New Meanings To Old Words: LOVE
I'm not gonna waste your time. Y'all have waited long enough.
The Devil You Know
Danny toed at the ground by the edge of the porch stairs, his eyes fixed to the graves before him. They'd multiplied, seemingly overnight. In his mind, somewhere in his recollection of that hazy drugged-up time spent at Callie's home, he saw the three fresh mounds of dirt they'd made. One larger than the other two, settled beneath that tire swing. Three little graves all in a row. Graves he'd helped to dig himself.
There was a time when three had seemed too many. Too unreal.
There were six here.
Five little white crosses and one stone memorial all settled under the branches of a beautiful Georgia Pine. Each and everyone too fuckin' real.
Danny's eyes shifted along the branch right above the graves, lookin' for the rope for the swing.
With a shake of his head he shifted away from the porch railing he'd been using as a crutch and instantly felt that hot white pain that dogged his every move these days. It was intense and quick moving, jolting down his leg hitting both knee and ankle with a searing pain that nearly buckled his leg while at the same time burning a path up into his hip lockin' it up and causin' him to pause fuckin' mid step. He dragged in a breath through his nose and glared back over his shoulder towards the porch rail where he'd left Hershel's good ol' walkin' stick. He knew he still needed it. Knew that he was doin' more harm than good to his fucked up ol' leg these days by pushin' himself past his limits. Could feel it in the way he was hardly able to walk by the end of the night, or the way it just didn't seem to move as well as he knew it should have been.
He'd been harped at by Hershel and fuckin' everyone enough times now to have developed a big ol' childish 'I do what I want, when I want' chip on his shoulder.
He knew it wasn't really helpin' his situation, but he also knew that he wasn't really hinderin' it either. The pain at this point was just par for the course. A constant-unwelcome as fuck- visitor. Kinda like his Great Aunt Judy had been every fuckin' summer vacation. But he hadn't shunned that poor ol' biddy during those times. He'd grinned and hugged and got used to her powdered-perfume smellin' ass.
Hell, he'd even given one hell of a fucked up drunken eulogy for her when she'd passed.
So, like Great Aunt Judy, Danny would grin and bear the pain in his leg. He'd get used to it. And like Great Aunt Judy, he wouldn't really miss it if it ever decided to leave him forever.
Danny took another step, pushed that fuckin' pain away, and focused instead on his destination. The blonde haired woman standing in front of the last grave.
She'd been there for at least a half an hour. He wasn't proud of it, but he'd watched her the whole damn time. Sat just inside that house at the back window near the piano, listening as Beth tried to teach Gracie how to play 'Mary Had a Little Lamb'. He'd watched her pick her path down the row of crosses, watched her fingers trail along Jenna's as she sat that little straw hat at the base. Watched her smile sadly at Sophia's before wiping a tear off her cheek. And then watched her settle in at edge of the freshly turned dirt that covered Dale.
He didn't know what finally made him move from his perch and come out, didn't have a damn clue what made him walk down those stairs and out towards her. All he knew was that she was hurting. She was hurting, and he hadn't been able to comfort her when it had all gone down. Because he'd been gone. Lost in a swirl of past horrors invading his present. But now, he was back from the abyss as Callie had put it before.
He was back and he wanted to be there for her. While he could.
"Between grief and nothing, I choose grief," Danny said. His tone was quiet, but it carried and had Andrea's head shifting up to watch him come to a stop at her side. "Faulkner," Danny said with a smile as he shifted his gaze to the grave. "Man loved Faulkner."
"Yes he did," Andrea said back. Her smile was small but genuine as she shifted to look at him. Her mouth opened as if she wanted to ask more, but then closed, the words apparently not makin' it through the overworked filter in her brain.
"You okay?" Danny asked for her. Because his fuckin' filter for useless and stupid questions had broken a long fuckin' time ago.
"Are you?" Andrea asked. The annoyance in her voice was only added to when she lifted that single brow at him in that defiant way she had about her and he couldn't hold in the chuckle.
