#but at least the news front looks better for carol and caryl

[thewalkingdeadband]

Me after all the good news and hope renewed for Carol

Me after the Morgan news:

#i mean u cant do that to me #this is too much of a rollercoaster now #so what no reunion with Rick #i mean at leeeast fucking Rick u know #and so what now he dies in s8? #wake me up when we have scenes of carol and or caryl #rick reunited with everyone but morgan feels wrong im sorry #caryl #carol peletier #morgan jones #rick grimes #ftwd spoilers #for those who dont know Lennie confirmed s8 will be the last we see of him as Morgan #which means i dont see a reunion happening now unless a miracle #still tiny hope that im wrong #because im dumb #but at least the news front looks better for carol and caryl #i didnt want to talk abt Carol yet cause last year has been a nightmare but now that Morgan's done i decided to talk abt both #well more like adress it quickly #i guess #i dont know im lost

[coneygoil]

Walking Wounded

Caryl AU. The waitress at a diner Daryl decides to start frequenting catches his eye, but things are complicated. Now, Daryl is the only thing standing between her and her abusive husband.

Writer’s note: So, this is my first TWD fic. I actually wasn’t planning on writing any, but a dream I woke up from the other day inspired me and I just had to get it out in words! This will be a multi-chapters fic. More to come later :) btw, I don’t like using curse words, so there’s not a whole lot in here. 

He began frequenting the diner a couple months ago. Daryl and his brother needed a quick bite to eat after a long day of hunting and roughing it like wildmen in the woods, and there was jack squat to eat at their trailer. The diner was rather empty with only a couple other hungry patrons sipping coffee and minding their own business.

Daryl hadn’t thought much of the waitress that served them. She was polite and a bit skittish, and strangely had a nearly shaved head. But, that was really the only thing that stood out. By the time they’d driven off in Daryl’s rickety old pick-up truck, he’d put the waitress out of his mind.

Merle seemed to take a liking to the food at that particular diner. “Taste like real food,” he’d said, then colorfully compared other diner foods to a pile of dog poop.

The next weekend, they visited the little diner and once again, the same woman waited on them. It was this second trip to the diner that the polite waitress with the buzzed head caught his interest. He paid attention to her. He chatted with her when Merle left to take a piss. Her eyes were kind and looked at him like he wasn’t a dirty redneck like other people perceived him to be. Her eyes were the prettiest blue he’d ever seen.

The third time Daryl visited the diner, he was alone. Merle was gone. He wasn’t sure where his brother was, but it didn’t matter. He’d be back. And if he didn’t come back, Daryl could take a few guesses where he was – either in jail, holed up somewhere on a bender, or dead.

So, Daryl was there alone.

He made sure to sit at the same table they were in last time in hopes the waitress with the kind eyes and buzzed head would serve him. He felt warm and a little foolish at the thought. He wasn’t a damn schoolboy hoping his crush would notice him, but that’s exactly what he felt like when he slipped into the booth. The waitress arrived before he barely settled down.

“Where’s your brother?” she’d asked after a few lines of greeting.

Daryl gestured out the window as if that’d give an explanation. “He’s out with some friends,” he tall-taled, because he had no clue where his brother was, and he wasn’t about to give the ugly details of truth of where he could be.

The first two visits Daryl hadn’t caught the waitress’s name and she didn’t wear a nametag to make it obvious. “I’m Daryl, by the way.”

Her eyes sparkled when she smiled at him. “Nice to meet you again, Daryl. I’m Carol.”

It was probably the second, maybe third, time he’d heard her name, but now he would never forget it.

Trips to the diner became Daryl’s new habit. He made sure to visit during Carol’s shifts and sat in the same booth every time he could. He was pleased on one of his visits, as soon as he walked in the door, Carol greeted him from behind the counter with the biggest smile he’d been graced with from her so far. She teased him about how much he enjoyed the coffee because that had to be the only reason he would frequent so often. The dark liquid that filled his cup was okay (at least better than the swill Merle fixed at home), but Daryl wouldn’t dare offer the real reason. They chatted longer if Carol had the time to spare. She seemed genuinely interested in his life. Daryl kept the details vague. There were many specifics a gentle lady like her didn’t need to know – most likely because it would horrify her, especially anything concerning his brother.

Merle didn’t visited the diner with him again, save for one more time when he was somewhat clean and presentable. Daryl didn’t enjoy the trip since Merle did most of the talking and called Carol names that Daryl thought she was above. It burned him up inside. Carol didn’t seem too bothered though, but she was more willing to hang around their table when Merle would step out.

It was on Daryl’s 9th trip to the diner that he spotted a bruise. Carol’s uniform sleeve didn’t cover all of it. His eyes lingered on the half-covered purple handprint peeking from the hem of her sleeve. A grim feeling crept up his spine and his heart pummeled his ribcage. He knew a bruise like that didn’t come from an accident. He’d seen it too often as a kid to know. Someone put it there on purpose. Daryl’s stomach tightened at the thought of how many more bruises were hidden on her.

He didn’t know if Carol was married. She didn’t wear a wedding band and she never talked much about her personal life. Until one day, she did.

It wasn’t much. Just a mention of her husband. A husband who was at home watching their young daughter. Her throat seemed to choke up as she spoke the words. A flash of fear crossed her face that wasn’t missed by Daryl. It was like just the reminder that her daughter was in the presence of her husband concerned her greatly. She claimed she had to get a job a few months ago to earn her keep because her husband wasn’t going to have her sit at home all day slumming around while he hauled butt to provide for them. She hadn’t said it in such a way, but Daryl could read between the lines.

The next diner trip, the cheer in Carol’s smile was there, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes like it usually did. Daryl knew now that she was married, but that didn’t stop him from chatting with her and feeling the same as he had before. Carol was still the kindest person he’d ever met in his sorry excuse for a life and he couldn’t help thinking on how pretty those blue eyes of hers were. He kept coming because seeing him put a smile on her face. Talking to him gave her a bit of relief. He wanted to give her at least that much.

One evening as Daryl stepped into the diner, he stopped dead in his tracks. His regular table was tucked away in the left-hand corner, and for the first time since he started coming, it was taken. A little girl occupied the booth. Her shoulder-length blonde hair hung against her face as she colored. A half-filled glass of milk sat in front of her. He couldn’t tell exactly how old she was since he wasn’t around children hardly any. Maybe she was 4 or 5? She resembled someone. Someone he’d become familiar with over the last several weeks.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Carol’s voice nearly made him jump. He hoped his face wasn’t as red as the heat he felt upon it. “I’ll move her to another table.” Carol had taken note that it was his usual spot, just as she’d memorized his usual order.

“Sophia,” she called to the little girl, and as soon as the girl’s eyes flicked up, Daryl knew for certain whose daughter she was. “Come on, honey. A customer needs that table.”

The little girl was about to scoot out without so much as a sigh. Daryl couldn’t do that to her. “She can stay. No need for her to get up. There’re plenty other empty tables around here.”

Carol shook her head, an apology she didn’t need to give written on her face. “I don’t want her to be a bother.”

“She’s not.”

Daryl slid in the booth located right before his usual table. He probably should have chosen the other side of the table, because he had a clear view of the little girl. She glanced at his curiously then got back to work on the pig she was currently coloring purple.

“Is this your--?” Daryl felt awkward finishing the question. He’d only just learned about Carol’s daughter.

Carol smiled warmly as she peered over at the top of the little blonde head. “My daughter. Sophia.” The name was spoken with such love and reverence. “She had to come to work with me tonight.”

“Your husband had to work or something?”

It was then that Daryl caught the shiner on Carol’s cheek that she had been trying to keep turned. He could put the rest of the pieces together. Carol shook her head, sadly. “He just couldn’t tonight. But, it’s okay. My daughter is such a quiet child. She minds well. My manager didn’t have a problem with me bringing her in this once.”

Daryl insides burned. He could guess exactly why Carol’s daughter minded so well. She’d probably be punished if she so much as sneezed. Daryl shifted uncomfortably at a long ago memory he tamped down immediately.

“The usual?” Carol asked, dragging Daryl out of his stewing.

“Uh, yeah. That’s fine.”

Daryl peered out the window, trying not to pay much attention to the little girl. He could see out of the corner of his eye that she was stealing glances of him every now and then. He couldn’t quite read her expression not looking at her straight on, but from what he could tell, she seemed wary of him.

Carol arrived with his coffee and he thanked her wholeheartedly, as if she’d brought him the greatest gift he’d ever received. Carol looked pleasantly surprised by his outpouring of graciousness. She chatted with him for a few moments before moving on. Sophia had drunk the rest of her milk. Her mother brought a refill as soon as she finished. The little girl quietly showed her the purple pig. Carol fawned over how beautiful the picture was.

After Carol walked away, Daryl craned his neck to get a better view of the coloring. “Never seen a purple pig before,” he teased, keeping his voice light. “Think there’s one out there that just hadn’t been found yet?”

The little girl looked like she wanted to bolt. He’d never actually talked to a child before, at least one this young. He guessed it was natural for kids to be shy of strangers, but Sophia seemed downright petrified.

“It’s okay,” Daryl assured, “I promise, I don’t bite.”

Carol approached, seeing the exchange. “It’s okay, Sophia.” She brushed her daughter’s hair back, soothingly. “Daryl is a friend.”

A flutter hit Daryl square in the chest. She‘d called him a friend. He tapped down the nice feeling. He had no business feeling that way. Everything surrounding Carol was complicated, from what he gathered. Still, he would accept being her friend if she wanted him to be.

Tires suddenly grounded into the parking lot. Daryl snapped his head to find a Jeep Cherokee coming in hot. It slammed on its breaks in the second row of parking spots. An average-height, slightly heavy-set man stepped out, slamming the door behind him.

The gasp that escaped Carol’s throat was not lost to Daryl. He snapped his attention back to her. His blood ran cold at the sight of her pale, stricken face. The man was stomping toward the diner like a giant prepared to knock the head clean off something.

“Sophia, honey,” the tremble in her voice made Daryl’s jaw clinch. “Stay right here while I go talk to Daddy.”

Carol rushed out the door, intercepting her husband before he could make it across the parking lot. Daryl stole one glance at Sophia, the poor girl sinking into the booth, looking just about as terrified as her mother.

His heart pounded. He couldn’t sit around while Carol was out there confronting the man who laid his hands violently upon her. Daryl made his way right outside the doors of the diner, hoping to act inconspicuous. He lit up a cigarette. Smoking being his excuse for being outside and not the overwhelming need to stick close to the woman that was confronting the man that abused her body.

“What the hell you thinkin’?” the man snarled, and he was exactly how Daryl imagined he would sound.  

“What’s wrong, Ed?” Carol sounded exactly how he imagined she would in the presence of her husband.

“What the hell were you thinkin’!?” Daryl’s back bristled at his increased aggressive tone. He took a drag of his cigarette, pretending to be interested in the activities at the gas station next door. “Gonna lose this damn job and your sorry ass wages because of our snivelin’ ankle-biter! Leave the stinkin’ brat at home!”

Carol averted her eyes to the ground, her body seeming to prepare itself for the repercussions. “You seemed like you wanted to be alone tonight. I wanted to give you that time by yourself.”

“I can handle our brat, Carol! I’ll lock her in her room if I have to! Wouldn’t be the first time I locked her in there!” Her husband – Ed – pushed Carol out of the way, causing her to stumble. “I’m taking her home.”

“Please, Ed. She’s just a little girl. Please don’t lock her away.” Carol clutched at his arm, pleading desperately. “She’s not harming anything being here.”

“Get off!” In that split second – in that one wrong move by Ed -- Daryl saw red. His body moved before his brain had time to catch up to what he was doing.

Ed snatched her right arm, twisting it in a direction that it definitely wasn’t made for. Carol barely cried out. She clinched her teeth as if trained to hold back the noise. He let go of her arm, but reared back and slapped her across the face. Ed never got any further in his blatant display of abuse.

Daryl had thrown punches before. More times than he could remember to count. Never had he punched a person with such force that they stumbled backwards and fell flat on the ground. The impact of slamming his fist into Ed’s jaw reverberated painfully up Daryl’s arm, but he welcomed the pain. Made him feel alive, especially when it was pain taken for a good cause.

A string of gargled expletives spewed from Ed’s mouth. He wiped at his bloody mouth with the back of his wrist.

Shaking off the pain in his arm, Daryl turned immediately to Carol. Tears streamed pitifully down her cheeks. She cradled her injured arm. There was no hesitation in Daryl’s mind that he had to get her and her daughter out of there. He touched Carol’s shoulder with a stark contrast of gentleness than he just used on Ed. His heart clinched when she flinched away.

“Carol, look at me,” Daryl coaxed, softly. He followed her face with his. Her eyes locked onto his, her pupils blown out. He hoped she registered what he was about to say. “Go get Sophia and your things. We’re leaving.”

“The hell she’s leaving with you!” growled out Ed as he rolled onto his side in an attempt to push his sorry rear end off the concrete.

“The hell she’s going anywhere with the likes of you!” Daryl flung back with a fair amount of venom. He resisted the strong urge to kick him in the side. “Only a damn, good-for-nuthin’ coward beats his woman!”

Daryl quickly glanced behind him, not wanting to take his sights off the bastard rolling around pathetically on the ground. He found Carol gone. She returned in record time, clutching Sophia against her in the tightest protective hold. Daryl drug his eyes off Ed. He led Carol to his pick-up truck, opening the passenger side door for her. He hopped in the driver side and revved up the engine. In the door rearview mirror, he could see Ed back on his feet, storming toward them and yelling his promises to kill them all.

“Hold on,” Daryl barely warned before peeling out of the parking lot. He waited for his adrenaline to lower before checking on her. “You okay?”

Carol jumped at his voice like she forgot he was there. Her crying had calmed, but her breathing remained ragged. She turned her head slightly toward him and Daryl caught the tear streaks staining her cheeks. She still clutched Sophia to her as if her daughter was her only lifeline. Daryl could hear sniffles coming from Carol’s shoulder where the little girl hid her face.

“How’s your arm?” he pressed on. “Anything dislocated? Broken?”

Carol blinked a few times before regaining her senses. She shook her head. “No. Just hurts.”

“Are you sure?”

Carol nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve had a dislocated shoulder before. I know what it feels like.”

The confession sadly didn’t surpriseDaryl, but it fueled the anger toward the man he’d had the pleasure of knocking flat on his ass.

“Is she okay?”

Carol nuzzled her nose comfortingly in Sophia’s hair. She hugged her daughter even tighter. “I think so.”

A long beat filled the cab of the truck. The buildings and streetlights blurred by. Daryl’s body still tingled with adrenaline, but his mind was calming.

“Where are we going?” Carol’s voice remained low and breathy.

Daryl gripped the steering wheel, the worn leather squeaking under his grip. “Some place safe.”

#caryl #twd: caryl #twd fanfiction #carol x daryl #walking wounded

[waynedunlaptheorgandonor]

caryl fic; oneshot, hurt/comfort, vague s10 spoilers

title: how you go

rating: teen

word count: ~2k

They stumble inside a rundown building. It’s somewhere between a shed and a barn; a single room, with remnants of hay on the floor and cobwebs in the rafters, but it’s small enough that one good look around is enough to tell Daryl there are no walkers around, at least not in here. Outside is a different story, and already he can hear the scritch-scratching of nails on wood; the tap-tapping of hands on glass. Daryl helps Carol to the ground, and then shoves a dusty, old shelf in front of the door and prays that it holds.

He doesn’t have time to dwell on it—no walkers are breaking in this second, and he has other things to attend to. Like the fact that the love of his life is currently bleeding out on a filthy, hay-covered floor.

Daryl kneels beside her and scoops up some dirt and hay into a pile for her to lay her head on. He turns on his flashlight—the batteries are running low, but he’s lucky he has any at all—and gingerly lifts up her shirt to examine her wound.

“It’s bad,” Carol says. Her voice is strained from the pain, but she’s calm.

“You’ll be alright,” Daryl says, trying to keep a neutral expression even as he’s wracked with fear. She’s right. It’s bad.

