Growing Pains
I calmed down after a while, but any time I thought of returning to the prison, how Daryl wouldn't be there, I felt a lump in my throat.
"Why we stoppin'?" I heard Michonne talk behind me. She was sitting in the trunk of the SUV. I was a bit envious, she had a lot of space. I, however, was squished against Maggie and the door. Glenn was on the other side of her, at the opposite window from me.
"Road's blocked," Oscar answered from the passenger seat.
I turned my head, watching Rick shift the gear before opening the door to get out. I just turned and stared out the window, uncaring of what was in our way. Maggie, Glenn, and Oscar all got out at some point, which made me realize how checked out I was at that moment. I didn't pay any mind until I heard Glenn shouting a few minutes after. I leaned to the side, peeking out the windshield, Maggie was standing at a red truck in the middle of the road, her head down. Glenn stood in front of Rick, still yelling, waving his hand up and down as if it would get his point across.
"LEAVE IT ALONE!" Maggie's voice screeched. Glenn stopped and turned away.
"Ya know what they're fightin' 'bout?" I asked quietly, knowing Michonne was still in the back. A long time passed, and I was sure she wouldn't answer.
"Woodbury."
I wanted her to be more specific but realized she didn't need to. All the bad stuff was about Woodbury: Merle, the Governor, Daryl leaving, Glenn and Maggie locked away . . . what else would they be upset about?
There was still some shouting after, but I acted like I didn't notice. I said nothing when everyone was back in the car. No one else spoke either, and they all seemed really tense.
I heard the gates before anything else. Gave me the urge to open the car door and run. I didn't want to be there, behind the fences, in the dark, damp, building.
The car was stopped and Rick got out after passing through the first gate. T-Dog was pushing the second gate open, I caught a glimpse of Carl running up to the car.
"Drive them up, I'll meet you there," Rick said.
"Hold on, I'm a bit big to just hop to the next seat." Oscar got out to walk around the car, taking Rick's place in the driver's seat.
"Are they okay? Did you find them?"
"Yes, they're here."
"Is Toby in there?" I heard Carl before the door shut. I tried to see him out of the window again but was in an awkward position. I actually wanted to get out and see him, but the tiredness, pain, and all the emotions I'd felt on the ride held me back.
Oscar drove the car up to the courtyard. A bunch of people were already outside, just waiting for us to get back.
I stayed behind when everyone was getting out of the car. Even the trunk had opened for Michonne. I wasn't ready to face anyone. I didn't know if anyone was mad. I snuck out. I didn't want to tell them about Daryl or even hear them talk about him.
I'd been in silence for maybe five minutes when there was a knock at my window, making me jump. I turned my head to see T-Dog, he opened the door and smiled at me.
"Hey, little T. Come on, you can't sit in here all day."
"I could," I mumbled.
T-Dog frowned. "You're right, you certainly could. I don't doubt it. But come on, everyone wants to see you, and Hershel needs to see that leg."
My shoulders sagged, everyone already knew about my leg. I climbed out of the car, and as soon as I did, T-Dog had wrapped his arms around me and squeezed tight, I'd been so surprised that my arms only hung lamely.
"Do you need help?" He asked as he let go.
I shook my head, very much needing a break from physical contact, and also wanting to be alone. My leg did already feel better, it still did hurt a considerable amount, but having been off of it so long and giving it a break had made it feel better. I hated the dry sticky feeling against my pant-leg, resisting the urge to look. I wanted to see it badly before, but that desire had disappeared with Daryl. I no longer cared.
Once out of the car, I limped my way over to the others, not missing the way T-Dog stuck to my side; ready for me to fall. It was only then I realized that he was still limping, and I almost said something along the lines that he didn't have to help me because he was hurt too, but I never got the chance.
I heard the quick pounding footsteps behind me, they became louder as they came closer. Before I could turn and see what it was about, I was practically tackled by Carl. Luckily, T-Dog was indeed ready, holding me up so I didn't fall flat onto the concrete.
"Yo, Carl, watch it, man!" T-Dog exclaimed, a smile evident in his voice, "watch the leg."
I was pushed flush against T-Dog with Carl's arms wrapped tight around me, pinning my arms to my sides.
"Be careful," I hear Maggie warn from a distance away.
Carl let me go, grinning widely, "I'm really glad you're back."
I blinked and swallowed awkwardly, it was nice to hear it, even though I'd have rather been anywhere but the prison. I could tell he meant it, how happy he was, that was what made it weirder. Would it have really mattered if I didn't make it back? Before Carl distracted me again, I briefly wondered if anyone else felt the same.
"Woah," Carl was in awe, staring down at my leg. "Dad told me—you really got shot?! Does it hurt a lot?"
"Ease up a bit, okay?" T-Dog said before I could muster an answer. "Let the girl breathe, it's been a rough time. Let Hershel fix her up and you can bug her then."
Carl looked at me, the excitement of my return and admiration of my wound had disappeared. Instead, he was frowning, his expression sad and guilty.
"Can she walk?" Carl glanced up at T-Dog, "I can help her inside."
I heard the tapping of the crutches before I saw him, "correct me if I'm wrong," Hershel spoke, stopping next to me while leaning on the crutches. "But I'm very well certain you saw her walk from the car while you ran up."
I furrowed my eyebrows, confused at the odd expression both men were giving Carl.
Carl's face flushed and tensed, "I was just checking!"
"We're glad to have you back safe," Hershel was looking down at me. "Come on inside, let's take a look."
As Hershel went on, I followed T-Dog at my side.
"Carl?" I turned my head. "Are . . . can you come too?"
He nodded and closed the gap between us quickly. I felt overwhelmed to be back, dread, relief, and excitement all somersaulted in my stomach together. Beth had even left Maggie momentarily, running over to envelop me in a hug. Guillermo silently nodded, relief shining in his eyes as he smiled.
Ahead of us, I saw Maggie and Beth go inside together. I didn't see Glenn or Rick.
Sasha was yelling when we went inside, I could hear her voice; shrill, panicked, angry, bouncing and echoing off each wall.
Tyreese.
I still didn't know much about the rescue mission the group came up with, most of what I knew came from what Michonne had told me. Tyreese had helped her, and no one knew what happened after that.
My stomach churned in guilt, I'd completely forgotten about Tyreese. With Merle and Daryl, my leg, leaving Woodbury, he'd been erased from my mind. The guilt hit harder when I saw Sasha.
After going through the halls, we'd made it to the large room just outside of the cell block. Oscar was standing tall next to Rick. Rick's expression was sad and regretful while speaking to Sasha, but his eyes often strayed from her. Glenn was far back, nearby the entrance to the cell block but leaning against the wall, one of his arms cradling his abdomen in pain.
Sasha's face was engulfed in fury and devastation, "after everything we've been through—everything he's done for you, you just left him!"
