I wasn't going to post this here but then decided to so all the fanfic I have written would be in one place.

This was a prompt I wrote from Nine Lives. It is my first venture into writing a AU. Not sure if I will continue. I have ideas and I want to but time is a factor so for now it is a one-shot.

Not sure many people are going to read it anyhow!

Thanks to my friend Jen for reading this over for me! You are a true gem!

Lots of Dixon Language in this and a trigger warning for characters discussing abuse briefly.

I own nothing dealing with The Walking Dead.

Enjoy!

Blood pumped fiercely through his veins and his chest throbbed painfully as he attempted to catch his breath, breathing slowly in and out. He sat crouched behind the dumpster, knee deep in day old garbage, the smell of rotten food and cat shit was so overwhelming he fought the urge to heave, unable to risk the sound and being caught. The fuckers had chased him for five blocks before he had darted into the dark alley in an attempt to lose them. It seemed to have worked, he hadn't heard a thing aside from the annoying buzz of the air conditioner hanging from the window of one of the top apartments and the hum of traffic in the distance. He tentatively stuck his head out, focusing across the alley trying to adjust his eyes to the darkness. He couldn't see a damn thing. The shrieking of two feral tomcats engaging in war startled him and he fell back against the brick of the apartment building.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, his pulse racing. He leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. He could do this. He had to. These men were out for blood and they weren't going to stop until Merle's debt was paid. Fucking Merle. He was not going to die in some fucking dark alley in the middle of Atlanta because his asshole brother had gotten himself in too deep with the local drug cartel. Then, he of course conveniently found himself in the slammer leaving dear little brother to flip the fucking bill.

He took one last deep breath and pushed himself off the ground. Quietly he crept along the alley, his eyes darting back and forth watching for any signs out of the ordinary. He needed to get the hell away from Atlanta...tonight.

He peered around the corner onto the quiet side street. Parked cars filled the entire right side of the road, their owners all tucked into their beds unaware of the absolute fucking chaos that was happening just below them.

He stared at the cars all neatly lined up along the curb realizing he was going to have to take one, continuing on foot was too risky. Fuck.

His legs shook when he stepped out of the alley, causing him to stumble. He paused giving himself a moment to collect himself, to get his shit together. He couldn't afford to be a fucking scared little girl. Don't be a little pussy Darylina, be a man for once in yer life, his brother's taunts bounced around in his head. It was enough to push him forward, enough to get him to focus on the task that needed to be done.

He tried to open several doors in case some stupid ass made it easy for him but luck was not on his side. The sidewalk was cobblestone or some fancy shit and it served to make him feel even more like the hick trash that he had worked so hard to leave behind. He was fucking thirty years old and what did he have to show for that? A dead end job, a seedy apartment where all his hard earned money went towards to keep up with rent and at that very moment he was paying, perhaps with his life, for the mistakes of the only family he had in this world.

He stopped in front of a Jeep Cherokee. It was an older model, late seventies or early eighties maybe. It stood out on a street full of compact and modern sedans. What really had his attention though was the partially rolled down window on the passenger side. Relief filled him. This made things much easier. He glanced around the dimly lit street. Satisfied that no one was around, he reached out and snapped the antenna off the hood. His hand shook while he worked to bend the rod creating a loop to pull up the lock. He cursed himself for being such a pansy. The last time he had attempted to steal a car was when he was thirteen and Merle had stood over him berating him the entire time. He had been so fucking young. Once he had been successful in unlocking the car, he had hurled all over the front seat. Merle had smacked him on the back of the head, called him a 'fuckin pussy' and never took him to steal another car again.

The lock on the Cherokee was easy enough to lift. When he reached the driver's side, the streetlight on the opposite side of the road flickered and then went out, casting a even eerier glow over everything. It made him feel uneasy. He needed to hotwire this piece of shit Jeep and he needed to do it fast. The only problem? He never made it that fucking far in his training with Merle. He'd have to figure it out. When it came to bikes, he knew everything there was to know, how different could a Jeep be?

He slid into the driver's seat and looked at the mantle and realization hit...he didn't have any fucking tools. He groaned and swiped his hand over his face in frustration. Maybe this had been a bad idea. It had been fairly quiet, maybe the boys had given up on the chase, had decided the cash Merle owed them wasn't worth the effort, maybe he could just walk away. A glint of something shiny caught his eye from the passengers seat and his eyes widened. The fucking keys. He stared at the object sure that he must be seeing things. What fucking idiot leaves their keys in their vehicle, in plain sight, in the middle of Atlanta Georgia?