“I think I’m dying,” Carol says matter-of-factly.

“Shut up,” Daryl says. “No you aren’t.”

The wound is really bad.

He’s not sure how deep the knife went in.

If she’s got internal bleeding and the others don’t find them soon, she might—

“I’m gonna put pressure on this; try an’ stop the bleedin’. Might hurt a lil’.” Daryl derails his own thought train, focusing instead on slipping off his vest and unbuttoning his shirt.

“Is this really the time to be coming onto me?” Carol asks. Daryl’s hands pause for a split second. He casts her an unamused glare before finishing up on the buttons and sliding his shirt off his shoulders.

“Stop,” he mutters. “Don’t got nothin’ else to use as a bandage.”

She laughs, and usually he’d be delighted to hear that particular sound—it’s been an age since she last teased him like this—but that’s precisely why it worries him. She’s been free-falling ever since the pikes, and he’s worried she’s feeling more playful now because she thinks it’s finally all gonna end. Well there’s no way in hell he’s standing for that. He bunches up his shirt and presses it against her wound. She takes a sharp intake of breath and he cringes.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “Sorry, I know it hurts.”

“Told you there were Whisperers on our side of the border,” she says, and even though she doesn’t sound mad—if anything, she’s teasing him again—he still feels like a gigantic, record-breaking, steaming pile of shit. If he had gotten his head out of his ass he would have seen that she knew what she was talking about. But she hadn’t been sleeping; had been popping pills and referencing conversations they’d never had. He had wanted to believe her—his gut protested every second that he didn't—but the evidence had been stacked up against her. In short, he had doubted her, and now it’ll be his fault if she—

“How are you feelin’? Cold? Dizzy? Anythin’ like that?”

“No, just feeling stabbed so far,” she says. Daryl sighs, and she adds, a little more seriously, “I’m kind of cold.”

Daryl shines the flashlight at her face. She’s pale. He presses the back of his hand against her cheek. Her skin is clammy.

“Keep talkin’ to me, alright? Even if you get tired. Especially if you get tired. I wanna make sure you’re not goin’ into shock.”

“Yes, Dr. Dixon,” she says with a cheeky grin he can’t bring himself to return. God, she sounds so weak .

“They’ll find us,” he tells her. “Michonne and the others. They’ll take care of the walkers outside and we’ll get you home and get you patched up and good as new, alright?”

“Alright,” she says, in the same tone he’d used when he’d told her he believed her about the Whisperers.

“Don’t,” he says.

“Don’t what?”

“Act like you’re already givin’ up.”

“Wound’s deep, Daryl,” she says. The shirt he has pressed against her is already bled through.

“You’ve had worse.”

“Lucky me.”

“You know what I mean. You’ve gotten through worse. This is just another thing.”

“What if I’m tired of getting through things?” she asks. Daryl squints at her.

“The hell’s that s’posed to mean?”

“It means, what if you took your hands off my stomach and just let whatever's gonna happen, happen?”

Daryl presses harder against her abdomen.

“You can fuck right off with that shit,” he says.

“I’m tired, Daryl.”

“Keep talkin’ to me.”

“That’s not the kind of tired I mean.”

He knows. He knows she’s talking about how her body’s been through so much trauma, even pre-apocalypse, that it’s a miracle it’s made it this far, and she’s tired of it still getting beat down even after all of that. She’s talking about how this is another goddamn wound she has to heal, and she doesn’t only mean like the scar on her arm where the glass impaled her a few weeks ago. She means the gaping wounds in her heart from all her dead children; the gashes in her conscience from every life she’s ever taken; the constant ache of forcing herself to survive every goddamn day in a world like this. She’s tired, Daryl knows this, but she’s not allowed to go to sleep. Not yet. He says,

“This ain’t the way you go.”

“Yeah?” she asks, and her voice is losing all its edge with every drop of blood that leaks out of her body and into Daryl’s makeshift bandage. “How do I go then?”

Daryl frowns at where the white of her stomach is stained crimson. She has a whole litany of battle wounds from times where it wasn’t her time to go.

He doesn’t think she’s expecting an answer, and truth be told, it’s not a question he’d usually reply to, but he decides she needs to know that today is not the day.

“It’ll be your heart,” he tells her. “Not an attack or somethin’, it won’t be nothin’ that hurts. There won’t be pain.”

She doesn’t say anything or a moment, and Daryl checks to make sure she’s still conscious. Her eyes are glassy and groggy, but they’re fixed on his.

“Will it be in a fight?” she asks quietly, and Daryl shakes his head.

“Nah. There won’t be no more fights to fight by the time you go. Uh-uh, you’ll be in bed, all warm and comfy and shit. Nice sheets. You know like them rich people ones with the billion thread count or whatever? That’s what you’ll be layin’ on.”

“What about a fluffy pillow? One of those big memory foam ones? Always loved those.”

“Oh, hell yeah, baby,” Daryl says, the term of endearment slipping out before his brain has a chance to catch up with his mouth. If she’s bothered by it she doesn’t show it on her face, but he wonders if it prompts her to ask her next question. She asks,

“Will you be with me?” For a second he wonders if she’s ribbing him again, but her expression is earnest and shy.

“‘Course,” he says softly. “‘Course I will. I’ll be right there. Hell, I’ll even hold your hand. If you want, I mean.”

“What if...will the bed be big enough for you to hold all of me and not just my hand?”

Daryl swallows, even though his mouth is dry.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be next to you, and I’ll hold all’a you, and when you go I’ll still be there. Right ‘til the very end I’ll be there.”

“Will I be afraid?”

“Nah. Neither of us will, ‘cause we’ll know it’s time, you know? We both seen death so much already, it won’t scare us none. Might be a little sad, though. I’ll be sad. Won’t be able to say goodbye easily, warnin’ you now, but I gotta let you go first, ‘cause there ain’t no way you’re goin’ out without someone who loves the hell outta you seein’ you off.”

Carol’s eyes are glistening, and he doesn’t think it’s from the shock. He turns his attention back to her abdomen. It’s still bleeding, but it’s slowing. From outside, the walkers groan, and the old wooden building groans right along with them. It’s an oddly peaceful cadence.

“Daryl?”

“Yeah?”

“How do you go?”

“Always thought it’d be cool to go out in an explosion. You know, action movie style?” He grins at Carol’s laugh and then shrugs. “I dunno. They’ll pro’ly say it’s somethin’ like natural causes or some shit.”

“But it won’t be?”

“Nah. It’ll be more complicated than that.”

“How so?”

He ducks his head.

“Think eventually missin’ someone too much can be fatal. Not right away, and only when you don’t got no one else, you know? When you’re old and grey and seen enough of the world and you’re ready to go see ‘em again, hopin’ beyond hope that you will—that’s when it takes you.”

“Who will you miss so much that you’ll decide it’s your time to go?”

“That’s a stupid question.”

“Answer it anyway.”

Daryl forces himself to raise his head. She’s ashen, with hay in her hair. She’s watching him, uneasy, as if she really isn’t sure what his answer’s gonna be.

Careful to keep the pressure on her wound with one hand, Daryl sits up on his knees and hovers above her. He waits a beat to see if he’s met with any resistance, and when he’s not he leans down and presses his lips to hers. It’s chaste and polite—it’s to prove a point—but even still, his nerve endings spark, sending a shiver down his spine, and he realizes then that he’s been waiting for the better part of a decade for this.

“You,” he whispers, pulling a breath’s distance away. “I’ll miss you.”

Sitting back on his heels, he uses his free hand to brush tears off her cheeks. She leans into his touch, eyes fluttering closed.

“I’ll be there,” she says.

“What, sweetheart?”

“Beside you. When you go, I’ll be there. You won’t see me, but you’ll know. And when you do go, I’ll be waiting, and it’ll be so good to see you again. The best.”

From outside comes the unmistakable sound of a katana slicing into a walker. Muffled voices can be heard through the walls. Daryl smiles at Carol.

“The best,” he repeats in agreement. “But we ain’t there yet. This ain’t how you go. You hear me? It ain’t.”

“I hear you,” she says, like she believes him now. “I’m not going anywhere. Not today.”

Daryl cups her face, just as the barn door swings open. He nods, saying with conviction,

“Damn straight, baby. Not today.”

#caryl #caryl fic #caryl fanfiction #dunlap writes shit

[theresnosafeharbor4myships]

Light in the Dark (also on 9L)  

A/N: just a little missing scene after that Caryl conversation on the porch steps in 10x04

“Should’ve gone to New Mexico.”

Daryl looked at Carol wistfully, heart torn in two. He heard both the regret and the wishful thinking hidden in her words, the desire to live free of the mess of people and all the baggage they carried—and acquired—with them.

She broke his damn heart.

“Yeah,” he agreed quietly, then shuffled off down the block, his eyes ever vigilant for trouble, his heart still sitting with Carol on those steps of the house they shared.

And that’s something he never thought would happen. Them living together? Sure, they’d all stayed close out on the road. Seen more of each other than anybody had a right to. But this was different. And they knew it.

He’d dreamed it enough times to know what he really desired from the situation, and now wasn’t the time for that kind of wishing, but the fact that they actually slept with only one wall between them, now…after everything…

He shook the cobwebs of hope from his mind and focused on the shadows in front and around him, looking out for anyone else looking to start a fight, his footsteps light and silent, his mind heavy and loud.

He knew sleep wasn’t likely for Carol, but he wished it for her anyway. She’d gone through too much…well, since forever, but after the meds the Doc gave her, she’d slept. Not nearly long enough, but at least she wasn’t taking those trucker pills anymore. She fought sleep, but now she’d gotten enough to realize how much she needed it, dreams be damned.

She hadn’t told him what haunted her, but words hadn’t ever stopped them from understanding each other before, and she’d all but admitted it a moment ago. “It’s like time never moves.” Another child lost. Another sociopath trying to take the small piece of land they’d claimed for their community. Another predator looking to instill fear and create chaos to destroy them because of the size of his or her ego. It never ended.

He felt her words in his soul. “Should’ve gone to New Mexico.”

God, how he wanted to. Wanted to pack a bag, hop on his bike with her tucked securely against his backside, and drive the hell on out of there.

Everything about that seemed insane. Two people, alone in this world—against the world. Headed across the country when all that existed were monsters, both living and dead. On the loudest vehicle they had, the sound bound to draw unwanted types directly to them. No community. No walls. Nothing to protect themselves except what they could carry.

It sounded perfect.

They could leave all of the problems facing them behind. No Negan or Alpha or the next arrogant prick they’d come across wanting power and everything they’d worked so hard to build. No fights and bickering and counsel decisions and worrying about other people’s problems, both real and the ones they created for themselves. No reminders of all they’d lost: that blown-up bridge he passed every time he hunted; the Hilltop where her ex-king helped run things; the house down the block where they’d first stayed upon entering Alexandria, where Rick and Glenn and Abraham still floated through their minds, memories like the dead walking among them. Gravesites and gardens that needed tending, and people always calling for them for their expertise. For fighting, for decisions, for help, for comfort and work that always needed doing and weapons. For the very sweat and blood that’d kept them running on empty for as long as he could remember.

But out there…with Carol? It’d be quiet. They knew how to protect themselves, how to keep quiet, invisible. Knew how to tiptoe around each other enough to make it work. They knew when to talk, how to hunt, how to survive. And they could run or stay as long as they wanted, wherever they wanted.

Daryl stopped walking, a sigh at the fantasy of it all escaping his lips, and he gazed up at the wispy moonlight, shining amidst the black night.

Carol needed that from him, and—hell, he could be honest with himself—he needed that from her. But others needed their light too. For all the shit that’d gone down tonight, Lydia was better off with them than she’d ever been with her mother. Trying to guide her confused the hell out of him, but he had to try, knowing she deserved better than what had come before.

No one understood that better than he and Carol.

Daryl rounded another corner, heading back towards home, unwanted thoughts still streaming through his mind.

Michonne needed them too. Judith and RJ and Aaron and Gabriel. Rosita and Coco and all the others who were still learning how best to survive this hellscape they’d all found themselves in.

Wouldn’t be right to leave right now. Maybe someday they could. Maybe…

Until then, he’d keep on fighting, teaching others how to fight, trying to keep their family whole in whatever way he could.

Right now that was keeping watch over Carol and Lydia. So watch he would. Make sure nothing else bad happened to them. That Carol ate and got her arm checked on. That Lydia healed and those bastards who’d beat her stayed far away from her and got the punishment they deserved. That Negan saw justice, but the right way, not over this.

He glanced up at the doorway as he approached the house and saw Carol still sitting in the dark. She hadn’t moved in the half hour he’d walked off some of his thoughts.

“Hey,” he greeted again.

“Hey.”

He reclaimed his spot on the stairs next to her, wondering if thoughts of them out on the road together plagued her too. Or if her mind chewed on the problems at hand.

He wouldn’t ask—couldn’t—but that didn’t keep him from wondering.

“I wanted to keep watch,” Carol explained quietly, unprompted. “I know she’s scared. She’s got a right to be. Just don’t think it’s right after…”

She broke off, and he picked at his fingernails, staring at them, avoiding the topic they both hated and shared.

“No child deserves that. I wanna make sure she’s safe.”

He nodded, her words piercing his already confused and mangled heart. They’d both protect her; they didn’t have a choice but to do it. To save her from whatever scars they could and show her that not everyone used hands and words to harm.

He was glad he wasn’t in it alone.

Daryl swallowed hard before speaking. “We both will.”

He looked at her then, letting her see how grateful he was for her help, and she nodded in understanding.

“Why don’t you head on up to bed?” he suggested. “I’ll keep watch tonight. I’ll call for you if anything happens.”

“Okay.”

Her voice sounded small, tired, and not only in the ‘needing sleep’ kind of way. But still she stood strong.

She put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. “I’m glad she’s with us,” she stated before standing up and slipping quietly into the house.

Though she couldn’t see, he nodded in agreement and stared again at the moonlight filtering through the dark.

He was glad she was too. Both of them.

#caryl #caryl fanfiction #carol x daryl #daryl x carol #caryl fanfic #missing scene #my writing #personal #light in the dark

[superleeleehipster]

Why do I ship Caryl?

So this wasn’t something I was planning to write, but after seeing this question come up time and time again, I finally decided to entertain it and meditate over it. Because honestly, this question is more relevant now more than ever:

Why do I ship Caryl?

This person’s comment that I saw on another post asked what I think is a genuine question nowadays, and that is “why does Caryl need to be in love? Everyone knows they have a special bond and they would kill for each other. Why does it need to be romantic?” They weren’t hateful, or spiteful, or saying that this other ship makes more sense. They were just curious. 

It’s an even more relevant question now because of Melissa’s recent interview and what she said about Carzekiel and Caryl. She basically stated that Caryl is more important than romance, and they are arguably the person they’re closest with, but it is what it is. And she went on to point out that it’s been proven that she and Ezekiel are happy, and Daryl is happy for her. 

Side note: I’m not bothered by what she said about the two b/c I can understand her point of view. She’s tired of being asked the same damn Caryl question over and over again, it’s been going on since season 2 and only vamped up at the start of season 5. She knows about the shipping wars, she knows fans can get riled up over her’s and Norman’s responses over this question, and she’s tired of answering it b/c there’s nothing left to answer (and I’m sure she’s tired of the hate that happens within the fandom, as well as what’s directed at her and norman). Plus, as an actor, I’m sure it bothers her that some people are disregarding/diminishing the Carzekiel bond b/c she’s put her heart into that role. She can’t control the writing, and her job is to follow the script and play her part, which she has, and I’m sure she is proud of what she’s done this filming season. So I’m sure it hurts her to know that ppl are writing off Carzekiel as more of a one sided relationship b/c that’s her hard work. She wants ppl to support her work, no matter how shitty it is, and I get that. 

So the question remains, why do I ship Caryl?