"Fuck no," Danny said back with a flippant wave of his hand. He watched Andrea roll her eyes and he gave her a half-smile. "But I have my grief," he said. Andrea's smile fell and her eyes shifted over his as if tryin' to somehow read his thoughts. He smiled, that hundred-watt smile that always made her eyes go all disapproving and her nose to wrinkle that cute little way it did when she could smell his bullshit comin'. "And my grief is gonna propel my gimp-ass along this field up to that RV over yonder. Feel like taggin' along?"
Danny held out his arm to her and waited for her eyes to roll away from God above -who she should have known by now would be of no help where his dumb ass was concerned- and back to him.
"I don't need you to look after me," Andrea said with a frown. "I'm fine."
"Shit, honey," Danny said shaking his head as she hooked her arm into his. "Ain't one damn person alive these days that can boast bein' 'fine'. So don't even try it." He pulled her closer to him and felt her fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt just a bit. "I know better, Andrea. I'm not babysittin' you, I was just hopin' you'd walk with me maybe keep my ass from hittin' the ground."
"Where is the-"
"Andrea," Danny said stopping her before she could turn back and get that goddamn cane from the porch. "I was kiddin'. And I swear to God, you go back and get that fuckin' cane I'm gonna smack your butt with it."
"You would not," Andrea said back as she turned away from the house and started a slow walk with Danny over to where the RV was parked along with the rest of the cars between the barn and the house.
"No. But I would probably whine the entire time we were walkin'," Danny said smirkin' over at her as she shook her head. "And be-"
"A different kind of pain in my ass," Andrea finished for him. "Yeah, I get it. You are exhausting," Andrea said as they started walking.
"Honey, you've got no idea how exhaustin' I can be…" Danny said wiggling his brows as he gave her a shit-eatin' grin. Andrea stopped instantly, her hand slipping halfway away from his arm before he reached out and grabbed her back to him. "Oh come on. You walked straight into that one."
"Shut up, Danny," Andrea muttered as she once again hooked her arm through his.
They continued on in silence, the moment of levity sliding away on the cool breeze rolling over the land. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, and Danny was fuckin' grateful for that. There had been too many of those these past few days. They lingered between too many of them now, to ever want for such a thing again. It was a reverent silence, a silence that allowed one to simply think about the world around them and be in the moment that they were in. A silence that allowed their eyes to stay focused on one place and one thing, instead of constantly searching for that next horror.
Though, he supposed, the lanky form of Jimmy dawdling around near that thing they were both focused on in that moment did add just a bit of annoying dread to the moment.
The RV seemed to sparkle in the small strips of sunlight filtering through the cloud cover overhead and Danny lifted his free hand to shield his eyes as he watched Jimmy continue to pace near the front end of the vehicle.
"Is that Jimmy?" Andrea asked quietly and Danny pulled her to a stop. They were still a good distance away. Well out of earshot of the idiot now just starin' at them.
"No, that is my punishment for bein' a smartass to Callie," Danny said rolling his eyes away from Jimmy and over to the confused looking woman still hooked onto his arm. She let go slowly, and raised a brow signaling him to go on. "We're heading out to the church, me and dumbfuck," Danny clarified as he nudged his head towards the RV. "Kid says it was set up as an emergency shelter and that there are supplies in the basement. We're gonna clear it out while Callie heads out to the FEMA station with Miles, Glenn and Maggie."
"And I'm stuck here, watching the kids," Andrea said in an off-hand manner as her eyes shifted back to the house. Her eyes shifted along the porch catching on one figure. He couldn't tell exactly who it was from that distance, but the way Andrea cocked her hip and sighed told him. The 'kid' in question, wasn't a kid at all. Just a dumbass adult who forgot how to fuckin' adult as of late.
Shane Walsh, that mild headache that had turned into the fuckin' migraine from hell for everyone as of late.
"You don't have to be," Danny said quietly. Andrea shifted her gaze to him and stared in confusion once again. "You don't have to watch him. Unless you want to. It's your call. You know that. I know you do," Danny shifted closer and shot his thumb in the direction of the RV. "You could come with me."
