Disclaimer: I do not own a thing.
Italics = flashbacks.
Song of the chapter - Sigh No More by Mumford and Sons
You may realise this throughout this chapter...but I bloody love Hershel. That sage old dude rocks.
And apparently illness works with chucking out chapters quickly. Two in one day!
Hope you like. Hope you like the connection with one of the flashbacks too. Also, a reference to Chupacubra.
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Chapter Four
Carol had taken a walk around the fence perimeter after leaving the library to try and clear her head before heading inside. She didn't want the people in there to see any traces of the anger she had displayed to her friends, and nor did she want Judith to pick up on the negativity that was surely coming off of her in waves. Despite the way her eyes had welled during her exchange with Glenn she had still not let herself cry. There would be plenty of time for that when she was alone in the cell that Daryl had recently started sharing with her; his reluctance at living in a cage had apparently been outweighed by his need to keep her protected in the face of the arrival of so many people from Woodbury. People that Daryl had made abundantly clear he didn't know enough about to trust. As she finished her seventh revolution of the fence Carol drew her hands through her lengthening hair and made her way towards the cell block.
Hershel watched as Carol returned and straight away relieve a young Woodbury woman from the cell occupied by a sleeping Judith. He watched her expertly scoop the sleeping infant up and cradle her into her neck, bestowing the most delicate of kisses onto her soft temple before lowering the child back down into her makeshift crib. Hershel made his way over to the cell, entering as Carol sat down on the cot adjacent to Judith's position and took a seat next to her. He placed one of his wrinkled hands onto her knee and was grateful to find she placed hers on top of his. He was glad she was accepting the comfort that he knew she dearly needed.
"I am so angry at him." A deep breath escaped Carol's lips as she spoke, as if the words she had been dying to speak had been holding it in.
"You can't blame Rick for this, Carol." Hershel's tone was soft and comforting but held a slight tone of authority, reading to argue Rick's innocence.
"Not Rick." Carol whispered, "Daryl."
Hershel's hand gripped Carol's as she let her head fall forward and he realised the internal battle the woman was having with herself. It had been easy in the raw moments following the group's return to forget that in Daryl's action of putting the other three, and their collective families, before himself he was also putting them before Carol. It was no secret that the two of them shared a deep connection that could not be explained merely by the word friend, or love, or family. It was something deeper, almost as if the two of them had discovered a kindred spirit in the other. They provided each other with a support that neither of them had been privy to before in their lives. While they may not have been romantically involved or related by blood they had a very rare relationship that others could only wish to stumble upon in their lifetime. In sacrificing himself for the rest of them Daryl was severing that connection and effectively leaving Carol without the thing she had become to rely on the most in this post-apocalyptic world. Having been so prepared to defend Rick's actions, Hershel was suddenly unable to find the words he dearly wanted to be able to comfort Carol with. He realised quickly that there were no words he could offer.
Tears slowly fell down Carol's cheeks and she haphazardly wiped them with the back of her covered forearm, leaving traces of dampness on her sleeves. She clung on to Hershel's hand and kept her head down as she let out another deep breath.
"He saved them." Carol's voice shook with emotion, but she cleared her throat and carried on. "He did what he had to do to make sure they made it home and I'm angry at him? How is that possible?"
"It's a perfectly understandable reaction. Especially seen as how close you two were." Hershel was grateful to have finally found his voice, and that Carol asked a question he had the words to answer. "That man did an amazing thing today. Made a choice that I have never doubted in all the time I have known him that he would. But in making that choice he has left people that cared deeply about him. I know you have battled with him to recognise his worth to all of us, and I know to you this seems like the ultimate failure of that. The fact that there was a choice is what makes it harder for you to accept."
Carol nodded at the truth of the older man's words, tears now falling faster than she could wipe them away. To her Daryl had chosen to leave her behind, and it tore through her that it was all because of how little he valued himself.
"If it makes any difference," Hershel carried on, this time bringing his other hand to clasp Carol's and turning to face her, "I don't think it was a choice to him. I think he saw it as the only option available."
Before either of them could continue Judith began to stir and Carol quickly wiped her eyes once more and made her way to the little girl. She looked down sadly as she stroked the minimal hair on the child's head and lightly patted her stomach in an attempt to sooth her back to sleep.
