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Chapter Text

It had been a week since Daryl escaped.

And the man still hadn’t said a word.

Sure, he had always been more of the silent type, only contributing to conversations when absolutely necessary but his few words were a valued part of the team, often offering essential information or ideas that would surely go on to save them from death.

Now, there was nothing.

Rick would give his right arm just to hear the man call him a prick again.

For him to say anything.

Hell, he could be angry for all he cared. He could yell in his face, point that damn crossbow at him and blame him for letting him rot away in that cell, letting the Saviours do god knows what to him, for weeks.

That was possibly the worst part.

Daryl’s pact of silence meant that none of them knew what had happened to their friend during those long weeks.

So yeah, Daryl wasn’t speaking.

And maybe it was because Daryl was just being Daryl and didn’t want to speak.

Or maybe it was because those sick bastards had paraded him around, forbidding him to speak under threat of killing people back home if he disobeyed.

They had all hoped it was the former.

Rick wasn’t naive enough to believe in hope anymore.

Whatever the reason was, they knew they had to get him checked out at some point by Dr Carson. Who knew what injuries he had.

They had tried to persuade the man to go to the doctors when he’d first escaped but for those first few days, it was almost like there was no one in that head of his. Just a shell of the once confident, outspoken man, staring into nothing.

Now that he was showing a bit more independence and was almost acting like his old self, minus the talking, they figured that it was safe to check him out.

There had been a number of times he had been caught holding his side as if in pain, and from a distance, Carson was somewhat sure that a gash on his arm was getting infected.

So there really was no other choice.

Carson predicted that they had a couple more days before it became a matter of urgency.

“Morgan, you said you know where Carol is?” Rick asked one morning.

“Yes. I told you, she’s safe and happy where she is.” His old friend responded.

“I need you to go get her.”

They sat in silence for a few seconds.

It wasn’t the first time Rick had asked Morgan to retrieve Carol.

“Rick-“

“Not for me. Not this time. Please Morgan. Just tell her- tell her Daryl needs her. “

“Daryl? They’re close?” Morgan asked incredulously.

“Like you wouldn’t believe. Weird pairing I know, but trust me, she’d want to know what’s going on at the moment.”

Morgan sighed, contemplating his response carefully.

“I will deliver the message. Nothing more Rick. If she wants to come back, I will happily escort her. If not, I cannot, and will not, make her.”

“You won’t have to.” Rick replied firmly.

They looked out onto Alexandria, deep in thought.

Daryl had always been such a constant in their lives, albeit a little unpredictable sometimes, but always, always there.

Rick could see him from where they were sitting, he was sitting on a curb, carving the end of a stick into a point.

Aaron walked up to him, seemed to try and make some sort of conversation as they always would, Daryl nodded in response, no verbal reply given.

Aaron hovered for a few minutes, still trying to engage with Daryl. It wasn’t long before it was clear that Daryl had completely shut down again, mindlessly carving that stick.

Rick sighed. What had they done to him?

Chapter Text

“Okay, okay! Just- hold him down!” Rick yelled across the table to Tara, who was clearly struggling to keep the man pinned to the table.

Daryl thrashed, still not making any coherent words but shouting all the same.

“At least we know his vocal chords are in tact.” Dr Carson shrugged, trying to roll up Daryl’s sleeve to inspect the gash on his arm.

Daryl yanked his arm away forcefully, causing all three of them to lurch forward to hold him down again.

“Fuck- Daryl! Daryl just hold still.  Jesus Christ- Daryl!” Rick shouted over the panic, unsettled to see his friend so out of character. He was completely out of it, eyes unfocused and obviously unable to recognise any of, at least what he thought to be, his attackers.

No matter how badly it was going, it only got worse when their patient aimed a carefully positioned kick straight into Rick’s leg, defending himself frantically.

“Fuck-“ Rick cursed, stumbling back.

Tara stifled a laugh, turning to hide her face from the limping man on the other side of the table.

She sobered quickly when Daryl sent a punch at her.

“Jesus, Daryl- what the fuck man?!”

“This is a trauma response.” Carson explained calmly, dodging flying limbs, “It’s not his fault, it’s how he’s coping.”

“I know it’s not his fault, but the swearing is how I’m coping! Fuck-“ Tara yelled over Daryl’s distressed shouts.

“What is going on here?!”

A new voice joined the chaos, bursting through the doorway, startling even Daryl enough to stop his thrashing for a split second.

He clearly saw an opportunity, a weakness in his attackers moment of hesitation, and seized it, pushing up off the table again.

“Shit-“ Rick shouted before everyone jumped to pin him down again.

They finally got him in a position where he couldn’t move, Tara and Rick each securing an arm and a leg.

Carson began his assessment by pulling Daryl’s torn shirt off, Daryl’s head still moving from side to side, desperately trying to find a way to escape.

“Daryl?!” The voice came again, stepping closer to the table.

“Oh god- oh- oh god- Daryl!” She exclaimed, confirming that the near unrecognisable person on the table, covered in scratches and scars, was indeed her best friend.

Carol.

She rushed over and got in his line of view. 

“Hey, hey! Daryl, calm down. It’s me. Carol. I’m here. Calm down.”

For the first time that day, Daryl’s eyes returned from their trauma filled flashback and focused on the woman in front of him.

“Hey Pookie,” She smiled softly, framing his face carefully with her gentle hands. Her tone had an underlying strain to it, pointedly avoiding looking at the sickening scars that covered Daryl from head to toe.

“Carol?” He whispered, voice barely audible and cracking from lack of use.

“Yeah, yeah it’s me, Pookie. What happened to you?”

Tears welled his eyes, his body going limp as he gave up the struggle.

Carol looked on the verge of crying as well. 

She looked to Rick and he took it as his cue to explain.

“He- the Saviours. They’re this group, they caught us and- they killed people.”

Daryl turned his head away from Carol, guilt ridden and grieving the loss of Glenn and Abraham. Poor Glenn, whose death he had caused.

“They took Daryl. Held him for weeks. He got out a week ago. He hasn’t- hadn’t said anything since getting away- We needed to check for injuries.”

It was a weak explanation and Rick could see that Carol thought the same.

“So you thought you’d what? Pin him down ? And you thought he’d just go along with that?”

Fire burned in her eyes, refusing to break contact with Rick.

“We had no other choice Carol, he has wounds that are getting infected.”

She glared at Rick, scanning the room to put blame on all three of them, clearly far from forgiveness despite their somewhat reasonable explanation.

“And you?” She turned to Daryl, voice noticeably softening, brushing the hair out of his eyes, “You didn’t think you could just let them check things out so you didn’t die of an infection?”

Her gaze fell down to his exposed torso, tears returning that even she couldn’t find the strength to hide.

His entire chest was covered, completely and utterly covered in scars.

She moved her hand to gently trace one of them, trying to gauge the severity of them, but stopped abruptly as Daryl flinched away.

Her eyes flicked back up to his face, Daryl determinedly avoiding eye contact. Ashamed that he had flinched away from his best friend.

“You don’t need to worry about half of these scars.”

Carson’s voice broke the heavy silence.

“What do you mean?” Carol shot fiercely. As if this stranger was anyone to tell her not to worry about her friend.

“I mean- only about a third of these are recent. Caused in the past few weeks.” Carson shrunk back, Carol held herself in a way that failed to terrify few, blocking Daryl subconsciously from the almost critical analysis that the Doctor seemed to be completing with only his eyes.

“And the others?” Rick asked, almost fearing the answer.

“A lot of these scars are pretty old. Not caused by fighting walkers either. Nothing to worry about in terms of what we are looking for.” Carson explained, some of his confidence restored as Carol changed her priorities from blame to concern.

“Define ‘nothing to worry about’” She demanded, still shielding her friend from the people who had, at least in her eyes, caused him so much distress.

