A/N: Okay, I'll be honest, I've had this on my HD for a while but I've been so scared to post it because I feel I'm not worthy enough to use the beautiful Carol Peletier and Daryl Dixon to my own ends. But! My winning the uss-caryl oneshot challenge has boosted my confidence a little tiny bit so I decided to allow myself to post this publicly. I look forward to all forms of feedback.
Enjoy, and CARYL on!
Louder than Thunder
Written by Amputation
Footsteps crunched softly against the frost smothered ground beneath her boots as she padded her way towards the source of the noise, towards the main door of the dilapidated strip mall. It'd been fifteen minutes. They said they'd be back in ten. She'd lost the boys, but the muffled shouting and gunshots and moaning gave away the whereabouts. It came as no surprise that they'd run into trouble. After all, winter was fast approaching. The cold season is never forgiving; especially not during post-apocalyptia. Winter is harsh, unrelenting, and bitingly frigid. She could feel the wind bite into her skin as though it ran her through, freezing the bones in her body. She was sick of ducking from house-to-house trying to find decent shelter for a night. She was tired of nomadic life, especially when they simply couldn't find shelter. Those nights were the worst, leaving everyone huddled together and still freezing. Like last night.
The sound of gunshots were closer and her pale blue eyes slanted to the left, her breath leaving her lips in a billowing haze of humidity as she slipped between the openings in the shattered glass doors. Muffled footsteps echoed through eerily silent storefronts, the heavy soles of her boots thudding softly against hard, cracked tile. Twin orbs rested on the door concealing the men of the group she travelled with; what remained of the Atlanta group and occupants of the Greene farm. Again she cursed their luck. She hated going on runs. She hated walkers. She hated other surviving groups. She hated the cursed weather. She hated a lot of things these days, but it was mostly self-inflicted loathing. Self deprecation twisted with a chilling bitterness that anyone would have said didn't suit her. She was falling apart, and she knew it. That wasn't even the worst part.
She didn't have anyone left. Since the damn world decided to go to hell, she'd done nothing but lose. She lost everything she'd ever cared even a little about. Ed was long dead, and her precious Sophia more recently so. Carol didn't have any family left to live for, and so she'd given up. She grew reckless, attacking walkers half-heartedly, almost hoping she'd get bitten. She volunteered for runs despite having absolutely no skill with any weaponry. She volunteered herself for selfish reasons. She couldn't be around Lori anymore. The pregnant woman made her absolutely crazy now, and Carol could hardly be in her presence without wanting to shriek at the woman like a bansidhe. How was it that some women like Lori got to find and keep what they loved so dearly while women like herself lost everything? It hardly seemed fair. She just wanted her Sophia back. That's all. Was it really so hard for God to give her a little help? It certainly seemed that way.
Her fingers flexed around the small knife Daryl'd given her the week before. He claimed he'd seen it and figured she should have something to protect herself with if she was going on runs. Honestly, that he'd even cared surprised her. Sure, he saved her from the walkers back on the Greene farm. Sure, he let her ride the Triumph with him. But it all seemed strange to her. His actions made her feel things she didn't think she should be feeling. She'd just lost her baby girl, and yet… and yet she felt warm in his presence. It was like the universe was playing a sick joke on her. She was growing closer to him, and he clearly was doing the same with her. They ate their meals side by side, slept side by side when he wasn't on watch. He always seemed to have an eye on her, never let her out of his sight. While it filled her with a corrupt sense of happiness and affection, she also knew it shouldn't be that way. After all, what the hell could he possibly do with a useless woman like her? She shouldn't get her hopes up, lest she lose this new addendum on her heartstrings, too.
But she couldn't deny it. Daryl was becoming the one thing she cared about in the god-forsaken world she lived in. He was honestly the only one who cared, who didn't treat her like she'd lost her mind as well as her daughter. Somehow, with all his gruffness and inapproachability, he made her feel special, worth something. Slowly, it was becoming enough. It was becoming something for her to live for, a reason to keep pressing onwards. The group was becoming her family again, and it started with Daryl. Through him, she came to realize how deeply Rick actually cared for everyone. Now she thought of him as a brave brother looking out for his younger siblings rather than a tyrant with henchmen. She could see now. She noticed with unveiled eyes how impassioned Carl was in keeping his family and the group safe, how motivated Glenn was to keep his girlfriend's family alive. Even she herself had somewhat of a role now, aside from doing housework. She went on runs. She got the feminine products for the girls. She found medicine for Hershel, learned from him. She earned her place now, as shaky as that place was. She still didn't feel she was worth much, but at least she had some value.