"I remember the first time I noticed the angel wings on Daryl's vest." Carol's voice was suddenly calm, dripped in the faraway tone of reminiscence. "It was after he had to leave his beloved truck and started to ride the bike. I remember smiling to myself and thanking God that he had sent an angel to look out for me and my Sophia. He'd already saved our lives on more occasions than I could ever remember."
A hearty chuckle filled the room as it escaped from Hershel's lips. The now-sniggering man used one hand to try to stifle the noise while waving the other in Carol's direction in an apology. Carol furrowed her brow in confusion at the outburst and glanced to Judith to check she hadn't been startled by the noise.
"I'm sorry," Hershel whispered through his hand. "The phrase 'God works in mysterious ways' came to mind."
Carol returned the smile and laughed softly to herself, knowing exactly what he meant. She watched the man's face lose its radiance as the light left his eyes and the smile was replaced by a look of sadness.
"He cared about you deeply, Hershel, he respected you." Carol ghosted another smile over to Hershel, wanting to provide the man with comfort like he had for her, as she continued to tend to Judith. "He may not have spoken about it but I think you gave him a hope that not every man was destined to be like his father. You showed him that good men could come from a bad beginning, that he could still become the kind of man he always wished he could."
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A few minutes later Hershel exited Carol's cell and quickly made his way down the walkway to his own. Thankful to see that Beth wasn't there, he lowered himself to his bed and brought his hands to rest above his head. He took some calming, deep breaths and closed his eyes allowing himself to remember.
Morning had only just broken when Hershel quietly opened the door to his own farmhouse bedroom. He snuck a look into the room and saw Daryl sitting upright on the bed with his head bowed slightly as his hands held the book Hershel had left him the previous day on his lap. Hershel cocked his head slightly and smiled to himself; it looked like the younger man only had a few pages to go. Before Hershel could back out of the room and save from disturbing the climax of the story, Daryl sensed a presence and quickly hid the book under the pillow beside him.
"Good Lord, can't you people leave me alone," his gruff voice spoke.
Hershel ignored the man's unwelcoming tone as he stepped over the threshold and shut the door behind him. Men like Daryl Dixon didn't scare him; he may be rude, aggressive and made it as hard as possible to be around but Hershel knew that men like him had a moral code that included not hurting old men who had just patched them up. He noticed as he turned back towards the room that the hunter had brought the white sheet up to cover himself.
"It's a bit late to be modest in front of me I'm afraid, young man." Hershel almost scoffed. "How are you feeling? I'm surprised you aren't still asleep, those painkillers I gave you pack a mean punch.
"I can handle a mean punch." Daryl spat, not liking the fact he was having to deal a visitor so soon in the day. He'd had enough the previous day to last him a while. "I like to be covered, that's all. Jesus Christ, that so hard for y'all to understand?"
"No, I understand, Son." Hershel decided to ignore yet another instance of the Lord's name being taken in vain, realising it was Daryl's way of trying to chase him off. The man was clever, Hershel realised long ago, adapting his bad behaviours for each person to give him the best chance of getting them to leave him alone. However, Instead of turning away Hershel approached the bed and went to lay a hand on the younger man's shoulder. He was greeted with a flinch so violent he immediately withdrew. His voice softened, trying not to intimidate his obviously uncomfortable patient.
"Do you mind if I have a look quickly?" Hershel continued, "That wound was so dirty I want to clean and redress it to make sure it doesn't get infected."
Daryl's eyes quickly scanned the door to make sure it was closed and no one else would be entering and then down to the white sheet that he had pulled up to underneath his chin. His eyes remained on his covered chest for a second before he hesitantly pulled the sheet to the side, allowing Hershel only to view the part of his side that was needed, and giving him a wordless permission.
"I'll need you to give me a bit more access than that." Hershel made his way to the bathroom and retrieved some lukewarm water and a clean cloth, as well as new dressings. Approaching the bed once again he nodded his head in the direction of Daryl's chest and continued, "you don't have to cover those. Nothing to be ashamed about in front of me."
"Shut up Doc." The venom in his voice evident as Daryl threw the sheet off, exposing his entire bare torso. "Don't know what ya harping on 'bout."