I decided to really think on this question and give it a meaningful answer instead of what I usually talk about. So pushing aside all the superficial reasons or reasons that are just on the surface, why do I want them to be together? For one thing, it’s only natural for us humans to categorize things into groups. We do it all the time, even if we’re not thinking about it. Like for me, I put all the shirts and pants and sports bras I use for working out in one drawer, while I’ll put my pajama pants and shirts in a separate drawer. Then I’ll put my underwear, normal bras, and socks in another, etc. We also categorize people, so clicks for example, or how I work in this department while these people work in this department. It’s just human nature to categorize things. Personally, I think that is also the driving reason as to why people start to ship characters on shows, or at the very least debate if “these two will get together” because we like to put things into groups. Now I do understand that there are people who don’t ship at all, and that’s fine. In fact, that commenter was probably one of those people who didn’t understand shipping, and that’s okay. They’re just there for the story and entertainment. 

But aside from the natural urge to think “will they/won’t they”, for me I officially began my shipping in season 3 after Carol flirted with Daryl on the bus, though I know many folks began during season 2, and rightfully so. To me, I think part of it was the natural chemistry between Daryl and Carol. It was one of those magical moments you only see once in a blue moon, when not even the writers expected it, but it came to light because of two great actors who caught each other’s wavelength immediately. That kind of chemistry you couldn’t help but want romance to happen because you know it would be explosive, a rarity when it comes to shows nowadays because things have become so predictable. And most actors/tv couples don’t have the amount of chemistry that Melissa and Norman do. The only other characters I can think of who have that chemistry is Jaime and Claire from Outlander, and Mulder and Scully from The X Files... so there's really not that many couples with that kind of electricity between them on tv.

I also wanted Caryl to happen because, to me, it’s the ultimate romantic trope. You have two people who had been abused and beaten for most of their lives, only to find someone who genuinely understands that because it happened to them too. They leaned on each other, whether purposefully or not, and were able to positively influence one another to become better, more confident people. And it was amazing, especially looking at Daryl’s evolution, to see these two people open up and allow themselves to receive comfort, understanding, and love from someone else. Daryl did not like being touched, it was obvious in season 2 when he flinched away from Carol. Now, he on the regular puts an arm around her, and is more than happy to receive her hugs as well as reciprocate them. To me, that’s incredibly beautiful to see two people with similar backgrounds come together like that. And I think it would be the ultimate ‘fuck you’ to everyone who had hurt them to have them fall in love and be happy with each other. 

Why is it not enough for them to have a special bond? Because being in love is the closest you can be to someone. It’s something that I think they both deserve to have, and I think it would be extremely powerful if it were Carol and Daryl because they already have such an amazing bond to begin with. Having them become romantic would almost feel like a completion of their bond. It would be like Vegeta and Goku fusing together to become Vegeto, like the ultimate power (geek moment, sorry). Daryl has likely never been “in love” with someone before given his background, so it would be especially beautiful to see it happen for him, and to me, the only person I think he’d trust enough to open himself up for is Carol.

Having said all that, obviously that’s not where the writing is going in the show, which is very disappointing. I have no issues with Zeke, or Khary for that matter. It’s just disappointing that they had Carol get together with someone she hardly knew when she’s known Daryl since the beginning of the Turn. It’s true that there’s a possibility that Caryl is endgame, and it wouldn’t happen till the very end of the series. And maybe they’re those types of couples who really didn’t know they wanted to be together until it just clicks one day (I know two friends like that, where everyone thought they would be together eventually because they were such good friends. But it wasn’t until it just randomly clicked for them one day that they decided to give it a chance. She described it as them hanging out at her house and a lightbulb kind of went off and she just said ‘huh, I really like this guy’, and he wound up having the same thoughts... they’re still together :D). 

But for the people who are genuinely curious as to why we ship it and why we’re so disappointed... more than anything, it’s because of a few factors: 

1) Our passion for our ship has only grown b/c of the hatred we’ve gotten, and how often we’ve had to defend it. The more often we’ve defended it, the more emotional we become for our ship because we want to protect it. Those emotions we feel any time we have been attacked, or anytime we were disappointed sticks with you, and creates more and more stress for your fandom.

2) We have been trolled hard up until this filming season, and it feels like a slap in the face. Season 5 was amazing for Caryl the most part, but there were problems with the writing for Carol especially after that, and we didn’t have much Caryl screen time since. But the times we did, they were amazing scenes, and they were also the scenes that AMC would give sneak peaks with b/c they know they bring in viewers. That whole situation with Daryl finding Carol in the house was completely useless to the storyline, yet they put the money and the effort to create it. Carol even said that “she couldn’t lose him”, and Daryl made that selfless decision to not tell her about Glenn and Abraham. Then there was last year where amc’s first promotion photo was Caryl, and they published multiple pics of them two after. They had that photoshoot of the longest running cast members and it felt like a freaking prom shoot, with all of them posing together, one of which had the “couples” together. They even published a valentine’s day card with Daryl and Carol on it with a caption that says “true love”. Lennie James had even said that he didn’t think Morgan would have any relationship with Carol, not if Daryl had anything to say about it. Other shows have referenced Caryl before...

Long story short, we did not imagine this. We didn’t see something that wasn’t there. Even now, with AMC using Mcreedus to promote the new season, it just comes to show that they know Caryl brings in viewers. So to have Carzekiel happen is truly painful because they have dangled a piece of meat in front of us for years, only to give it to another ship. And maybe we have it wrong when it comes to Angela Kang. Maybe she didn’t write this and is actually doing us a favor by leaving no room to imagine that anything is going on with Caryl right now b/c she knows that we’ve been trolled a lot. Maybe she’s actually stopping the whole teasing thing, and if that’s the case then I do respect that. I’m not saying that is what’s going on but that’s always a possibility. But it’s really painful for us because we were teased, and we’re still ‘being used’ to this day for promotional reasons yet they’re doing the exact opposite. 

It’s like when you’ve fallen in love with someone but they wound up saying they don’t feel the same, but at the end they go “but don’t worry, we can still be friends”... BITCH WHY WOULD I WANT TO BE FRIENDS WHEN I OBVIOUSLY WANTED SOMETHING MORE WITH YOU??!!

... I promise I’m calm.

I actually have a friend who’s a Bethyl shipper, and obviously we don’t see eye to eye with some things but we never talk about it with each other (it’s like politics and family). So when I found out about Carzekiel, I confided in her about it and she related with me. She said they teased Bethyl a bit in season 4, and they technically did. With the hand holding, Daryl carrying Beth around the house they stayed in, and even saying that he’s hopeful now because of her. As a caryl shipper, of course I would’ve argued that was more of a father/daughter bond, but now I can see it from her perspective, and how she felt when Beth died. I might not agree with her ship at all, but she understands what it is like to be trolled by amc only to have her heart ripped out, and she was a nice enough friend to not call me out and actually sympathized with me. And I’m grateful for that because she’s helped me more than she knows to cope with this mess.

Anyways, to put a huge explanation into a small summary: I began shipping Caryl (and I still do) because to me they are an amazing duo with intense chemistry, and they seem to be in perfect sync with each other. Soulmates is the perfect adjective to use to describe them because they just get each other, and they’re so close, it’s amazing to watch it on screen. They’re two puzzle pieces that fit perfectly with each other. Having them become romantic would just be an amazing experience to watch, to see two abused people come together like that and discover what it’s like to be deeply in love with someone. Maybe I have romanticized it when I shouldn’t have, but to have two people so close like that, it’s only natural for me to want them to be together romantically because I know they’d be very happy together. 

Am I wrong to be so human?

Anyways, I’d like to hear from other caryl shippers as well. What made you decide to start shipping them. No debates, no hatred for other ships, just a gentle discussion of why we chose this fandom, and how much we loved (and still do) our ship.

#caryl

[shimmershaewrites]

Waltzing's for Dreamers, Chapter 8 (a Walking Dead story, Caryl AU).

Title:  Waltzing's for Dreamers

Ratings:  G. 

Warnings:  No real warnings, unless you count fluffiness.  Implied angst, I guess. 

Characters/Pairings:  mild Carol Peletier/Other, Tobin, allusions to Nabila/Jerry, Sophia Peletier, original character, mentions of Daryl, Glenn Rhee, Tara Chambler, mentions of Maggie Greene. 

 It's 4:30 in the morning and I've been wide awake since about 8 am yesterday so...please forgive any glaring mistakes in this chapter and point me toward them.  I'll fix them when I've had some actual sleep, hahaha.  Insomnia sucks, yeah? 

  Waltzing’s for Dreamers

    Seven years after Vegas.  Less than a week before Valentine’s Day. 

      “Looks like you have company,” Tobin remarks as he turns onto her street.   

  “Looks like it,” Carol muses softly.  Her fingers tighten reflexively around the strap of the purse resting in her lap and she searches his profile, looks for further signs of the faint disappointment that laces his words but they’re not there.  At least not outwardly because that hopeful smile he’s been aiming at her for much of the night remains and guilt almost compels her to blurt out a reluctant invitation when he pulls into her driveway.  Almost.  Instead, she voices a gentle reminder when he parks the car and lets it idle.  “Not for much longer, though.  It’s getting late.” 

   “Walk you to your door?”

  “I hardly think the pizza boy’s lying in wait, just waiting to attack,” she deflects with a close-lipped smile. 

  “Never be too sure about those pizza boys,” he tries again, teasing her and chuckling at his own joke.  Gazing at her with simple, unfettered affection.   

  When his hand leaves the steering wheel and breaches the small distance between them to cup her cheek, Carol ducks her head and his incoming kiss.  It grazes her forehead instead and she gives his forearm an apologetic squeeze in response.  “Not tonight, okay?  It’s getting late and I’m tired.  It’s been such a long week with all the preparations for the dance, and I just…not tonight.” 

  “Not tonight.”  He finally nods.  Drops another kiss to her hair before giving her back her space.  “Say goodnight to the kids for me?” 

  “Of course,” Carol promises in parting.  “I’ll see you Monday.” 

  “Monday,” Tobin echoes. 

  She doesn’t actually turn around to head inside, rather watches until his taillights fade into the distance.  Stands there, arms wrapped around herself for warmth against the slight bite in the night air.  Blue eyes unfocused and teeth worrying her bottom lip until a light goes on in the house across the street and the garage door creaks open, her longtime neighbor emerging and eying her with thinly veiled concern as she approaches, only stopping when she reaches the end of her own driveway.   

  “Everything okay, Ma’am?” 

  Carol’s long since stopped trying to correct her politeness, just accepts it’s her way.  Has been her manner since they met, back when she and Daryl and Sophia first moved into this neighborhood years ago and found her and her husband on their doorstep bearing the gift of warm, sweet peach cobbler that hadn’t lasted the rest of that day.  “I’m fine, Nabila.  Really,” she hastens to add when her claim is met with a healthy dose of skepticism.  “What about you?  The kids have been gushing about the new addition to your family.  Especially Sophia.” 

  Nabila’s face splits into a wide grin and she bends to lift a stubby legged puppy in her arms, dodges the eager little tongue and laughs when her efforts lead the tiny ball of fluff to bark playfully at her.  “Meet Honeydew.  By Dr. Greene’s best guess, he’s a Corgi, Golden retriever mix.” 

  “He?” Carol smirks.  Her question is met with a shrug of the other woman’s shoulders. 

  “By the time we figured out she was actually a he, the name had already stuck.” 

  “Well, He’s every bit as adorable as Sophia claimed.” 

  Nabila puffs up with pride.  “Thank you.” 

  The opportunistic puppy uses her distraction against her, licking her full on in the mouth and wiggling its furry butt in pleasure and the sight melts the rest of Carol’s heavy thoughts from her burdened shoulders, makes her laugh and startle the puppy into yipping. Quite loudly. When her own kitchen light comes on and she sees a little face pressed up against the window framed by ten small fingers, she says her goodbyes.  “I better go.  Looks like someone’s up way past their bedtime.” 

  “Don’t be too hard on him, Ma’am.”

  Carol purses her lips.  “How long have you known me?”

  “Long enough to know not to get on your bad side, Ma’am.” 

  “Nabila,” she protests. 

  Not even a second later, the other woman’s mock serious expression cracks and she beams.  “Long enough to know that boy of yours is going to charm his way out of trouble.  Night, Ma’am.” 

  Nabila’s words turn out to be prophetic because all it takes is one look into her son’s big blue eyes and Carol’s sighing in resignation and overlooking the chocolate milk stains down the front of his Spiderman pajamas.  Leaving her purse on the kitchen table and bending to thumb the pizza sauce from the preschooler’s smooth cheeks.  “What am I going to do with you, huh?”    

  “Make me eat brushy spouts?” 

  “Maybe,” she says, matching her son’s seriousness even though she wants to laugh.  Because her baby boy and Sophia are night and day on the issue of food, and she knows from unfortunate experience that there’s literally nothing the falsely repentant little imp in front of her won’t put into his mouth.  In that manner and so many other heart-twisting ways, he reminds her of his father.  “Maybe we’ll just skip tomorrow’s bedtime story.” 

  “Mama,” he grumbles, folding his short arms across his chest. 

    “I said maybe,” she qualifies with a tiny, helplessly amused smile.  Tugging his arms from his chest, she scoops him up and places him on the cluttered kitchen counter in front of her.  Lifts the lid of the Gargulio’s Pizza box and frowns at finding it empty.  “At least tell me it was good.” 

  He nods, his dark blond bangs falling into his drooping eyes.  “The best.” 

  “You don’t have to brag about it,” she teases with a tweak of his nose that makes him erupt into giggles that she immediately shushes.  “Let’s use those sneaky genes of yours.  See what Glenn and Tara and Sis are up to, ‘kay?” 

  “’kay,” he whispers loudly.  Wraps his arms and legs around her like a sleepy monkey around a vine when she plucks him from the counter and perches him on her hip.  

  He’s warm and sweet and heavy in Carol’s arms when she pads toward the darkened living room in her socked feet.  She snuggles him close and breathes his little boy scent in when she reaches the doorway, lingers there and silently surveys the scene unnoticed. 

  Nestled amidst a sea of pillows and fleece blankets on the bay window seat, Sophia has her nose buried in her latest book of choice.  The tiny book light clipped to its corner illuminates the freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks and the furrow of intense concentration between her strawberry brows.  That said, she’s not as oblivious to their presence or her surroundings as she pretends to be. 

  She’s ever observant, her sensitive baby girl, and the knowledge makes Carol’s throat tighten for reasons she doesn’t want to dwell on so she doesn’t.  She distracts herself with watching the pair with their heads together on her sofa, their faces lit by the glow of the muted television.  Lost in a conversation that makes her brows raise. 

  “I’m just saying, Tara.  I’ve been waiting a long time.” 

  “For two fictional people to smash?  Dude.  Me, too.” 

  “What?  No.  I’m talking about me and Maggie.” 

  “Uh, I hate to break it to you, but there is no you and Maggie.  So smashing's kind of out of the question." 

  “I want there to be a me and Maggie.”

  “Duh,” Sophia interjects without looking up, an expression that’s impressively deadpan on her face.  “Everybody knows that.  Except maybe Maggie.” 

  There’s something else there, just beneath the surface of that look that makes Carol’s heart sink.  Just a little bit.  A shimmery shine to the eyes that never leave their page that opens a door to the future for her, gives her a glimpse of girlish heartache she wishes she could help her little girl avoid. 

  “Maybe she doesn’t want to know,” Tara blurts, not unkindly.  “It’s not like you don’t trip all over your feelings every time you see her.  And seriously.  Everybody knows Gargulio’s doesn’t deliver as far as the Greene farm.  Literally everybody.  It’s in the middle of freaking nowhere.” 

  Crestfallen, Glenn runs his hands over the cap on his head.  Squeezes the bill and moans.  “Everybody?” 

  Carol announces her presence with a sympathy laden agreement.  “Everybody.” 

  Tara straightens from her slouch.  Winces when she sees her littlest charge nodding off in his mama’s arms.  “Again?” 

  “Again.” 

  “Ninja skills must be hereditary.  Jeez.  Want me to take him upstairs?” she offers. 

  “Like that worked so well the first time,” Glenn comes back to himself enough to mutter.  “Everybody?” he asks again, his face falling when they all nod in response.  “I am such an idiot.  I’m stupid to even think she would notice me.  To even like me like that.” 

