Chapter Five

His heart pounded, adrenaline still steadily pumping through his veins, and it took the greatest effort on his part to bring his breathing back under his control as he carried Carol away from her nightmare of a marriage, away from the abuse and pain and fear she'd lived with every fucking day. Daryl's own tent loomed ever closer as his feet carried him back to his small section of the quarry campsite. As soon as he crossed that nylon threshold, there would be no going back. If he brought her inside, she would be a part of his family … forever. Dixons didn't turn their backs on family. She would be safe. Sophia, their 'Peach', would be safe. No more beatings, no more abuse. No more worrying about that slimy bastard putting an inappropriate hand on his own daughter. The words reverberated through his head like a prayer. If only there had been someone like that for his mother so long ago … or for him.

Daryl shook his head and made that final step, bringing her inside and dropping to his knees so he could deposit her on his sleeping bag. He was sure they had another in the truck which he could use later. She could use his until they could collect her things. Her arms were wound about his neck – nearly choking him with a hidden strength he hadn't suspected – and she didn't seem to want to let him go anytime soon. Her lips pressed against his neck as she burrowed her face there, and he began to sweat. He had no experience comforting a distraught woman. He could hunt, track and provide for them, but he had no clue as to how to deal with this.

He swallowed several times, trying to find his voice. This was not how he'd expected this to go. "Carol … let go, woman. It's ok; you're safe now."

A hysterical bubble of laughter burst from her lips, but she didn't release him. "Oh, my god, what've I done? As soon as he can walk again, he'll kill me for sure. I've made him a laughingstock."

He froze, gnawing incessantly on the inside of his lip. She'd be better off trying to gain comfort from a statue, he mused, forcing himself to relax. There was too much trauma in his own past to feel at ease with her lying so trustingly in his arms, the touch growing uncomfortable. "I made y' a promise. Nobody's goin' t' hurt you anymore. You're mine to protect now."

A violent shudder swept through her at the force behind those words, making her believe it was almost possible. "Thank you," she said, her voice barely a whisper of sound. "Thank you for saving me, Daryl. For saving my daughter. I just hope you don't come to regret it."

"I regret not killin' the fucker."

"I didn't want you to kill for me. You don't need a black mark on your soul."

He grunted. "I got plenty of black marks. One more wouldn't've mattered."

Finally, she felt safe enough to loosen the fierce grip she had on him and he was able to set her down on the sleeping bag. He reached behind her for the battery-powered lantern, switching it on. He cursed as he adjusted the level of illumination and got a good look at her face.

Carol brought her hands up to test the tenderness at her cheek. "Is it bad?" She sighed as her fingertips came back tinged with blood. "At least he missed my eye this time. Nothing worse than trying to see with only one eye."

Daryl tilted her chin up, so he could get a better look, and all the rage which had abated earlier came rushing back. "I'm gonna need a first aid kit." He glanced over his shoulder at the open enclosure. "Where th' hell is Merle? Merle!"

"It's ok, Daryl. I can clean myself up," she protested. She never would have taken him for being the mother hen type. "Wouldn't be the first time."

"Fuck," he growled. "I might have something in th' truck." Again, he glanced over his shoulder at the flimsy tent flap. "Ed's down for th' count – at least for this evenin' – so sit tight. Be right back."

He slipped quietly from the tent and into the night only to find his brother arguing with Andrea. Her voice was an angry hiss as she stared him down, but Merle had always been one to give as good as he got.

"Just let me see her, damnit! Let me try to help," the blonde said, one hand planted firmly on her hip as she glowered at the elder Dixon.

"And I jus' don't see how she'd need yer help there, Blondie. She's in good hands with m' brother. Y' heard it from her own lips not ten minutes ago." Daryl rolled his eyes as a slow smirk spread over Merle's lips and he stepped into her personal space. "But y'know I'd welcome a little … " Merle licked his lips as he let his gaze raked her from head to toe. " … TLC."

Andrea's upper lip curled in disgust.