"Sasha—" Glenn tried.
"—No! No excuses, it's that simple, you left him behind! I'm just supposed to accept that? That's what you want me to do? Sit down and shut up while my brother is locked away or worse?!"
"Of course not!" Rick defended quickly. "We had no way of finding him. We had no time, look at Glenn! We had to get him and the rest out."
"I'm looking at Glenn, Rick. I have heard, and I'm seeing what this man is capable of. The man my brother is now stuck with."
"You have to understand, our options were next to none. If we had stayed longer we would have lost more, we had to make a quick decision. We couldn't stay. We were lucky to get him out in time, we barely got there for Toby or Daryl."
"So that's it then, Ty is gone because he was unlucky? That's it?"
"No. Sasha, please. This is the last thing I wanted to happen."
"Screw you, Rick. You got them out and look where you are. You could have gone back for him! You could have tried!"
"Tried what?" Oscar blurted. "To get himself killed? Your brother made a choice to go back for that woman."
Sasha was appalled, "You're telling me it's his own fault? Are you—?"
"—No! Why are you twisting everything? What I'm saying is that your brother is a grown-ass man who can make his own decisions! He knew the risks, he knew what going back meant. His decision does not fall on Rick or anyone."
"We're going back; it was never the intention to leave him there. But, Sasha, it was too risky. They knew we were there, they could have looked for us. We couldn't stay behind. We're no help to Tyreese captured or killed. We can regroup, get ammo, make a plan."
Sasha crossed her arms and shook her head, stepping away from Rick, "great, Rick. I'm sure Tyreese is ready and waiting for your rescue."
Sasha turned and strode away, passing us quickly.
I felt T-Dog nudge me forward and we went to the cellblock. Carl followed me closely into a nearby cell, while T-Dog split off to go somewhere else. I sat myself down on the creaky bed, thinking that finally, the whole thing was over. I'd made it back, I wasn't dead.
"Are you okay?"
"Fine," I said. "The whole thing is just . . . this just sucks."
"Dad told me about Merle. And Daryl. He really isn't coming back? He just left?"
"Yeah. Rick don't want Merle here so they left."
"That's bullshit! Merle hurt Glenn, and he kept you guys there. He's not one of us, why would Daryl go with him?!"
There it was again. One of us, your people, my people. What did any of that even mean? Most of us had found each other by sheer chance, what did we mean to each other? How did we decide, and when, who fit into that category? Somehow, I'd been thrown into it, and I didn't understand why.
"It don't matter," I said, rubbing at some dirt on my hand.
"Yes, it does! We need Daryl here! You and Glenn are hurt, Tyreese is gone, and those people are—we don't know what . . ." Carl sputtered, unsure of his next words, but I could hear the concern and fear. "How could you say it doesn't matter?"
I rolled my eyes, placing my head in my hands. I hated this fight, it was the one thing I disliked most about Carl, he couldn't just accept how things were. He couldn't accept what he was.
"'Cause it don't," I was grateful for hiding my face because I could feel the burning in my nostrils and eyes. "They're gone. That's it. It happened, it's over, it's done. We just deal with it."
"We have to do something!"
I didn't know what he was talking about anymore. Whether it was Daryl, Tyreese, or the Governor. That didn't matter, it would have all been the same argument.
I kept my tone even, speaking through my teeth and kept my head down. "No. We don't do shit. Yer dad and 'em will figure out what to do and they'll do it. They say Daryl's gone, he's gone. They wanna go back for Tyreese, they go and we sit here and wait. We just stay out of it and do what we're told."
I thought, very stupidly, for a few moments he was done. He understood and the fight was over.
Then he spoke, "and if those people come after us? What if we get attacked?"
Anytime we'd have a fight like this, his tone was disappointed and desperate, it was always as if he just wanted to argue for the sake of it. Carl wanted to be involved in everything. But the desperation in his voice had disappeared, he was angry at me. I didn't know how to feel about it. So I just got angrier.
"They hide us away in a cell and we shoot if we gotta. We don't do what they do, we're kids!" My voice rose, getting louder and angrier as I continued. "We sit back, shut up, and deal with it! Our job is to sit here and not get shot!" I raised my head and slammed my fist hard into the mattress, wanting to hurt or break something.
Once again, he was quiet at first. I wouldn't look at him, still fighting the tears and wishing Hershel would hurry up so he could fix my leg and I could just hide and be alone.
"Why is that always your excuse?"
"What?" I turned to him, he stood in the doorway, seemingly calm but not at all happy with me.
"You always say that! Anytime anything happens, you just give up. You don't do anything, you don't even try! It's like you want to be useless!"
"That's—"
"—Saying we can't do anything just because we're kids is stupid. We have to do something eventually. We don't get to just sit around and hide!"
I pushed myself off the mattress, standing in front of him and motioning at my very bloody leg, "does this look like I just sat and hid!"
"It looks like you finally cared about something and tried!"
"No! It looks like I shoulda stayed at the prison! It looks like I got in trouble! That's what happens when ya don't listen!"
"Who cares if we get in trouble?! Everyone gets in trouble!"
"I do! I'm bleedin' for it!"
"That's not what I mean! This isn't getting in trouble, you just got shot! It isn't the same! You came back and was anyone even a little mad at you? You went because you were helping the group, it's worth getting hurt sometimes."
"Anytime we butt in, it don't do any good. Nothin' gets fixed."
"What about the time you stole Shane's gun, they let Daryl go. That definitely stopped things. You didn't even get in trouble for it!"
"Yes, I did. Shane was pissed, he yelled—"
"—For like two minutes! You didn't get hurt, nobody stayed mad at you. Helping isn't a bad thing!"
"We don't help, we just get in the way!"
"Maybe we can't do everything they can, but just because we're kids doesn't mean we have to be useless."
"That's exactly what it means!"
"No, it isn't! You just use it as an excuse! You just say that so you don't have to try! Don't have to care! Grow up, Toby!"
"Son," A calm voice took us out of our focused stupor. "I think it's best you both disperse for the time being."
I was standing, just inches from Carl. I could feel the heat in my flushed face, my body was shaking with fury, fists clenched hard at my sides. I'd never wanted to punch Carl so hard. I wanted, needed to punch something. My eyes darted behind Carl to Hershel, standing just outside the cell; steady on his crutches. Glenn was further in the cell block but also looking into our cell worriedly.
Carl hadn't bothered to look at Hershel, eyes furiously focused on me. Then he turned and stomped away.
One of my hands lifted to my scalp, gripping onto the roots of my hair.
"I'd like to take a look at that leg if you're ready. Can I come in?"
I shrugged, unsure why he would even ask. It wasn't my cell, and I was sure I didn't have a choice in the matter of my leg.