The inner battle began, should he take the Jeep and get the hell out of dodge or take his chances that he was no longer being pursued?

"THERE HE IS!"

Fuck.

Two of the goons that had been chasing him earlier were closing in. He slammed the door shut, his decision had been made for him. His heart pounded and he fumbled with the keys, repeatedly missing the ignition.

"Shit – shit - shit," he hissed, panic overtaking him.

Finally the car came to life and he frantically put the Jeep into drive, hitting the Chevy that sat in front of him as he pulled out.

A startled cry from behind him nearly made him drive off the road onto the sidewalk across the way. He jerked the Jeep back straight and whipped his head around to look in the backseat. A nest of red curly hair and wide frightened eyes stared back at him.

"What the fuck?!" He yelped, losing control of the car once again. He turned his eyes back to the road yanking the steering wheel. He reached out to adjust the mirror to look at his surprise passenger, his hand still slightly trembling. It was definitely a woman that much he could tell and she looked scared shitless. Stealing a fucking car was one thing but kidnapping?

"God dammit!" He hit the steering wheel and glimpsed in the mirror again. "What the hell are y'doin'?!"

She held her hands up like he was holding her at fucking gunpoint and guilt churned in the pit of his stomach. He never imagined some broad would be sleeping in the back of his getaway vehicle. This day just kept getting fucking better and better.

"This is my Jeep," she squeaked. "What is going on? Who are you?" Her voice grew more frantic with each question and she gripped the back of the passenger seat, her knuckles turning white. He growled out a curse and said nothing. He couldn't throw her out or she was a dead woman courtesy of Merle's drug pals. This was a fucking nightmare.

The light ahead went from yellow to red and he ran a frustrated hand over his face. Stopping gave the men more of a chance to catch up. His fingers bounced erratically on the steering wheel as he tried to will the light to turn to green.

They jerked violently forward which caused the woman to cry out. A black SUV had rammed into the rear of the Jeep. Dammit. He glanced in the side mirror just in time to make out a fucking Beretta being aimed right at them.

"Get the fuck down!" he shouted. The woman had enough sense to listen just as the bullet smashed through the back window.

His heart screamed in fear as he raved the engine and tore through the intersection, the light just barely flicking back to green.

The odometer rose higher and higher while he dodged the oncoming traffic. The sounds of honking horns, screeching tires and gunshots played a frightening song in the background. What the hell was he going to do? He noticed a transport approaching from the left at the next intersection and he knew he needed to take a risk if he was going to shake the fuckers trailing him. He pushed further down on the gas pedal driving straight through the red light whipping the steering wheel to make the turn missing the transport by mere inches. The woman's screams echoed around him but the satisfying sound of the crash that followed told him his plan had worked.

He pushed the sweat out of his eyes and attempted to get his breathing back to normal. That was too fucking close.

Remembering his passenger he looked back to see her slowly peering out the back window.

"Was it the cops?" Her voice shook. She was so quiet he could barely make out what the hell she had said.

"Ain't no damn cops," he mumbled, his body still buzzing from the events "I told y'to keep your ass down," he added, irritated. He needed to get the fuck out of Atlanta and looked like he was taking this woman with him.

They had driven most of the night before the need to pull over and fill up with gas became a priority. He had planned on ridding himself of the Jeep and the chick once he was safely out of Atlanta but she had insisted he keep driving. He didn't fucking argue, his desire to get far away from Georgia outweighing any concern over her surprising request. They had crossed over into Kentucky about a half hour earlier and the sun was just starting to rise. It coloured the sky with various oranges and yellows, it was fucking beautiful. It made him long to be in the woods, a place where he had no cares in the world, just him and nature. He liked nature, it was predictable. The sun always rose, the deer always fed at dawn and the Warbler always migrated to Georgia in the spring. That predictability gave him comfort. Life outside of the woods...that was fucking unpredictable and he didn't much care for it.

While he pumped the gas he watched the woman, the same woman who had him tense and feeling completely out of his comfort zone. She stood frozen like a statue, staring off into the distance, her expression vacant. Now in the daylight he was able to make out the fresh purple marks that marred her face and the crusted, dried blood that sat on her lip. Anger coiled in his gut, wrapping around him and squeezing til he could hardly breathe. The scars on his back burned. Haunted memories of his old man standing over him holding a belt, his eyes simmering with rage and images of his ma cowering on the floor, her flowered nightie ripped and soaked with blood, Merle's hand clasped over his mouth to stop the screams as they hid under the bed, flashed through his mind. Nothing made him angrier than some asshole beating on someone he figured was weaker. He knew from first hand experience what this woman had suffered and the need to reassure her suddenly suffocated him.