"The fuck, Merle?" Daryl asked before Andrea could hit him with the object clasped tightly in her hand. He didn't even acknowledge her. "We got a first aid kit?"

The blonde held out the box of first aid supplies to him. "Here, Daryl. I came by to see if I could help and Merle here wouldn't let me pass," she said as he took the box from her.

"And I told 'er we didn't need her help."

He didn't have time for their petty arguments when Carol was bleeding and in pain. "You can come by t' see her tomorrow," he compromised. Otherwise she'd probably stand out there all night arguing with Merle. "Thanks … for the kit."

Daryl left them there and went back inside. He grabbed a bottle of water, a clean Tupperware bowl and a freshly laundered shop rag, carrying it all to set at her side. He poured the water in the bowl and then saturated the rag, wringing it out and bringing it up to her cheek. She would have pulled away had it not been for his hand at her chin to hold her steady.

"Sorry," he apologized.

"Not your fault." She tried to smile for him, but it turned into more of a grimace.

He turned the full blast of his icy stare upon her as he set the rag aside. "Of course, it is! I shoulda made y' come with me weeks ago, but I wanted it t' be your choice."

Rummaging through the kit, he found some ibuprofen tablets and handed them to her before reaching over behind him for another bottle of water. She swallowed them down easily, setting the bottle aside to cover his hands with hers. She smiled sadly when he flinched, and he tried to will himself to remain still in her loose grasp. "You're going to let me bandage these when you're done patching me up." By her tone of voice, he knew he didn't have a choice.

Daryl glanced down at his bloody knuckles, evidence of his savagery towards her now ex-husband. He could easily take care of them himself, but he wouldn't deny her that small token of her gratitude she wished to give him.

"I'm sorry I didn't listen, that I didn't accept your offer sooner," she continued. "I-I've just never had anyone to care before. No one's ever wanted to help me get out." A tear slid past her lashes, making her wince as it came in contact with the cut on her cheek.

Daryl tore open an alcohol wipe and apologized beforehand. "This is gonna sting." He avoided her watery gaze, fearing he'd get lost in their azure depths. He couldn't bear the sight of her pain, not without feeling his own soul tear in two, not without sharing some of his own tortured past. And that was something he couldn't afford to do. It was enough he had to live with the memories of what he'd endured as a child. Carol was tender hearted to a fault, and he couldn't burden her with it.

It took three steri-strips to close the wound over her delicate cheekbone. "Maybe it won't scar since you didn't have to stitch it?" she asked hopefully. "It's not like I'm vain or anything. I just wouldn't want Sophia to have to look at the reminder every day."

He grunted in response, dousing and wringing out the rag again so he could clean the rest of her face. "Where else are y' hurt?"

"Really, Daryl … I'll be alright," she tried to reassure him, but he didn't seem to want to rely on her evasive reply.

His eyes narrowed. "Where else?"

"M-My ribs," she admitted sourly, not quite sure how to take him sometimes. "I tried to duck out of the way, but he must've anticipated it. It's what made me fall through the tent flap."

"That all?" he asked, and he was sure she could hear the grinding of his teeth in anger.

"No. While I was down he … he kicked me … my hip." She wiped away another bout of tears from her flushed cheeks. "I might not be very useful for a few days."

"Fucking Christ, woman! You're not gonna be doin' shit until I'm sure you're ok." He pulled the poncho from around her shoulders, his fingers twitching as he laid it aside. "Lemme see?" he asked warily, looking up into her eyes and feeling his stomach churn with something unfamiliar. It was something he hadn't felt in years, and it nearly had him backing away from her, but he couldn't let his discomfort deter him from helping her.

Carol bit her lip and held tightly to the edges of her torn shirt, her cheeks suffusing with heat. "You wouldn't happen to have a shirt I could borrow, huh?"

"Uh … yeah," he mumbled, turning to rummage in a milk crate where some of his shirts were stored. He handed it back to her, keeping his gaze averted to give her a bit of privacy. "Sorry 'bout th' sleeves."