"Have a seat," Hershel hobbled into the cell and I obeyed. Once he stood in front of me he gathered both crutches leaving them against the wall next to the bunk bed. He turned his head to Glenn outside the cell, "go check in on Maggie, give us some time and come back in a few minutes."
Glenn nodded, arm still clutching his ribcage and disappearing.
"Glenn's worse than me. Why ain't ya helpin' Glenn?" I said through gritted teeth. I didn't want to sound angry with Hershel, but I was too riled up to act otherwise.
Hershel has grabbed onto a chair in the cell, sliding it over to allow him to sit in front of me. There'd been a few metal chairs like it in the prison, found in some of the offices or storage rooms.
"He asked me to see to you first, Maggie agreed. They're both worried about you."
"Don't get why. It's my own stupid fault."
His eyebrow twitched upward, "that you were shot?"
"Shouldn't've been there in the first place," I hung my head low, my free hand brushing over one of the stars on my pans.
"Maybe not," Hershel resigned, hands lowing to roll up my pant-leg. "That doesn't make it your fault. None of it. You're a child, not a burden."
I resided the urge to glance up at that, knowing he was recounting my argument with Carl. I opened my mouth, but he cut me off, "don't try to say otherwise, I won't have it. Not in my office."
I furrowed my eyebrows and looked up at him, confused, briefly looking around the cell.
The corner of his lips quirked in a small smile before winking at me.
Hershel then leaned forward, and a hand reached out toward my face. I flinched backward in concern, unsure what he was doing. When his hand kept moving, I stilled. I felt his cool fingers untangle my hand from my scalp. Only then did I feel the stinging sensation of what I was doing. After he place my hand on my lap, noticing a few strands of loose hair on my fingers before promptly shaking them off.
"You're hurting yourself."
I only frowned.
Hershel shifted in his chair, turning to the side slightly and patted his lap. Taking the cue, I slowly lifted my leg, attempting not to wince before laying it across his thighs.
Hershel cleaned and wiped the dried blood. Once he'd done so over the wound I could feel warm wetness, it's started to bleed again.
"It keeps doin' that," I complained. "He fixed it and it won't stop."
"Rick told me you were running for quite a while, This type of wound would have done better if you'd stayed off your feet. The situation couldn't be helped . . . Your stitches are fresh, so is the wound. Your leg needs more time to heal before going through such excursion."
"Huh?"
"You need to heal before running, or walking too much. Take it easy. Otherwise, this will happen, stitches need time to settle."
"So they broke?"
He nodded.
My stomach sunk, at the realization, "so . . . you bandage it. Right?"
Hershel's eyes met mine knowingly, he knew that I knew.
"No . . . I really don't wanna do that again," I rubbed my eyes.
"I'm sorry. It won't be pleasant, but I do want to prepare you . . . it won't be the same as before. The stitches tore at the skin here. We need to start over to close the wound, and where it's torn."
I felt my lips quiver, remembering only hours ago how Martinez had stitched it, the pain it was in. My eyes watered at the thought of it and I wiped them quickly, nose and throat burning with the threat of crying.
"You mean it's gonna hurt worse," I concluded after.
He was hesitant, but about to answer until footsteps caught his attention, "Oh, Guillermo."
Guillermo backtracked, peeking into the cell. He nodded at me.
"You remember where we kept the bag from the infirmary? Could you bring it in, along with anything that may have gone out of it? I don't want to have it here and find what I need is missing."
"Sure, I'll be back. Do you want water?"
When Hershel didn't respond I looked up, he'd been talking to me. I nodded.
Guillermo came back only moments later, bringing in the large duffel bag Carl had packed the infirmary supplies in before. He stepped forward and placed the bottle on the bed beside me.
"Thanks," I mumbled.
"Hey," Maggie appeared in the cell, greeting Guillermo as he exited. "How is she doing?"
I frowned and looked away, tuning out Hershel's explanation to her. I tried to think and focus on anything else, not wanting to hear the details. I was brought back with Hershel patting my knee.
"Huh?"
Hershel and Maggie exchanged a dismayed glance, seemingly worried. Maggie gave a soft smile as she spoke, "I was saying I could stay if you'd want the company. I only had to get stitches once, Beth sat with me, it helped."
If you can wipe the smile off your face then sure. I bit my lip, it was becoming considerably harder to keep my mouth shut. I wasn't actually mad at her, but I hated the front she was putting up. I may not have been locked up like she was, but this whole thing was shitty. I didn't need smiles and distractions, I didn't need to play pretend. Nothing was fine, everything was messed up.
I said none of that, only nodding.
When Hershel told me I could lay back, I did so. It was awkward, but nice to stretch out my back. My good leg was bent over the side of the mattress, dangling freely. My injured one splayed across his lap while my back laid flat against the bed.
Hershel finished cleaning the wound and anything else he needed to do before stitching again. He warned me before getting started, Maggie offered her hand and I took it, taking comfort in the reassuring squeeze she gave.
It did hurt much worse than before. As Maggie grasped my hand I squeezed it tight, my free hand going to my scalp to tug at my hair. After some time, I was stifling my screams, trying my best to not tug my leg away from Hershel and tell him to stop.
I felt a hand wrap around the one in my hair. Maggie expertly untangled it from my hair and grasped it on the bed above my head, slightly leaning over me.
"C-Can we stop? Please," I sputtered.
Maggie looked at Hershel, laying back, I could see his reaction.
"No," he said, and I wanted to throw something at him. "We're almost done, deep breath in."
I did what he said, but was pissed about it after. Was that supposed to help somehow? I'd relished, was comforted at the instruction, thinking it was something I was supposed to do to help. It was just some bullshit.
I was sitting up when Hershel wrapped a bandage around my leg, covering the stitches. "You need rest now. You can walk, just take it easy until it heals. We should be able to take them out in about a week. Change out of those when you can," he motioned to my pants and I frowned. "The bandage will protect it and keep it clean for now, but we don't want to take any risks."
I took my leg from Hershel's lap, sighing and taking a few moments after the ordeal. One of my fingers was mindlessly running over a star on the pants.
"That's an interesting shirt," Hershel said after a long silence.
I looked down, forgetting what exactly I was wearing. I almost laughed at the sight of the unicorn.
"The pants . . . came with it, I guess," I recalled how they were kind of attached when I got them.
"Did you get them from Merle?" Maggie asked, her eyes dancing over my body in an odd expression.
After thinking about it, I nodded. I hadn't exactly gotten them from Merle, but I didn't want to go into detail about Helen, the box, or Martinez.
My blood ran cold, surprised and frozen. I could see him looking. I moved my head toward him more, looking straight at Hershel to see what he was seeing.
It was so easy to forget, in all of the craziness it hadn't been a priority. Even around the prison I'd forgotten to cover up a few times, but I was so used to everyone's presence it didn't matter, and no one really noticed.