"And Jimmy."
"Please stop remindin' me," Danny said. His face scrunched in mock pain and he shook his head as she scoffed at him. "You don't have to-" he cut himself off and let his eyes wander back to that blob of black shuffling around near the house. "I'm serious, Andrea, I'm offering-"
"To be my chariot?"
"Do you need one?" Danny countered quickly.
Andrea's mouth opened and then snapped shut, her eyes shifting over to the RV and then back to the house. Her gaze didn't linger on the form of Shane in the distance but instead shifted over towards the graves. Her head tipped down, chin to her chest and Danny's stomach rolled at the sight. The idea of her head not being held high was so foreign a concept to him he actually reached out and grabbed her arm, giving her a shake to correct it. Her eyes hit his and she smiled as her chin lifted. And fuck him if he didn't smile back and let out an almost relieved fuckin' breath.
"No," Andrea said firmly. "I don't. Not anymore." Andrea shifted towards him and put a hand over his on her arm. "Leaving isn't an option. It's not … I don't think that's any way to honor Dale."
"No. It's not," Danny said quietly, his hand slipping out from hers as she lifted hers to shield her face against the slight drizzle that had begun to fall around them.
"Dale believed that we could be what we once were," Andrea said shifting her eyes over the farm around them. "I want to believe that too. And I want to help Rick and Callie and everyone else make that a possibility here. What?"
Andrea's eyes narrowed at him and Danny realized only in that moment that he was smiling like a fuckin' idiot at her. He shook his head and waved her off, before wiping a hand down his face to clear some of the rain away.
"I didn't realize just how much I missed you, honey."
"Go to hell, Danny," Andrea said sighing and shaking her head at him.
"Oh, I'll be goin' that way in a bit I'm sure," Danny mumbled as he again shot a look over at Jimmy. The boy was starin' at them now, his fuckin' face contorted in confusion as he tried to figure out what he and Andrea were doin'. The concept of an adult conversation completely lost on the boy. "Do me a favor," Danny said shifting his eyes back to Andrea. "When we get back, remind me not to get on Callie's bad side again."
"Will do," Andrea said smiling back.
Silence filtered out between them as each one pondered taking that first step away. The air still seemed thick with words that neither of them could seem to pull out of the haze of everything that had happened. These days, it felt more and more like each conversation you had with people could be the last. He wondered now if that was just another one of those concepts he'd latched on to later than some. Why a few people still considered their words so heavily before speaking them, or why some little girls chose to simply not speak again.
Danny's eyes shifted along the grass as he rubbed an idle hand at the itching scar at his side.
"You should go," Andrea said. He looked up and watched her shift her eyes just briefly towards the RV and Goddamn Jimmy, and then back to him. "Before he leaves without you."
"Oh wouldn't that just be perfect," Danny said raking a hand through his grown out mop of unruly hair. Andrea smiled and he watched as she turned back towards the house and took a single step away. He let out a breath, his hand still stuck in the disgusting mass of unwashed filth atop his head and turned towards the RV.
"Danny," Andrea called. He turned back to face her and watched her lift a hand to shield her eyes from the light mist of rain falling. "Have fun."
Danny chuckled and lifted his middle finger to the woman. She shook her head in return and waved a dismissive hand at him as she started off towards the house. Danny's gaze shifted from the back of her head towards his still raised middle finger. With a groan he stabbed that finger into his forehead and let out a long sigh at himself.
Every fiber of his being had yelled out to say some kind of 'goodbye' to her, and yet….he glared at his fuckin' middle finger before letting it fall back to his side. He limped off towards the dumbfuck in the distance shakin' his head. What was one more fuckin' regret on to the pile?
Rick closed his eyes for a moment as he entered the barn, garnering himself a moment of miniscule relief from the mild pounding of the headache he'd had for days. He rubbed idly at the bridge of his nose, yet another futile effort to quell the ache that he figured was just as much a part of his life now as breathing. Sighing he let his hand fall to his hip as he shifted his gaze over his shoulder and back towards the house instantly landing on the porch where he'd left Daryl.