"I ain't gonna hurt ya," he mumbled, chewing on his nail, peering at her through hooded eyes.

Her body tensed and she didn't turn to make eye contact. He fought the urge to growl in frustration. The hell did he know about dealing with uptight women who had been used as a punching bag? He was never a comfort to his mama, how was this going to be any different?

He put the nozzle back on the gas pump feeling like an incompetent moron, unsure if he should just leave the woman be or if he should fucking do something for her.

He noticed a small diner attached to the convenience store and his stomach growled. He hadn't eaten in over 24 hours and he imagined she hadn't had much to eat during that time either.

"Let's grab some food. I'm fuckin' starvin'."

"Don't have any money."

He hadn't expected a response and he fumbled for something to say, his mouth gaping like a goddamn fish.

"I - I got it," he stuttered, pulling out his wallet to check to see if he actually had enough money to cover the gas and a meal. On a good day he just barely got by. Luckily he had been paid the day before and had some cash on hand.

"Did you get that money robbing a bank?"

His head snapped up, irritation pumping in his veins. He hated being fucking judged. "I ain't no damn bank robber."

She was looking at him now and he swore the corner of her mouth had turned up in a slight grin. She was a being a smart ass and he found that new information very intriguing. It was her eyes though that nearly knocked the wind right out of him. They were as blue as those wildflowers his mama used to always pick from the field behind their shack. They were the prettiest damn things he'd ever seen. He quickly looked to the ground needing to break away from the spell those eyes had so quickly cast over him. She had every right to judge him, for all she knew he could be a bank robber or worse. He shook his head. What the hell did he care what this woman thought anyway?

He started towards the diner and tried not to concern himself over whether she followed or not.

He had picked a booth in the back corner, a spot that was a bit more isolated, other people made him nervous. His knee bounced under the table, he wasn't used to having someone else eating with him. Occasionally, Merle would show up looking for a handout, but for the most part Daryl lived his life alone and that suited him just fine. He wondered if he should try and make conversation, explain why the men were after him and why he had stolen her Jeep. Maybe not the whole truth but at least some of it. He opened his mouth and then abruptly closed it. She wasn't begging for an explanation so why the hell did it matter? Talking about shit wasn't really something he was good at, plus it was none of her damn business anyway.

He used the silence to watch her. Her eyes were downcast staring at the napkin she held in her hands, her fingers nervously working to tear the paper into shreds. Her hair hung covering her face, hiding the bruises that were becoming more and more obvious and he couldn't stop himself from wondering who had left the ugly marks on such a remarkable face. A daddy? His fist clenched, his nails digging into his skin at the very thought. Maybe a boyfriend? He didn't like that either.

She looked up suddenly, like she knew he was staring. Her blue eyes were so stunningly haunting and instantly grabbed a hold of his own. He glanced away, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks and cursed himself for being caught gawking at her. She probably thought he was a fucking pervert.

The silence stretched again. Their food arrived and he felt so goddamn uncomfortable, drowning in the tension that had built between them. He decided to push forward, the silence surprisingly unbearable.

"Who's the asshole?" He nodded his head, indicating her face even though she was paying no attention to him.

She swallowed nervously and her eyes darted to the exit. He was pretty sure he wouldn't be getting an answer. He focused back on his bacon trying to bury the disappointment that this woman seemed to have no interest in speaking to him. Who could blame her? All he had ever done to her was steal her Jeep and kidnap her. He was such a fucking dipshit.

"My husband."

His head jerked up in surprise. Her face was a mixture of shame and sadness and guilt. He gripped the edge of the table. What a fucking prick.

"Wasn't always bad," she continued, "When we were first married, he was sweet – attentive." He watched her mouth as she talked, mesmerized by the sound of her voice, soft and gravelly from lack of use. "We'd been married for a year when he hit me the first time. Burnt his dinner."

She cleared her throat and shook her head, like she was escaping the memory. "Tired to leave him many times since then," she finished quietly.

"Why didn't ya?"

"I was scared shitless. Never been on my own before," she sighed, racking her fork mindlessly through her eggs, "And I thought that maybe - maybe I deserved it."

"No," he barked, causing her to jump and look at him with wide eyes. "He's a fucking asshole. You didn't deserve any of that shit. No one does."

She stared at him and he resisted the urge to look away from her scrutiny but curiosity made him continue.

"What changed your mind? To leave?"

She closed her eyes and ran a weary hand through her hair before looking at him once more. "I'm – I'm pregnant."