This time Hershel did, his eyes were cast down at my left arm, and my inner forearm slightly turned upward to brandish the faded, white circular scars.
I quickly pulled my arms close, unsure what to do with them at first before awkwardly crossing them close to me. It felt as if my heart leapt in my throat, beating quickly under his scrutinizing gaze.
Hershel's eyes met mine. I couldn't figure out what to do, avoid and look away, or meet him dead on, pretending as if nothing happened. The moment went by so quickly that I'd only held his gaze until he looked away, wiping the blood off his hands with a cloth.
I glanced toward Maggie, but she wasn't paying attention, looking out the cell door and picking at a nail.
Scared about him asking, I thought quickly to take his mind off it. He wasn't supposed to know. I'd always been lost in how the group felt about me, but them knowing how I was, that I was bad, wasn't exactly good in my mind. Daryl knew that was enough, he didn't hate me for it.
"Blood," I blurted, clearing my throat as I thought of something. "There's a lot, I mean. Stupid." I had no idea where I was going with it.
Hershel raised an eyebrow, looking down at my leg. I thought he'd wave me off, say something else, but he went with it, "it's just the one leg, you could keep them. After a wash they'll be fine, the blood will stain but with how dark the material is you may not notice all the time."
"You don't want to keep those."
My eyebrows furrowed at Maggie's comment, "I like 'em. Kinda."
"They're just pants," Hershel gave Maggie a nod, "we don't all exactly have a large wardrobe, keeping the pair won't hurt."
I was surprised at first, but as he spoke I realized I did want to keep them. I'd never cared about what I wore before, but I wanted the pants and the shirt.
"We'll find her more clothes! She's not keeping those!" Maggie suddenly snapped.
I blinked at her, looking to Hershel for answers. He looked confused for only a moment before reaching out to rub her arm.
"They glow in the dark," I mentioned, cringing that I even spoke. "The stars."
Maggie reached into her pocket and pulled out a pill bottle I recognized too well. "She needs to take one, I'll tell Glenn you're ready to see him."
Without another word, Maggie pulled from Hershel and left the cell.
Hershel opened the bottle and handed me a pill, then he'd taken another bottle from the bag and gave me another kind, explaining it was a painkiller. I washed them down with the water Guillermo had brought.
"I won't press you," Hershel began in a soft voice. "But when you're ready, I think you should talk to her."
"We were just talkin'."
He shook his head, "no, I mean you should talk about what happened. In Woodbury."
"But . . . we know what happened, we were stuck there, she and Glenn were locked up. We got out."
"That isn't all. I don't think you understand how scared both of them were, how scared Rick and Daryl were. Not just for, themselves but for you."
"I was fine," I mumbled because it was true. I wasn't happy, but I was fine. I motioned to my leg and added, "before that."
"I don't know what happened, I hope that's true. They don't know that. They were found together and had no idea where you were. They were worried about you, about what was happening. I don't think it's the time, so I'm not pressing for details, you need to sleep. But at some point, you need to talk about what went on in Woodbury; with Merle. For your sake and theirs."
Glenn walked in once he finished speaking, as I was understanding what he was saying.
"She's all fixed up, your turn now," Hershel said as Glenn sat down, he'd been wordlessly eyeing my leg.
I was sure I was supposed to leave, so Glenn could get treated. But I was too distracted, drawn in by the swelling and bruising of his face.
Merle did that.
I sat around waiting for Merle while he did this. I had no idea.
"You got worked over good. Surprised no bones were broken," Hershel asked after a while of feeling around Glenn's face.
"Courtesy of Daryl's brother," Glenn growled out quietly.
"Did you speak to Maggie much? You two all right? Thanks for looking out for her. If anything . . ." Hershel trailed off, then asked when Glenn didn't respond. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"
I kept watching Glenn, but he didn't answer. I shook my head to myself, realizing I'd been staring and he probably noticed.
Hershel went on talking and Glenn stayed silent. I felt suddenly as if I was invading something, so I stood and began to leave, mumbling a thank you to Hershel.
"Toby," he stopped me as I limped to the doorway. "The same goes for you. If anything worse than this had happened to you . . . don't disappear on us."
I stared him in the eyes, trying to comprehend what he was saying. At the last part, I scoffed, wanting to laugh out loud. "I ain't goin' on any car rides any time soon."
"That isn't what I meant. Go get some sleep."
I blinked, but Hershel just turned back to Glenn. Feeling an odd sense of dismissal, I began to walk away. Hearing Hershel speak to Glenn, "never thought I'd see the day where miss Toby is more talkative than you."
I approached the stairs, dreading the steps with the throbbing in my leg, but I wanted to go to my own cell. I never spent a lot of time in it, because I was always with Daryl. I would have to get over that, I wasn't sleeping on the perch with him gone.
"Do you need help?"
I had almost jumped out of my skin as I reached the stairs, "Damn!"
"Sorry, sorry," Oscar apologized quickly when I turned around.
"S'fine."
"I need to talk to you, it's important. I was waiting 'til you finished with Hershel. Your leg is okay?"
I was already very tired of that question but nodded.
Oscar moved to the side, looking around suspiciously and waved me over.
I went over to him, leaning on the wall several feet from the stairs and cells. In my mind, I couldn't fathom anything important this man would have to tell me, but the urgency in his expression led me on.
Oscar leaned his back on the wall, then crouched down. With his knees bent, he stayed on his feet while leaning against the wall. I was glad for it, sure he had noticed how hard it was to constantly look up at him with my height.
"Clyde, your dad. He was in Woodbury."
My eyes went wide for several reasons. As much as I knew, over the last few hours since we'd left Woodbury I kept forgetting. It was strange, having to remind myself he was alive and very real, that I'd seen him.
"I know."
"You do?"
"I . . . I saw him."
"Did he see you? What happened?"
"I . . ." I felt at a loss for words. I did not want to get into how Merle had kept us apart, how I had no idea what to say when I'd found him. We had to pretend we didn't know each other for the Governor's sake. "Nothin' I guess . . . I can't."
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he repeated again. "I didn't mean to upset you. We found him, he helped us find Glenn and Maggie. But . . . we thought you were locked up too, I didn't know what to tell him so, I didn't."
"He saw me."
"If he knew," Oscar looked at me, bewildered. "If he knew, why didn't he come with us? He could have been with us to help you. I tried to get him to come back with us, out of that place. He wouldn't."
That took me a long stretch of time before I put it together, "oh. He don't know."
Oscar raised a brow in question.
I continued. "I wasn't . . . locked up. They were . . . I was s'posed to stay there, I guess. Everyone thought I was picked up from the road, on my own. That's what Merle told 'em. Daddy . . . Daddy didn't know I was with you. Just—Just that I was there." I took a shaky breath in, willing any more tears to halt.