  “No, you’re not,” Sophia speaks up, immediately hiding her pink cheeks behind her book when she realizes she has their undivided attention.  “I just mean…I just meant…you’re nice.  Is all.” 

  “Yeah,” her little man mumbles his drowsy endorsement against her neck, making everybody but Glenn himself smile. “Best pizza.” 

  “Pizza.”  Glenn’s eyes brighten and he jumps up from the couch, barely even waving a goodbye as he pulls on his jacket and heads toward the door.  “That’s it!  I know what I have to do.”

  “Should I stop him?” Tara asks.  “I should stop him.”  Shrugging on her own jacket, she ruffles both children’s hair before rushing after her friend.  “Glenn!  Dude, wait up!”  Ducking her pigtailed head around the door one more time before yanking it closed behind her, she holds up her phone.  “Call me if you need anything.” 

  Then she’s gone.  Both of them are and Sophia huffs, tosses her book aside in disgust.  Stands up and tucks herself against Carol’s other side.  “Boys are so stupid.”  

  The heat of her little girl’s would be tears warms her skin beneath the thin, loose sweater she wears, and her heart hurts for her when she struggles to hold her not-so-hidden feelings inside with a sniffle.  Mindful of the little boy drifting off to dreamland in her arms, Carol agrees.  Somewhat.  “Not all of them and not all of the time.  But yeah.  They are." 

#The Walking Dead #Caryl fanfiction #Caryl #Carol x Daryl #stuff that I write #Waltzing's for Dreamers #aka What Happens in Vegas Stays in Vegas fic #Tobin #Nabila #Jerry #Sophia Peletier #original character #mention of Daryl Dixon #Tara Chambler #Glenn Rhee #mention of Maggie Greene #fluff #and minor angst #mild Carol/Other

[shimmershae]

Enough.  Rated M.  (a Walking Dead One Shot, Caryl.  With some hints of Andrea/Michonne and unrequited Milton/Andrea).

I don't even know with this, lol.  Apparently, my brain works in mysterious ways when it's all sleep deprived and hyped up on dark chocolate. 

 This is quite possibly the weirdest and smuttiest thing I've ever posted, hahaha.  I hope you enjoy. 

 Post Season 3/Early Season 4 AU/Canon Divergence. What if Merle's ambush of the Governor had worked and he killed him?  With Michonne's help?  How would that have changed life at the Prison and the Woodbury community? 

 Shae's attempt at course correction. 

 Andrea lives and things get even more complicated.  Milton pines.  Merle takes the grudging respect he's earned and ingratiates himself within the Prison community.  And Carol and Daryl?  They're growing into feelings that have been there all along. 

 “Just want you, Sweetheart.  Anything else, well.  Don’t need it.  It’s a fucked up world we livin’ in.  Got enough right here."    

 Family, Humor, Dixon Potty Mouth, a touch of Angst, and some (hopefully sweet and sexy) Smut. 

“Better have a good reason for wakin’ me up at the ass-crack of dawn,” Daryl muttered tiredly, not even bothering to crack an eye open when he heard the heavy fall of boots pause just outside of his cell.  He was bone tired, drug down and weary, and he hadn’t even bothered to shuck his vest when he’d stumbled up the stairs the night before.  He’d just let his crossbow slide from his battered shoulder and collapsed face first into the pitiful excuse for a mattress, not even caring in the slightest that the stench of pig shit still clung stubbornly to the threadbare rags he called clothes.  He fucking hated pigs, the distant promise of bacon or not, and he and Rick were overdue a little talk.  It wasn’t the former cop’s shadow darkening his door, though.  The man’s sanity might have taken a lasting hit with the loss of his wife, but even he had enough sense not to disturb Daryl’s hard-earned rest unless it was an emergency, and they hadn’t had all that many of those since that one-eyed Woodbury bastard’s bloody demise.  No.   There were two people left in this sideways world brave enough to risk threatened dismemberment when he was this dead beat and ornery, and he was reasonably sure it wasn’t Carol—there’d been more than one reason she’d earned the nickname Mouse from his brother.  His dumbass, horn dog, dick of a brother who chose that moment to rattle his blade across the bars of Daryl’s cell and whistle at him through his crooked, nicotine-stained teeth, ending his chances of drifting back to any semblance of sleep.  “Dammit, Merle.  I’m tellin’ ya…”

  “Rise and shine, Baby Brother,” Merle cut him off.  “Someone’s at the door.” 

    ~*~

    “Whatsa matter, Miltie?” Merle asked as he pulled up a chair and straddled it, peering into the other man’s ashen, sweaty face while running the tip of his blade beneath his frayed sleeve.  “Thought you had lots of experience with this sort of thing, bein’ a scientist and all.  Hell.  Didn’t they used to be a show on that Discovery Channel ‘bout birthin’ babies?  Didn’t look all that complicated to me.” 

  “Cut it out, Merle,” Daryl warned with a scowl, his steps still a little sluggish as he paced the perimeter of the reclaimed Prison library.  He’d hoped the quiet solitude of the place and its relative distance from the infirmary where Maggie and Carol had hurriedly ushered Andrea would calm the man’s obvious nerves, but in the usual manner of things, his brother had butted in where he wasn’t invited, and well.  Mamet looked like he was up to his ass in alligators.  Or maybe facing execution at the clawing hands and snapping jaws of a hungry army of dead fucks.  Neither proposition was appealing and Daryl went against his natural inclination.  “Know she’ll be alright, right?  S’got Maggie and Carol.  Hershel and Bob with her.”  

  The pale man snapped out of his worried stupor long enough to frown.  “Who’s Bob?” 

    ~*~

    Beth sought them out mid-afternoon, Judith bouncing in her skinny arms.  Her blue eyes were earnest when she updated them on how Andrea was doing.  “Daddy says she’s in the final stages of it now.  Shouldn’t be too much longer ‘til the baby’s here.” 

  An obnoxious, shit-eating grin stretched Merle’s blunt features wide and he slapped both hands against the table in front of him.  “Hear that, Bill Nye?” 

  Mamet merely nodded and took a deep breath. 

  He looked less like a concerned friend and confidante in that moment and even more like a scared-shitless expectant daddy-to-be, and Daryl suppressed a groan because he was observant and he weren’t no fool, having spent the last several months growing into a friendship with Michonne.  In this new world, labels didn’t mean shit—not that he figured ‘Chonne had come up with one that reflected all that their ball-bustin’ former companion meant to her.  And that was before Andrea fucked around with that sociopathic sonuvabitch and thrown her for a loop, created a rift between them that they still hadn’t breached completely.  “S’good,” he finally said, pulling a hand down over his face.  His nostrils flared and he grimaced, remembering belatedly to thank the shy teen for her shared news.  “Appreciate it, Beth.”

  “Welcome,” she smiled, hitching Judith higher on her hip and turning heel.  “And Daryl,” she called, her blond ponytail bobbing as she peeked back around the door.  “Zach said he’d cover your watch shift.  Said he don’t mind at all.” 

  Daryl nodded.  “Owe him one.” 

    ~*~

    Bored with blowing smoke up Mamet’s ass, Merle had finally wandered off and left the two of them alone. Probably he was going to pester some of the kids that’d joined their growing ranks in the last several months.  Hopefully, he was going to steer well enough away from Glenn, tentative truce or not since his and Michonne’s impulsive but ultimately successful ambush of the Governor.

  On the one hand, Daryl was relieved.  But on the other, he weren’t much for conversation, least not anymore and not with virtual strangers.  Former association with the Governor aside, though, the scientist seemed like decent people, and Daryl supposed he should make the effort.  “Why?” 

  Mamet appeared taken aback by the simple question, his only immediate response a frown. 

  “Why come here?” Daryl elaborated.  “Had a nurse in Woodbury.  A real doctor even.” 

  “She needed her family,” the man answered simply.  “It’s been difficult for her.  The pregnancy.  Assuming the mantle of leadership.  She needed her family and who am I to deny her that?” 

  Daryl took a moment to digest the given information and stood back up, his fingers fidgeting for a cigarette that wasn’t there.  “You’re a good friend.” 

  “Yeah,” Mamet sighed in resignation, standing up and starting to pace himself.  “A good friend.”  A few trips up and down the library’s aisles and he stopped dead in his tracks, his brow furrowed with concern.  “Shouldn’t we have heard something by now?” 

   “How’s ‘bout we go find out for ourselves?” Daryl offered. 

    ~*~

    Andrea’s son was born with the setting of the sun.  He was loud and had a lot to say about the matter and damn near everybody behind the Prison’s walls knew about it, too. 

  “Kid’s got Blondie’s mouth,” Merle drawled, not without a little bit of fondness.  Producing a flask from his pocket, he held it out to the man sitting across from him.  “Careful,” he warned.  “Want to drink it down fast.  Stuff there’ll singe the hair off a wild boar’s balls.” 

  Mamet gulped it down fast, coughing and sputtering right on cue and looking a little green. 

  “The hell, Merle.  Man ain’t eat a bite all day,” Daryl barked, confiscating the flask from the overwhelmed man’s hands before he could down another shot of the stuff.  Taking an experimental sniff, he swore.  “Fuck is that?” 

  “Home brew, Baby Brother.”  Merle grinned.  “Ole Merle’s secret recipe.  Mouse likes it.  Makes ‘er all giggly.” 

  Daryl’s eyebrows disappeared in his shaggy hairline before he recovered his wits about him and the glare on his face was murderous as he growled out a single word in warning.  “Merle.”  Thankfully, reason intervened in the form of Maggie and he backed down, his anger deflated. 

  “Mr. Mamet?  She’s asking for you.” 

    ~*~

    Staring down at the red-faced newborn ‘Chonne held in the cradle of her arms, Daryl was hit with a revelation that wasn’t such a revelation at all:  DNA wasn’t worth a hill of beans.  Yeah, maybe if he squinted a little he could see the Governor’s chin and dark peach fuzz covered the kid’s funny shaped head.  But he snuggled all soft and innocent into the kisses gifted to him from the old man’s girls and he held on tight to Carl’s little finger, and shit.  This family of choice and circumstance was going to be the difference.  Of course, his brother chose that moment to interject his own two cents. 

  “Hate to break it to you, Sugar Tits,” Merle announced loudly from where he lurked in the open doorway, “but he don’t look nothin’ like the Nubian Queen.” 

  ‘Chonne just rolled her eyes but Andrea did something surprising.  She laughed softly and invited him inside.  Looking over at the quiet man that stood by her side, she grabbed his hand and gave it a tired squeeze, teased, “What do you think, Milton?  Does he have your eyes?”

  “No,” Milton pronounced seriously.  “He’s got yours.” 

    ~*~

    The showers were deserted by the time Daryl finally made it to them, lit only by the high moon’s light.  Resting his bundle of clean clothes on a nearby bench, he stripped bare, peeling the layers of the last couple days away and stepping into the curtained stall.  Lukewarm water sputtered from the wide spout, but after all those long winter months on the road, it still felt like a luxury and he dipped his head beneath the stream, his shoulders sagging with the weight of the day.  He didn’t even open his eyes when he heard the soft pad of footsteps or felt her slender arms wrap around his waist from behind. 

  “Mmm.”  Carol removed her lips from his damp shoulder to wrinkle her nose.  “You smell.” 

  He grunted out a laugh and tugged her arms tight around him again, relishing the soft press of her breasts against his skin.  “Really?  No shit.” 

  Lifting on tiptoe, she nipped playfully at the tendons in his neck in retaliation, her fingertips skating around his navel before dropping below his narrow waist.  She smirked when she held the silky steel length of him in her hand and he shuddered in response. 

  A guttural groan tumbled from his open mouth as she started to work him over with slow, steady strokes, and he braced his weight against the shower stall, widening his stance unconsciously.  “Careful, Sweetheart.” 

  “Hmm?” she murmured, swiping her thumb across the sensitive head of his cock and dropping one kiss, then two and a third to the base of his neck.

  “Got a hair trigger tonight,” he warned as her slippery skin pressed even more firmly into his own. 

  “Just tonight, Pookie?” she teased with another kiss, this one to the round of his shoulder. 

  “Stop,” he grumbled.   

  “If you really want me to,” she said and her grip loosened until he sighed and covered her hand with his own. 

  “Gonna make it up to ya,” he vowed. 

  Her lips tickling over his spine, she smiled.  “I’m counting on it.” 

    ~*~

    Squeezed in tight together in her bunk, beneath the blankets and the cover of a midnight sky, between the cradle of her warm thighs, Daryl rose above her.  Over and over, he surged forward and pressed deep, deeper and deeper until her blue eyes melted into black and fire licked at the freckles on her collarbone. 

  Carol’s mouth parted on silent moan after silent moan, mindful of the sleepy murmurs of night and the Prison all around them.  Her nails scored his back and her heels dug into the clenched muscles of his ass.  She couldn’t help but let out a whimper when he dropped his forehead to her own briefly before finding her throat and sucking the tender skin into his mouth.  She shuddered when his whisper reached her ear.  

  “Gonna have to be quiet, Sweetheart.”  He nipped at her chin with his teeth before swallowing her soft cries with his kiss, just as slow and sweet and intent as his thrusts were, and when she started to whine and sweep her restless hands through his damp hair, he gathered her close and sat up, loving the way she felt in his lap.  She was wet and warm and a little bit wild from how worked up he’d gotten her, her hips rolling restlessly and her hard little nipples dragging across his chest with every movement. 

  “Can’t.”  Her breath caught and released in a helpless gasp as he pushed up into her, one hand bracing himself against her thin mattress and the other gliding low over the small of her sweaty back.  “Daryl, I can’t.” 

  “Shh,” he murmured into her open mouth.  “You can.  Know you can.”  He nuzzled her brow, feathered his lips over the softness of her silver hair as he felt his own whine start to build in the back of his throat.  She was so tight, so goddamn tight, and fuck.  He saw the pinprick shine of stars as she squeezed around his dick and took him deeper, her legs starting to shake as her knees dug into the mattress.  A string of quiet, desperate curses tore from his throat.  “Tell me what you need, Woman.  Fuck, Carol.  Tell me.”  His hand slid over her ass, his thumb teasing briefly at the puckered skin between her cheeks, before she grabbed it in her own and guided it to that sweet spot between her legs and she was like a live wire in his arms when he slicked his fingers with her wetness and drug them deliberately across her little bud.  Then she was coming all around him in a flood of pulsating, milking warmth, her mouth pressed against the curve of his neck in a silent scream and her heart beating violently against his chest and he followed right behind her, collapsing to the mattress below when his arm wouldn’t support their weight any longer.  Gasping and panting for breath, he cupped her head in his shaky hand and pulled her into him for a sloppy, heartfelt kiss.  “Fuckin’ love ya.” 

  When it was over, she looked down at him with glittering, tearful eyes, her pretty bruised mouth parted and ready to respond to him when a familiar voice tiredly but gleefully rang out in the night. 

  “Daryl loves Carol!”  Then, a little quieter, “Not like we didn’t know that already, Man.” 

  “Glenn,” Maggie could be heard hissing at her husband.  She followed up with an apology.  “Sorry.  He’s sorry, Carol.” 

  “Didn’t know you had it in you, Brother.”

  Rick’s voice held a note of wry embarrassment, and Daryl felt steam start to waft from his fiery cheeks.  Of course, Merle couldn’t resist joining the peanut gallery. 

  “That’s my fuckin’ Baby Brother,” he crowed proudly.  “Boy’s all Dixon.” 

  “Not that I don’t think congratulations are in order,” Hershel’s wizened, molasses-drenched voice intoned, “but could we please keep in mind that there are children present?” 

  “Yeah.” 

  Carl sounded disgusted, and Carol hid her own burning cheeks in the juncture of his neck. 

  “I’m so happy for you, Carol,” Beth sweetly conveyed her congratulations. 

  Finally, exhausted and embarrassed beyond all measure, Daryl had had enough.  “For the love of…this ain’t the fuckin’ Waltons!”  Carol shook against him with helpless laughter that the others echoed, and he dragged lazy fingers across her tailbone in retaliation.  “Woman,” he warned.  He promptly hushed, though, when she lay two fingers across his scowling mouth and gazed down at him with blue eyes that were all soft and shiny. 