Slowly Rick's hand slipped to the small of his back where he'd put what he now knew to be Merle Dixon's gun.
The look on Daryl's face when Rick had pulled that gun had hit him hard. That glance of distrust and anger making Rick bow his head in shame as the other man glared at him. The wound of Merle's absence was still there, still fresh. No matter how much they'd been through these past few weeks-god had it been a month, maybe more now?- that look no matter how fleeting the redneck had tried to make it as he hitched his mouth to the side and chewed at his lower lip, had still been there same as it was day one. Rick had seen it. He'd seen it and he'd felt his shoulders sag under the pressure of the shame of it. Shame he hadn't had the time to feel -.
"Shit," Rick snarled at himself as he dug his hand harder into his hip and shook his head at the ground. The horror of his own selfishness yet again raked along his nerves. Hadn't had time to feel the shame. What the hell was that? What kind of an excuse was that?
Hadn't had the time.
His eyes yet again lifted over towards the house and he glared through the fine mist of rain once again falling over the land around them. The image of his hand holding that gun out to Daryl only moments ago replayed in his mind. Every minute detail of Daryl's face, from the slight ticking of his jaw and lips as his gaze bounced from the ground to the gun to Rick's face, to the way his dirt encrusted fingernails dug at the strap of the crossbow slung along his shoulders. Every damned little detail replayed in an oddly surreal loop. He'd expected the worst of the man. Been prepared for the man's anger and ill-concealed hatred to edge out over that hard-fought bit respect that he'd shown for Rick as of late.
Expected it because it seemed to be par for the course when it came to the people in this camp now-save for one. Expected it because Rick hardly had any respect left for himself in that moment.
No time to feel the shame for the wrong he'd done.
His father would have disowned him for such thoughts.
He'd expected Daryl's ire, so when the man's mouth had finally opened he'd been prepared for it. Which is probably exactly why the man's words seemed to have burned their way into his memory.
"Carl had it?" Daryl had asked, and Rick just nodded mutely his hand still out stretched towards the redneck holding Merle's gun. Daryl had nodded almost idly, his eyes skipping over his shoulder towards the house before hitting his shoes again. "Give it back to him."
"What?" Rick hadn't meant for the word to sound angered, but he knew it had. Knew that his tone of confusion had come across wrong when Daryl bristled and stepped back for just a second before he lunged forward and snatched the gun from Rick's hand.
"Forget it," Daryl had snapped as his back turned, leaving Rick to stare at the back of his head.
Rick had watched the man's shoulders hunch inward, watched him as he wrestled with something. Watched him and wondered why the man was still standing there. Why either of them were. Rick's gaze had moved over towards the barn at that point and he'd shifted just slightly, his hand lifting to service that area of flesh and bone between his eyes looking for some kind of relief, when Daryl's voice had his attention shifting again.
"Ben didn't have his gun with 'im," Daryl had mumbled. Rick had turned to face him, watching as the redneck shifted back around towards him, his gaze still settled on his brother's gun in his hand. Daryl's eyes had lifted to his and he blinked away whatever had darkened his features and just stared hard into Rick's eyes. "Wasn't tryin' to overstep, or -," Daryl had shifted his free hand out towards the direction where Shane had stalked off moments ago. "Whatever. Ain't my place to do that. But," Daryl shifted awkwardly and took a single step forward. "Ben didn't have his gun, he shoudla," Daryl shook his head then and Rick wondered at the look that crossed his features. Guilt? Anger? Regret? A mix of all three that seemed to have the redneck shifting uncomfortably under the weight of it all as he rolled his shoulders and shook his head. "If he was gonna be out there he shoulda had it. Shoulda had something. Maybe things woulda been different."
"Maybe," Rick had said back, his eyes shifting along the ground and then up to Daryl's.
"If he wants it, it's his," Daryl had said then, holding the gun out in invitation to Rick. "Ain't doin' any good sittin' in that fuckin' saddle bag collectin' dust."
"You're sure?" Rick had said reaching out and putting a hand on the gun.