"Shit, shit. That's on me, I should've . . . fuck. We can fix it, if he knows you're not there we can get him out. We're working on something to help Tyreese," Oscar stood abruptly, "I'm gonna go tell Rick—"
"—No!" I quickly blurted, hearing it echo a bit. I glanced around, there were a few faces here and there that looked toward us quickly, but lost interest when they saw nothing was happening.
"Don't tell Rick."
"Why not?"
Because I don't want him to know. Because I don't know. It doesn't feel right. I want my dad back but not here, I don't want him here—Something in my thoughts stuttered, I was confusing myself. I don't want him here? My finger wrapped around a strand of my hair, pulling at it hard. Rick's a cop that's why. He won't like Rick, he won't like it here. He'll get mad. That was it, it made sense. He might be mad at Merle, but that wasn't my fault.
"Hey," I jumped at Oscar's hands on either of my shoulders, "what's wrong? Calm down."
I realized I'd been breathing quickly and loudly, almost hyperventilating. "Nothin'," I said when I could slow my brain down. "It just—it don't matter. Not now. Daddy's there I'm here. We don't even know how to get Tyreese yet. It don't matter right now."
Oscar let me go and I stepped back, he watched me for a minute.
"Okay, maybe you're right. There's a lot going on. We'll wait till things are figured out and make a plan for him, okay?"
I nodded and turned away, very much done with my racing thoughts and the conversation.
I kept careful on my leg as I moved, keeping a hand on the railing for support. Although I was adamant about using the stairs to get to my cell, which was far from every, I was still very careful. I felt no desire to go through that whole ordeal again, I was sure my wound even hurt worse than the first time it'd been stitched.
Once up the stairs, I thought I might find Carl. Walking along the row of cells above the cell block, I peered into each one.
Relief, guilt, and dismay hit me all in a tidal wave when I spotted him. I stopped, hand still on the cold metal of the railing. Carl was sitting on the bottom bunk of a cell, head tilted away from me, the large hat blocking my view of his face.
I didn't want to fight with him anymore. But I was still angry. Before I could decide whether to keep walking or say something, Carl's head turned. I could see his face without the hat kidding anything as he straightened up. Then I saw how the hat had hidden the bundle in his arms.
"Uhm," the noise escaped, eyeing the wrapped thing in his arms. "I'll, uh . . . come back later."
"Wait," Carl stopped me. "You can . . . you can come now."
I frowned, my eyes still stuck on the baby as it whined.
"She's fine," Carl assured me as if that was my issue. "She's hungry, Beth is making a bottle."
Carl moved himself to the side, further into the cell. After he looked from the bed to me, I realized he'd made room for me to sit down.
"Please?" He said when I didn't join.
I went into the cell and sat beside him on the bottom bunk. I kept my eyes on my hands then, avoiding looking at either of their faces.
"I'm sorry. About before." Carl spoke slowly, carefully. I'd only been sitting for a few seconds before he'd started. "I don't like fighting. Especially with you, especially after . . ."
I didn't know what he meant to say, and I didn't ask. It was either something about how people were dying, or how I and the others had been gone.
"I'm sorry about fighting. But I'm not sorry about what I said."
I looked at him, raising my eyebrows.
"I don't mean to . . . I just don't want to fight. I think you're wrong, you think I'm wrong but I don't care. Can we just forget about it? Not talk about it anymore?"
I stared at him, surprised and elated. I only hesitated because I wasn't expecting it, but once I processed I nodded. "I'm sorry too. For fightin'."
Carl smiled, looking down at his arms, "we named her Judith."
I didn't look at it, focusing my eyes on Carl's expression. I had to muddle it through my thoughts, it hadn't occurred to me that they were naming it. But it did make sense, I just hadn't thought about it, hadn't thought about any of it.
"It was my third-grade teacher's name. I liked her. Dad liked the name."
I hummed in acknowledgement, just to show I was listening. The baby's whimpering increased, becoming louder and more frequent, sometimes coming out in an odd choking noise. I could see it moving more frantically in the corner of my eye, but didn't look.
"Crap," Carl mumbled, standing and rocking it. That seemed to make it worse until it started full-out wailing. I put my head down, hand over my bad ear as the intense sound caused it to throb.
"I'm here, I'm here," Beth scurried in, taking the bundle from Carl. She'd taken it easily, swiftly, then continued to rock and bounce her body slightly. She hushed the baby quietly, mumbling in a soft voice as it finally stopped, drinking from a bottle Beth had put in its mouth.
Carl's shoulder sagged as he sighed, then he sat back down beside me.
"You're really good with her," Carl commented.
"Just tryin' to do my part." Beth continued the weird, gentle, bouncing motion with her body. "I always wanted a child."
After watching the thing grunt and gulp from the bottle, I forced myself to look away. Although it felt as if my eyes kept finding their way back. It was an odd feeling, so curious but such a strong desire to keep a distance.
"Thank you," Carl said. "I think she really likes you. I can't always . . ."
"It's only been a few days, everything is still new to her."
"She wants my mom, not me."
Beth froze, looking at Carl sadly. "I'm so sorry."
"For what?" Carl's brows scrunched, looking at Beth. I noted she looked sadder than he did at the mention of his mom.
"About your mom," Beth was still then, still cradling the baby. The only sound it made was the odd sucking and slurping every so often. I grimaced and kept my eyes trained on anything else. "I'm so sorry you're going through this."
Carl's mouth opened to speak, but he stopped. His eyes met mine and I could tell he was thinking hard. After a few moments of fiddling with his hands, looking around to stall, he finally asked, "is it like this for you too?"
Beth looked between Carl and me, trying to figure out who he was asking. "Me? How?"
Carl glanced at me, then Beth. "Both of you, I guess. You know like . . . you know you're supposed to feel like your sad, but it's like you've used it all up already. Does that make sense?"
I watched Beth, she hesitated, looking at a very interesting spot on the ceiling. After a moment I watched her back up, lifting herself to sit on the metal desk across from us. "I think for me it was more like, there was too much all at once. You know?"
"Yeah." He nodded, then looked at me.
"What?" I asked after he stared for a while.
"You didn't answer."
"Oh," I couldn't see how the question pertained to me. "I don't really remember my mama. Don't matter though, daddy said she was—"
"—No, I meant with your dad. I know you don't know but . . . how do you deal with it?"
I blinked in surprise before noticing both of them were staring, waiting expectantly. I was trying to think of how to say I knew now, he was alive so it was different. Before I could form a coherent sentence about it, I knew I couldn't say. It wasn't only that I'd asked Oscar to not say anything, it was that Carl was looking for an answer. I could see he was sad, uncomfortable, and not with what happened to his mom, but with himself. I could understand that, I didn't remember a single time I'd ever been comfortable with my own feelings. Everything always felt wrong.