"It's fine … more than fine, really. It's clean and it covers me, and that's all that matters." He could hear the nervous lilt in her voice and he wondered how she'd ever thought she could hide her suffering from him. He knew the signs, had experienced them himself. It wasn't easy burying the pain, so others couldn't see, and if he hadn't had firsthand knowledge, she might've been able to fool him. The rest of the quarry camp would only ever see the physical signs, but he could see the marks she carried in her marrow. He almost startled at her voice, so lost he'd become in his thoughts. "You can see now, Daryl."

He turned back to her, kneeling close to her side, his eyes sweeping over every inch of her. The navy button-up he'd ripped the sleeves off of matched well with the little blue flowers on a backdrop of white on her cotton pants. Seeing her in his clothes, he felt a surge of possessiveness course through him. She'd only fastened the top two buttons, and seeing she had his full attention, peeled the shirt back over her ribs on the left side. However, his eyes were first drawn to her pale arms and the fading finger marks Ed had left there. They were nothing, though, compared to the dark purple fist sized bruise spreading out over the delicate skin of her ribcage. Gawd! How'd I never notice how thin she is?

"D'you think he broke anythin'? I could bind 'em for y'."

Her lips parted on a quiet gasp as his fingers ghosted over her, her blush deepening as his eyes rose to meet hers. "N-No … I'm sure it looks worse than it is. I've always bruised easily." He looked at her dubiously. "I know what broken ribs feel like, Daryl."

"What about your hip?" he asked, the furrow between his brows deepening. He cursed as she hooked a thumb beneath her pants and underwear, pulling it down over her right hip. "That son of a bitch!" he growled, rocking back on his knees. His hand immediately reached for the bow, and it was only Carol's soft touch on his arm which stayed his hand and held him at her side.

"Leave him," she pleaded as she straightened her clothes and sat up. "Right now, he's probably laid up licking his wounds. He's unarmed, and if you went after him … it would be murder. You're not a murderer, Daryl Dixon."

"How d'you know what th' fuck I am?" he spat the words, the urge to tear the other man apart and feed him to the walkers itching fiercely beneath his skin.

Carol reached for the first aid kit on the sleeping bag next to her and dug for the supplies she'd need to patch up his bloody knuckles. "Because of the simple fact that I'm here with you instead of with Ed. No man who would save someone like me could possibly be a cold-blooded murderer." She took his right hand – the worst of the two – and dipped it into the bowl, using her fingers to clean away most of the blood, tinging the water pink. She used her torn shirt to dry his hand before carefully applying an antibacterial ointment to the lacerated skin and wrapping it in gauze. He watched her anxiously as she did the same to his other hand. "There. All better?"

Daryl grunted in response, nodding approvingly. He flexed both hands, happy with the give in the bandages and knowing he wouldn't have any difficulties in handling his crossbow despite the pain in his knuckles. "It'll do. See … you're already startin' to show how valuable y' are. I'da just left them."

Carol shook her head. "I'm afraid I'll be more of a burden to you than you think," she said sadly.

He lowered the dial on the camp lantern and pointed to her bedroll. "Try t' get some sleep." He took his bow and made his way to the tent flap, sparing her a brief glance before leaving to sit outside on watch. "And, Carol?"

"Hmm?" she hummed, her tear-bright eyes luminous in the dim light.

"When I'm done with y', you won't be a burden at all. You'll be an asset."

*.*.*

Daryl allowed the corner of his mouth to lift in just a quirk of a smile as he settled himself beside the softly glowing campfire not far from the entrance to his tent. Dale and Glenn – just leaving Ed's tent – looked weary, Dale's ungodly tropical print shirt stained with blood.

Maybe the fucker bled out, he mused.

That would be the permanent end of one of Carol's problems, and really, who would mourn his loss? Sophia … maybe. He shook his head. No, though he was her father, she lived in constant fear of him. He knew that feeling all too well. Glenn gave a half-hearted wave as they set off down the path towards the RV.