Once again ignoring the brashness, Hershel pulled the wooden chair over to the side of the bed and sat down gently. Slowly he began to undress the wound and inspect the stitches before dipping the cloth in the water and dabbing the area. Silence filled the room except for the odd gasp of discomfort from the man on the bed until Hershel spoke once again.
"I always thought my father was one of the cruellest men I would ever meet. He was a cold, violent drunk and one I would never have forgiven. But, son, looking at the state of your skin..."
"Ya don't need to be talking about something ya know nothing about." Daryl snapped, twisting so that the other man could see the scowl on his face.
"Looking at the state of your skin," Hershel carried on despite the display of defiance from the man, not even hesitating before carrying on, "I don't think my father was anywhere as cruel as I thought he was. Those scars I saw on your back are from a belt, I assume? The usual weapon of child discipline for those who feel it necessary to harm their children. But these ones on your front look different. A knife? A knife being repeatedly drawn over the same spot by the looks of it."
"I'm warning ya," Daryl forced out between clenched teeth, fists balling into the mattress beneath as he noticeably tensed beneath the veterinarian's fingers. "I don't wanna knock an ol man out but I will."
"Son," Hershel removed his hands from the man's torso, "you can try all you want to push people away with harsh words and physical distance but one day you are going to need to realise that these people here don't want to hurt you. Every one of them are concerned for your wellbeing right now."
Daryl laughed out loud, a harsh and short burst of sound that made his body shake slightly. As Hershel once again went to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder Daryl sprang up quickly and almost threw himself off the opposite side of the bed. Landing on his feet he turned to the grey-haired man.
"I don't need none of thems concern" Daryl roared, "an' I sure as hell don't need a nosey ol' man like you trying to play head doctor with me, so now you're finished fixin' me up do me a favour and get the hell away from me."
"I don't pretend to know what you have been through..." Hershel tried again.
"Shit, ya'll really are stupid." Grabbing the clean shirt that had been left for him on the dresser and pulling it over his head, Daryl made his way to the door.
"Where are you going?" Pure disbelief laced Hershel's voice. "You're in no state to leave right now."
"Like fuck I ain't," Daryl growled. "To my tent. At least I can' get some peace out there."
And with that he exited the room, slamming the door hard enough to wake every one of the sleeping bodies inside the house. Hershel stood still, shocked by the pure rage that had exploded from the man, before he bent down and plucked the book Daryl had been reading from underneath the pillow. Hershel set it back on the bedside table and took a deep breath. Maybe, one day, Daryl would come back for it.
...
Months passed with the two men not having another private conversation, but that changed while they were on the road after the farm had been overrun. They had found a small church to settle in for a night, or maybe even two if they were lucky. During the sweep of the building they had come across a small, single bed in the vestry and it had been decided that either Hershel or Lori should take it. Lori gladly offered it to the older man, in exchange for all the help he had given her in the time she had known him.
After saying goodnight to his daughters and heading into the room, Hershel heard a soft knock on the door behind him. Expecting to find Beth standing there asking to sleep on the floor, he opened the door with a smile on his face. Instead of his daughter he was met with the sight of Daryl Dixon staring back at him.
"Sorry to disturb ya, Doc." Daryl shifted uncomfortably between his feet, his eyes darting anywhere but to meet Hershel's and his bottom lip being gnawed between his teeth. He looked like a timid child who was about to ask for more pocket money. In his hands was a metal cup that Hershel recognised as Daryl's, steam visibly rising from its contents. "I found a couple more of them teabags ya like in one of my bags and thought you might want one as a nightcap?"
"Thank you, son, that's really kind." Hershel smiled a confused smile at the younger man and gestured for him to come into the room. "Would you mind putting it down over there on the bureau?"
Daryl nodded and strode over to the piece of furniture, setting down the cup carefully. However, instead of turning instantly and heading back the way he came like Hershel had expected, the hunter stayed where he was, hunched slightly over the cup. The veterinarian took this as an indication that the man was not about to leave and shut the door quietly, so as not to spook him. Hershel watched curiously as Daryl fiddled with the handle of the cup, still not bringing his eyes up from the hot beverage. Daryl's shoulders softly lowered as he began to talk.