I wasn't going to tell him. That didn't matter if it did, it was my own business, mine and Daddy's. he'd always said to keep others out of our business. And any of that wouldn't make Carl better anyways.
"I don't think . . ." I licked my dry lips in contemplation. I wasn't going to tell him, but I wasn't going to lie. I recalled all my feelings from the quarry, how I'd felt as we moved from place to place, and how I'd felt even during the winter if Daddy had ever crossed my mind. "I don't think I ever did. I think . . . in my head . . . I'm still waitin'."
I realized the truth of that as soon as I said it. No, it wasn't that I was waiting for him to show up because I knew he was alive. Even before, even when I knew the possibility of his death, I'd never stopped waiting. I always expected him to be around the corner, to just appear and tell me something. He was always there.
Beth had a pitying expression, "I get that. If it was me . . . I don't think I'd ever stop. If I didn't know."
"Yeah. It's weird, I have to keep reminding myself that she's dead," Carl said.
"I feel like my mama's still with me sometimes."
"I don't . . ." Carl's voice faded. I couldn't tell if he was telling her he didn't feel the same, or if he had more to add.
"What?" Beth seemed confused too.
"I wish I still believed in heaven."
"You can. If you want."
"Do you?" Carl asked me.
I shrugged, "don't think so. I don't really know 'bout it."
Carl looked at Beth, "does it help?"
"Not always," she said, thoughtfully, "but enough."
"I mean, we've had to shoot people that turned, but it wasn't them anymore so are their souls already in heaven? Or hell?" Carl's voice became a bit more frantic, his thoughts finally pouring out. "I shot my mom before she could turn, does that mean she's in a different place or . . . or are they all together, or is she just gone? She always wanted me to stick so close and I hated that."
"I think that my mom and your mom, and everyone we loved is in heaven," Beth said, there was sincerity in her tone. She looked like she really believed it. "And I hope that they're watching over us and that they're at peace."
I didn't really understand what she was saying, or what she believed. I'd heard of the concept of heaven, hell, God. But I never wrapped my mind around it and asked. They were words to be, whether any of it was real wasn't something I questioned. Before I could think about her words more, Carl went on.
"How can . . . But how can my mom be at peace? I mean, she left this baby, I shot her. I couldn't save her. I killed her."
Beth's lips quivered and her calm expression faltered. I saw her swallow, and take a deep breath. "I don't believe that. I think you saved her. My mom . . . when she . . . turned. We kept her in the barn, it was hard to deal with. It was hard to have her so close and it not matter, I could see it wasn't her. But I had hope, Daddy said something would fix them. I don't know if I believed him. But when I see them, any of the walkers . . . I feel sad. I would never wish that on anyone. Even if their soul moved on already. That was them, their body. It's not right. I think you saved her from that. Maybe any walker that we . . . kill." She swallowed again, I could tell she was uncomfortable with the word alone. "I think we help them. Put them to rest."
Carl was quiet for a long time. "Maybe . . ."
I hadn't ever thought about that before. I used to wonder if the people were still inside of them somehow before we learned that they weren't. I never thought about killing them as a way to help them, only to help and save ourselves.
Beth took the bottle from the baby, it was empty, then placed it on the desk beside her. It whimpered and whined for a minute until Beth lifted and arranged her to lean on her shoulder. Beth patted it hard on the back repeatedly.
"Do you want me to take her?" Carl asked.
Beth shook her head, "it's fine, I got her. She wouldn't have made it if Daryl hadn't been here. He couldn't stand to lose anyone else."
I looked down at my hands at the mention of Daryl. Biting my lip in an attempt to keep myself grounded. They continued to talk, oblivious to my shattered control of emotions.
"We owe a lot to him. Not that it matters anymore."
"I don't see why he had to leave. Merle sounds like a jerk."
"He is," Carl agreed. "When he was with us before, I didn't talk to him. But other people did so I always heard stuff, and saw him yelling sometimes. Did you talk to him, in . . . there?"
I lifted my eyes to see Carl watching me, I nodded, swallowing a thick swell of anxiety that came with holding back the tears.
"Was he . . . the same?"
I wanted to tell him that I was done talking, that I didn't want to go over any of it. Though, I was somewhat relieved that the conversation had shifted from our dead, or not-so-dead parents.
I hesitated, thinking over my day with Merle. My mind felt overpacked with information, it would take so much energy to unload it all. "Yeah, kinda."
"What was he like? Did you see him hurt Glenn?" Beth cut in, I watched her eyes dance over my features, searching. "Did he—"
"—I don't wanna talk 'bout it," I resigned. I'd given them something. That was enough.
Beth was dismayed at my answer but accepted it. She frowned, "we're weak without Daryl."
"Maybe," Carl agreed. "But we don't have to be. We can get through this."
"I'm pissed at him for leavin'."
"So am I, but . . . I get it. Kind of. It's his brother, he has family. Most people don't have that at all. Daryl left. That's it, we forget and move on."
Carl's eyes met mine, shining with some kind of understanding, a truce. I relaxed into my seat, my arm brushing against his, then allowed to lean into his presence more. Only our arms were touching, but there was a comforting warmth in it.
I stayed and sat in silence while the two of them spoke more. It seemed the very serious conversations had ended, they were satisfied. Apparently, Carl had given Beth a few of his comic books to read, so they spoke about it. Beth didn't seem to enjoy them much but still talked about them. Carl even went on to talk about how he and I had been through them all too many times and were hoping they would find more on a run.
"There should be a library here, I think. Daddy said something about it."
Carl nodded, "there is. But we can't get to it yet."
"Maybe it will have some."
There was more talk about the prison and runs. I was content in listening with my silence, and they didn't seem to notice or care that I had nothing to add.
"Wait," Beth slowly lifted herself off the desk, her voice lowering as she spoke. "She isn't moving, is she asleep?" Once off the desk, Beth turned so the baby's face was in our direction. Eyes closed, face relaxed as it laid on her shoulder.
"Yeah," Carl answered in a whisper.
"I'll go try putting her down."
"Good luck," Carl looked at me as Beth left. "Sometimes she falls asleep, and when we try putting her down she wakes up. Beth might be stuck holding her for a while."
"Oh," I said.
"Did you like reading Tuck Everlasting? Or listening, I mean."
I nodded, surprised at the sudden change in conversation.
"I just thought, if we get to the library. Or if we find books somewhere else, we could read another. I like the comics but they're short, and we don't find a lot. Maybe we can find a comic book store.
I nodded again, listening in silence once again as Carl went on. I smiled a few times, he would talk about others he read for school. He didn't like to admit he liked them, because he didn't like reading books, but when he finished them for class he enjoyed it.
"I thought that too when you read to me. Thought it was dumb," I said. "I like it now."