Maybe it was to make up for the fact that she wasn’t able to do that when he was in actual danger.

“As in, only some of these were caused by the Saviours and need treating relatively soon and obviously none are walker bites or scratches. In fact, I’d say a lot of these are a good twenty-five years old. Possibly older. It’s hard to tell.”

Carson’s tone was neutral as it had been trained to be throughout medical care, however even he recognised the gravity of what he was saying.

Carol inhaled sharply, a single tear trailing down her face. She glanced back at Daryl’s torn body.

“ Twenty-five years ?” She whispered, horrified.

“At least.” Carson confirmed regretfully.

“Oh Daryl- “ She breathed, her hand wrapping around her arm where a nasty scar of her own burdened her skin, hidden underneath the cloth of her shirt, caused by her own abuser.

“It’s nothin’” Daryl muttered, speaking for only the second time, his voice a miracle to those who heard it, those who truly believed there was a chance they would never hear it again.

“Was it Merle?” Rick asked, his own voice barely above a whisper.

“Eh some of them. He went for my chest a lot.”

Carol gasped, abruptly turning to face the wall in order to hide her tears.

Daryl looked over to her, clearly confused. He had no idea how much power his statement held over all of them.

“Some of them?” Tara repeated, seemingly close to crying herself.

“Well he’d have to let his friends have a go too you know? They’d get all excited ‘bout it and I mean, I was free game to them. Only when they was high obviously. Merle ain’t no abuser, he ain’t never lashed me unless I deserved it or he was high outta his mind.”

“And- and the ones on your back?” Carson enquired calmly, barely hiding his own shock.

“M’old man. Got worse when Merle left and joined the army. Lost his punchin’ bag or somethin’ like that.”

The way Daryl spoke so freely and casually about what was effectively his torture. And not even the most recent session of torture he had endured. Carol was convinced she was about to throw up.

Carol sniffed and wiped her tears so she could face her friend again.

“You okay?” He asked, eyebrows furrowing. 

Carol laughed wetly, taking Daryl’s hand in her own.

“Your family did this to you?” Rick asked, despite having seen cases like this during his career as a cop, when he had been given the privilege of growing up in a loving circle of people, he truly had no idea.

Daryl and Carol ignored his question, both too painfully aware of what families could do to each other.

“Oh get a grip.” Daryl muttered, rolling his eyes whilst trying to bring a hand up to wipe Carol’s fresh tears.

Rick was the one in charge of pinning down that particular limb.

“Oh for gods sake, he’s not going to make a run for it. Let him go.” Carol snapped, tone changing instantly with Rick responding to her order almost immediately.

Tara soon followed suite and Carson proceeded too as he realised he was fighting a losing battle.

Once free from his restraints, Daryl made an effort to get up, trying to get his injured limbs to cooperate.

No one understood what he was trying to do, he clearly wasn’t trying to get out like he was earlier.

No one except Carol.

Carol always knew what Daryl needed.

She bent down to meet him halfway and carefully wrapped him in a hug, mindful of his scars but never- never disgusted by them. Her best friend was beautiful as far as she was concerned.

Daryl sighed quietly, obviously content that Carol had responded to his needs, and rested his head dependently on her shoulder.

It wasn’t long before his head was buried in her shoulder and his own shoulders were gently shaking as he finally broke down in his best friend’s embrace.

Rick, Tara and Carson shared a look, silently agreeing to leave the two alone to share the moment that they were so clearly intruding on.

It was a long while before anyone saw Daryl or Carol after that and even longer before they saw either of them separate from each other.

Chapter Text

“So, we cut across here in the truck and blast music to lead the herd away from Alexandria. We drive for a couple of miles north, loop back around and meet back at Route A. From there, we’ll head back to Alexandria and send out two more runs over the next few days to check on the herd’s progress.”

They were grouped together, huddled over a table with a map of the area plastered on the surface, Rick explaining the plan for that day’s work.

“Who will go on the first run?” Tara asked, arms folded across her body. As usual, she was chewing on some sort of sweet or gum, where she got these from was still unknown.

“I’m willing to go first but we need two per vehicle if we’re playing this safe. After- after everything, our numbers are down, we can’t be risking lives unnecessarily.” Rick’s voice faltered as he referenced the devastating loss of life caused by Negan’s most recent visit to their home.

Silence dragged on as they all remembered the pain they had been through, mourning their dead with a burning anger to avenge deep in their souls  

“I’ll go.” Daryl grunted, speaking for the first time since the meeting had begun.

Several heads turned in his direction, a couple of people being so bold as to mutter under their breaths doubtfully, as if Daryl wasn’t one of the most capable people in the room.

Even Rick and Carol shared a look.

As grateful as Daryl was that Carol was back, Morgan having brought her back earlier that week from the Kingdom, the constant babysitting that her and Rick seemed to be doing was driving him mad. He used to be one of the most valued members of the group, always the first person that people would turn to when they needed someone to go on a run.

But now?

Now they treated him as if he were fragile, as if he were weak, as if the wrong word could break him. As if a little time spent in a cell had completely changed who he was. 

It had been two weeks since Daryl had escaped the Sanctuary.

Two weeks of having to fight tooth and nail to be allowed out of Alexandria on basic errands.

Carol nodded slightly, something that didn’t go unnoticed by Daryl, and Rick turned back to face him.

“That’s sorted then. Me and Daryl will take the truck and head out. Keep your walkies on you in case we need to get a hold of you. If the Saviours show any signs of paying us a visit, radio us and we’ll get back as soon as possible.”

A number of eyes fell on Daryl at the mention of the Saviours.

He grunted and turned away, walking out the room and slamming the door behind him. He needed to get some gear together anyways.

It took him minutes to get what he needed, unlike so many of the group, he travelled as light as possible. While others would bring supplies of food and water in the event of getting separated from the group, Daryl knew that he had the survival skills needed to find food and water in the wild. All he really needed was his crossbow.

Luckily, the Kingdom had given Morgan one on behalf of Daryl when he had gone to get Carol. He’d have to get his one back off that bastard Dwight though. That crossbow had been one of the only presents he had ever received off Merle and held more sentiment than he’d ever be willing to admit.

The thought of Dwight parading around with his weapon- god, when he next saw that good-for-nothing, piece of shit’s face- it wouldn’t be pretty.

He skulked around the gate, making sure everything they needed was in the truck.

Rick was sorting the music so that wasn’t something he needed to worry about. However, the man’s taste in music was god-awful and after their last run together, he wasn’t sure why he had even volunteered to go through that pain again.

“Finally. You packing to move camps?” Daryl shouted as he saw Rick kiss Michonne goodbye. He rolled his eyes. Romance.

“Any time today!” He yelled.

Rick shook his head and gave Michonne one last kiss before jogging over.

“Asshole.” He muttered, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Prick.” Daryl responded, shoving into Rick’s shoulder as he got in the truck.

“You know, you don’t have to be so against happiness.” Rick said as he put the truck into gear.

“I ain’t against no happiness, you can do what you want, just don’t make me watch.” The hunter answered, “And you’re about to back into a flowerbed.”

“Shit!” Rick cursed as he drove forward abruptly, offering a clearly pissed off Michonne a guilty grimace through the open window. “Sorry!”

Daryl snickered.

“Guess I’m sleeping outside tonight. Couldn’t have warned me sooner?” Rick accused.

“Nah, that was far more interesting. Don’t know why she cares so much ‘bout those damn flowerbeds anyways.”

“Asshole.”

“Prick.”

They drove out the gates and headed down the road.

They continued in silence, something Daryl was more than happy to maintain. Of course, Rick was the first to break this silence.

“You know, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to these roads being so empty, lifeless.”

Daryl grunted in response.

“I mean, as a cop, I used to be chasing idiots down these roads all day for driving too fast.”