"I look unsure?" Daryl had snapped back in response. Rick had simply chuckled as he shook his head. Rick had stared at the gun for a few moments, his eyes skipping behind him to the barn more than once and finally towards the out-of-view shed where Randall waited for them. "Go on," Daryl had said then, his gruff voice yet again pulling Rick away from his thoughts and back to the present. "Prick can wait a bit longer. We'll wait for Miles and the rest to get back from the highway, see what's what, then head out. Go talk to him," his eyes had shifted in the door then and he smirked at himself. "Shit's too important to put on the backburner."
And so Rick had gone. He'd walked himself out towards the barn, his eyes skipping around him hitting off the Hummer still settled in its place. His gaze had lingered for a moment, his brow furrowing at the bags and gear still settled outside of it, Callie nowhere to be seen. It wasn't like her to leave things so unsettled, and for just an instant he'd thought about detouring to find out where she'd gone after he'd left her. But then he'd looked back to the barn and spotted Carl's small silhouette in the upper window and he'd known Daryl had been right.
Carl was too important to keep on the backburner.
As Rick climbed up the ladder that lead up to the loft above and heard his son's very loud and unmistakably aggravated sigh he wondered if maybe he'd left him on that backburner too long.
"I said leave me alone-oh," Carl's voice changed from that angry snap to a more solemn tone as he turned. His eyes caught Rick's and he shook his head before turning his back again, leaving Rick to raise his brows and hang his head slightly as he continued forward. Rick came to a stop standing beside Carl, his arm raised high to hold himself steady as he stared out through the rain and over what parts of the grounds he could. His eyes slid down and caught Carl's slightly cowed expression before he shook his head and looked away again. "Sorry. I thought you were Gracie. She's been followin' me around all day."
"Well, if it makes you feel any better I think she's been doin' the same thing to Beth too," Rick said. Carl's eyes skipped up to his and he looked back towards the house. "She's just…scared."
Rick's brow furrowed as soon as the word left his lips. Scared. It wasn't the right word. Scared wasn't the word to describe the emotions held in the gaze of that little girl. The one he'd only moments ago watched methodically and expertly load bullet after bullet into the clips for Callie's gun. Scared wasn't right. He knew it, and as Carl's brow rose slightly as he looked back he knew that Carl knew it too. Gracie wasn't scared. Not by a long shot. But somehow it gave both Rick and Carl some small peace-of-mind thinking she was. Instead of thinking on the determination and hardness caused by that "always on the front-burner" mentality that Callie had given her kids, especially as of late.
"Well, she doesn't have to follow me around because of it, she should just stay with Ben," Carl said. His voice had changed, almost dramatically so, as he uttered the other boy's name. Rick's gaze slid over his son's slumped over form, catching almost instantly on the pair of binoculars clutched in his hands. The broken strap mended with haphazard stitches. Rick sighed and ran a hand down his face. He'd watched Callie as she'd sewed the strap back together last night. Watched her stick her finger more than once, her eyes skipping away too many times from the task at hand to where Ben had been fitfully sleeping to protect them from the stick. Rick felt Carl's gaze on him and he shifted his gaze to meet his son's. The red rims and dark circles he saw on the boy's face settling a heavier weight on Rick's shoulders. "Callie gave 'em to me this morning. Just handed them over and patted my shoulder. Didn't say anything."
"Carl-"
"She's mad at me," Carl said. His eyes stayed on the binoculars he held and Rick tried to shift to see his face hidden beneath the brim of his hat.
"She's exhausted, Carl," Rick said with a sigh as he slipped his gaze once again over towards where he could see the Hummer in the distance. "She's not quite herself."
"No one is," Carl said quietly.
Rick shifted his gaze down again and clenched his hand tight to the support he'd rested himself near as he watched his son. Carl continued to stare down at the binoculars in his hands and Rick let his fingers again slide over the butt of Merle Dixon's gun at the small of his back. There was still a part of him reeling from the idea of handing the gun over. Still a part wanting to protect Carl from the world they lived in. His mind again caught on the hard determination settled into Gracie's eyes when he'd knelt down to speak with her earlier. The weight of the clips of ammo she'd handed over to him somehow heavier than they should have been. Just like the gun settled at his back felt heavier now.