Finally, the sleep I'd been avoiding, the sleep Hershel told me to have, was finally trying to take over. After all the while sitting with Beth and Carl, I'd found myself at the back of the bunk, leaning on the wall. I stifled another yawn. Luckily, Carl hadn't been talking anymore, so it didn't feel mean to go.
"Are you leaving?" He asked when I stood.
I nodded, "bye." I stopped myself at the door, hesitant. Turning to Carl, I mumbled awkwardly, "I mean . . . uh, bed. Gonna go to bed."
"Toby?"
I waited, looking at him.
"We're not just kids anymore."
I sighed, leaning against the entrance to the cell. My leg was throbbing and my eyes were tired. I noticed then that the whole cell block had gone dark.
"I thought we weren't gonna fight no more," I said quietly, my voice on edge.
"We're not. I . . . I just . . . We're kids, I know. But that's not all we are. I think we might both be right. That's all. I'll see you in the morning?"
I thought the words over, nodding before turning away to continue down the row of cells as I had earlier. The last cell, I turned in, eyeing my bright yellow duck on the shelf. Then my eyes went to the desk, and the air from my lungs rushed out.
There, on the desk, was the gun. The black, metal, Glock that I always held. It was covered in dirt and grime. I hadn't cleaned it in a long time. Someone had placed it in my cell when I left it behind to sneak into the car.
I'd forgotten.
It had somehow been so simple. Also, not. Everything that had happened the previous day, the craziness, the fear; it was easy to assume anything could be forgotten. Kidnapped and held hostage, without your knowledge even, given burgers, bubble drink, and a pile of lies had been a major distraction.
I understood all of that, the sense, the logic of it. Yet, somehow, I couldn't accept it. I felt angry with myself for forgetting. Carl had said his name, I let him, I'd said it as well. Without so much as a thought, a flinch, nothing.
I felt it then. The heaviness of the reminder, the grief, staring down at the hunk of metal that lay lifelessly on the desk in my cell.
For the first time in . . . I had no idea for how long, just a long time, I hadn't carried Shane with me, barely a thought. Merle and I had mentioned him in Woodbury, but it had been fleeting, hadn't it? Was that all he was worth?
What were the dead worth?
I blinked away the thoughts. Nonsense. Nothing I could logically understand. I forced myself to reach for the gun, gripping the cool metal in my palm. I waited for that heavy feeling of grief to weigh me down, to increase as it always would before. It didn't.
If anything it had . . . dissipated somehow. Without my eyes leaving the gun, I could see him again. Lifeless but still reaching, his blood-soaked fingers grazing my cheek—
—My whole body shuddered as I pulled my free hand from my cheek, lost in some kind of reverie. I looked down at my hand, trying to figure out when I had moved it, and why it had felt like another entity. Something else caught my eye, past my hand as my gaze was cast downward. My bag was peeking out from under my bed, a dark, rough-textured object poking out.
I crouched, holding Shane—Shane's gun—in my left hand while using the right to slide my backpack out from under the bunk. I swiftly pulled on the zipper, succeeding in opening the bag but still jostling it in the process. Delicately, I took the long thin piece of wood out, very away of how hard it had been to place the feathers just right.
I stood up straight, an object in each hand. A new feeling, one that had replicated grief, but somehow so vastly different made my stomach churn. I told myself it was an embarrassment. The bolt had been shit work, I knew what to do to craft, but that didn't mean I would do it right. I was embarrassed I'd ever thought something like it would be useful to Daryl. Embarrassed that I'd even tried. Embarrassed that I felt sure, somehow, I would never actually finish it. But that wasn't what I felt, deciding on embarrassment felt better than whatever confusion that feeling caused.
"Little T?"
I jumped and spun, gripping each object tightly.
"Sorry," T-Dog lifted his hands in apology. "My bad, didn't mean to scare you."
My shoulders sagged, guard dropping down.
"What do you have there?"
I followed his gaze to the stick in my hand, "nothin'. Just . . . nothin'."
"Can I see?"
I passed it over without hesitation, some part of me pleased with ridding the object from my hand. T-Dog held it with both hands, twirling it with his fingers, inspecting.
"This was what you wanted the glue for?"
I crossed my arms, still holding Shane's gun tightly while nodding.
"It's an arrow?"
"Bolt," I blurted before I could stop myself.
T-Dog scoffed. "You sound like Daryl. I swear, sometimes it's like he waited for us to say arrow. Just so he could bite our heads off about it being a bolt."
I regarded him blankly, not understanding. "But that's what it is."
T-Dog chuckled, smiling as he reached out to return it to me. I denied it and turned my head. In my peripheral vision, I saw him put it down on the desk. "Can I sit? My ankle kills."
"Here?"
He shrugged a shoulder, "that a problem? Want me to leave?"
I shook my head, surprising myself in admitting I really didn't want him to. I stepped back, allowing him room to sit on the bottom bunk. I follow suit, only a few inches of space between us.
"Saw you talking to Carl. Looked okay. Did you two make up?"
"Everyone heard?"
"We're surrounded by metal and cement. There's a bit of an echo. You two weren't actually being low-key about it either."
"I was bein' a jerk. Or he was, I dunno. We stopped I guess. Just didn't wanna talk 'bout it."
"Which part?"
My eyes shifted to the desk, but I pulled them away. "Any of it."
We sat in silence for a few minutes. I was expecting to feel uncomfortable, and awkward, but I didn't. The silence was welcomed, peaceful.
"Can't say I don't get why Daryl left. Not happy about it, but I get it. If I had a chance, any chance, to be with my family again. I'd take it."
I agreed with him, thinking about my dad in Woodbury. For a year I wanted nothing more than to see him, to stay with him again. I felt different about it somehow, but it wasn't the time to figure it out. I wasn't able to stay in Woodbury with him, and I had no idea if he was in any position to leave. We all had enough to figure out at the moment. I couldn't think about daddy's situation, I couldn't think about how this time, I'd left him.
"I've been guilty for a long time." T-Dog began to say. "There isn't a day that goes by I don't think about what I've done. In my head, I've killed three men."
My eyes widened.
He regarded me with a sad smile. "Carnesville . . . straightforward. Me or him. You or him. Us or him. Still . . ."
"That was scary," I commented. Remembering when we had been attacked that night in my hometown.
T-Dog smiled at me gently, something in his eyes glinted as I acknowledged his words. It only lasted a moment, expression straightening, watching me as he said the next name. It was clear he was unsure how I would take it upon hearing it. "Shane."
I was taken aback, clearly not the expression he'd been expecting. "You . . . you didn't kill Shane?"
His shoulder shrugged, "maybe not. But I was there. That's enough isn't it?"
"I . . . I dunno." I really didn't.
"You know what? Guess I don't either."
"You said three?"