Again, Daryl grunted in response.

He was a man of very few words.

“Life’s changed a lot, hasn’t it?”

Daryl said nothing.

He saw no use in dwelling on what used to be. That was everyone’s biggest problem these days, pining over long gone flat screen tvs and busy highways. Everyone just needed to accept that this was how things were, nothing could change that.

“We’ve been through a lot together.”

Daryl rolled his eyes and sighed. He had been stupid to hope that they could manage one journey without an unnecessary heart to heart. Then again, it was Rick Grimes, he reminded himself sourly, the man had to make a speech out of everything.

“Look man, we ain’t gotta do this now.”

“What?” Rick asked, attempting to sound innocent.

“This.” Daryl gestured with his hands, “This thing where you try and get me to talk ‘bout what happened at the Sanctuary.”

Rick sighed, bringing a hand up to his face. 

“Daryl, you haven’t spoken about it since you got back. There are people that are worried about you.”

“It don’t matter man. It’s in the past. The only thing that matters right now is drawing away this herd. I’ll be better when I can punch the shit out of the Saviours. For now though, we focus on getting these walkers away from our people.”

“Okay. Okay then. That’s what we’ll do. But you know, if you ever need to talk-“

“I don’t.”

Rick laughed, taking his eyes off the road to meet Daryl’s eyes. Daryl avoided the eye contact at all costs.

“Well if you do. We’ve been through shit together. We’ve lost people. Glenn, Abraham, Dale, Andrea, Beth. And so many others. I mean, hell man, you took Dale out yourself. You’ve seen some shit, it’s alright if you wanna talk about it.”

“I don’t.” Daryl muttered, more forcefully this time, “Just drop it man.”

“Okay. Okay, Daryl.”

The rest of the ride passed in silence.

“Right, that’s Marker 1. Time to set up the speakers.”

Daryl rolled down the windows and began shouting to attract the walkers.

“Hey shitheads! Come get us!”

He reached his hand out and banged it repeatedly against the metal door of the truck.

Rick brought out the cassette and placed it into the slot.

The song started, an upbeat clapping consistently to count in the chorus.

Daryl’s shouting stopped abruptly.

Rick looked over, “Not a fan of the music?” He asked lightly, “Sorry bud, it’s the only record we have after Negan raided us.”

‘We’re on easy street and it feels so sweet’

He couldn’t hear Rick. He couldn’t hear anything but that overly positive voice. It was mocking him. Tormenting him.

“Shit.” He murmured, holding his head in his hands, his teeth gritted as he felt the pain restart in every limb. The pain of being curled up in that cell, in the dark, for weeks on end.

“Daryl?” Rick’s voice echoed throughout his pounding head, all humour gone, replaced with concern.

“Fuck man.”

Rick was staring at him. He could feel his eyes burning holes into the side of his head. He glanced out the back window of the truck, the herd were in tow, as predicted.

“Daryl? Talk to me man, what’s going on?”

“Turn it off.” He growled.

“What?”

“Turn the fucking music off!” Daryl’s voice cracked at the end, showing an unfamiliar vulnerability through the harsh shouting of his voice.

“Daryl- We can’t do that. It’ll send the herd to Alexandria.”

“Pull over then.”

“Daryl I can’t, we have to redirect the herd!”

“I swear to god Rick, pull the fucking truck over or I will knock you out right here right now and pull it the fuck over myself!” 

He didn’t mean it. He’d die for Rick. He wouldn’t ever hurt him. But he had to get out of that truck. Now.

‘It’s our moment in the sun. And it’s only just begun.”

The chorus was seconds away from repeating.

He couldn’t. He couldn’t think straight, couldn’t bear the idea of that all too familiar, sickening singing repeating.

‘On easy street-‘

“PULL OVER MAN.”

Rick glanced back at the herd, deciding that they had enough space and time to stop for a second.

He swung the truck to the side of the road, barely stopping before Daryl flung open the door, stumbling into the bank.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He repeated over and over, trying to put as much distance between himself and the eyes that were surely judging him at that very moment.

The music kept playing, that nauseating, pulsating clapping.

‘Yeah we got a front row seat.’

How much time had passed, Daryl had no idea, but it couldn’t have been long before Rick started shouting again.

“Daryl! Come on, we gotta move!”

“Nah. Go.” He spat, trying to focus on anything other than the train of memories rushing through his head. The darkness. The completely isolation. The guilt.

Rick ran over and tried to pull Daryl towards the truck, harshly tugging at his shoulder as walkers drew nearer.

Daryl recoiled with a yell, “Fuck off man!” His hands still clamped over his ears.

“Daryl-“ Rick started, cutting off to fight an approaching walker.

“Go man! I’ll find my own way back.”

“Daryl that’s not a good-“

“Fucking leave!”

Rick took one last, helpless look at the man before jumping back into the truck, turning up the music to distract the walkers from his friend.

Daryl took this as all the convincing he needed to run.

He bolted into the forest, the music still so painfully audible even after a solid 20 minutes of running.

However, as Rick drove further and further out, the sound faded until it was just a distant hum. Only then did Daryl slow his run to a walk.

“Fuck man.” He whispered under his breath, kicking a stone into a nearby tree.

He could almost hear Merle calling him every insult under the sun for being such a pussy.

”Taken out by a little bit o’ music, what’s happened to you Darylina?”

He slammed his fist into a tree, relishing in the pain that splintered through his knuckles as he through punch after punch. Soon enough, blood stained the bark and Daryl was cradling his bloodied and possibly fractured wrist. 

He grimaced at the sight but wasted no time, ripping a thin strip of fabric from his shirt and wrapping the grazed knuckles, wincing as the harsh cloth rubbed against the flesh  

He caught his breath and began his journey back to Alexandria, stopping every once in a while to shoot a couple of squirrels for food,

He was not looking forward to the conversation he would be having with Carol.

Chapter Text

“Daryl.”

“Daryl.”

“Daryl!”

“Yeah?” Daryl grunted, focused on twirling an arrow between his fingers.

“Look at me.”

Carol’s voice was kind, it always was, but there was a firm edge to it, one that had developed over the many years they had spent together.

“What?” He asked absentmindedly, still intent on bending the arrow head back into shape. It had taken a beating the day before, shot into a tree at a weird angle. A victim of Daryl’s foul mood. Better that than people he supposed.

“Will you pay attention for more than five minutes?” Carol asked, nudging him with her shoulder, her voice playful with a side of annoyance.

They were sat on the curb of the road, facing the gate. Carol had demanded they sat down and talked after Daryl had come skulking back to Alexandria in the middle of the night. He had almost been shot down by Tara, mistaken for a walker. Not for the first time in his life either.

Carol had been furious. Probably right to be as well. She’d walked right up to him and slapped him, spouting all sorts of shit about how he could’ve been taken by the Saviours again and she would never have known. Her being absent when he had first been taken was clearly playing on her mind a lot recently.

The slap had taken him by surprise. He’d had much worse reactions in the past to people even threatening to hit him after the whole Sanctuary incident. He managed to keep it under control around Carol. Mostly.

“Sorry.” He muttered, regret seeping through his normally relatively neutral tone.

“S’alright Pookie, no harm done.”

Daryl shot her a glare at the nickname.

“There’s my eye contact.” A smug smile clear on her face.

“You gotta stop calling me that.” He growled.

“What? Pookie?”

“Yeah. Sounds stupid. Stop.”

“Never.” She answered, giving him another playful shove.

He rolled his eyes and shoved her back, breaking a smile as she stumbled to the side.

They laughed for a bit. It was nice.

“So….” Carol begun, a serious tone taking over, “You gonna tell me what happened back there? With Rick?”

“Nah man, not you too.” He groaned, shoving his head into his hands.

Carol reached over and started playing with his hair, seemingly unfazed by his childish response.

