Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead, wishful thinking aside.
Authors Note #1: This is a response, fix-it sort of fill for episode 4x04 "Indifference."
Warnings: Contains spoilers for all four seasons of the Walking Dead, strong language, allusions to mental illness, canon appropriate violence, probably AU after the next episode airs.
Projections
Chapter Three
Daryl didn't come back that day or the next. There was no sign of him on the third day or the fourth. Not even so much as a whisper. No one was taking it well. Nothing fit anymore. The smoothness, the certainty that had been there even when everything was going to shit, was gone.
Rick hadn't said a word. Not even to Carl. Hershel had tried and failed to bring him out of it. But the man just wanted to be left alone, and, in the end, it was a bit too easy to do just that. She tried not to let it get to her, what he'd done. Just like she figured she'd do with Carol if she were in his place. They'd all made mistakes. The last thing the man needed was judgement for it.
But damn if it wasn't hard taking the fucking high road.
The prison was muted, sullen. People spoke in hushed voices. Their steps were slow, careful, as if aware, even unconsciously, that the foundations that had kept this place strong – alive - were lacking. The medicine they'd brought back seemed to be working; they'd only lost a handful of the people who were still interned in A-block. Glenn and Sasha were still hanging on, somehow.
Honestly, it was probably the only thing that was keeping the place afloat. Like a tiny pin-prick of light in an enveloping dark, they were still here, still alive. And they clung to it fiercely, coddling it deep inside as they murmured, keeping the hope alive when they talked about Daryl – about Carol - using words like "when he comes back," not "if."
Daryl would have been proud. They'd come a long way.
Hell, they all had.
She amused herself, in the few moments she actually had by her lonesome, by replaying old conversations half remembered from her winter with Andrea. Long months spent roaming old farming communities and far off strip malls, going from place to place – always one step ahead of the herds, always moving, chasing the weather, food, warmth. There had been weeks, even months at a time when it had gotten dark early and the only thing there was to do was talk.
The truth was she'd known Rick, Daryl and the others long before she'd even met them.
She knew about the quarry, about Amy, Jim and Jacqui. She knew about Dale, about his old RV and his warm smile. She knew about Jenner and the CDC. She knew about France and the hope that'd died there. She knew the taste of singed ozone. She knew what pulverized brick felt like on the tongue. She could almost feel the heat of it on her skin, see it in the back of her mind as the mushroom clouds had plumed up into the blue afternoon.
She remembered what it had felt like when Jenner had set the air on fire. She hadn't been there, but she remembered.
She knew about Ed. She knew about Sophia. She knew about Jimmy and Patricia, about the farm and the highway. Andrea had told her everything. She'd told her about Shane and Lori, about Daryl – how he'd saved them, how he'd gone out looking for Carol's little girl day after day. She knew how Daryl had stepped up and how Shane had stepped back. She knew about the struggle, the pressure Rick had been under from day one, trying to make sense of this new world and his place in it.
And as the days had trickled past, she tried to remind herself that this was what Daryl thrived at, hunting – tracking. And that if anyone was going to make it out of this, it would be him. He'd carry her home on his god damned back if he had to. He wouldn't come home without her.
So, Carol had to be alive. There was just no other option. Not for Daryl at least.
The night of the fifth day found her walking the perimeter fence, dealing with the occasional walker scrabbling through the chinks as she counted down the hours, waiting for Tyreese and Bob to relieve her on watch. God, she was tired.
Her breath fountained out in front of her, spreading out in a fine, smoky-white mist as she breathed out through her nose. Sleep had always been at a premium. But now, with Daryl and Carol gone and Rick – for all intents and purposes – out of commission, she'd been averaging only a handful of hours a night.
They couldn't go on like this.
The air was clear, crisp, harboring a hint of chill as summer started coming in for the close. They weren't ready for it. They'd barely survived the last winter. There was still the harvest to bring in, stores to be replenished and here they were - half the prison was dead, dying, or somewhere in between.
They needed to get their shit together.
The blade of her katana gleamed in the low light, reflecting the half-moon as it moved, flowing through the air like an extension of her arm as the last walker on the east side of the compound crumpled to the ground in a heap of worn fabric and putrid flesh. It might have been a woman once, in this light it was hard to tell.
The only way they were going to survive was together. They couldn't afford to be wasting time on what was already said and done. They needed Carol and in spite of what might have happened, in spite of what she might have done, she deserved to be here. Considering her summer spent searching for the Governor, she was well aware it sounded hypocritical. Daryl had been right to call her out on it. It didn't change the fact that she was right, though. Nothing could.
Reality could be a bitch that way.
She'd only just hunkered down, wiping the edge of her blade on the walker's pant leg when she smelled it. She paused, balancing on her haunches as she inhaled. Something was burning.
She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting as she hurried towards the main gates, following her nose more sedately now as the lack of smoke and flames assuaged any fears of a more serious blaze. But when she nearly tripped over a small pile of fabric still smoldering along the far edge of the inner fence, she couldn't say she was completely surprised.
She scuffed at the shredded pile with the toe of her boot, kicking at the brown felt and charred ridges until recognition finally hit. She stilled. The gentle curves that made up the top and the fragile brim that surrounded it flaked off into embers as she watched, glowing cherry red as the wind kicked up - acrid and full.
Carl had loved that hat.
She looked up, eyes automatically finding the kid's window, unsurprised to see the soft glow of a flashlight flickering in the dark. Something deep inside her chest softened. Reading in bed again.
Even so, the next morning, when Rick emerged from wherever he'd been hiding, she honestly didn't know what to think when his hands glowed red in the low light. The man's skin was blood-red, torn from where old wounds had split open from the strain. A few droplets of blood oozed free from the crusts, half-formed scabs that had tightened around the edges of the wounds overnight. They weren't even bandaged.
It was almost as if the man wasn't even aware he was wounded.
It was only then that she realized it hadn't been Carl after all.
And honestly, she didn't know if that made it better or worse.
A/N #1: Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – There will be one more chapter.