He watched as Merle came around the bend, his prized hunting rifle in the crook of his arm. Damn, just what I fuckin' need. He knew he was going to have to endure his brother's questions for the better part of the next hour when all he really wanted was a moment to himself to take in what had happened.

Merle plopped down on the ground beside him and tossed a couple of thin twigs on the embers, feeding the dying coals back to a small flame. He was all too aware of the rules Shane had put into place. He may not like them, but for Daryl's sake he'd abide by them. The boy seemed to be content to stay with this group because of the woman. If he insisted, he was sure Daryl would follow him wherever he wanted to go. It had always been that way between them, but he'd be a bastard to take him away from Carol. Especially when she'd just turned her back on everything she knew to be with him. Merle was still reeling that she'd done it, that she'd chosen a Dixon over her husband.

He swung his gaze over to stare searchingly at his little brother. "Yer fuckin' 'er, ain'tcha?" he asked, even though just an hour ago he'd supported Daryl and Carol both when they'd denied Ed's claims.

Daryl pulled a tube of wax from the pocket of his khakis and clucked his tongue behind his teeth in disgust. "Oh, here we go," he sighed.

"Mouse is attractive in her own way, I s'pose," Merle said, flicking a quick look over to the tent. "Could definitely have done worse here at th' end o' th' world, but y' coulda found a woman not quite so attached, if'n y' know what I mean."

"Piss off, Merle. I'm fuckin' tired an' I'm not in th' mood for your crap." He knew his mistake when he heard Merle laugh. He hadn't been guarded enough, had shown emotion – something a Dixon would never do unless it was disdain or sarcasm – and now he'd left himself open for ridicule. Granted, his brother was the only person brave enough to attempt it.

"Well, I'd think you'd wanna get somethin' outta th' bargain. Because y' had t' go playin' her white knight, we're not gonna have one extra person t' drag around wi' us, but two."

Daryl smoothed the softened wax over the string of his bow. "I thought y' liked Sophia."

"I do," the elder Dixon admitted without the least hesitation. "She needs a good father figure in 'er life … though I know I'm th' last person who should ever try t' fill that role. I don't wanna see her hurt."

"Then what's the problem?"

Merle shook his head. "What if we cain't protect 'em from what's out there?"

Daryl stopped and gave his brother a sharp look. "What happened t' Daddy wasn't your fault, Merle. Ain't nobody's fault but his own he got bit, so stop blamin' yourself."

"If I'da gone back – "

"Then y' wouldn't be sittin' here wi' me now!" he snarled, angry now. They'd known after their uncle had fallen ill at the start of this thing, that it would only be a matter of time before he turned into one of those things, but the Dixon patriarch wouldn't leave his brother behind. Family first, boys. Daryl shivered with revulsion as that voice reverberated in his mind. He made sure he never forgot and therefore needed another lesson from his father. "Drew was dead, there was no savin' him. If you'd've gone back for him, it was you he'd have torn apart instead of our old man. Get over it."

"Pretty harsh, comin' from Mr. I-need-t'-save-everybody."

He didn't feel he needed to save everybody, just this one sweet woman whose crystal blue eyes looked at him as if he were a good man instead of a lowly piece of trash. "Carol needs us, Merle. She needs t' learn t' protect herself so she can protect her daughter. She wasn't gonna make it with a useless lump like Ed as her only means for survival." His lip curled in disgust. "Knowin' him, he'd toss her t' th' walkers t' save his own ass."

Merle chuckled and pulled the nearly empty flask from a pocket on his leather vest. "Yeah, an' you're th' one's gonna teach 'er?"
Daryl rolled his eyes. "Sure as hell ain't gonna be you." He heaved himself to his feet and went to the truck in search of a spare sleeping bag. He was so tired of his brother's lack of faith in his abilities. He'd been surviving on his own long enough to know how to teach another person the same skills. Fuck knew he'd had to bail Merle out of enough scrapes in the past, though his brother would staunchly deny it. He ducked his head to enter the tent, Merle's words following after him.

"Sure hope y' know what yer doin', lil brother."

Yeah …so do I.