“You need a hair cut.” She stated.

Daryl lifted his head and stared at her accusingly.

“Got any other problems you wanna point out while we’re here? What is this? Target Daryl day?” He snapped.

“Hmm. Has a nice ring to it.” Carol replied, grinning, paying no attention to her friend’s anger, knowing him well enough to know it contained no true malice.

“Shut up.”

They sat in silence for a while, Carol gently trying to untangle the mess that was Daryl Dixon’s hair.

“The music-“ He began, clearing his throat to try and stall and to possibly try to erase any of the emotion that dripped from his words, “The music Rick used. They um- they played it. At the Sanctuary.”

“Go on.” Carol encouraged quietly, it wasn’t often that Daryl would be the first to engage a conversation about feelings, even rarer for that conversation to be about his experience at the Sanctuary. There was no way she was going to risk him closing off by saying the wrong thing.

“They- They did it to torture me, or you know, something like that. I don’t know, pretty weak torture if you ask me.” He grunted.

Carol shook her head slightly, “Daryl.”

It was not an uncommon occurrence with Daryl for him to downplay certain events. In fact, it was something both were guilty of, constantly reducing situations into ‘I’ve had worse’. It was a habit she was desperately trying to break for her friend.

“Fine. It weren’t no picnic in the park, you know? They played it. Constantly. And I mean, constantly. I couldn’t leave the cell. Didn’t see outside. Just that song, over and over ‘n’ over…Hell, they didn’t let me sleep. Just that god-awful tune playing. They’d beat me up to it, you know? Talk ‘bout Glenn with it playin’ in the background. Say it was my fault ‘n’ shit like that. One time they left a photo of- of Glenn after- after they killed him- in there with me.”

“Daryl-“ Carol’s voice cracked as she spoke his name, her voice barely above a whisper. She sniffled. She was crying. She never cried. Well apart from that time she first saw him after he’d got back from the Sanctuary. They’d all cried a bit then.

“Nah, don’t cry ‘bout it. S’not a big deal y’know? Told Rick the same thing, it’s in the past. Ain’t in that damn cell no more.”

His best friend’s hands moved from his hair and pulled his chin up to meet her eyes.

“Glenn’s death wasn’t your fault, you know that, right? People die out here Daryl. That’s what they do. It’s not your fault.” Tears shone in her eyes. Daryl didn’t understand why she was crying. He had brought it all on himself  

“Don’t. Don’t do that Carol. Maggie said the same god damn thing.”

“That’s because she’s right, Pookie.”

Daryl smiled against his own will.

“Told you to stop callin’ me that.”

“And I told you never.”

“C’mere.” She said softly, pulling him into a hug.

Maybe it was just bad luck. Sometimes it just happened and Daryl didn’t know why. Or maybe it was all the talk of the Saviours that had set him on edge. Either way, when Carol grabbed ahold of him, his first instinct was to get away. And he hated that.

Hurt flashed across his friend’s face before she could hide it.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered.

Daryl stayed silent. He hated everything about this. He had never been a physical contact kind of person, never had it as a kid, never sought it out as an adult. But the one person, the singular person who he’d allow, even enjoy, hugs from, he just had to flinch away. Negan had taken everything from him, including his best friend. He really was just fucked up.

“I’m sorry.” He muttered, head bowed over to hide the tears that were unwillingly forming in his eyes.

“No, don’t be. Don’t you ever be.”

“I hate this.” He whispered, leaning into Carol.

She wrapped her arms around him, relieved that it was just bad timing and not her specifically that was causing him to flinch away.

“I know. I know. You know, after Ed, I wouldn’t let anyone come near me. Sometimes, especially during my marriage, Sophia would run up and hug me and I would back into a corner and end up just crying. Crying. In front of my own baby girl. I couldn’t help it, I see that now. But god- I felt awful at the time. We can’t control our responses to things Daryl.”

“I should be able to. What they did to me- It wasn’t even that bad. Not after what they did to- after what they did to Glenn, and Abraham. Hell, after what they did to Rick in the middle of that clearing.” Tears dripped down his face, poorly concealed by his hair hanging down.

“Daryl, they tortured you. Tortured. They kept you locked in that cell for weeks. They didn’t let you speak. They hurt you. And god help me if I ever come face to face with one of those fuckers, Daryl Dixon. They will pay for what they’ve done to you.” Her voice was determined, angry and protective, only betrayed by the tears that rolled down her cheeks.

“Carol you ain’t gotta-“

“No one hurts Pookie.”

“You hate killing-“

“No one hurts Pookie.” She repeated, firmer.

He sighed, resigning to her as normal. He’d never win when she was concerned.

“You gotta stop that nickname.”

“Never.”

Chapter Text

Daryl sat on the ground, cigarette in hand, looking out onto the two mounds of dirt protruding from the earth.

He blinked fiercely, knowing that he had no place to cry when he had caused this.

The crosses were made of rotting wood, the Saviours having robbed them of any useful materials weeks before. Rotting wood. Two wonderful lives reduced to nothing but a couple planks of rotting wood.

A silver pocket watch hung from one of the crosses, the sunlight catching it and reflecting into Daryl’s eyes.

He couldn’t bring himself to look away despite the pain.

He had caused this.

He had caused this.

It was strange, if not completely soul-destroying, to think that the kid that had driven back to the quarry in a flashy sports car that day, sirens and alarms blaring, yelling in delight as he drifted round the corners, was the same man that had knelt there, with his eye popping out of his head, and comforted his wife regardless of the immense agony he was in.

“Maggie- I’ll find you.”

That was the last thing that Daryl Dixon had heard from Glenn Rhees mouth.

Simultaneously, it was probably the thing he had heard Glenn say the most in recent weeks, reliving that awful moment over and over, every time he closed his eyes.

The boy that was full of wisecracks, the walker bait, the boy who couldn’t keep Lori Grimes’ pregnancy a secret for more than 5 minutes, the boy that spent his time worrying whether the girls had synced up their periods and were turning against him, the boy that knew every twist and turn down every avenue because he used to be a pizza delivery boy.

That boy was gone.

The man that was set to be a father, the man that had taken a chance on a coward just because it was the right thing to do, the man that had fought beside them.

That man had been killed because Daryl couldn’t control his temper.

That man was gone.

Abraham was already dead by the time Daryl had lashed out.

He didn’t do it out of protection, he did it out of anger, for revenge.

To see one his own, one of their strongest, forced to sit up straight and take what came to him, pummelled into the ground.

He couldn’t sit there and just watch.

But he should’ve.

Because now they had lost Glenn and Abraham.

Maybe if he had found a different route, one not blocked by Saviours. He knew the woods better than anyone. There had to have been a different route.

But he didn’t find it.

Maybe if he had fought when they had seen the Saviours. Got off the damn motorbike and fought instead of turning heel with the rest of them and eventually getting cornered by a larger amount of Saviours.

But he didn’t fight.

Maybe if he had volunteered himself up instead of Abraham. Instead of Glenn. Hell, he had been planning to take the beating instead of Glenn in the first place. His lunge at Negan was supposed to be his final act of defiance if he didn’t succeed in killing him. He was supposed to suffer the consequences of that. Not Glenn. So maybe, maybe if he’d said something. Anything. Maybe he would be dead and Glenn would be raising a little asskicker of his own and Abraham would be happily living with whatever he had going on with Sasha. But he didn’t offer to take Abraham’s place.

He didn’t volunteer.

He was fully aware of the fact that there was no use in dwelling on the maybes. There was nothing he could do to change what happened.

That’s why he refused to voice any of these concerns to anyone, not when all he received was people telling him it wasn’t his fault.

What was it with everyone in that damn group sugarcoating everything?

Damn Carol, who wasn’t even there, telling him it wasn’t his fault.

