Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. This is a work of pure fiction. All characters and events depicted in this story are entirely fictitious. Any similarity to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Summary: It had become a festering ache beneath the surface of his skin, this need he had to protect her, to save her … because he was certain he was the only one who could in a world gone to hell.

Tags: *Daryl/Carol, *Daryl Dixon, *Carol Peletier, *Merle Dixon, *Sophia Peletier, *Slow burn, *Angst, *Eventual Smut, *An abundance of UST (sorry … not sorry!), *Canon divergence, *Mentions of domestic abuse (though not graphically depicted), *Caryl ship, *skewed timeline, *hurt/comfort, *Forming Caryl friendship earlier in season 1, *Sophia is a surprise, *Merle's not such a douchebag

A/N: This fic has been re-named, re-edited and now re-posted. I will try to re-post a chapter a day. Thank you for your understanding and patience. And to all those wonderful readers who messaged me asking that I put my fics back up immediately … I love you all and thank you so much for your love and support.

Hers to Love; His to Protect

By:

CharlotteAshmore

Chapter One

"Yer starin' at her again, little brother," Merle Dixon snarked, startling his younger brother out of his reverie. He chortled loudly at the embarrassed flush stealing up into Daryl's face. "Sooner or later, her old man's goin' to notice an' then we'll have trouble."

Daryl cast a quick look at Merle out of the corner of his narrowed eyes before he snorted and returned his gaze to the woman across the camp. "Not worried about Ed. I could take 'im," he murmured distractedly.

"Not so sure the lil mouse would appreciate yer interference. Would only make it worse for her, I'm thinkin'." The eldest Dixon rubbed a hand over his face, his blunt nails scratching idly at the three days' growth of whiskers on his chin. "'Sides … we don't want trouble just yet. Keep it in your pants, bro."

"Piss off, Merle," Daryl hissed tersely. With one last look of contempt, he shot to his feet, grabbed up his crossbow and stalked off into the tree line. He didn't go so far where he couldn't watch her though.

Easy pickings, Merle had said when he'd chosen this particular camp. It wasn't the first they'd found. Probably wouldn't be the last, though it was the longest they'd stayed in one place since the world had gone to hell. He'd been more than a little surprised when Merle had told him they'd be staying in the quarry camp for more than a night. Daryl hadn't cared, once again following after his older brother, trusting him to lead him as he always had in the past. He hadn't counted on meeting Carol Peletier, mousy little housewife to the most useless bastard in creation.

The camp's leader – a former deputy from some backwater town – wasn't fit to take care of these people. The security of the place was a joke at best. They were ill equipped to fight off the undead should they come wandering this far from the city. The old man – Dale, he recalled – was at the heart of the little group of refugees, always there with a word of advice. Pfft! He didn't need advice. He and Merle were the most likely to be able to survive on their own. Andrea – some fancy, educated something or other – he was sure Merle wanted to stay for purely libidinous reasons. They were all the same, looking down their uppity noses at the Dixon brothers, judging them, taking their measure and finding them wanting.

Everyone except her … Carol. He constantly found himself asking why he cared so much as to what happened to her. It was none of his business. It wasn't as if he were lusting after her. He wasn't like that. She hadn't been like Shane's woman, pulling her child behind her as if the child would be tainted if he came in contact with the redneck with the crossbow. No, Carol had peeked up at him from beneath her long dark lashes, a welcome smile on her lips and a wealth of sadness in her eyes which she couldn't hide. In her, he'd recognized a kindred spirit … one who knew pain, one who knew what it was like to be trapped in a nightmare not of their own making.

Daryl's lip curled in disgust as he watched the tent across from the one he shared with Merle. It was set at an angle a good distance away, but he could make out her silhouette against the nylon as the light of the camp lantern shone behind her. She was tucking Sophia – and he was rather flummoxed he could remember the girl's name after only one introduction – in for the night. Her husband rose from the lawn chair outside beside their meager fire, stubbed out the cigarette he'd discarded with his foot and shambled into the tent, zipping the flap behind him. He could literally see her shadow curling in on itself before the light was extinguished and she vanished from his sight. Damn!