  “I loved you first,” she smiled. 

  “Pfft,” he scoffed.  “So sure ‘bout that?” 

  “I know you.” 

  ~*~

  The next morning, Daryl watched her from the infirmary doorway as she finished pinning the baby’s diaper and scooped the little boy up, snuggling him close.  She peppered his pudgy pink cheeks with kisses as she hummed and swayed in place, and the sweet sight had his throat closing up and his heart beating a bruising rhythm against his ribs.  “Look good.  Holdin’ him.”  The words were out of his mouth before he could take them back, and he felt warmth creep up his neck when she whirled around to face him, a careful smile on her face. 

  “Do you want to…”  She trailed off meaningfully, her feet carrying her to where he stood.  She didn’t give him time enough to answer her unasked question, just stepped in close, toe to toe with him until the newborn was a warm, sighing weight pressed between them. 

  His arms curled around the little body of their own accord, and a pair of unfocused blue eyes blinked up at him before drifting shut again.  An unconscious smile tugged at his lips when the boy’s small rosebud mouth opened in a yawn, and he looked up when he felt her eyes on him.  “What?” 

  Carol ducked her head and shook it, her fingers fiddling nervously with the fuzzy green socks that swallowed up the baby’s wiggling feet.  “Nothing.” 

  Daryl knew better and his rough hand was gentle on her elbow, then on her wavering chin.  “Hey.  Know it’s something.”  Her protests were soft, but it didn’t take her long to open up about what was bothering her, and he kissed her hair when she wrapped her arms around him and Andrea’s infant son. 

  “You look good.  Holding him.  I can’t help wondering…”  Changing track, she apologized to him in strangled whispers, her tears soaking into the worn fabric of his shirt.  “I’m sorry.  I just…I don’t know what’s come over me.  It’s just…” 

  “He reminds you how much you miss ‘Phia,” Daryl finished for her. 

  “That,” Carol admitted with a nod.  “It’s not just him.  It’s Judith, too.  Daryl, don’t you…”  Breaking off again, she forced the rest of her thoughts and fears to the surface.  “I want that for you.  A baby of your own.  And I don’t even know if I could…I don’t even know if I would want to after what happened.  But I want you to have the chance, if you want it.” 

  “Just want you, Sweetheart.  Anything else, well.  Don’t need it.  It’s a fucked up world we livin’ in.  Got enough right here,” he told her.  It was the absolute truth.  Still.  Dropping another kiss to her hair, he leaned back and looked into her eyes.  “Be a lie to say I hate the idea, but you?  You’re all I need.  Love’s what makes a family.  Bein’ there.” 

  “Daryl Dixon, you softie.” 

  “Stop.” 

  “You really think so?” 

  “Know it.  Now what you say we get this little man back to his mama?”  He transferred the little boy back into her arms and the corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. 

  She paused in tucking the blanket around the baby’s tiny shoulders and narrowed her eyes.  “What?” 

  “Nothin’,” he shrugged.  “Fine,” he relented when her gaze remained fixed.  “Don’t mean we can’t steal him sometimes.” 

  Carol’s lips twitched with the makings of a smile of her own.  “He is pretty cute, but I think you’re going to have to go through Michonne and Mr. Mamet first.”   

  “’Chonne’s easy.  Milton, well.  Feel sorry for the poor bastard.” 

  “Daryl!” 

  “What?  Do.” 

#The Walking Dead #Caryl fanfiction #Caryl smut #Carol x Daryl #hints of Michonne/Andrea #unrequited Milton/Andrea #Prison fic #stuff that I write #things that make me smile and cry #and want to hide beneath the nearest rock #what even is this? #LOL

[dracox-serdriel]

The Second Death - Chapter 8: Into the Future

Title: The Second Death [AO3] [FF] [LJ] Chapter: Into the Future Universes: Superdead (Supernatural/Walking Dead) Crossover Pairings: Dean Winchester/Castiel (Destiel), Carol Pelletier/Daryl Dixon (Caryl) Word count: ~2,400 Spoilers: All episodes of Supernatural through 07x23. All episodes of Walking Dead through 06x16. Rating: NC-17/MA Timeline: Supernatural, after episode 07x23 and Walking Dead, after episode 06x09. Summary: When Dean and Castiel take down big daddy Leviathan Dick Roman, the blast catapults them into a special kind of hell, where the living must survive in in a post-apocalyptic world filled with the Walking Dead. Desperate to learn how long they've been gone and what happened in their absence, Dean and Cas search for any sign of what went wrong, which is difficult in a world where all infrastructure has failed and strangers can't be trusted. Together they search for Sam Winchester in the middle of an apocalypse that's managed overrun the planet, and they're more than a little surprised to run into a group of survivors that'd give most Hunters a run for their money.

Meanwhile, after Daryl's attempt to bring new people back to Alexandria backfires, he looks for any excuse to hit the road for a few days. Carol, unwilling to let him go on his own, demands to join him. A basic run turns into something else when they run into two strangers who have no trouble dispatching walkers and don't seem to operate under the new world order. In fact, they seem completely lost.

Read the Second Death on LJ, AO3, or from the beginning on Tumblr.

The Second Death Chapter 8: Into the Future

Castiel was not in the mood for incredulous facial expressions or tedious inquiry. He was already staring down the former, and the fact that none of his companions had moved - or even responded - to his declaration indicated that the latter was soon to follow.

Sure enough, Dean began, "Cas - "

"Follow me," he interjected before turning on his heel and walking away.

Dean was at his side in an instant, and - much to Castiel's surprise - Daryl and Carol joined them after only a few moments of angry whispering. So the angel kept his eyes forward and his pace quick, not affording any opportunity to ask questions. They'd be answered soon enough.

He'd already cleared the way, but the animated undead were legion, shuffling in from the depths of the forest. They weren't close enough to be a threat, yet he felt an overwhelming desire to annihilate each and every one of them.

He couldn't explain why, but these mindless drones set him on edge. Their futile attacks, their constant growls and groans, their haphazard ambulation... it was all irritating, but it wasn't what made him want to lash out. This resentment ran deep, far deeper than recoiling at how they filled their rot stomachs with living flesh that could do nothing but putrefy.

The dead should never be hungry; it was an affront to nature.

But that was hardly important now.

He turned his attention to where it could be of use: their immediate surroundings. They were at a dense thicket of trees that were covered in blood, guts, and flesh.

"The hell happened here," Daryl mumbled.

Cas kept going until he reached the next clearing. He'd made his initial attack here. In keeping his promise to Dean, he'd opted for an attack any human could pull off. And as a result, the innards of the recently living as well as the walking dead had splattered in every direction, covering the area in a layer of remains.

"Sonova bitch," Dean said quietly.

Cas looked at Carol and saw that, though she had said nothing, she was just as shocked as the others. Perhaps he would've been affected by the scene had he not been the cause of it.

"There were a dozen of them," he explained. "Heavily armed."

"With bombs?" Carol asked.

"No, that was me," Cas replied.

"We don't have the supplies for bombs," Dean said, though it was clear from the look on his face that he regretted saying it immediately.

"I used the Drano we found at the garage," he explained.

"Last I checked, Drano don't explode," Daryl said harshly.

"It does if it's mixed with aluminum foil and water," Carol said. "Teenagers in my old neighborhood used to make bottle bombs for pranks."

"You gonna explain why you did this?" Dean asked.

"Yes," Cas said. "I saw their group from the garage, but they all went in different directions. I wanted to see what they had in there."

He pointed to a medium-sized box truck outfitted with perches on all sides.

"Supplies, a lot of them," the angel continued as Daryl broke away to check it out himself. "I hadn't planned on confronting them until I heard their radio communicaitons."

"Communicating what?"

"They were hunting people to exploit and kill," the angel replied harshly. "And I wasn't going to let them."

"Do you remember what they said?" Carol asked, her voice suddenly urgent.

"Every word," he said. "I stole supplies and hid so I could make 'bottle bombs' as you called them. I put a few in the clearing, then planted a few on the undead. As soon as the first wave of those men came back, their motorcycles attracted them, and - "

"Boom," Dean concluded.

Cas nodded his head in agreement.

"And that killed them?" Carol asked.

"No," he replied. "But all of them seemed to think that anyone who was cut or stabbed by zombie shrapnel was 'contaminated' and had to die."

"Makes sense," she said. "Being bitten or scratched by a walker can infect you, being impaled on a rib would also. They put their own people down? Right away?"

Cas nodded his head, yes.

"The few who turned up after the explosions had to deal with more undead then they had bullets for," he added. "I... helped from on top of the truck."

"However you did it, it's a good thing you did," Carol said. "The woman we saved back there - Barbara - her people have run into them before."

"Come see this!" Daryl yelled from the truck.

Carol went immediately, but Cas held his arm out to stop Dean. "We could leave," he suggested.

"What?"

"We could leave," he repeated. "I can put Daryl and Carol to sleep, leave them in their car with some supplies. We take the rest and leave."

"You know something I don't?" Dean asked.

"This isn't where we belong," he replied. "We're taking sides in a war we know nothing about."

"If you feel that way, then why all this," the hunter replied, waving his arms. "You could've zapped back to the garage with no one the wiser. But you didn't because you found out what they were doing and knew that they were on the wrong side of things."

"And what about them?" Cas asked, tipping his head towards the truck with their traveling companions. "How do we know that they're on the right side of things?"

Dean shrugged as he said, "Only time will tell."

He didn't wait for another question or a reply, and as he walked over to the truck, the angel felt a gnawing sense of dread that they were making an alliance they could never take back, regardless of what time revealed.

It was just one more thing that Castiel couldn't explain, and at the moment, he didn't have the luxury of introspection.

Carol's jaw dropped of its own accord when she got into the back of the truck. Somebody had welded shelving and seating into the interior as well as a vertical ladder that led to a homemade hatch to the roof.

A dozen people could easily fit back here with months of supplies. It would be easy enough to set up sleeping bags with shifts for keeping watch. As long as they had gas, they could be a completely mobile unit.

"Got it rigged for snipers up there," Daryl said as he descended from the hatch. "Harnesses and everything."

"And a working radio/walkie talkie system," she added. "Who are these people?"

Daryl palmed through what was laying around. It looked like mostly hitching equipment and mechanic's toolkits.

"They blocked the ramp," she said, the conclusion falling out of her mouth before she even realized she'd thought of it.

"You think?" Daryl asked, clearly not convinced.

"Barbara told me they tried to clear the ramp before they decided to take another route," she replied. "I doubt these people are the kind to sit around and wait for other people's traps to work."

"You trust her?" he asked.

"Enough to believe her about this."

It wasn't an answer. She knew that. But she doubted Barbara and Randy had enough wits between them to fake an argument like the one she witnessed.

"We agreed on a rendezvous point," Carol continued. "Two weeks from now, to share information about this other group."

Daryl's hair bounced limply as he shook his head, obviously not happy with the arrangement.

"I only said I'd take it to our group," she added. "No promises."

"Yeah, well, you know my vote," he replied as he moved into the cab.

She gave herself a minute to collect herself. Without distraction, her thoughts drifted to the man she'd killed less than an hour ago, and she let them. Now she knew who he worked with and what his people were doing, and the doubt that nearly drowned her this morning evaporated.

That time, at least, she'd done the right thing. It wasn't an answer, but it was enough for now.

Clanging metal drew her to the cab, where Daryl sat, perplexed. "The hell they doing out there?"

Dean and Cas were chaining something metal to the front of the truck, and while she couldn't figure out why, she did know they didn't have time. The walkers they passed earlier were here.

"We've got to leave," Carol said out the window as she started the truck. "Now."

"We will make little progress without this," Cas replied. "The undead are blocking the road."

"I'll see what they got," Daryl said before he disappeared into the back.

At least she could count on one person to have some sense.

She adjusted the seat so she could reach the pedals better; whoever had been driving this thing must've been six and a half feet tall.

They'd gotten one side tied down before the walkers got too close. Dean broke away and took them down with his machete as Cas began to chain the passenger's side.

"Just leave it and get it!" she yelled. "There's plenty of ammo in this thing."

Cas kept working, though, until he'd finished whatever he'd been doing. Then he climbed into the passenger side and went straight to the back without another word.

"Clean up while you're back there," she called after him.

It wasn't like he needed to. Hell, she'd looked worse than him before, but, for whatever reason, she didn't want to turn up at Alexandria with him looking like that.

"Let's go," Dean said as he climbed in. "Cowcatcher should work for long enough to get us out to the main road."

If she hadn't been driving, Carol would've given him a look for that comment. She turned around and got them pointed toward the small service road, but it was no good.

"Too many walkers," she said. "Grab a weapon and get up there with Daryl and Cas. We need to clear them."

"Just drive."

"If I drive, the bodies will pile up against the undercarriage, get caught up in everything. We'll lose steering before we get ten feet."

"I'm telling you, that's what the cowcatcher is for," Dean repeated.

She had no idea what on earth a cowcatcher was or why anyone would think it was a term people knew. She turned her head to give him the look, and when she did, she met his eye.

"Trust me," he said. "Even if it doesn't seem like it, Cas and I know what we're doing. Mostly."

Carol couldn't tell if she trusted him or simply didn't want to waste time arguing, but she started driving anyway.

"Damn," she said to herself as the walkers bounced to either side of the truck as they came in contact with the metal.

"I bet Cas ten bucks that you could split them if you went over thirty," Dean said with a smile.

She hadn't heard anyone betting money in such a long time, it took her a second to understand what he'd said.

He continued, "But he said something about it not being a real cowcatcher so it could break if we tried to go that fast."

"A cowcatcher?" she repeated.

"Yeah... like they use on trains," he explained. "That's what we called them back home anyway. Guess it's a regional thing."

She kept their speed around twenty miles per hour in case Cas was right about it breaking.

"You boys have anything else up your sleeves?" she asked.

Dean didn't reply, pretending as if he was too busy fiddling with the radio to hear her. It didn't take him long to tune in on human voices.

"Hawk Four responding," a man said.

"Status update," another man replied.

"Got a fucking huge herd," the first man said. "Right where Hawk Three was supposed to set up their sweep."

"Run a clean up and extract whatever you can," the second voice said. "The boss does not want one of our trucks out there."

"You got it, Eagle's Nest. Hawk Four out."

Static gargled across the radio, then nothing.

"They must be using a different frequency for short-range transmissions," Dean said. "Let's see if we can't spy on these assholes."

As Carol drove through a sea of parting walkers, she could only hope they managed to put enough distance between themselves and whatever Hawk Four meant by 'cleanup.'

Daryl decided to keep watch on top of the truck, hooked into a decent sniper's perch. It wasn't as good as being on a bike, but it was damn close.

Cas joined him for about an hour, helping to thin out the walkers on the road for the truck, even though it seemed to be doing fine without their help. As soon as they reached the main road, though, Cas left because Carol had ordered him to clean up.

Of course she did. The man looked like he'd just slaughtered a small village, looked worse than Rick after he'd tore a man's throat out. No way in hell Carol would turn up at Alexandria with Cas in this state, not without at least trying to rinse him off first.

That led him to how the man in the trench coat got so bloodied up to begin with.

He didn't let himself think about it at first. He knew the people who had this truck were bad news as soon as he heard the name Negan. Taking them out was self-preservation, plain and simple. He wouldn't fault Cas for seeing it faster than he did.

But then it got dark, and his mind started wandering, and he realized the story wasn't adding up.

Cas said he used Drano from the garage, but why the hell did he take Drano with him to begin with?

If his plan had always been to make a bottle bomb for a distraction or something, then he was basically carrying Drano hoping he'd find what he'd need. But if he hadn't had a plan - or if his plan hadn't involved explosives - then what did he take the Drano for?

And who the hell even thought of shit like that to begin with? It seemed like the kind of thing Eugene would think of, but as far as Daryl knew, Alexandria's resident survivor-nerd hadn't thought of it.

At some point, Cas returned to help keep watch, and Daryl wanted to ask him about it... that, and why he'd gone out without any damn backup.