Damn Maggie Rhee, a widow and single parent because of him, telling him it wasn’t his fault.

How hard was it for someone to just yell at him?

Scream at him. Hit him.

He had to be held accountable.

Despite the Sanctuary being hell, despite Daryl loathing every fucker that resided there- They had held him accountable.

They had blamed him.

They had tortured him for what he did.

And they didn’t even know Glenn.

So why, why could people who didn’t know, didn’t care, about the wonderful soul that Glenn Rhee was, punish him for murdering him, and yet the people who loved Glenn, who adored the long-standing member of their group, refuse to bring justice to Glenn, to punish his murderer?

Daryl’s eyes fell to the cigarette, still smouldering, in his hand.

A single tear fell down his face. He didn’t bother wiping it away. No one was around to see it anyways.

Instead, he took the cigarette, only half burnt out, and stubbed out the embers on the back of his hand.

He suppressed a hiss with familiar ease as the skin blistered in a circular scar.

The pain wasn’t a foreign feeling by any means. In fact, the cluster of spotted scars that littered his body only proved it.

He relit the cigarette, drawing on it once before stubbing it out again, this time on a different spot on his hand.

Then he did it again.

And again.

And again.

He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth as his nerves protested.

He deserved this.

Even if no one else could see that.

He deserved this.

If they couldn’t punish him then he would.

“Oh- I didn’t think anyone would be here.” Came a voice from behind him.

He opened his eyes, hastily shoving what was left of the cigarette into the ground and covering it with his foot.

He turned to face the voice.

Maggie.

“S’alright I’m now goin’” Daryl muttered, making to stand up. He had no right to be there, least of all in the presence of who he took Glenn from.

Maggie placed a hand on his shoulder before he could get all the way up. He fought hard to suppress a flinch. Maggie didn’t deserve that.

“It’s alright. I mean, if you wanna stay that is?” Her voice was low but gentle, grief still abundantly clear in her appearance.

Daryl shook his head roughly, “Nah man- uh lady, I’ve got places to be.” He paused as Maggie smiled softly, under different circumstances perhaps she might’ve laughed.

“Glenn used to do that.” She stated, a bittersweet sadness to her voice.

The almost casual mention of Glenn had Daryl nearly stumbling back, his mind reeling with how something he had done could ever be compared to Glenn.

“Do-“ He began, pausing to clear his throat to hide how his voice cracked slightly, “Do what?”

“Trip over his words. Get all flustered over it. Once called me sir after spending a whole day answering to Rick and spent a good 5 minutes trying to make enough sense to apologise. Wasn’t even that bothered by it.”

Daryl smiled, the bittersweet smile similar to the one Maggie had on her own face, a smile of grief and the sweet recollection of happier times.

“He was a good man.” Daryl muttered, harshly wiping his nose with his sleeve.

“Yeah he was.” She replied quietly.

“Glenn thought you were one of the good things in this world you know?” She asked, a newfound confidence and certainty in her voice.

“What?” Daryl asked, dumbfounded. As far as he could remember, he hadn’t been that overly nice to Glenn. Why the man would’ve spared him a second thought was beyond him.

“Always going on about the people in the group, you know how attached he’d get to people. He’d always talk about how much work you do for us, how little recognition you get for it. Especially back at the prison when you were looking after Judith nearly full time.”

“Oh.” Daryl said, too stunned to form a more coherent answer, disbelieving the things she was saying.

Maggie’s face hardened, her next words coming out much firmer than when she was simply reciting memories. Now she was commanding.

“And best you believe that Daryl Dixon. Glenn knew all this, recognised you were good, because he was one of the good things in this world too.”

“Maggie I ain’t nothing. You don’t owe me no kind words, hell you don’t owe me shit.  I got him killed. He wouldn’t be sayin’ all that now.”

Maggie looked at him, her eyes somewhere between pity and grief. Then her face morphed into a different emotion.

“You best not be insulting the memory of my dead husband there Mr Dixon. I’ll have you know he thought the world of you and to treat yourself with any less respect or love would be a dishonour to Glenn.”

She said it so seriously, staring right into Daryl’s eyes as she feigned offence, before bursting into light laughter, resting a hand on Daryl’s shoulder. Her eyes bore into his, filled with kindness and sympathy.

“In all seriousness Daryl, my husband may have been a total idiot at times, a lovable one but an idiot nonetheless, but he was no fool when it came to recognising importance. Why’d you think he married me?” She added lightly, trying to hide the way her eyes were quickly filling with tears and overflowing. “Anyways, he could see you have a good heart. Don’t think for a second that he was wrong in that sense. His death was not your doing.”

Daryl sighed, knowing there was no use in arguing back unless he wanted Maggie to continue playing the Widow card to guilt trip him into feeling less responsibility for his death. Or worse- She’d be serious and try and talk about feelings.

“Thanks Maggie.”

“Anytime Daryl, you know that.”

Her eyes flickered down to his hand briefly.

“Get that checked out okay? I ain’t here to criticise you about it, not after what our Bethy did back at the farm. Just- be careful Daryl. Please. I don’t know if I can lose anyone else.”

She patted his shoulder and walked away before he had the chance to reply. Although, she could’ve stayed standing there for years and he still probably wouldn’t have the words to form any articulate sentences.

How the hell was he supposed to respond to something like that anyways?

“After what our Bethy did”

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

He sighed and pushed himself up from the grass, stopping to place a rough, calloused hand on the cross that marked Glenn’s grave.

He nodded and patted the cross, allowing himself to briefly recount all the fond memories he had with his friend. As the tears began to prick at his eyes once again, he rubbed a hand harshly across his face, erasing any sign of emotion, and walked off with the intention of doing whatever he could to rebuild their home to what it once was.

For Glenn.

Chapter Text

They had made it back from the Reapers less than a week ago.

There had been devastating losses on both Hilltop inhabitants and Maggie’s new group, the news concerning Alden’s death travelling quickly among the communities.

Carol was lucky enough to have got her best friend back in one piece.

The thought of losing him as well as everything she had already lost-

It was something she couldn’t allow herself to think about.

All she knew was that she wouldn’t survive.

Not if she lost Daryl.

Sure, maybe she’d make it out alive in terms of flesh and blood, but mentally?

She knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that there was no way she could ever return from the void she would be thrown into if Daryl Dixon died.

However she wasn’t blinded by her gratitude. Not like everyone else.

Everyone was thrilled to have Daryl back within the walls of Alexandria, the absence of their main source of food and protection had left the community feeling vulnerable and on edge, not to mention that Judith hadn’t stopped asking for ‘Uncle Daryl’ every minute of every waking day he was gone.

That was strange in itself. It was common knowledge that Judith Grimes was an incredibly intelligent young girl, years ahead of her peers in terms of emotional maturity and capability. It was a rare occasion for her to not understand something. Her reaction to Daryl’s sudden disappearance was something that reminded all of them how young she really was. No matter how many times Carol went through the stages of explaining that ‘Uncle Daryl will be back real soon Jude, he always comes back, you know that.” Judith wouldn’t relent her constant questioning. Carol would be lying if she said she fully believed her own words, after all, you can’t promise someone will come back.

In some ways, Daryl was all Judith had left, Rick missing and Michonne off on some sort of rescue mission that was being kept under wraps for some reason.

In a lot of ways, Daryl was all Carol had left. Ezekiel was dying, although she knew she had lost him long before that, Henry- Henry was gone. Just like Sofia, Lizzie and so many others.

No matter what she had done, Daryl had always stuck by her.

So she, unlike others, noticed instantly that something was off with her best friend.

He had told her all about how Leah- the bitch that had betrayed him. Hurt him. Left him. Hurt him again. Tortured him .

As if Daryl Dixon hadn’t had enough torture to last him a lifetime.