She came to a stop in front of the double doors leading into one of the executive offices on the far side of the strip mall. It seemed like an old law firm or something of the sort. She wasn't sure, the label above the doors long since torn off, but the condition of the mahogany was good, at the very least. She heaved a great sigh, pressing her ear against the hardwood and listening. She could hear the sound of things smashing, moans of walkers, and intelligible shouting. All signs of a fight. She flinched at each one, the loudness frightening her more than it should. There were unfamiliar voices, too, so she assumed that perhaps they'd run into another set of survivors. Heaving a great sigh, she readied herself to break the wood apart. In one swift motion, Carol smashed the doors wide open with her shoulder and barreled through like a real action movie hero, brandishing her knife like the rookie she was. But the sight that met her brought bile to her throat. She felt her hands drop numbly to her sides as she watched the explosion of carnage from all around her.
There was another group of survivors, but they certainly were not the friendly sort. They had T-Dog and Rick surrounded, like they'd purposefully herded the duo away to isolate them. They were fighting back to back, struggling under the surging assaults from both the living and the dead. Although it certainly seemed that the rival group of survivors was way out of their depth. More and more screams of terror resounded in the room as one by one the men using solely guns were running out of ammo and being pounced on. Her eyes focused on the two men she'd recognized first. Neither of them had time to use their guns, and each brandished a melee weapon instead. Rick spun his machete with obvious skill, hacking at the horde of walkers and avoiding stray bullets. T brutally swung his pickaxe with precision, lobbing off heads and puncturing brains with relative ease. Neither one seemed to notice her, as they were more focused on thinning out the massive numbers contained in the law firm. Her eyes sought out the other member of their group who'd ventured out on the run that day, and when they alit on his form she felt her heart drop to her stomach.
The sight made her want to sob, but instead she just shook violently, clutching her tiny knife with fearful desperation. She didn't know what to do; she wasn't good enough to join the fray like this! She couldn't fight off the walkers alone! Her eyes were wide and trained on his faltering form with outright horror and fear for him. Of course, her gaze had latched to his form just in time to watch him—beaten and bloodied—as he stumbled back from the punch from one of the survivors from the rival group. The strike had caught him off balance and the blow only aided in herding and driving the hunter hard towards the groping, toxic fingers and teeth of approaching walkers attracted by another spike of the scent of blood. Her throat closed. Her brain screamed at her to move, but it felt like the room was swimming around her, like time had slowed to a crawl or simply ceased to exist all together.
Through the haze her brain and body were drowning in, that little niggling part of her mind refused to shut down. It screamed and shouted and violently jerked around. The fight or flight response, the mother's instinct long dormant in her soul reacted. And it reacted violently. Pale blue eyes sharpened as the world around her came into focus. He was in danger. Her one precious person left in this fucked up excuse for a world was in danger. It was all her brain could understand amidst the horror and shock. Something within her stirred, something primal and long forgotten raised its head and roared. So she let go. She simply snapped. Carol could hardly understand any of what was going on around her as her legs began to move, feet pounding against the floor in a distant echo. Her brain had all but shut down, focused solely on getting her beloved, precious creature out of danger. Her body twisted, maneuvered around the obstacles within the law office, leaping over chairs and dodging wooden desks until she was upon her enemy. With an animalistic snarl, she pounced and in one smooth action buried her tiny knife clean through the living man's skull. She yanked the blade out with a spray of blood and tissue and scalp and hair, grunting with the action before kicking his body into the horde of groaning walkers.
Knowing the immediate threat to his life had been eliminated, she whirled to face her beloved comrade, eyes scanning his form with ferocious attention. She had to assess his well being. A quick glance showed her that most of the blood was in fact not his, and aside from what would become a shiner and a split lip, he was fine save the multitude of bruises. Her eyes met his, steel blue subtly wide. A sign of shock, her brain told her. She nodded to him, adrenaline boosting her strength as she pulled him away from the expectant, grimy, toxic fingers that groped for his flesh. Nimble fingers lifted his other knife from his belt before she spun away, launching herself into the horde without a second thought. She felt the beat of her heart in her chest thudding in time with each death strike she made, with every walker she put down forever. She was brutally precise in her massacring, her dual blades spinning, never once faltering even as teeth gnashed at her. Carol was long lost to the primal instincts that had bloomed in her brain, the need to protect what was hers flowing fiercely through her veins.
He watched her for a brief moment, the shock slowly subsiding from his system. He'd never seen Carol like this before, and if he were being honest with himself, she was downright terrifying. She didn't even look like herself, like the woman he'd come to know over the months of autumn shifting to winter. Her face had been deceptively placid, like still water before the storms. Her lips had been drawn into a hard line, and the usual softness of them had been replaced by something fearsome. Those pale blue eyes were all but glowing, radiating some type of determination he'd never seen in her before. The way she moved was the epitome of predator, the twisting and contorting of her form belaying her innate strength. He'd never been more transfixed by something in his life, and it was all he could do to focus enough to do his own fair share of killing walkers. Her behavior made him wonder what the hell had happened to Carol. Even when he'd showed her how to properly hold a knife and defend herself she'd never been so comfortable putting walkers down.
