Catch Fire | Daryl Dixon

ptsd

Daryl's POV

I was working on my bike, tightening bolts and adjusting the chain, trying to clear my head. It was a couple of days since Kennedy, Maggie, and Carol had made it out of that slaughterhouse. The engine parts and the familiar smell of grease gave me something to focus on, something to keep my mind from wandering too far into dark places. The bike, which we'd recovered from the satellite facility, felt like a piece of normalcy in a world that had long since gone to hell.

Carol walked over, cigarette in hand, looking distant. She lit it and took a drag, staring off into space. She'd been like that a lot lately, ever since we got back. Hell, ever since before that, but it was worse now.

"Didn't even notice. Got your bike back," she said, her voice flat.

"Yeah..." I muttered, wiping my hands on a rag. "You got another one of those?"

Carol sighed and handed me a cigarette. I took it, lighting it up and inhaling deeply. The smoke burned my throat a bit, but it was a welcome distraction.

"Thanks," I said.

She gestured to the bike. "Those people you met, the ones in the burnt forest, they took it from you?"

"Yeah," I replied, my voice hardening at the memory.

"You saved them, right?" Carol asked, her eyes piercing through me.

I didn't say anything. She already knew the answer.

"Sorry... It's who you are. We're still stuck with that," she said, her voice tinged with a bitterness that wasn't directed at me, but at the world.

"No, we ain't. I should've killed them," I said, my jaw clenching. The regret gnawed at me, a constant reminder of my mistake.

Carol looked distant again, lost in her thoughts. I could see the turmoil in her eyes, the weight she was carrying. It wasn't just about what happened to her. It was about everything we'd been through, everything we'd done.

"Hey," I said softly, trying to bring her back. "The ones that took you, Ken and Maggie... what'd they do to you?"

"To us? They didn't do anything," she replied, but her eyes told a different story.

I watched her with concern, seeing how much she was struggling. Carol wasn't one to show her emotions easily, but when she did, it was like a dam breaking.

"It's just... Kennedy," she began, her voice trembling. "She's so sweet, so caring. Seeing her have to do the things we do... it's upsetting. She shouldn't have to be like us."

I was confused. Kennedy had told me they did what was necessary to survive, but Carol's words hinted at something more.

"What do you mean?" I asked, my heart pounding.

"There was this older woman," Carol began, her voice shaking. "Kennedy... She kept hitting her. Over and over. Even after she was dead. Her face was... it was unrecognizable by the time I pulled her away."

I felt a cold knot form in my stomach. Hearing this, the graphic reality of what had happened, was a punch to the gut.

"Shit," I muttered, my voice barely audible.

Carol was distraught, tears welling up in her eyes. "It's just... seeing someone like her having to do that. It's... it's wrong, Daryl. It's not who she is. Or who she was."

I nodded, understanding her pain. "I get it. She did what she had to do."

"But it's killing her," Carol continued, her voice breaking. "It's killing all of us. You, me, Rick... We're all turning into something else. Something... darker."