But then he caught something in how Cas stared out into the dark. Something that reminded Daryl of himself.

Would he have waited for backup had he been in Cas's position? Would he have shown any kind of mercy when he saw who he was dealing with? Would he tell two new faces the ugly truth so they could see how far gone he really was?

Nah.

He decided to talk to Carol about it first chance he got, just in case, but for now, he let the silence settle in.

For previous and next chapters, please go to The Second Death main Tumblr page.

Author’s notes: I've been really bad at replying to comments, and I'm very sorry about that. Believe me when I say that reading your comments is the best part of my day. I plan to reply to all of them as soon as I can. Thank you for all your support and patience!

I hope you've enjoyed this latest installment. Hopefully the next update will be out in the next week or two! 

#superdead #the walking dead #supernatural #twd x spn #spn x twd #crossover fanfic #crossover fic #caryl #destiel #carol peletier #daryl dixon #dean winchester #castiel #twd #spn #walking dead #superdead crossover #superdead crossover fic #supernatural fic #spn fanfic #spn ff #the walking dead fic #walking dead fic #twd fanfic #twd ff #the second death #tsd #dean winchester x castiel #castiel x dean winchester

[theresnosafeharbor4myships]

a Christmas Caryl, them together and warming my heart. Merry Christmas! <3

Back For Good (also on 9L)

Daryl heard the news from Tara and headed straight for the bedroom he’d claimed to get the bag from the closet’s top shelf.

He’d grabbed it all a few days ago in defiance and anger, stuffing the items into his backpack. They didn’t need it anymore and had never deserved it in the first place. He’d gone through it all when he’d gotten back, choosing a few select items for her and distributing the rest to the others in their group. He just hadn’t expected to be giving them to her so soon.

Tara had said she’d be next door settling in, and he rushed out the back door and across the yard, shrinking the distance between them as fast as he could—until he reached for the door handle.

She’d come back. Only a few days had passed since the war ended and he’d watched Carol walk away with the Kingdom dwellers. She’d said goodbye, even hugged him—God, he shouldn’t have let her go again, not in this world—but then she skirted away to help rebuild the city that’d helped them win by losing so much.

He wanted to see her, needed to know she was okay, and, more pressing, why she’d chosen to come back to Alexandria.

He pushed through his doubt and the door, calling her name.

“In the living room,” Carol responded.

The sound of her voice soothed him in a way he hadn’t felt since the prison, since the times when he’d return after days, sometimes weeks, out on the road, and the sound of her voice welcoming him back made the world seem less skewed than it’d actually become and everything he’d endured on the road somehow worth it. He hadn’t realized how much he’d come to rely on that—on her—until this moment and all the memories of feeling like home overwhelmed him. It’d been so long…

He made his way through the kitchen, steeling himself—his heart—against the onslaught of emotions that always bowled him over when reuniting with her, and stepped into the living room.

She sat on the couch, removing the Kingdom gear she wore across her chest and on her arms, looking out of place in the home that wasn’t hers, and he instantly wondered if she regretted her decision to come back. His chest tightened at the thought, so badly wanting to believe she’d returned for good that it hadn’t crossed his mind until now that it could be temporary.

She looked pensive, unsure, and entirely stunning, her hair framing her face in silvery curls, her round eyes seeking him out.

“Hi,” she stated simply, breaking the still air between them.

He gripped the small bag tighter in his hand and made himself speak. “Hey.”

She stared at him for several moments, drinking in the familiar sight of him, tall, lean, wearing a knife at his hip and his crossbow on his back, those worn, patched pants he kept washing but refused to get rid of, a dark blue, long-sleeved shirt under his ever-present angel-wing vest. He peered at her through his overgrown hair, his gaze intense and cautious but kind.

Her heart seized in her chest. How she’d missed him.

She patted the cushion next to her. “Come sit with me,” she invited.

Daryl moved through the room silently, removing his bow and leaving space between them as he tucked one leg underneath him and sat sideways, facing her, surreptitiously dropping the bag near his feet as he propped his weapon against the couch.

Carol turned toward him, and the room grew silent again as they both watched her pick at the flawless couch cushion with one hand.

Daryl had plenty to say, a myriad of things to ask her, but as he often did, he kept quiet, reveling in the fact she sat not two feet from him. Unharmed, seemingly content, and, as was their way, comfortable enough in silence that she didn’t immediately try to fill it. He felt as though the world had shifted since he’d last seen her, and he realized the last time they’d spent time alone was at that cottage she’d stayed in. Had that really only been a week ago? He wanted to know everything that’d happened to her since he’d left that night—and everything before that, when they’d forgotten they could lean on each other. He didn’t begrudge her her new-found friends and would be forever grateful that Morgan—who’d disappeared—and Ezekiel and Jerry and the others had taken her in and helped her heal. Still…he’d missed her. Still did, even as she sat in front of him, with all of the trauma and time and evil deeds they’d done lying like so much rubble between them.

He’d spend the rest of his life wading through the muck and mire of it if it meant she’d stay with him. He hoped he’d get the chance…

He glanced up to see her still staring at the couch, waiting for him to say something.

“Tara told me you’re back for good,” he broke the silence, and they both heard the question he couldn’t ask: Is it true?

She finally met his eyes, noting the hesitation and fear in them. She gave him a small smile. “I am. It feels…strange after…everything, but good. I’ve missed being with you and Michonne and Maggie, the kids.”

Daryl willed his blood to pump normally, her admission sending hope flooding through his veins like a drug. “Missed you, too,” he murmured, not willing to let any more time slip by without trying to acknowledge how much she meant to him.

She lent him a knowing smile before letting it slowly fall from her face. “I wanted to help them. I felt I owed them that much after they’d taken me in. They’re good people, kind, fierce, and loyal…to a fault, actually. I wanted to help them shore up the city, rebuild the walls, and I was…”

Carol trailed off, still absent-mindedly playing with the seam of the couch cushion, and Daryl knew something, or someone, had caused her to leave. He waited patiently, his silence encouraging her to tell the story at her own pace, even as he chomped at the bit to know what’d transpired.

“I only wanted to help…I wasn’t looking for anything else.”

She paused again, and he wondered what exactly she was trying to say. Had someone forced her to leave? Banished her like Rick had—which he still needed to process with her someday—leaving her no choice but to come back here? After fighting so valiantly in the war, how could they determine it better to let her go than keep her with them? He’d never rooted for her disengagement from Alexandria, but he’d have words with anyone who actively sought to push her out of their community.

“But he was.”

It took a minute for Daryl to realize her meaning, and his heart thundered rapidly against his ribcage, gripped by fear of what came next.

“Ezekiel, I mean,” she explained unnecessarily, finally meeting his gaze.

He kept his expression neutral as a quiet storm raged inside of him. He nodded once, encouraging her to continue. “I thought I’d made myself clear all this time. Back when I was in that house, he’d visit, and I’d tell him to leave. He’d bring supplies, and I’d refuse them. He’d send people to check on me, and they’d piss me off, springing my traps, and I’d send them away with an earful.”

He kept his smile to a minimal but couldn’t help feeling a sense of pride at how far she’d come since those days in the quarry. Living alone, setting traps, railing at people who encroached past boundaries she’d set, she was a force of nature.

Her admission also explained the initial look of irritation on her face as she’d opened that door to him, before the shock and relief and—dare he think it?—tenderness took over and the walls and tears fell.

Just thinking about it made his arms ache to hold her again.

“I didn’t lead him on—at least I didn’t think I did. He’s very persistent, though.”

“Seems like you made yourself pretty clear to me,” he agreed levelly. Only a lifetime of hiding his emotions allowed him to keep the irritation out of his voice. If a man kept pressing after repeatedly being rejected, he only had himself to blame for her walking away. And though he knew she could handle it—and likely had—he couldn’t help wishing the man lived a bit closer so he could pay him a friendly visit.

She shrugged one shoulder lightly. “Since I was going to be living inside the city, I asked him where I should move to, and he suggested I live with him. It’s when I realized I…I wanted to be here.”

He waited a beat. “Alexandria, you mean?”

“No. Yes. I mean, yes, Alexandria, but…not just Alexandria. It’s important to me that I’m here…with you and the rest of our group. The people who’ve been by my side since the beginning. The people I trust the most. The people who know me the best.  The person who knows who I am and the things I’ve had to do to make it this far.”

Daryl nodded in understanding, thinking of the journey they’d been on together. The trials and losses, the displacements and running and fighting and wars fought long before the man with a bat tried to rule a small corner of the world.

“I wanted to escape. After everything…after all we’ve lost, I thought I needed to be somewhere….someone else.”

Her words sent him back to their trek into Atlanta, another lifetime ago. She’d tried explaining to him then that she needed space, but he knew space, at least the kind back then, without other people around, would kill her. Survival meant sticking together, and he’d tried with every weapon in his weak arsenal to show her she belonged with him: protecting her, feeding her, listening and defending and encouraging and just being with her. He’d even waited until she slept to slip out and put down the mother and child walkers, knowing that act would likely push her over the edge if she had to do it herself. As a rule, if time allowed, they burned or buried the bodies of friends and loved one, not walkers. But that…he’d needed to do that for her. They’d both missed the funeral held for Sophia, she out of defiance or denial, he to ensure she wasn’t alone then, so the burning of those bodies had been his way to pay respect to the mother/child unit, the young girl he’d failed to bring back to her mother, the scared, scarred, and abused who hadn’t escaped from a living hell after all. She’d brought him back from the brink too many times to count; it’d been the one time he’d felt like he’d returned the favor.

“But all leaving did was made me feel like a pariah. I didn’t fit in there, and staying would’ve felt…weird. He’s a decent man beneath his disguise, and I could’ve even overlooked the whole…ridiculous king schtick to stay and help them rebuild. But not after he asked me that. It would’ve made things too uncomfortable.”

“I get it,” he confirmed. And he did. It was the main reason he’d never told her how he felt: because he feared she’d turn him down and leave, not wanting to bother with someone who made a tough life even more difficult. No, he’d rather suffer in silence and keep her around, have her friendship and watch her back, than ever risk her rejection and discomfort.

“I just...want to be here.”

His heart soared, and he desperately wanted to reach out and touch her, prove to himself that he wasn’t having a deluded fantasy, but he sat still, staring at her intently. “Glad to have you home.”

“Home,” she repeated, the word sounding like both a question and a resolution.

He nodded. “You always got a home here. Wherever we are.” Where I am, he wanted to say, but he just couldn’t make the words come out.

“Thank you.” He thought he saw tears in her eyes, but a few blinks later and they were gone. “Did you know tomorrow is supposedly Christmas?”

She sounded skeptical, but surprised and a little excited, and he nodded in response, realizing the heavy moments from before had passed. He’d learned how to manage those conversations over the years—hell, you couldn’t live in close proximity the way they had without getting into them—and even though they still made him uncomfortable, he treasured them. He never felt more important, never felt closer to her, than in those deep, often dark, places where she needed a companion. And when she chose him to accompany her, he faced the shadows, heart pounding, courage wavering, but determined to help her through at the expense of his own dis-ease. His chest ached that she’d come back to him—to them, he corrected himself—because it meant she wouldn’t seek out her new friends or a king or a stranger but him or Michonne or Maggie or others he trusted.

Damn, but he’d missed her. He nearly lost his breath at how much the realization suddenly overwhelmed him.

Carol gave him a questioning look. “You do?”

It took him a few seconds to realize she hadn’t read his mind but instead continued their conversation.

He nodded toward the front window at the blustery, overcast day and the bare trees in the yard and cleared his throat. “Seems about right with the weather getting’ so cold and the snow flurries we had the other night. Huntin’s been harder, and the jacket ain’t doin’ its job anymore.” He looked at her again. “Plus, Tara told me about the calendar the Alexandrians’ been keepin’.”

She huffed a laugh, shoving his arm a little at his teasing and making him smile in the process.

Her smile pierced his heart with affection. She looked beautiful, cheeks slightly pink, eyes happy with mirth, staring at him like he’d dreamed about since nearly the day he’d met her. If he could bottle this moment and hold it for safekeeping, for days when he thought he’d never see her again or the struggle to survive became nearly too much to bear…  He stared, drinking in the aura of her presence, the joy on her face, the sound of her chuckle, the way she sat turned towards him like he was important.

“Seems unreal that they’ve kept a calendar all this time.”

She sounded nostalgic, almost sad, and he understood the depth from which she spoke. While others had become mini-Hitlers, lived like kings, and played at Utopia safely behind walls, they’d clawed and clamored and scraped their way by just to stay together and feed themselves. It didn’t seem right.

“It’s stupid...but they didn’t know better.”

“I guess it’s part of what makes life…livable, huh? We’ve just been surviving for so long.”

He’d never known much of anything else, knew too that she’d spent at least part of her life like that, but he remained quiet, sensing she wanted to say more.

She stared out the window at the waning sunlight as the shadows crept longer across the lawn. “We never could stop to smell the roses like the others. Art and music and reading, birthdays and holidays and celebrating a new year…they all became ancient relics. Until the prison. Until we came here and met these groups.” She smiled sadly. “I guess I wanted to live in a fantasy. After everything we’d been through, everything I’d done, I…I just wanted to escape, to put on another costume and pretend I hadn’t sunken into a hell worse than Before.”

He watched her, knew the exact moment the scenes in her head turned from playing faux-happy homemaker to self-realized hoax. She blamed herself, he could tell, and though he wanted to defend her from her own incriminations, he waited.

“It didn’t work this time. It always had with Ed. I could….will myself to move past whatever nightmare had occurred that week. I had Sophia, and she made it worth the effort to try again. I thought I could do it this time like I always had before, but…” She shook her head, frustration on her face. “it was different. Sophia loved me. Ed didn’t love anything but himself, but she loved me, the real me. None of those people were like him, but they don’t know me and if they did…they’d be afraid.” She finally turned her gaze to him. “But you…you and rest of our family know. They know who I am, what I’m capable of.”

And love you just the same, he wanted to reassure her.

He hadn’t asked, and she’d already briefly explained why she’d returned, but it sent flutters through his stomach to know she trusted him with this…her past, her choices, the reason she’d decided to leave…and come back.

“We know,” he agreed quietly. “We know, and it doesn’t matter to us because we’ve all done the same. They don’t know…but we do. We’re stronger together. I know things happened that you ain’t ready to talk about—and maybe never will be—but I’m here if you ever do. And you think some of it’s unforgivable, that it makes you…worse than the rest of us. It ain’t true. I wouldn’t be here without you—none of us would. The CDC, Terminus...that was you savin’ us. You saved Judy. Wouldn’t let me leave when I distanced myself and acted like an ass. And always takin’ care of everybody except yourself.” He realized how emphatic and forceful he sounded, and he dropped his voice. “You gotta let us take care’a you.”

Tears shimmered in her eyes. “I don’t know how.”

“Gonna have to learn…to live with the love,” he nearly whispered, reaching up to softly wipe a tear away from her cheek with his thumb, the ghost of a smile on his face at the memory of her words to him from another time, a better place. “The only sense this world makes is when we’re together. You gotta know that.”

He reluctantly let his hand fall away from her face, the air between them a live wire he wasn’t sure he felt ready to touch. But, oh, he wanted to, wanted to lean toward her in the darkening room and tell her everything she’d come to mean to him. Cleanse the fear from her and let her know how he treasured her. His heart felt like it would explode inside his chest.

Carol swallowed hard and closed her eyes, severing the tension a bit, and he let out the breath he didn’t realize he held.

She covered her face with her hands for a minute before wiping her tears away and meeting his eyes. “I do. It’s the only thing that’s ever made sense. It’s why I had to come back.”

Daryl held her gaze and nodded, desperate to reach for her but afraid to disrupt the connection they were rebuilding.

“I’m glad you did. Glad you’re here.”

She grabbed his hand, squeezing gently, and her touch sent fire racing through his veins. What he wouldn’t give to hold her close, kiss her tears away, wash the darkness from her soul, calm her fears.

“I am, too,” she breathed, the pain easing away from her face.