"Merle. None of us really knew he made it. No matter what Daryl said. I'd been thinking day-to-day, just looking at Daryl . . . when he talked . . . sometimes he sounds like Merle, get me?"
I nodded, their voices weren't identical, but they could be close. Or even just how they spoke.
"I'd look at Daryl—at least once a day—just thinking. I killed your brother, I left him for dead. That was it, we went on with our talk or whatever we were doing. He didn't act any different. Had to think if he looked at me and thought the same thing, or he really forgave me somehow."
"He did," I said after a while. "I mean. Rick cuffed him, right? And they're . . . friends."
"Cuffed him because of me."
"Cuffed him because of him," I said in disdain, cringing at my next words. I didn't know what had really happened in Atlanta, but even Daryl had told me it was Merle's own fault. I believed Daryl. "It was good, what . . . he did. It stopped it. You coulda looked like Glenn does now."
A sound escaped his throat, it'd been so quick I couldn't tell if it was some kind of scoff or laugh. "I'm such an asshole. When you all got back, I saw Glenn. Hell, he was walking like a walker himself."
I stifled a smile at that but listened as he went on.
"Black and blue and there I was, a weight gone from my shoulders. Glenn was proof that a man I thought I'd killed, was alive. Hate myself for feeling like that, like Glenn all beat up was a relief. But . . . it was. Merle's not just a ghost. I couldn't believe it; when Rick told us. Not even just about Daryl leaving. But Merle . . . he made it. He was there. Alive."
T-Dog was making a statement, but there was an odd rise to his tone as if it was a question. I nodded, in case he really did need a clear answer. I'd been in shock too, unable to believe he was right in front of me. I could imagine it being harder for T-Dog, he hadn't seen Merle with his own eyes.
"He's-uh," T-Dog cleared his throat, "he's still pissed at me, right?"
It was rhetorical, but I humoured him with an answer anyway, "'course he is. His hand's gone."
"Are you?"
"Huh?"
"Pissed at me," he clarified, gaze steady on my own. "I know I messed up with that damn key, I just . . . I know I won't ever have his forgiveness. But I wanted to know if I had yours."
"Mine? It wasn't my hand."
"No, but it was your . . . Either way, I know you were hurt by it. You did pull Shane's gun on him when it went down." His face seemed to flinch as if he hadn't meant to bring Shane up again.
Why the hell did that keep getting brought up today?
"No, I didn't. I pulled the gun because he had Daryl in a headlock. All Daryl did was throw squirrels at Rick."
"Daryl did have a knife."
"Oh," I realized. I had forgotten that part. "Yeah, guess he did."
T-Dog laughed and I couldn't help but laugh quietly myself. Smiling afterward.
"So, are we okay? I just hate thinking about you resenting me, not that I would blame you."
I stared at him for a long time, he just patiently waited for my answer. I wondered if this had ever happened to me before, someone genuinely caring what I thought about them. I constricted my face into a harder expression, just to test it. As soon as I did, he actually looked fearful.
I relaxed my features and fought a smile. "Merle's an asshole."
"There is something else. I feel like I'm pushing it a bit, bringing up the stuff with Merle, then Shane. But I still owe you an apology."
He was right about pushing it. The subject didn't make me as irate as it once did, but there was no desire to continue with it. "I ain't mad at ya for Shane, ain't mad 'bout Merle neither." the anger I felt towards Shane's death was still real, but looking at T-Dog, I felt none of it. I was slightly surprised because I once had been angry with him. Just for being there, for trying to take me away from it, for stopping me from shooting Rick. That grudge had somehow fallen away during the months. T-Dog was holding the grudge against himself.
His next words had me completely stunned, "and for your dad?"
"What . . ." I tilted my head, "I don't get it."
"With all that I mentioned, I always felt like I was messing up with you. Not the only one that feels that way either. Lori, Shane, Rick, Dale . . . even Daryl. I'm probably doing it right now, bringing up all this, just throwing myself a pity party. But I can't . . . I really wanted to tell you I'm sorry, about your dad."
"I still . . . I don't know what you're talkin' 'bout. You talkin' 'bout him bein' dead? Like we thought Merle was?"
"No, no. I'm talking about in the beginning. At our camp near Atlanta. I still remember the look on your face when Shane told you, how . . . how he wasn't coming back."
"Oh, but yeah. Shane said so. He lied about it for a while. Then he told me. You didn't do nothin'."
"That's my point. I kept my mouth shut. So did Lori, Andrea, Carol . . . everyone. It's not about what happened to your dad. We kept it from you. I still think about that. We stole any kind of . . . It's hard to explain. But it made sense how hard it was to accept once you found out. You can't grieve or move on when you don't know anything. So it's like we took away any kind of healing that you needed over those weeks. Instead, we just had you waiting for a ghost."
I blinked at him, still stunned and at a loss for words.
"Sorry, maybe that was a bit much to say. I've just . . . I hate myself for that. It was terrible to do that to you." T-Dog's eyes were cast down at his hands.
"You hate yourself for a lot."
"Yeah, I guess I do." T-Dog took a deep breath, turning his head to the side, eyes wide into mine. "I'm sorry, Toby. For all of it. I really am."
"Oh. That's . . ." That's fucking weird is what it is.
"I hope you know that we're here for you. I am. It might not feel like it after today. I guess I can't say the same for everyone, because I never expected Daryl to, but I'm not going anywhere. I have no plans but to stay here."
"And if your asshole brother shows up?"
He put on a feigned look of disgust, "Nah, screw him. He isn't as funny as you."
We laughed together. I had no idea if T-Dog really had a brother, and he made no attempt to tell me either way. That was fine, it didn't matter at the moment.
T-Dog patted my back gently and I smiled. Even after all the turmoil of the day, with Daryl and Woodbury. There was this odd sense of peace. Thinking back on T-Dog's words, I almost told him about my dad. How there was no reason to be upset anymore, because he was there, he was alive. I didn't. That didn't seem to matter, at least for the conversation. I had no desire to even bring it up, wanting to only revel in the ease of T-Dog's company.
"We should get some rest. Especially you, you look like you haven't slept." T-Dog stood, looking down at me. He made no move to leave, hesitant.
"Where's your cell?" I asked.
"Downstairs."
"Oh." I thought about it. "Stairs suck, 'specially with bad legs." I moved my bad leg slightly in emphasis before glancing down at his bad ankle.
T-Dog chuckled, "true."
I pursed my lips, "this is a cell."
"That's right," he raised a brow.
"With a bed." I continued.
"It is." T-Dog smiled at me, looking above me at the top bunk. "You know. My ankle isn't feeling too great, think I'll take the spare bed in here. Skip the stairs for the night."
"That's smart."
T-Dog chuckled, starting up the ladder carefully, "Thanks, little T."
REVIIEW PLEASE
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