If she ever got her hands on that bitch.

There would be hell to pay.

Daryl wasn’t okay. That much was clear.

He was going out everyday, hunting, searching for Rick, scavenging? Who knew?

He’d set out in the early hours of the morning with no one awake to question his actions, and arrive home late in the evening after dark, ensuring most where asleep and once again unable to question him.

He did this every single day, working himself to the bone.

Carol could see the bags under his eyes clear as day, the way he would bury his head in his hands when he thought no one was watching, the way his breath would hitch at the mention of the Reapers and what went down on that fateful day.

The only day he wouldn’t disappear outside for hours on end would be when it was raining.

The Rainy Days were something else altogether.

On Rainy Days, as Judith had dubbed them, Daryl would still disappear all day, however instead of him going outside of Alexandria to secret locations, he’d lock himself in his house and not come out for days.

When he would finally emerge, with the sun shining in the sky again, he would look awful. And for a group of starving people who had been through hell, that was saying a lot.

It was clear that he wouldn’t eat during these isolations nor would he sleep.

It got to the point where enough was enough.

Rain hammered on the pavement, thunder rumbling in the dark sky. Water coated the streets, steadily dripping from rooftops and flooding crops. These were by far the worst storms they had experienced and the mass damage was irreparable.

Carol was camped out in her house, looking after Judith and RJ, doing her best to comfort the children who despite trying to hide it, were clearly scared.

“It’ll pass guys. It’ll pass.” She murmured, looking out of the window onto the chaos outside.

“It always does.” Judith whispered to RJ.

Carol turned to face the kids, “That’s right Judith, it always passes.”

However worry lingered on Judith’s face.

“What’s up Jude?” Carol asked, sensing that the girl’s concern was not caused directly by the storm.

She hesitated, shifting her weight from foot to foot as she debated whether to ask what was playing on her mind. Eventually she came to the conclusion that what she needed to know outweighed the possible negative reaction that could come from mentioning his name.

“Do you think Uncle Daryl is okay?”

Carol faltered, once again giving her attention to the raging storm outside.

Was Daryl okay?

“Auntie Carol?”

Carol spun around, dragged out of her thoughts. She cleared her throat as she tried to find the right words.

“I’m sure Daryl is okay. You know him, takes more than a little rain to take him down.”

Judith looked doubtful.

“He doesn’t like Rainy Days.”

“No. No he doesn’t.” Carol answered truthfully.

“Why? Uncle Daryl used to love being outside. We used to go in rivers together and collect water when it rained.” Judith asked, her emotional intelligence once again far exceeding her young age.

“I don’t know Jude, I wish I did.”

Carol found herself staring outside again, the worry for her best friend only increasing.

Was he okay?

Was it really the rain that caused these periods of isolation? If so, what was this storm doing to him?

She had to go check on him. She had to.

“We have to help him.” Came Judith’s voice from behind her.

That was all it took to snap her into action.

“Yeah, we do.” Carol agreed, already moving around, grabbing a coat and a bag of provisions.

She pulled out a walkie and began talking into it.

“Hey, anyone there?” She spoke, waiting for a reply as the static filled the room.

“Yeah what’s up?”

Rosita. Perfect. Her and Gabriel lived only a couple houses down.

“Hey Rosita, I’m sorry but I have to go to Daryl’s. Can you or Gabriel come watch over Jude and RJ?”

Static.

“God- yeah of course, let me get Gabe. Is Daryl okay?” Her reply crinkled to life over the poor quality of the walkie.

“Thank god. Thank you so much Rosita. I’m sure Daryl’s absolutely fine, I just need to..give him his ponchos back. Yeah, I offered to wash them for him and forgot to give them back and you know how cold it is at the moment so yeah- I just need to do that.”

Carol bit her lip as she awaited the response, fearing she was going to be called out on her, quite frankly, awful excuse.

“Uh..sure. Tell him I say hi. Gabe will be over any minute now.”

It was clear that she didn’t believe her but it would have to do for now. At least it wasn’t a conversation she’d have to face whilst she had more important things to do.

“Thank you so much.” Carol responded, relief flooding her voice.

“Anytime Carol, you know that. Over.”

Carol turned to the kids, already planning her argument to Judith’s inevitable protest.

“Right, Gabriel is going to be over to watch you guys, I’m going to check on Daryl. I need you guys to be good okay?”

“What?! No! I want to go with you!” Judith exclaimed.

Carol sighed, this girl’s loyalty to her family was something she had inherited from her father and brother without even realising.

“Jude, please honey, I know you want to come, I know you care about Daryl. We all do. But I can’t worry about his well-being if I’m too busy worrying about whether you’re safe in the midst of this storm.”

“I’ll be careful! I’ll stick right by your side! Please, let me come!”

It was a rare sight to see Judith Grimes cry but sure enough, tears were forming in her eyes.

Carol bent down to her level, meeting her eyes.

“Judith. Hey, look at me. He’s gonna be fine. But you know what he’s like, he’s not going to tell me anything if he’s worried about you. If you’re there then his priority is going to be protecting you. I’m hoping to actually get to the bottom of this whole ‘Rainy Days’ thing but honey, if you’re there then he’s going to pretend he’s fine and not say a word. Please, please stay here.”

She said it as gently as she could but at the end of the day, it was a harsh reality. There was no way Daryl would ever open up if his kids were around. He wouldn’t want them to see him so vulnerable and therefore wouldn’t allow them to.

Judith fiddled with the cuff of her sleeve hesitantly as she weighed up her options but eventually looked up to meet her aunt’s eyes as she settled on her decision.

“Give him a hug for me. Please.” She said, trying to hide how worried she truly was.

“You know it.” Carol said, signing in relief and reaching over to put a gentle hand on the younger girl’s shoulder, “He’s gonna be okay.”

Not wanting to waste anymore time and hearing Gabriel’s footsteps coming up the porch, Carol adjusted her bag on her shoulder, making sure she had everything, and set out the door, giving a nod of gratitude to Gabriel as they crossed paths.

The rain pounded against her as the wind tried valiantly to sweep her off her feet. She ducked as a piece of stray debris whistled through the air, carried as a weapon by the god awful storm. From what Carol’s limited vision could tell her through the scenery that lay in front of her, blurred by the water that relentlessly poured down, more scraps were being carried along.

“Shit.” She cursed, holding her bag tightly to her side with one hand and having the other up above her eyes, trying to provide them with some sanctuary from the endless cascade of water that was battering them closed.

She pushed forward, body angled slightly sideways as the wind kept pushing her further and further back. At one point, she debated just breaking into a run, Daryl’s house just beyond the cloudy block of rain that hid it. However, after a close call with almost walking into support beam, likely from the windmill, being hurled at her by the wind, she didn’t fancy her chances running with less time to react.

By the time she reached Daryl’s porch, she was completely soaked through and shivering. She tried opening the door, unsurprised yet cursing all the same when she found it was locked.

She banged on the door three times, slamming her fist into the centre, trying to be heard over the deafening downpour of rain and thunder.

“Daryl? Open up!” She yelled.

Nothing.

She pounded against the wood again.

“Daryl! It’s me, Carol! Open the fucking door!”

She stood there for a good minute, knocking and shouting before finally, finally the door swung open and she was greeted by…Daryl?

She wasted no time in pushing through and entering the house, casting aside her drenched coat onto the wooden floor.

“Is everyone ‘kay?” The person behind her asked, worry seeping into his voice.

Carol turned around to face him.

“Are you okay more like. What have you been doing to yourself?” Carol asked, her voice barely above a whisper, an accusing tone to it.

Daryl looked like shit, almost unrecognisable. Dark shadows cast beneath his eyes, his cheekbones gaunt and shallow with a layer of blood still coating his face from his last expedition outside Alexandrian walls.

He looked down at the floor, hiding his face from her.