Oh. Fuck. He was rendered speechless, his mouth hanging open like a fool. She didn't seem to notice.

"It was one thing using me as a punching bag." She reached down and placed her hand on her stomach. "But not my baby."

He wondered why she didn't go to a family member or to a friend.

"Why you sleepin' in the Jeep?"

"No where else to go," she said and pushed her plate away from her, food barely touched. His gut rolled, he knew that feeling, no one giving a shit that you are getting your ass beat. People always long to know your goddamn business, but when you actually need someone, no one is ever fucking around.

"What happened?" He tried to keep his voice gentle, the voice he would use when trying to calm a cornered animal.

"I thought if he knew I was pregnant things would change." She laughed, a sound that had a manic edge to it. "I was such a fool," she growled. "He told me how useless I would be as a mother and then he let his fists do the rest of the talking. He threw me across the room and I hit my head off the fireplace and I just – I snapped."

"Snapped?"

"He had this look in his eye – I knew that- that if I didn't do something he was going to kill us. I had to protect my baby - so I grabbed the fire poker and I closed my eyes and I...swung." She paused and took a drink from her water. The glass slightly shaking the entire way to her mouth and back. She took a breath before continuing. "He wasn't moving, he was so still – and the blood -" she whispered. "I didn't know what to do, so I grabbed the keys to the Jeep and got the hell out of there." She looked up, her terrified eyes connecting with his, and he knew he didn't want to hear the rest of what she had to say. He wanted to go back to ten minutes before and never have had started this conversation.

"I think I – I think I killed him."

He closed his eyes and leaned back in the booth. Holy fucking shit. Not only was he running from the drug cartel, now he was aiding and abetting a woman who may have killed her prick of a husband.

"Anyone gonna find him right away?" He asked, needing to know the time limit they were working with here.

"We kept to ourselves mostly. His boss is probably going to wonder if he doesn't show up for work. Might be a couple days. You gonna turn me in?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose, "You ain't the one bein' chased by men with guns. I got no right to judge. 'Sides bastard deserved whatever he got anyway."

Carol slid down in the booth, her face paler than it had been before, the reality of what she had done finally hitting her. "Fuck," she moaned quietly. "What am I going to do?" Seeing her upset made him feel funny in the pit of his stomach and he didn't like it at all. The need to reassure her became overpowering.

"It's gonna be alright."

"How?" She asked incredulously. "I might have murdered my husband."

"You were protectin' yourself...and your kid."

She didn't look convinced. Maybe telling her about his situation would help or at least let her know she wasn't the only one who protected someone and then found themselves in a shitty position.

"I was protectin' someone too."

Her brow creased, confusion evident in her eyes.

"My brother Merle. A real dick sometimes. But he's the only family I got. He got involved in some drugs and shit and then landed his sorry ass in the slammer. The men that were chasin' me were lookin' to be paid."

"Oh God. We're quite the pair, aren't we? "She mused, dryly.

He grunted in agreement. This was some real messed up shit. Really, what the hell were they going to do?

"You know, I've never been out of Georgia before."

She was staring out the window. He snorted, caught off guard by her musing. Where the hell did that come from?

"Neither have I," he said. "You wanna go back or somethin'?" He really didn't want to have to go back to Georgia.

"I'm probably a wanted fugitive by now."

"And I'm bein' chased by the drug cartel."

"Oh my God," she groaned, looking back to him. "I'm going to go to jail, aren't I?"

He chewed on the pad of his thumb trying to think of something to say that would erase the anxious look from those eyes. If her prick of a husband was dead, she had a strong shot of a case by using self defence, but he also knew the system was sometimes really fucked up. If he still lived? She was a dead woman.

"Wanna go to Canada?" The words tumbled out of him before he could truly think through the consequences.

Her eyes widened, and the expression she wore was comical. "Are you serious?" She hissed.

He shrugged his shoulders, not entirely sure what the hell he was thinking.

Her head fell to the table and he briefly wondered if she had passed out. The muffled, oh my God, was the only indication that she hadn't. Finally, after what felt like an eternity she lifted her head and nodded. Her blue eyes boring into his.

Holy shit. Were they actually going to attempt his fucked up plan?

"I'm Carol." She stuck out her hand, introducing herself. He hadn't even realized he didn't even know her fucking name.

He cleared his throat and tentatively grasped her hand, doing his best not to flinch when he made contact. He hated touching other people.

"Daryl," he grunted.

She smiled slightly and the sight of it made his stomach flutter.

He quickly looked away and stood, throwing some bills on the table.

"Let's get the hell outta here."

Thanks for reading!