He needed to move, needed to refocus their conversation, before he made a fool of himself by revealing too much. Having her back for good, sitting so close to him in the fading light of day, her hands on him, her soft voice caressing his heart, he needed to retreat.

He shifted on the couch, and his foot hit the bag he’d brought with him.

“I, uh…” He withdrew from her, reaching down to grab the gift he’d brought. “I got something for you.” He handed the medium-sized black zippered makeup bag to her. “Call it a Christmas gift.”

She stared at the bag for a few seconds before raising her eyes to meet his, and he felt the room get inexplicably hotter. Her blue eyes, intense and penetrating, held his gaze, and for a minute he thought she was going to kiss him, the space between them coiled tight with electricity.

He swallowed hard. “Go on.” He pushed the words out, and they sounded strained, even to his own ears. “Open it.”

Carol stared at him a moment longer before looking down at the bag in her hands again, and he felt the loss suddenly, like they’d missed a ripe opportunity for everything he’d ever wanted and would never have.

He watched her unzip the bag and open the top to reveal it full of sundry items: a few tubes of chapstick, a mini hairbrush, silver and black snap hair clips, a pair of sunglasses, a bottle of body spritz, a container of face scrub, a jar of moisturizer, and a small tube of sunscreen.

“Daryl...where…?” She rifled through the items, surprise written on her face.

“I was at the Sanctuary lookin’ for supplies and food, and I came across the stash of things the women over there had. Brought it all back with me and…set aside a few things for you before sharin’ with everybody here. I know it ain’t much, and I didn’t exactly know what you’d like, but I thought—”

She suddenly flew towards him, and he caught her up in his arms just as she flung hers around his neck. He froze, his body in shock, every muscle strung tight and attuned to the softness of her in his arms. He closed his eyes, reveling in the feel of her against him again, never wanting to let her go. Her cupped her head with one hand, the other fitting around her waist, tentative but firm.

She felt perfect, scorched him everywhere she touched, his skin set aflame by her arms around him, her breath, ragged but soft, near his ear, her chest gently heaving against his.

“You, uh, you like it then?” he queried.

Her laughter rumbled softly against him, and she withdrew enough to look at him, joy evident on her face. “It’s wonderful,” she breathed.

Her fingers teased the hair at his nape, her hands, still draped around his neck, sending sparks through his blood, and he realized a small lean forward, just a single moment of bravery, would tell him what she tasted like. She sat so close, nearly in his lap now, and he felt time freeze, her words hanging in the air like mistletoe, waiting for a response.

“Carol…” he murmured, afraid she’d recoil. Afraid she wouldn’t.

With one hand she fluffed the hair away from his face, her eyes never leaving his, and he thought for sure he’d melt into a puddle at her feet.

She slid her thumb across his lips, the movement soft and sensual and altogether hotter than anything that’d ever happened to him in his life. Her eyes flicked to his mouth, and he was about to say her name again when she eased toward him and touched her lips to his, chaste and sweet and more than his brain or body could process.

He froze, his body tense, his mind scrambled, his hands at her waist hoping to keep her in place until he could come to his senses. His head swam, his body burning everywhere at once, the world tilting as he soared and fell, the motions leaving his stomach floating into his throat.

He sunk into the moment just as she began to pull away, and he chased her lips with his, gently tugging her back towards him. She moved into him again, her arms tight around his neck, and he felt her everywhere, against his thighs and his chest and his mouth, wrapped around him and stealing into his veins, settling into his muddled mind and burrowing deeper into his heart.

He never wanted to come up for air.

“Daryl.”

She whispered against his mouth, and he felt the vibrations of his name on her kissed lips deep in his soul. She was driving him mad, and he went back for more. He felt her smile against his lips, her tongue teasing him, his heartbeat thundering so wildly he feared it’d jump right out of his chest.

He eased away slowly, trying to catch his breath, and Carol gripped his neck, leaning her forehead against his.

He couldn’t believe what’d just happened, felt sure he’d wake up from this erotic dream any moment now, but it continued on…her breath feathering against his lips, her face mere inches from his, her soft skin beneath his hands at her waist, her forehead pressed to his in an intimacy he’d never imagined actually occurring.

She pulled away slowly, a satisfied look on her face. “You give the best gifts,” she stated, both teasing and serious. “We should celebrate more often.”

He huffed a little, still overcome by her kisses. He could barely breathe—let alone think of a witty rejoinder—with her nearly in his lap, her hands on him, the memory of her kisses still searing his lips.

“I’m glad I came back in time for Christmas.” She stared at him intently, speaking directly into his heart. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

A/N: this is a special fic written for @madwomanlexie and @jaimelannistre  Merry Christmas, my friends!!  Lexi, I told you (maybe a year ago? I’m horrible, sorry!) that I’d write a fic somewhat based on this post--and here it is! And Eena, you wanted a fic where they sit and talk. I don’t know if this suffices but I tried! Hope you both have wonderful, happy, merry Christmases. Love ya! <3

#caryl #carol x daryl #daryl x carol #caryl fanfiction #caryl fanfic #christmas caryl #christmas caryl 2018 #my writing #personal #madwomanlexie #jaimelannistre

[theresnosafeharbor4myships]

December 10, Christmas Caryl

Daryl has a surprise gift for Carol (also on 9L)

Made For You

It’d been Maggie’s idea to sit around the tree she’d begged him to drag in and sing Christmas carols. Glenn had produced a surprise box of hot chocolate mix, and Carol and Beth were serving the sweet concoction in the sundry mugs they’d collected over the past several months while the other sat huddled in blankets and jackets, warding off the assumedly-December chill.

He’d never admit it to any of them, but this had to be one of the best moments of his life.

Christmas had always been an excuse for Daddy Dixon to drink extra hard, which had left him and Merle to hide out, far away from the reach of their father’s arm. Christmas had never been a celebration for him, never been happy or fun or something to look forward to, not like the kids in school or the girls Merle brought around. He’d always felt glad when it was over so he could at least sleep with a roof over his head, as scary as it was sometimes.

The people he’d known, the ones who’d enjoyed the Christmas season anyway, were some of the greediest he’d ever met. Always wanting more toys or games or sporting equipment or bikes. Even if he’d believed in Santa—which he hadn’t, because Merle had cured him of that fantasy the day he came running home from school with it—he never would have asked for stuff. He’d have asked for his mama back. Or a new dad. Hell, a new family. Someone to wipe away the blood his dad’s fists and belt drew out of him. To help with chores on days he could barely stand because of the broken bones, cramped muscles, or bruised he’d been dealt. Or maybe just someone to hug him on those lonely nights when tears seeped from his eyes under the weight of all the dark secrets his heart held about the truth of his family. His loneliness. His want for something more. His fear he’d never get it. And on some nights his fear for his life.

Of course, he got none of those things—the things that really mattered and would’ve changed his life—while others received toys that would lose their importance in a few weeks.

No, Christmas had never meant anything special to him until now. Until he watched a ragtag group of once-strangers gather in a prison mess hall lit with mismatched candles, sit around an undecorated and withering tree, and sing songs of hope from a world long dead. Smiles on their faces. Love for each other evident on their contented faces. Grateful for the meager meal of squirrel and opossum. Ecstatic over barely-full mugs of hot water and stale chocolate powder.

Here at the end of the world, he’d found his new family, the wish he’d wanted to make but never had for fear of disappointment.

A man he was proud to follow. Two kids and a baby he’d protect with his last breath. Men he could call brothers. Women who were stronger than anyone had ever given them credit for. A father—grandfather to some. And one special woman who made his head swim and his blood boil like lava.

His eyes left the group in front of him and settled on her. She’d given Beth her heavy coat for the night, leaving a threadbare sweater her only protection against the chill of the night. Still, she wore a smile as she handed out the mugs of hot chocolate, eyes twinkling in the faint candlelight as the other sang. She encouraged Beth to sit down as she grabbed the last two mugs.

Unfamiliar with most of the songs, he’d hung back from the others, a part of the festivities but on guard, so he was the last one to receive the cup of warmth.

He stood as she approached, holding out his cup. “Here,” he mumbled, taking his poncho off and slinging it around her shoulders.

“Oh!” he heard her gasp lightly in surprise.

“Too damn cold to be without a jacket,” he reprimanded gently, not wanting to draw everyone’s attention to them.

She turned to face him. “Thank you.”

He took the proffered cup and stared at her, longing to make a move, to pull her close and make sure she stayed warm enough. And let her continue thawing out his heart. She’d chipped away at the frost for months now, with her feathery touches and honest smiles, the flirtations that made him want things with her he’d never wanted with anyone, the trust she placed in him, the value she saw in him. The way she could make him smile and laugh. The way he caught her staring at him sometimes. The boil she set his blood to and the racing of his heart.

The look she was giving him now wasn’t helping any, a sexy mix of gratitude and compassion and—if he didn’t know any better—desire.

She scared the shit out of him.

Lifting the cup and nodding his thanks, he sat back down and watched as she pulled the poncho tighter around herself, snuggling into the fabric warm with his body heat.

She walked behind him, and he only barely refrained from following her with his eyes.

“Thanks for keeping me warm.”

Her unexpected whisper slipped into his ear on a breath, slithered its way to his heart, then lower still, sending his body on high alert, all senses attuned to her.

Her hand rested softly on his shoulder for a brief moment, then trailed across his shoulder blades as she walked away, leaving him frozen in place and wildly aflame.

Did she know what she was doing to him?

She sat between Michonne and Maggie, and they huddled close, even as the caroling continued. She joined in, and he watched her. Laughing with the others. Enthralled by the Christmas cheer. Holding Judy as she was passed around. Whispering with Michonne. And sending him a mixture of heated stares and innocent smiles.

She was driving him mad.

He debated whether to give her the gift he had for her. She’d either love it or hate it. He hoped for the former but with his luck assumed it’d be the latter. Besides, the others weren’t exchanging gifts. Well, except for Glenn and Maggie, but that was to be expected.

But he’d worked damn hard on it. And it was already wrapped and tied up with string. And that’s when he’d lost his nerve. Not while trying to think of a gift she’d like, not while making it, not while coming up empty-handed when searching for wrapping paper only to settle for a brown paper bag and string. No, it was the thought of giving it to her and watching as she unwrapped it and not being entirely sure of the outcome. It had plagued him for days.

The singing suddenly stopped, and Daryl looked up to find everyone still basking in the final notes echoing through the tombs.

“That was beautiful,” Hershel praised, a contented, peaceful expression on his face.

“It was,” Rick agreed, then patted Carl on the back. “’S time for bed now.”

Daryl watched Carol gather the cups and take them to the wash tub as the group dispersed for the night. No one offered to help her. No one thanked her, either.

He knew they appreciated her. And everyone pitched in with the sundry tasks of everyday life. Still…it irked him.

He ambled her way, grabbing for the wash tub just as she went to lift it. “I got it.”

Surprise filled her face. “It’s no problem. I can do it.”

“I know you can. Just let me. I’ll take it outside and the kids can wash ‘em tomorrow. Too cold for you to be out there tonight.”

Her face softened, and before he knew it, her hands settled on his arm, granting her leverage as she stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. With a small smile on her pixie face, she turned and walked into the cell block, leaving him alone.

He sighed, heaved the full wash bin up, and took it outside. After depositing it in their make-shift kitchen, he huffed his way to the watch tower, zipping his jacket all the way up to ward off the cold.

He whistled up to Sasha, and a few seconds later she appeared over the edge of the railing. “You warm enough up there?”

“Got the down blankets and a thermos of tea. And these.” She held up her hands to show off a pair of winter gloves. “I’ll be aright until it’s Glenn’s turn for watch.”

He nodded and waved goodnight, then retreated inside, locking the door behind him. Murmuring and movement came from a few of the cells, but when he climbed the stairs, he saw no light from behind Carol’s cell-curtain.

His heart sunk, but he figured fate had made his decision for him. No gift for Carol tonight. And there’s always tomorrow.

He shuffled to his cell and withdrew the blanket covering the entrance, only to be startled by the face staring back at him. “Shit,” he exhaled, his heart hammering wilding in his chest. “What’re you doin’ in here? Somethin’ wrong?” he asked, suddenly worried.

Carol moved aside as he stepped in, peering around the small cell.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she answered quietly.

“You okay? Why don’t you have a light?” Underneath his concern lay the questions he withheld. Why are you here? In my cell? Alone in the dark? What are you trin’ to do to me?

“I have one.” She flicked a flashlight on. “See?” In the light she offered, he lit the small lantern he kept, then turned to her, his face a question mark she was afraid to answer. “I just…thank you.” His brow furrowed in confusion. “For helping me. Taking care of me.” Though still wrapped around her, she lifted the poncho fabric in one hand to illustrate.

He nodded in response, too afraid to speak. She was ethereal, standing there before him in dim lighting, wrapped in his warmth, eyes pools of…want?

He had to be crazy.

His heart beat faster as they held each others’ gaze. For a moment, he thought he had the courage to lean toward her and touch her lips with his, to show her in a new way what she meant to him.

But fear seized him again, and he cleared his throat, breaking the spell.

“I, uh…” He cleared his throat again, forcing his heart back into place. “I got this for ya.”

He moved around her and pulled the crudely wrapped package from the foot of his bed, holding it out to her. He felt her eyes on him, but he stared at the small gift in his hand until she took it from him. Her soft fingers slid over his callused ones and sent sparks through his blood.

It was too late to take it back now, yet that’s exactly what he wanted to do. To erase the possibility of her wrath or discontentment.

He feared the worst.

“Daryl,” she breathed. “I…”

“You gonna open it?” he asked nervously.

He finally met her gaze, and this time there was no mistake. The heat was there.

A greater height to fall from if she didn’t like it.

“Yes.” She untied the string as if it were the finest ribbon, then unrolled the crinkled brown paper to find a wooden figure small enough to fit in the palm of her hand. She turned to the light and held it up to get a good look, gasping in response.

Daryl’s heart froze, and he instantly threw up the walls he kept at the ready. She hated it. Probably wouldn’t speak to him for a month. And rightly so. What’d he been thinking? It was too painful. Why would she want to keep it?

She turned slowly back to him, and he prepared for the verbal onslaught, knowing he deserved it.

“Daryl…” she whispered.

She didn’t sound mad.

“Did you make this?”

She sounded stunned. In awe. Surprised.

He shuffled where he stood. “Yeah…”

She plopped down onto his bed, eyes never leaving the figurine in her reverent palms, even as the poncho slipped askew and fell from one shoulder.

He eased down next to her, hesitant and entirely unsure of her thoughts. “If…you don’t’ like it—”

“No!” She accompanied her protest with a hand to his arm, and even through his jacket, he could feel the heat from her touch. “No. It’s stunning. It’s perfect. So much like her.”

They both stared at the pine-whittled rendering of Sophia, eternally captured in her rainbow t-shirt and pants rolled up to just under her knees, a doll tucked under her left arm. Her cherubic face peered back at them, a knowing but sweet, innocent girl-smile on her face.

“How’d you learn to do this?” Carol wondered in awe.

He couldn’t meet her eyes, instead giving a one-shouldered shrug. “My grandpa taught me a few things when I was a kid. And I spent a lotta hours out in the woods with nuthin’ to do. Got kinda good.”

“Kinda good?” she repeated. “This is…I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s amazing. And you…” Her voice cracked and she paused. “…you made this for me?”

He’d imagined this moment many times with various endings, and she hadn’t cried in a single one of those. But damn if she didn’t look sweetly kissable right now. His poncho hanging half off of her, face lit by soft lantern-light, sitting on his bed, and staring up at him with jeweled starbursts in her eyes.

He swallowed hard. “Just…wanted you to have something…and I thought…” He shrugged, at a loss for words.

The hand that’d stayed on his arm slid up over his bicep and into his frazzled hair.

She was setting him on fire. She’d been dousing him with lighter fluid for months, sparking him with flirtations and sensual glances and companionship and just…being. But now she’d thrown the lit match on the tinder of his heart. And body.

She was touching him. Her fingers easing back and forth against his scalp in a sensual rhythm he was helpless to ignore. His eyes closed, and he inadvertently leaned into her touch.