He sank down to sit on the soft loam of the forest floor and leaned his head back against the pine, his treasured crossbow a comforting weight across his lap. He was restless now that he couldn't see her, his mind imagining what kinds of horrors her husband would visit upon her for the slightest infraction. He knew all about abuse, having suffered at the hands of his father for years. He'd had no one to save him once Merle'd had enough of their old man and ran off to join the military.

From what he had witnessed in their short time in the camp, Carol had made friends with the women. He snorted. Some friends. They turned a blind eye to the abuse Ed Peletier heaped upon his wife. If they didn't acknowledge it, it wasn't happening, right? But he saw … he knew. The way her smile never really reached the grief and despair so evident in her azure eyes, the way she would falter and stifle a gasp when she was forced to lift something too heavy or the slight hunch in her shoulders as she shied away from everyone's touch … he saw it all. He could just imagine the bruises she was hiding under the frumpy clothes she wore. Why would any woman as lovely as she, wear a long-sleeved shirt in the Georgia heat? Unless she had something to hide. How long would it be before the others noticed, and would they come to her aid even if they were able to see the abuse firsthand?

Daryl shook his head and pulled a cigarette from the rumpled pack in his pocket. He wondered how long he'd be able to keep his distance; how long he'd be able to quell the rage he felt on her behalf … before his hand was forced.

*.*.*

"Might as well c'mon out, girly. No need t' be hidin'."

Daryl glanced over at his brother where Merle sat cross-legged before their tent, sharpening his hunting knife on the wet stone. His eyes scanned the area around their campsite, his steely blue gaze affixing on the little blonde girl. He turned back to the rabbits he was skinning, his prize from their morning hunt. "Leave Miss Sophia alone, Merle. She ain't done nothing t' you and there's no reason t' scare her."

"Wasn't tryin' t' scare her," he insisted, grinning. "Where's that pretty mama o' yours, Peach?"

"Merle …"

Sophia slowly emerged from behind the fallen log at the edge of the camp and put her hands on her hips. "You weren't supposed to see me!" she said in a loud stage whisper which made even the hardened redneck want to laugh. "I was practicing being sneaky."

Daryl snorted.

Merle's eyebrows shot up. "Sneaky? With all th' noise y' was makin'?"

"Was not!"

"C'mon over an' sit a spell. Want a drink? All that sneakin' musta made y' thirsty," Merle teased, waving her over. "Where's your partner in crime?"

Sophia took the dipper of water and quenched her thirst before settling on the grass next to him. "His mom is trying to round up all of us for lessons. I mean, really? What's the point?" she asked bitterly, propping her chin in her hand.

Daryl squinted out over the table to where she sat with his brother, his eyes narrowing. "So y' don't grow up t' be stupid, that's why."

It was her turn to snort as she looked down at her fingers idly plucking at the grass beneath her feet. "We'll probably get eaten by those horrible things, so I don't see how it matters."

His hunting knife stabbed into the pockmarked surface of the table next to the last of the rabbits. "Don't say shit like that, Soph," he scolded. "We ain't gonna let that happen."

Merle cursed violently under his breath. "Who toldja that anyway?" He already had a pretty good idea; he just wanted his suspicions confirmed.

"Daddy. He talks a lot when he's been drinking," she confessed, her fingers shredding the blades of grass she'd already pulled from the ground.

Daryl's hands fisted at his sides as he turned away. Rage beat heavily at the corners of his vision, turning everything into a red haze What kind of asshole said such things to a child? He stalked away, out of her line of vision. He had to get ahold of himself before he crossed the camp and beat the ever-loving shit out of her father. He forced himself to take deep cleansing breaths as he paced next to the chopper. After several moments, the red seemed to fade from his vision, and his focus once more turned to the little girl, wishing somehow he could bring back her smile.