“Why’re you here? Are the kids alright?” He asked again, still worried.

“They’re fine.” Carol replied, trying to move the conversation on in order to get to the bottom of what was going on, “I’m more worried about you.”

“I’m fine.”

Carol scoffed, moving closer to get a clear look at his face.

Beneath all the blood and dirt, she could see great purple bruises blossoming on his cheekbones, blending into the bags under his eyes seamlessly.

“Right. First off, we need to get that blood off your face.” She began, snapping into action.

“Don’t. It’s fine.” Daryl grunted.

Carol paused, shocked as to why Daryl would want to be covered in rotting blood.

“Don’t be so stupid. You know Gabriel lost an eye because of an infection from that shit right? You want to risk an eye?”

“It’s fine.” He mumbled, rubbing at his face subconsciously before catching himself and darting his hand back to his side.

Carol rolled her eyes to hide her concern and picked up an old bandana that sat on a table. She inspected it, trying to determine how clean it was. In the end she decided it couldn’t be that bad and took it over to the tap, thanking any god that could possibly still be there that they still had running water as she turned it on.

She soaked the rag and wrung it out, clutching it tightly to hide the way her hand shook as she carried it back over to her friend.

“What are you doin’?” He growled, flinching away as she brought it up to his face.

“I’m making sure you don’t die of an infection. Come here.” She muttered as she reached out to grab his chin, hoping to turn his face towards her and the light where she could actually see what she was doing.

Horror struck her as Daryl flinched away, backing into the corner of the room.

She stood dumbly where he had left her, still holding the dripping bandana in one closed fist and her other hand mid-movement, left dangling in the air.

“Daryl?” She called out, voice softening in confusion.

She watched as he raised a shaking hand in defence.

“D-Don’t. Please.”

His voice was hoarse as his eyes remained fixed on the cloth. Carol looked down at the offending material and gently set it down on a table.

She slowly lifted her hands in surrender, maintaining eye contact.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s okay.” She repeated as she stepped towards her friend, his hands lowering upon her discarding the bandana.

“Sorry.” Daryl mumbled through gritted teeth, shoving the palms of his hands into his eyes in frustration.

“Hey, none of that.” Carol said as she reached to pull his hands away from his face, internally flinching as she got a clearer view of the abuse he had suffered.

Not letting go of him, she led him to the couch, gently pushing him into the cushions and took a seat next to him, the wet bandana within her reach but mainly out of his eyesight.

They sat in silence for a few seconds, Carol observing the way Daryl’s eyes darted around the room, the way he would flinch when thunder would rumble.

“Daryl?” She asked hesitantly after the silence became unbearable.

“Hm?” He grunted back, unwilling to admit to any of the past five minutes having occurred.

“What’s going on?” Carol asked dejectedly, not knowing what to do other than outright asking.

Daryl sighed, pointedly avoiding Carol’s gaze and choosing instead to focus on tracing the scars on his hands.

“Don’t like water.” He muttered simply.

“Well I figured that much Pookie.” Carol replied sarcastically, trying to restore some of their banter-like dynamic to put her friend at ease. “You gonna expand on that reasoning?”

Daryl scoffed at her comment, relaxing slightly into the couch.

“Daryl Dixon: Facing the Undead Everyday and Treacherous Villains without fear is defeated by…Water!” Carol exclaimed dramatically, waving her hands in the air widely.

“Stop.” He complained, finally beginning to sound like the friend she had known for years.

“Never.” She grinned, nudging his shoulder with her own.

She could see the smile tugging at his lips despite trying to act as if he were annoyed with her. She knew her friend far too well for his own good.

“It’s fine.” Daryl stated. He sounded as if he were trying to convince himself before anyone else.

“What’s fine?” Carol pressed gently, glad they were finally getting somewhere.

“This whole…thing.” He explained vaguely, gesticulating with his hands as he tried to find the right words. “‘t’s fine.”

“Yeah, the walker blood that, by the way, smells like shit, covering your face really shows that to me.”

“I just need a few…weeks. It normally takes a few weeks.” He explained, almost frantically.

“What takes a few weeks?” Carol asked, trying desperately to understand.

“I’m not weak. I’m not. It just takes a few weeks. It always has. Then I’ll be fine. I swear. You can’t tell anyone. A few weeks, that’s all, and I’ll be fine. Just you see.” He pleaded, uncharacteristically panicked.

“Daryl, hey! Stop. Breathe.” She commanded, trying to think quickly through what to do as she spoke, “Tell me. Tell me what’s going on. And we can fix it. Yeah? That sound good?”

She spoke gently, as if trying to calm a wild horse without spooking it. Any wrong move could send Daryl backing into a corner again, shutting off completely this time.

“When I was with Leah…” Daryl begun, Carol snarling at the mention of her name, “I told ya they uh…used methods to get me to talk ‘n’ shit…waterboardin’ was one of ‘em ya know?” His eyes flickered to the bandana and then to the dripping tap in the kitchen.

“Oh Daryl.” Carol sighed, her hand already looked moving to gently frame his face. To her surprise, instead of flinching away or deflecting with a joke or insult, he just leant into it.

She pretended not to see the tears that formed in his eyes as he quickly pressed them shut.

“It’s fine though.” He grunted, open his eyes and moving away from her hand, throwing on a casual demeanour, “Jus’ a few weeks and I’ll be fine.”

“Daryl, this shit can take people years to recover from.” Carol explained slowly, the feeling similar to walking on eggshells.

“Nah. It took longer when I was little ‘n’ all. Got easier as I got older. Now it’s jus’ a few weeks.”

He must’ve noticed the horrified look on Carol’s face as he hastily began to elaborate.

“Course I only got it off Merle and he never did it too seriously, ya know? Never wanted to hurt me, Merle. Jus’ wanted to prepare me, jus’ in case ma old man ever tried anythin’. He did with Merle a couple times. He just wanted to prepare me.”

Over the years, Daryl had become more open when talking about his childhood, little references chucked in casual conversation here and there, never attempting to dive deeper into the trauma. However, as always, each new mention of a new horror never failed to invoke nausea and an overwhelming sadness that crushed any hope for humanity out of Carol.

She responded how she always responded.

“You didn’t deserve that.”

It wasn’t much, but it was what worked for them. It wasn’t ever “that should never have happened.” because it did happen. There was no changing that. It was never “I’m sorry.” because it wasn’t her doing and Daryl didn’t want to associate her with anyone accountable for his abuse.

“I know.” Daryl muttered.

He had finally gotten into the habit of just accepting that he was not to blame. Carol had been specifically making sure to tackle that problem, ensuring he always gave verbal confirmation that it wasn’t his fault whenever they decided to bring up things that have happened to him.

“Can we boil the water?” Daryl asked gruffly, glaring at the tap in the kitchen.

“It’ll take forever to cool down.” Carol reasoned. It wasn’t beyond what she could do for him and if that’s what they had to do to get through it, then undoubtably that’s what they would do.

“Oh ya don’t have to cool it.” Daryl explained, already getting up and heading towards the kitchen sink. Carol could see his hands trembling as he moved.

She was up and halfway across the room before he could reach the tap, grabbing ahold of his arm and turning him to face her. She ignored the jolt that shook his body at the contact.

“What do you mean ‘you don’t have to cool it.’?” She practically growled, thoughts confirmed as she looked down at Daryl’s red raw hands.

“Are you mad?! You’ve been washing your hands with boiling water? Do you know what kind of damage that can do? And you want me to what? Use it on your face?!” She yelled, cradling his hand as if she could protect it from anything.

Turns out, there was only ever one thing that Carol could not protect Daryl Dixon from.

Himself.

“Well it works!” Daryl shouted back defensively.

“No it doesn’t, you idiot.” Carol answered quietly, all anger dissipating from her voice, left with only resignation and heartache.