"You were right, y'know? That he used a belt on my back and a knife on my chest." He spoke with an unmistakable nervousness, something Hershel had never heard from this man before. "It depended on whether he was just drunk or high too as to which he would go for. When he was sober it was just his fists and feet. He never used the knife before Ma died but I was used to Da. I was a good for nothing varmint, deserved everything he gave ta me. Never once stood up to him me whole life."
Hershel swallowed down the lump from his throat but remained silent, knowing the man had more to say. He allowed no emotion to betray itself on his face as Daryl turned to look at him, bringing blue eyes to lock with his own and holding his gaze there as he spoke the rest.
"But they weren't all him. This one here.." Daryl brought his left hand up across his chest and traced a finger over the largest, nastiest of all his scars that lay from his shoulder, across his collarbone and down to his chest. ."This one here was Merle, my brother.
"He was 6 years older than me, so when we was younger he tried to protect me, tried to make sure I could eat and dress and would try to make sure I stayed outta Pa's path as best he could. Taught me to hunt and track and how ta hide in the woods away from the ol' man. Then he found drugs himself, got inta trouble and had stints in juvie, one the army before they kicked his ass out and then prison. When he was home he'd try and beat some 'man' inta me, but with the best intentions. Said it'd help me with Da.
"This one night he'd got himself high as a kite and came flying inta the house. I was in bed and I just remember him grabbing ma ankles and dragging me inta the kitchen. My Da had already laid inta me with the belt pretty hard and I can remember how much it hurt to be dragged along the carpet. Merle was screaming at me, I don't even know what, I don't think he even knew what. He was just raging, all this pure anger that he had just needed somewhere to go. I guess he had a lot of anger to get out. He beat the piss outta me and then he used a hunting knife on my chest. Spent hours going over that one spot, deeper and deeper until he started to hit the bone. He laughed. Laughed so hard that he had tears, of joy, rolling down his cheeks. I never felt pain like it. I never made it back ta bed...even after he passed out on the sofa I just laid where he left me. Never felt so pathetic.
"When he woke up the next afternoon I'd cleaned up, made a shitty job of stitching myself up and he was no different ta normal. He'd been so high he hadn't even remembered doing it. I reckon he assumed Da had done it...and I never told him otherwise. Son of a bitch took me out on a hunting trip that afternoon. Gave me that same fucking hunting knife as a gift. It was my 12th birthday."
After finishing his speech, Daryl remained where he stood, his chest moving slightly faster than usual and his hands wringing themselves in each other nervously. It was obvious this was the first time the hunter had shared his story.
"Son, I'm sorry you had to go through all of that." Hershel kept his eyes locked with Daryl's, not wanted to be the one to break to contact. Not wanting to make any movement that the obviously damaged man would misinterpret.
"I'm not after a sorry." Finally the eye contact was broken and Daryl returned to fiddling with the cup's handle. "Nothing no one can do to change it. I just thought, seen as you asked before, you might like to know."
Daryl moved across the room, stopping to rest his hand on Hershel's shoulder. The motion took Hershel by surprise and he smiled to himself at the irony of the involuntary flinch that shook his form.
"I used to think that a Dixon is what a Dixon is." Daryl carried on regardless, "Ain't no changing that one. I was meant to be what I was. But I never had no one to care about before now, and I'm staring to think maybe I was wrong."
Before Hershel could respond, the hunter moved away to the door and opened it. Dipping his head low, he turned and spoke one last time before closing the door.
"The tea...I never thanked you for patching me up that time."
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He hadn't moved from the library table since everyone had left him to his own thoughts long ago. All of them were worried how Rick would cope with this new stress after what had transpired after Lori, but they also knew that the man needed time and space to take everything in.
Hershel made his way past Michonne, who had take it upon herself to unofficially guard Rick in case anything happened, and hobbled into the room and over to the table. The fact he wasn't quite used to the discomfort of his new leg at the end of the day evident in his gait. He had picked Rick up some water and a small portion of their evening meal after leaving his cell and the older man gently placed it on the table and sat down beside the deputy.
"Rick, son, talk to me." Hershel spoke softly.
Having received no response from the man, Hershel pulled a calloused hand through his long, white-grey hair and sighed.