Sophia, he suspected, took largely after her mother. She was a friend to everyone … including him and Merle. Especially Merle, because he made her laugh – something she was missing in her young life. She hadn't been one to take no for an answer when they'd tried to discourage her from hanging around their campsite. Poor Carl had been grounded for several days under the watchful eye of his mother when the boy had come over one day with Carol's daughter. At least if she were visiting their small area of the quarry, they could keep her safe for just a little while.

Daryl rummaged through the saddlebags on his brother's bike and smirked, finding the peppermints scattered at the bottom. He snatched one up, unable to give her more than that and have her father wondering where she'd gotten it. Merle had already pulled out the pocket checkers game and set it up between them when Daryl returned. Her face lit up when he tossed the small treat in her lap before going back to cleaning his kill for the evening meal.

"Thanks, Daryl," she beamed at him. Pointing to the checkerboard, she nodded sagely. "I think I'ma beat Merle this time."

A loud guffaw carried across the quarry. "Not gonna happen, Peach."

"Sophia! Sophia!"

"Crap," the girl groaned.

"Language," Merle admonished, hoping she wouldn't pick up on any of his bad habits.

Daryl found it amusing that his brother had developed such a soft spot for the girl. Sophia enjoyed his company, and that's something neither of the brothers had ever expected. His eyes followed after Carol as she approached. He could see the relief wash over her face as she set her gaze on her daughter.

"Sophia, how many times do I have to tell you not to run off?" Carol scolded, beckoning the girl over to her. She darted a look over to Daryl. "Mr. Dixon – "

His icy blue gaze stabbed her with a quelling look. "Daryl," he reminded her. "Mr. Dixon was m' no good father. Call me Daryl."

"Daryl … " she said softly, and god did he like the way it rolled off her tongue, all soft and sweet. "I hope she wasn't bothering you. I'll try to keep her out of your way."

Merle climbed to his feet and offered Sophia a hand up. "She weren't no trouble, mouse," he drawled.

"Mom!" the girl whined. "Can't I stay long enough to finish the game? Please?"

Carol flinched at the unflattering nickname, casting her eyes down as she bit her full lower lip. He knew she hated telling her daughter no. He was observant after all, and he'd learned that much from the time he'd spent with her under his all-seeing gaze. Gawd! I'm a fuckin' stalker, he groaned to himself. "Go on … let her finish," he said softly, turning back to his work. "She ain't hurtin' nothin', an' it'll do Merle good to have her whip his butt at checkers."

"Hey now!" his brother protested.

"Please, mom?"

Carol nodded almost imperceptively, but her daughter whooped happily and sat back down with the elder Dixon, moving her piece into position and claiming two of his as she crowed, "King me!"

Daryl huffed a short laugh and wrapped one of the freshly skinned rabbits in a cloth. "Here … for your supper." At her hesitancy, he shook his head. "Don't worry, I've got plenty for the rest of the camp. Bunch of city folk. They'd starve if it was left up t' them."

She unfolded her arms from over her chest and raised her sad eyes up to meet his. He inwardly cringed from the fear and pain he could see in the azure orbs. "Thank you," she mumbled, smiling weakly as she took it from him. "You don't know how much I appreciate it."

"Carol Ann!" her husband barked, his eyes narrowed ominously.

Daryl clenched his teeth, not having missed the way her body tensed in that fight or flight stance with which he was all too familiar. Sophia, two moves away from winning, abandoned the game and hurried to her mother's side, all traces of her former happiness having completely disappeared at the sound of that hated voice. Merle packed away the pieces of their game and rose to his feet, his own body tense as Ed approached.

"What're you doing over here, woman? I thought you were tending to your chores," he growled, his eyes cold as he grasped her wrist tightly, his stubby fingers digging into the delicate skin of her wrist.