Before he knew what was happening, he felt her breath whisper across his cheek. “Thank you.”

He let out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding as she kissed his cheek.

So close.

She lingered, and something heady rose up in him. “You missed.”

He didn’t know he was going to speak until he heard his words with his own ears.

“I did?”

Her whisper sent shivers through him. He could only hope she was having a similar reaction or he’d never be able to face her again.

Though terrified, he made himself turn to her and was shocked to find her as mesmerized by him as he was by her.

His eyes flicked to her lips, and he inched towards her. “Yeah…you did,” he murmured just before touching her smiling lips with his trembling ones.

He’d kissed a small number of women, but not a one of them set fireworks off in his brain or his heart to beating like a bass drum. Any second now, he knew she’d shove him away and things would never be the same between them again. But for this moment, he let the tender tide of awe and wonder drag him blissfully under her spell.

She was so soft, her lips moving with his in a simple but erotic rhythm. He felt more than heard her moan, causing one to escape from him. She moved her hand to cup his head, and then her body was pressed to his side, her chest against his arm, her hip against his, her other hand flat against his chest.

Far too soon, she was withdrawing from him, but he was much too enamored to move, let alone prepare for the coming reprimand he expected.

“No one’s ever made…that was the best gift I’ve ever gotten.”

He opened his eyes and met her gaze. She wasn’t angry or disgusted or running. She was here. Thanking him.

“Me, too,” he admitted.

Though he hadn’t meant it to be funny, she dropped her head onto his shoulder, chuckling in embarrassment.

A second later, she picked up the whittled figure of Sophia from the bed where she’d laid it and raised her head.

“Thank you. For…caring. This is better than a picture.”

He cupped her face with his hand, his thumb brushing gently over her cheek. “Merry Christmas, Carol.”

With happy tears in her eyes and a loving smile on her face, she responded. “Merry Christmas, Daryl.”

#caryl #carol x daryl #daryl x carol #christmas caryl #caryl fanfiction #christmas caryl 2017 #caryl fanfic #personal

[shimmershae]

Stupid Cupid, Chapter 2 (Caryl).

You guys, proof of the inspiring power of feedback right here.

 This little chapter just wrote itself. 

 I hope enjoy it. 

 Mistakes are all mine.  Posting this and crawling to my bed.  This day has been a huge drain on what little energy I have.  Hopefully, tomorrow will be better. 

Stupid Cupid

  xx2xx

      Like a little yellow bumblebee buzzing happily from flower to flower the next morning during their shared breakfast shift, Beth moved from pan to pan, dipping a spoon in here, adding a pinch too much salt there, and generally bubbling with teenaged excitement.  “A party!  I think it’ll be fun.  Don’t you?” 

  “Hmm,” Carol hummed, giving the young girl a gentle nudge and taking her place before she depleted their precious supply of the seasoning in her distraction.   

  Beth tilted her head, and her ponytail bobbed.  “It’s weird, though.  Daddy’s not even sure anymore if it’s February.  It could be St. Patty’s Day for all we know.” 

  “Could be,” Carol agreed.  Though time had taken on a different meaning for her altogether with the uprising of the dead and the loss of her girl, she was fairly certain Hershel’s estimations weren’t far off.  They had to be in the right month, at least.  When all was said and done, though, it didn’t much matter to her whatever month it was or wasn’t.  She was still here and that counted the most. 

  “You going with anybody?  Well, it’s not really like we’re going anywhere, but you know what I mean.” 

  Carol opened her mouth to answer her, but the teen didn’t give her a chance, rambling on with pink cheeks about how the new boy Zach had slipped her a handwritten note the night before in the dinner line.  Never one to pass up a chance to tease a loved one, Carol congratulated the youngest Greene on the budding relationship.  “Zach. Oh, Zach.  He’s pretty cute.” 

  “Who’s pretty cute?” Carl asked with a grin, his sleepy baby sister cuddled in his arms. 

  His hair fell into his eyes, and Carol’s mother’s heart stuttered painfully at the hopeful look he cast Beth when the girl wasn’t looking.  Stepping around the table to take Judith into her arms, she kissed the baby’s cherub cheeks.  “Why, this little one, of course!” 

  Carl’s brows knit, and his nose wrinkled.  “I thought you said…” 

  Daryl pushed past him, grabbed a bowl from Beth’s waiting hands.  He didn’t bother with the spoon she offered him, and Carl’s uncomfortable line of questioning was thankfully lost when he grimaced with disgust at Daryl’s complete disregard for table manners.  “What you staring at?” 

  Beth giggled and Carl moved along with an annoyed huff. 

  Carol hid her smirk in the baby’s soft cloud of strawberry hair and her wince when he stuck his fingers in his mouth and sucked the bits of oatmeal clean before reaching out and tweaking one of Judith’s socked feet.  “You’re lucky.” 

  “How’s that?”

  She simply shook her head, choosing not to elaborate, as some of the folks from Woodbury started to stream in, along with Maggie who joined her sister in serving the hungry newcomers.  “Just are.” 

  Daryl’s lips quirked in acknowledgement, and he welcomed Judith into his one-armed embrace when the baby reached for him, grunting in his efforts to keep her greedy little fingers away from the remains of his own breakfast.  It was a comical juggling act, and he finally gave up the foreign act of resisting the little girl. 

  His generosity (Carol couldn’t think of his soft spot for Lori’s little girl any other way) earned him a sticky little hand tangled in his hair and a gummy, drooling kiss to his scruff and Carol damn near melted on the spot before she snapped out of it and gently pried the infant from his arms.  “You can’t eat Uncle Daryl for breakfast."

  “Pity.” 

  Daryl’s ears immediately reddened, and an unconscious scowl soured his mouth. 

  His rough hand grabbed at her shirt in something akin to panic, and his bumbled proposition the night before suddenly started to make a whole lot more sense to Carol.   Lifting a questioning brow at him, she received a tiny dip of his chin in answer.  Satisfied, she slowly turned around, sweet smile in place, to greet the pretty brunette.  “Karen, hi.”  Judith continued to reach for Daryl, pushing her little toes into Carol’s belly and grabbing the low neck of her shirt in a failed attempt to gain leverage while the other woman fumbled her way through some awkward morning pleasantries. 

  “Carol, right?” 

  “That’s me.”  Carol’s smile grew even bigger and brighter, if possible, in response to the amount of hero worship shining in the Woodbury woman’s eyes, and she softened a little bit, because she had certainly been there.  Lived there, in fact.  She really couldn’t blame the woman, and it wasn’t like she was some ogre or something.  From all accounts, she was one of the more well-liked newcomers.  All that said, Carol wasn’t a saint, and this whole situation was just rife with opportunity.  Fumbling for the hand that still held her shirt in a death grip, she pulled it around to her front and held it there, tucked just beneath her breasts.  Shooting off a tiny prayer that she wasn’t overstepping the bounds of the little arrangement they had agreed to and that Daryl couldn’t feel just how hard and erratically her heart was pounding, she staked her fake claim.  “I’m sure you heard about the party in a few days?” 

  “The party?  Yes, I did.  It sounds like a great way for everybody to get to know each other better.” 

  “It does, doesn’t it?”  From there, the conversation only grew more awkward, and by the time it was finished and Karen was gone, Carol was fit to be tied.  Because Daryl was a solid wall of heat at her back, and she was well on her way to becoming a helpless puddle.  Her only saving grace was the baby, whose frustration had reached its limit.  Thankfully, Carl was on hand to reclaim his sister, and Carol willfully ignored the incredulous looks both Greene girls were giving her as she let herself sag back in Daryl’s unwitting embrace for a few seconds longer.  “Think she got the message?” 

  Daryl’s answer was a low rumble that made goosebumps break out all over her skin.  “Think it done the trick.”  He withdrew his hand and awkwardly averted his eyes when she turned to face him, mumbled an expression of gratitude.  “Thanks.  This, uh.  This one of your conditions?”

  Carol’s fingers worked to adjust her shirt, where a fair amount of freckled cleavage was on display thanks to Judith’s earlier stubborn efforts, and bit her lip to hold back the smile that threatened, her cheeks flaming just as much or more so than Daryl’s own.  “And if it is?” 

  Daryl rubbed a shaky hand over his face and swore. 

  Hooking a finger in the neck of his shirt, Carol let her smile reign free as she drew him closer and whispered, “Just remember, Pookie.  I did warn you.” 

#The Walking Dead #Caryl fanfiction #stuff that I write #I still think this is a little crack-ish #LOL #but I'm just the writer #hope you're enjoying this little foray of mine #Beth Greene #Carl Grimes #Judith Grimes #Maggie Greene #Karen #things that make me smile and cry #why do I do this to myself?

[shimmershae]

Stupid Cupid, Chapter 4 (Caryl).

Sorry this is so late.  I had most of it written before the episode, but it was pretty short.  I wanted to be nicer to you guys than Gimple and his two minutes of Carol, so I went back and wrote another 500 words, lol.  Hope it was worth the wait. Mistakes are all mine.   

Carol and Daryl deal with their newfound popularity. 

Stupid Cupid

    xx4xx

      The walk from the library to C-Block wasn’t a terribly long one. 

  Since they’d cleared and fortified this part of the Prison from Walkers, Carol had made it hundreds of times alone.  Tonight, though, the hallway seemed to stretch onward for miles, and they lingered in the long shadows her lantern cast.  They were essentially enjoying a moonlit stroll, without the moon or the stars, and the romantic notion had Carol smiling softly to herself.  Of course, Daryl noticed.  He was, as he’d once pointed out to Andrea, a most observant man. 

  “Looking awful pleased with yourself.  Thinking up more of those conditions of yours?” 

  Carol’s steps slowed even more, Daryl’s gait effortlessly matching hers, and she granted him a sideways look.   Gently, she twirled the lantern in her hand, and her smile grew even more at her own whimsy, for the motion painted the dark walls with points of dancing light, manufactured stars, and quiet laughter bubbled from her lips at the wondering expression on his handsome face. 

  “Having too much fun, Woman.” 

  Carol immediately set him straight.  “No such thing.”  Daryl shook his head at her, but his eyes…they told her another story, and she was pleased to realize he was enjoying himself just as much.  He was more relaxed than she’d seen him in a long time, and a selfish part of her wanted to bask in this small moment forever.  It was a foolish thought, but then, nobody else left on this Earth inspired her to abandon the wisdom of conventional knowledge and lead more with her heart than the man beside her.  Any woman with half a brain would have rejected Daryl’s desperate proposal outright, especially if they cared for him as she did, with a breadth and depth of emotion she hadn’t previously known herself capable of feeling.  But she wasn’t such a woman, and so she focused on keeping things light and loose between them, and that meant some more teasing was in order.   “I think I’m being more than fair.  Asking for only 75% of your chocolate stash.  If I was really your girl, well.  What’s yours is mine and all that.” 

  Daryl snorted.  “Don’t you mean what’s mine is yours?” 

  “Exactly.”  Carol grinned, enjoying the way the corners of his mouth twitched upwards with the belated realization that he’d been had.  “You’re better at this than I thought.” 

  “Yeah, well.  Gonna have to watch myself ‘round you.” 

  Carol rounded on him, pretended to be affronted.  “Oh, I see.  I see.  Now that we’re together, you don’t trust me.”  There were voices up ahead, some familiar, some not, but they all faded to nothing at his simple, matter-of-fact response to her claim. 

  “Trust you.  Just don’t trust myself.” 

    <3<3<3

      Dinner that night was…interesting, to say the least. 

  Carol hadn’t been lying when she’d told Daryl they were the Prison’s latest novelty, and the fascination the others seemed to have and treat their pretend romance with was intriguing in itself.  Neither she nor Daryl were young like Maggie or Glenn.  They didn’t possess any of Beth’s innocence or sweetness.  Their respective lives before the Turn had, quite literally in some instances, beaten it out of them.  And yet, none of that seemed to matter.  If the attention was a little much for her, Daryl had to feel like a specimen underneath a microscope.  Still, he handled it reasonably well.  At least until the questions and comments started, and Carol took advantage of the situation.  The way she figured it, a little public demonstration of affection here and there never hurt anybody.  If this was all going to be temporary anyway, just until the circling Woodbury sharks got the message and backed off, she was going to get her cuddling in now.  The redneck Prince of her heart’s term, not hers.    

  “So.  You two, huh?” 

  Carol nodded and covered Daryl’s hand with her own.  Tracing the ropy veins there, the rough callouses and network of faded scars, she accepted Tyreese’s kind congratulations and wrote off the quickening of his pulse as her own wishful thinking. 

  “What an unusual and striking couple you make.” 

  Considering the messenger, it was an insult wrapped in faint praise, but Carol chose to ignore it.  Resting her cheek against his bared bicep and patting his stomach affectionately, feeling the hard muscles there jump in response, she played off the comment with a wink and a little smile.  “Like Beauty and the Beast, right?  Three guesses who’s Beauty.” 

  “This a new thing, or have you two been sneaking around right beneath our noses?” 

  Hershel answered his own question before Carol even had a chance, with an assist from Rick.  “The relationship, maybe.  But the feelings?  They’ve been there for a while.” 

  “From the start.”   

    <3<3<3

    Daryl was quiet afterward, when he walked her to her own little piece of home. 

  He was contemplative, and feeling somewhat unsettled herself, Carol touched her fingertips to his elbow to gain his attention.  “You know.  There’s no rule in the relationship handbook that says you have to escort me everywhere.  I’m just as capable of seeing myself to my own cell as I was yesterday, before all this started.”  He peered at her beneath the fringe of his dark bangs, and she hastily added, “Not that I’m not enjoying the company.” 

  “One of your conditions ain’t it?  Doing couple things?  Pretending we like each other.” 

  Her lips twitched with amusement, and her eyes lit up.  Deciding to push the boundaries a bit with him, pull him out of his own head, she asked, “Going to spend the night in my bunk, too, while you’re at it?” 

  Blushing clear to the roots of his hair, he wasn’t above begging.  “Stop.” 

  “Nothing screams you’re a couple more than a little late night nookie.”  Unfazed, she persisted in her teasing.  “Or we could just, what did you call it?  Cuddle.”

  Daryl groaned.  “You’re impossible.  You know that?” 

  “Yes, but you already knew that.  Before.” 

  “’Fore what?”

  Carol grinned.  “Before you fell ass over tea kettle for my considerable charms.” 

  “Fuck, Woman.  Would you just…fuck.”  

  The words escaped him in a low growl, and Carol laughed.  "I've always wanted to say that."  She decided to offer him an out, though, when it became clear he didn’t share her amusement and her own reservations made a return appearance.  “The rabbit hole is deep, Dixon.  Sure you want to keep this charade up?” 

                               “M’sure.  Ain’t hurting nobody.” 

  “It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement,” Carol shrugged.  “I provide you with a date to the party, you give me all the chocolate I desire.  I call that a win-win.”  Except a small, buried part of her was starting to disagree with that assessment.  Naturally, she ignored it.  Because this was Daryl, and whatever he asked of her, she would give it to him or die trying.  The realization wasn’t a new one, but it was a sobering one, and she was thankful they had reached their destination.  “We’re here.”  Her hand started to reach for the curtain. 

  “Going on that run tomorrow.  With Glenn.  Couple others.” 

  “That’s tomorrow?” 

  He answered her with a jerk of his chin.  “Thought if you wanted to send me a list…” 

  A gentle, all-encompassing swell of affection for the man standing in front of her threatened to overwhelm her, and Carol’s hand changed course, grabbing and holding tight to Daryl’s own.  “Just bring yourself and the others home safe.  That’s all I want.” 

  “Do my best."

  “Your best is just fine.  And Daryl?”

  “Yeah?” 

  “Don’t leave without saying goodbye.” 

  “Won’t.” 

  It was a promise that made Carol smile, and she brought his hand to her lips, brushed a sweet kiss across his knuckles before letting it go.  “Night, Pookie.  See you in the morning?” 

  “See you.” 

#The Walking Dead #Caryl fanfiction #stuff that I write #drive by mentions of... #Tyreese Williams #Hershel Greene #Rick Grimes #things that make me smile and cry