a breath, Daryl threw back a glance at Carol who was still crying, shaking like she hadn't the slightest control of her body.

"What did you do?" She whimpered looking back at Daryl her eyes wide, open with fear.

Taken aback by her words, he felt his lip curl up in a surprised burst of anger. "The fuck did I do?" He repeated roughly fists balling up at his sides. "Lady I just fuckin' stuck up fer ya that's what I did."

"Why...?"

"Why? Ain't that what ya wanted? Ain't that why you was starin' at me fer... ta fuckin' help ya?" He snarled taking a step towards her. Carol recoiled crumpling to heap a on her knees, arms winding tight about her small frame.

Daryl backed off not understanding what he'd done wrong. His brow furrowing at her reaction still not sure how to process what he'd just done. Stepping in as he had. Surely he'd known what this meant for her and sullenly he let his own head droop a little. Shame spilling forth through his own staggered breathing, suddenly coming to realize that he'd signed her a death warrant upon her return home.

"Why didn't you just leave me alone?"

A/N: Please leave a review! Thank you for reading.