Her lower lip trembled as she gathered her courage, fighting against the pain to explain to her husband. "Mr. Dixon was just offering us a rabbit for our dinner, Ed. Wasn't that nice of him?"

Ed snorted, his gaze swinging back and forth between the brothers before settling on his wife. "Kinda getting tired of all this wild game, but I'm not one to turn down a freebie." He pulled on her wrist, nearly jerking her forward off her feet. "Go on, get back to your chores. They ain't gonna do themselves," he chortled.

Daryl's hand tightened around the handle of his buck knife, the other planted flat on the table as if he were ready to vault over it. Merle's hand twisting in the back of his shirt was the only thing stopping him. "Daryl," Merle hissed urgently in his ear. "Don't make things worse for her or Peach."

"Fuck!" The table toppled over with a bang as he turned to face his brother. "Ain't right, Merle," he snarled, his face suffused with angry color as he pointed a finger into his chest.

"Never said it was," Merle said quietly. "But it ain't our place t' interfere."

Daryl pushed away from him and sheathed his knife before bending to retrieve his crossbow, slinging it over his shoulder. "Yeah, that's the problem."

Merle didn't try to stop him as he stalked off into the trees.

*.*.*

He'd disappeared for two days on a hunt, and Merle had lit into him the second he'd stepped foot in the camp despite the deer he'd dragged back with him. Laments of too dangerous, got to stick together, what if he'd been swarmed by walkers still echoed in his ears. How could Daryl tell him he'd needed time to cool down? Merle of all people should know the intricacies of the Dixon temper, considering he shared it.

Daryl left Merle to gut and clean the deer. The camp would be able to fill their empty bellies for a change. Carol and Peach would benefit from the extra protein the meat would provide. His brother was unusually quiet, and he could practically hear the unasked questions wanting to loose themselves from his tongue, but Daryl left without a word. His skin itched and hummed with unrest. In the two days he'd been gone, he hadn't been able to banish the sight of Carol's pain nor the fear in Sophia's eyes. He didn't understand why he cared what happened to them, he just knew he needed to save them from Ed Peletier. Not all the monsters in the new world were dead snapping snarling walkers. He was beginning to believe they were the lesser of two evils.

He didn't know how long he remained in the woods surrounding the quarry, his anger simmering just below the surface. It was his need to clean himself up in the lake and then grab a bite to eat around the communal campfire which drew him out. He shivered somewhat in the evening air, pulling the makeshift poncho he'd fashioned out of an old horse blanket over his head. He nodded to Merle as he made his way to the table set up under the awning of the Winnebago and piled several cuts of meat onto his plate. Someone had found some potatoes, god only knew where, and he took some of those too.

The night was cool, too cool for what had been such a hot summer day in Georgia, but at least it seemed to keep the majority of the bugs away, leaving Daryl to eat in peace. He managed to polish off half of his supper before his eyes were drawn to her across the campfire. He stilled mid-chew, a dark frown pulling his brows together. At the very edge of the neckline of her blouse at her left shoulder, were the faint traces of a bruise. Just like that, his appetite vanished, and his body tensed with the urge to beat the crap out of her husband. His gaze wandered over the group, who were animated in their glee over dinner, sharing stories and enjoying themselves. But Carol, finished with her own dinner, sat in her chair next to Ed, a fake smile on her lips and her hands demurely folded in her lap. Sophia sat at her feet on the ground to her right, her blonde head resting against her mother's knees. He couldn't remember ever seeing the girl so forlorn, so miserable.

He couldn't stand it. The gratitude, the smiling faces, the all-around cheerfulness when the world was going to hell. It was all too much, the itch under his skin building to an unbearable ache. He nodded to the group as he took his leave, retreating to the comforting silence of the forest instead of the tent he shared with his brother. Only Merle would be able to recognize Daryl's unease, and he knew when not to provoke the beast.