She let go of his arm and grabbed a nearby jug, pouring lukewarm water into it, again thanking all the gods that they still had warm, running water.

“Sit down.” She commanded, allowing a gentle undertone to seep through.

Her friend look doubtful but obeyed all the same, never taking his eyes off the water filled jug.

“Right Goldilocks.” Carol said matter of factly, already pushing her personal connections to the situation away and getting right to business. “It’s not cold. It’s not boiling. It’s just right. Now I get you have some deep ridden trauma with this shit and maybe ‘in a few weeks’ you’ll be ‘fine’ but right now? Right now you’re at risk to an infection that’s killed over half the population.”

Daryl scoffed at the nickname, hiding his fear.

“The water they waterboarded me with. Was ice cold, you know? Ma lungs felt like they were gonna freeze over or somethin’. That’s why- that’s why I can’t-“

“I know.” Carol reassured gently, “It’s okay, we can get round it. We always do.”

The gratitude in his eyes was something that Carol knew she would never forget. She could live another 50 years and still never not be able to picture his expression of sheer thankfulness.

“Imma puke at some point.” Daryl warned lightheartedly, grabbing a bucket from behind the couch just in case.

Carol figured that puking would be a reasonable trauma response to water boarding so took his warning seriously despite his teasing tone.

“I’ve dealt with a lot worse than a bit of puke Dixon.”

And then they began, slowly at first, moving carefully as to not push him too far. Carol just carefully dipping the bandana into the jug and patting at his arms, moving on to careful swiping movements. She knew she was wasting time, knew that if he was going to get infected, it was from the walker blood that covered his face. Yet she also knew that if she just started soaking his face in water that it would do far more damage than good and probably set him back weeks in recovery.

When satisfied with the state of his arms, she looked up to meet his eyes.

“You ready?” She asked silently, finding that their friendship often exceeded verbal discussions and could have conversations that were relayed purely through body language.

He nodded slightly.

Right.

She took the rag and began clearing the blood of his face, trying to make sure no water ran into his eyes and attempting to keep the overall amount of water she was putting on his face at a minimum.

He did well to get as far as he did, she gave him credit for that, but it wasn’t long before he was pushing her arm out of the way and vomiting into the bucket, heaving as if he was back in that cell with lungs full of water.

“You’re okay. You’re okay.” Carol reassured, rubbing circles into his back, “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

They took a couple of minutes break, cracking a few jokes to distract from the heavy emotions running through the air, before starting again.

It was a long process, consisting of minutes of work contrasted by long and frequent breaks.

But they got it done. They always did.

“And I think…that’s about…it!” She exhaled in relief as she got the last bit of dried blood off his forehead.

She wasted no time in tossing the sopping wet bandana to the other side of the room, ignoring the splatting sound it made as it hit the wooden floor. She’d take care of it later.

She inspected Daryl’s face, wanting to make sure they had got it all off and wouldn’t have to repeat the process just minutes later because she had missed something.

When she decided that she had got rid of it all, she pressed her lips onto his forehead for a brief moment then rested her own forehead against his.

“Well done.” She whispered, holding his face as if it were the most important thing in her life. There was no doubt in her mind that it was. “Well done.”

They were both dead on their feet, that much was clear. What may have seemed a simple task to the average onlooker was, in truth, an emotionally challenging, exhausting event, stripping them of the motivation to even communicate.

They were happy just being.

Carol slumped into the couch, resting her head on Daryl’s shoulder, unable to imagine being more content as he allowed his head to fall onto hers.

“Thanks.” He muttered, trusting that the physical contact was conveying the emotion that he couldn’t bring himself to put into words.

“Anytime.” Carol mumbled back, already falling asleep where she sat.

She jolted awake momentarily as she remember something.

“What?” Daryl asked, sensing her sudden burst of energy.

“This hug? It’s from Judith. Requested especially.”

She could hear Daryl’s smile in his next words.

“She’s a good kid.”

The storm was calming outside, a strange parallel and depiction of how they felt.

The rain had ceased completely by the time they were both heavily asleep.

It was over.

And they’d made it through again, as they always did.

Chapter Text

Daryl lifted his shirt, angling his back towards the mirror whilst turning his head in hopes of getting a better look at the damage.

He grimaced at the sight of his own skin, littered with decade old scars, some faded and some as clear as ones that had been attained after the breakout.

He quickly averted his eyes, not up for wasting time on the past, and instead directed his attention to his newest battle scar.

An angry, inflamed cross had taken up residence on Daryl’s lower back, still tender and painful from it’s presence having being inflicted on its victim only a few days prior.

He gently probed it, trying to gage how much longer he’d have to suffer with the constant reminder as it got knocked about throughout a days hard work. He couldn’t afford to be injured and definitely couldn’t afford that injury to be in a place where it would affect fighting abilities and heavy lifting.

The second his calloused finger made contact with the wound, a jolt of pain shot up through his spine along with the lingering bruise-like throbbing of the actual damage site. He winced, mentally scolding himself for his stupidity. The chances of it having healed in mere days were little to none and all he had achieved from interfering was aggravating the burn.

As he stood there, inspecting the injury, his mind began to stray from the task at hand.

He wondered how Michonne was coping.

After all, her experience had been infinitely worse than his own, resulting in her receiving potentially fatal wounds to her pregnant stomach and the same branding as himself.

She had been forced to kill children, risking her own two in the process.

Daryl hadn’t been there.

He found himself remembering back to when Lori was pregnant with Judith. How little interest he had paid then. He remembered how the instant he had seen baby Judith, he had vowed to himself to keep her from harm no matter what. Those first few days had stretched out into years, Rick trying to get ahold of his mind and Carl trying so hard to keep things together despite just losing his own mother.

So, Daryl had taken over.

He had held Judith at night when her cries echoed throughout the metal walls of the prison.

He had soothed her when she bawled for food, something they were terrifyingly short on.

He remembered the way it had felt to be holding something so small, so fragile. For that small and fragile little thing to be completely dependent on him.

Rick had disappeared when Judith was born.

Daryl had stepped up.

Rick had disappeared when Michonne was pregnant and Judith was kidnapped.

So where was Daryl then?

Where was Daryl while Michonne was having her baby bump slashed open, so close to suffering the same awful fate as Judith’s biological mother?

Despite the scar’s sickening nature, appearance and backstory, Daryl didn’t object to it.

Similarly to all of his other scars, this one was just another reminder of a scenario where he failed to do what needed to be done.

He failed and he was punished for it. Whether it was an intentional punishment to the crime committed, he received all the same and he fought through the pain alone and without assistance.

He didn’t take the pain meds that had been so generously provided for him. It was a stubborn statement but one he stood by nonetheless. He could cope without them. Others could not. It was an easy decision.

He snuck them back into the doctor’s office when no one was looking as not to waste them.

He declined all offers from Carol to discuss what had happened, unwilling to provide himself with the relief of confiding in his best friend.

It was a stupid mindset, he knew that, but he couldn’t help thinking that the less help he accepted, the more help could go towards the people he failed, Michonne and Judith.

He had to protect them. Rick wasn’t around anymore to do that and even with Daryl looking for him whenever he could, they didn’t seem any closer than they had been when he had first disappeared to bringing him home.

At least, what was left of him.

He looked at his scar and saw within the puckered skin was a message. Not one sent by god by any means but one sent nonetheless.

Daryl Dixon had failed. Tremendously and devastatingly so. He could’ve lost two of the people he cared most about in the world, alongside Rick’s unborn child.

It could not happen again.

He would not let it happen again.

He stared at that scar and he stared at it for hours each night, willing himself to do better.

He knew that there were only so many ‘harmless’ mistakes a person could make before someone got hurt. Before someone got killed.

And he would die before that someone was Judith Grimes.