"Please, Rick." The softness was leaving the tone now, something close to annoyance bubbling to the surface. "I know you have lost big today, we all have, but I can't let you have a repeat of what happened after you lost Lori. The group can't handle that as well right now."
Rick slowly raised his head from the table at these words and Hershel grimaced at the state of the man. Hooded lids hung above bloodshot eyes that held no life in them. He had seen the look once before and Hershel prayed God that he was in time to bring Rick back from the brink this time.
"I'm going back. Even if there isn't..." Rick couldn't bring himself to say 'anything left', the visual image it gave him brought a deathly shiver up his spine. "Even if we don't find him we can look, we can get his crossbow. We can find something to bury. It doesn't matter what it is. We can bring the bike home. Hell, maybe we can just find out how he... Something. Anything."
"Rick, do you think that is wise?" Hershel implored, not seeing the use of going back. "It won't change anything. What kind of repayment to Daryl would it be if someone got killed for that?"
"Yes, yes it changes something." Rick viscously rubbed his stubble with his hand and looked at Hershel. "I don't know how he...he...it happened. I looked away for a second and then he was gone. I know the chances are slim that we would find one but I need to look for a body. I was a policeman. I dealt with evidence, I knew a crime or accident had occurred because I could see it, I could look at what was left behind. I need to see something, Hershel. Like with...with...Lori. If I can't see it, it isn't there. I need something physical to tell me what happened to him. I need to be able to know how...what..."
Suddenly Rick's fists were flying up to meet his own forehead as he physically tried to beat the images that flashed through his mind away.
"Shit, shit. SHIT. SHIT! I shouldn't have let him do it."
"Rick!" Hershel grabbed the man's flying fists and pushed both hands onto the table, keeping a hold of them as he spoke, "Listen to me. By all accounts you had no choice in the matter today. Daryl wouldn't have let you stop him once he had made up his mind and you must realise that. He did this because he cared about the group. As much as a man like Daryl Dixon could, he loved this group. He loved you. I know he thought of you as a brother, son. Dare I say, he probably thought of you as the brother he wished Merle had been all his life."
The grey-haired man dipped his head to wipe his eyes as tears began to well, the conversations and memories of the afternoon having caught up with him.
"That man had been through hell in this life," Hershel choked down the emotion from his voice, "long before the apocalypse even began. I don't doubt for a second that he lived in a world of hate and anger and pain from the moment he was born into it. He had never found a place or people that accepted him before he found us. Found you. Found a family that could finally teach him what love and trust was supposed to be. With it he found his reason to truly begin to live, probably for the first time in his life. Today, if he saw it fit that his reason to die was because of his love for you, for Glenn, for Maggie, for Judith and Carl, or even Beth and I, then that was his choice."
"He made the wrong choice." Rick's words were quiet. "We would have figured something out. We needed him to stay alive. He made the wrong choice and I let him."
"STOP!" Hershel's suddenly raised voice caught in his throat as the raw emotion he was feeling finally betrayed him. He quickly cleared his throat again and continued, bringing as much conviction to his voice as possible. "Daryl had...he had so much taken away from him in life. The ability to love, to trust, to accept touch. Please Rick, in front of God's eyes I beg you, please don't take away anything from him in death. Let him have that one thing."
Overcome with the day's events Hershel stood and looked down on Rick, no longer able to continue the conversation. Outside the window he could see the sun in the last stages of setting and realised suddenly how exhausted he truly felt. Rick would no longer meet his eyes and Hershel knew the younger man still planned on going back. Mirroring Carol's actions earlier, Hershel turned and headed for the door, leaving Rick alone once again in the quickly darkening room.
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Gosh, darn it, Hershel just about broke my heart there. I want my own Hershel! I have a soft spot for our resident horse doc (I really love to think he is the person that Daryl would chose to confide in...the subtle pat on the back in 'Seed' has my mind-a-thinking. I think I could honestly write a 50 chapter fic on one-shots of just these two!). I also really like the notion that Daryl opened up both Hershel and Rick on the same night...I do wonder what happened that day to make it happen.
I got carried away with all these scenes again...I'm really enjoying getting back into this writing malarkey.
And also, Sigh No More by Mumford and Sons..."Love; it will not betray you, dismay or enslave you, it will set you free. Be more like the man you were made to be." Come on! Was that not a PERFECT song to come on.