Now she was deceptively dangerous, he mused, watching her drive the knife she'd swiped off of him up through a walker's throat to sever the brainstem. Hell, he hadn't even taught her the weak spots and somehow she knew exactly where to strike. She was a whirlwind, naturally devastating with her thin frame and powerful blows. He didn't know where she got this strength, but he damn sure liked what he was seeing. In between walker kills, he could see the way the muscles in her legs pressed against the fabric of her jeans with her movement, coiled and ready to spring at a moment's notice. The feral grunts and growls she let out with each yank of her blades from a skull. This new Carol was a force of nature, something to be reckoned with. He followed in her wake as she brutally decimated walkers. Not just walkers, he noticed belatedly. No, anything that even remotely posed a threat to their group had been eliminated in her savage, bloodthirsty waltz of destruction. And that was really what it was, a waltz. Because honestly no living person had a right to look so graceful while covered in rancid walker blood and gore.
He picked off the stray walkers she missed, following behind her in the path she cleared until they met with Rick and T, until all that remained was a stinking pile of corpses. He could tell that whatever had been powering Carol was wearing off, given by her shaking legs and quivering arms. She looked like she wanted to collapse, to let her legs give out and just fall to the disgustingly bloody and sticky floor. He wouldn't let that happen to her. Sheathing his knife after wiping it off, he slung his Horton onto his back and approached her. He was cautious, gently placing a large hand on her petite shoulder in reassurance and was struck by how small she actually was. After her fearsome display, she had seemed larger than life. But now at his touch, she sagged against him, heaving great breaths that belied her exhaustion.
"Daryl, is she alright?" Rick asked softly, the man's concern palpable.
"She's a'ight. Jus' a li'l tired is all," he replied, his eyes meeting the Deputy's before falling back to the tiny woman pressed to his side.
"Damn, Carol. I've never seen ya' move like that before," T-Dog commented, smiling at her, "good work."
Silver-hair bobbed, and Daryl knew she'd nodded in thanks. Her body sagged further against him, so he draped his arm under her shoulders to support her.
"Ya' alright, too, Daryl?" he heard her whisper, her voice hoarse and weak. She was exhausted.
"m'fine," he grunted in reply, directing her towards the double doors she'd smashed open. He had a brief moment of pause, trying to wrap his head around the idea of the petite woman smashing anything open. Would wonders never cease with this strange woman?
She smiled and he felt his stomach do weird things in response, "G-Good. I was so scared when I saw ya' fallin' towards the walkers," she admitted softly, struggling to walk straight.
"I would'a been fine," he groused, secretly embarrassed by her admission. Nobody had ever cared that much about him before. He shifted his grip on her, needing a better hold lest she fall apart on him.
"I know," she murmured and he caught her eyes fluttering closed, "but you're real special, Daryl. I couldn't lose ya' too. Not after I just found ya'."
He didn't know what to say to that. Carol was so different from everyone he'd ever met. She was so kind, so giving, and she wanted to be his friend. She wanted to be a part of his life, and damn it all if he didn't want to be a part of hers too. But he'd never been called special before, and never been considered important enough that someone wouldn't want to lose him. It was such a new feeling, and he hoped the novelty of it never went away.
"Thanks, Carol. I owe ya' one," he told her softly as his face flamed. He heard his voice drop an octave and could tell his ears were turning red and god damnit what are you doing, Dixon? He glanced down at her when he felt her body go completely lax against his and blinked owlishly. She was asleep. He almost laughed; here he was saying things he normally wouldn't be caught saying and she goes and falls asleep on him! He smothered his chuckle and instead lifted the thin woman up into his arms, carrying her out of the strip mall back to the god-forsaken Hyundai.
"What happened t' Carol?"
"Jus' collapsed, I dunno, pro'lly jus' exhausted herself fightin' like that," he replied gruffly to Rick's question.
"Well, I'd be tired too if I fought like she did. Did you see her? I mean, damn, she had her soul in it, y'know?"
Daryl had to agree with T-Dog, even if it was in silence. He got Carol situated in the Hyundai, gesturing to the others to go gather the remainder of the meager goods they'd managed to wrangle up. He ended up giving shotgun up to ride with the slumbering woman in the backseat, letting her rest her head against his shoulder. She seemed really peaceful like that, and he quite liked the weight of her body against his. Seeing her fight the way she had opened up whole new possibilities for her in his eyes. She could become something deadly and completely suited—at least physically—to the cursed world they lived in. He honestly believed that. He decided sleepily that he would take her under his wing and teach her how to fight and how to survive. He owed her that much at least, and he figured she'd take to it like a fish to water.
He smiled to himself, steel blue eyes fluttering closed as he drifted off, following her to dreamland.
A/N: Please review, I really want to hear your thoughts. It takes but a minute, dears!