In one fluid movement, a determined and decisive movement the likes of which he hadn't seemed able to move with for a long time, Rick pulled the gun from its place and crouched down beside Carl. Carl's eyes caught on the gun, his recognition instant and obvious. The fear, the guilt, the pain of it all so evident that Rick's hand clenched along the weapon as a single moment of doubt ebbed through his brain before he banished it for good.
"Take it," Rick said holding the gun out to the wide-eyed boy. Carl shifted away slightly, his hands tightening around the binoculars he held as his head shook once. A definitive motion, clear and forceful, before his eyes skipped back towards the fields and farm before him. "Carl-"
"I already told, Shane. I don't want it. I can't-" Carl's head shook and he glared at his feet as they dangled out into the lightly falling rain. "He told you about it?" Rick nodded and lowered the gun so that it dangled between his knees. "I couldn't do it. And now…" Carl shook his head and scraped his fingernail along the dirty edge of the binoculars. A moment later his eyes lifted and he caught Rick's gaze. "Callie said you don't need a gun to stand watch."
"Well," Rick grimaced and shifted his eyes out toward the house before rubbing the bridge of his nose with his free hand. "She was right about that. She was," Rick said shifting his gaze back towards Carl. "But I'm not talkin' about standin' watch, Carl," Rick said. He looked down at the gun he held and nodded at it idly. "I wanted to believe that you could still have some kind of childhood. Wanted to think that maybe we'd figure out a way-" Rick shook his head. "It was naïve, and it didn't help you in any way, and I'm sorry about that, Carl. I really am. I wish you could have the childhood I did, but you won't. You can't. Son, it's important to know that you don't need a gun to look out for the wellbeing of this group. But I'm not talking about the wellbeing of the group. I'm talking about you. I'm talking about you being able to protect yourself. I need your help with that. I need you-" Rick grimaced and shifted his eyes over to Carl. "People are gonna die, Carl. Me, mom," Rick shifted his head to catch Carl's gaze as it slid away and he held it as he held the gun out again. "I'm tired, son. I need your help. I need you. Do you understand?" Rick held the gun out again, held Carl's gaze as the boy dropped the binoculars to his lap and tentatively settled his fingers to the gun. "No more kid stuff."
Carl nodded, his father's odd echoing of his own thoughts from only days ago causing a strange taste to settle at the back of his throat. He swallowed it down and held tight as his dad let go of the gun and he took the full weight of it. It was heavy, had been heavy when he'd carried it out into the woods. But now the weight seemed different somehow. Less a matter of the gun and more a matter of his father's trust and need.
Rick's hand fell from the gun and he settled his forearm over his raised knee while shifting his gaze back out to the fields below. Instantly, his eyes again landed on Callie's Hummer –all the supplies still left unsettled near the back. That mist-like rain was still falling hard enough to blur the edges of the man settled a few yards away, but the distinct shape of Daryl's crossbow settled along his shoulder gave him away. Rick watched him shift on his feet, and took a small bit of comfort in knowing that someone -especially that someone- was checking up on things there.
Rick placed his hand on Carl's shoulders, still tight and hunched forward slightly, and he squeezed. Another futile effort to relieve tension that he was sure would never leave his boy's body again. But that was the way of it now. Callie and Danny's often uttered words, 'This world is fucked up' echoed in his brain as he began to push up to his feet again.
Just as he stood, Rick caught movement, rain-blurred shapes slowly trudging through the grass towards the house. Beside him, Carl lifted the binoculars and shifted to his feet leaving his newly acquired weapon where he'd been settled. Rick's hand settled on the butt of his gun, his eyes shifting between the figures and Daryl who had begun to slowly move towards them. The urge to rush out there and be at the redneck's side causing his feet to skid slightly along the floorboards only to stop as Carl's voice rang out.
"It's Miles, T-Dog and Andrea," Carl said in a low, relieved tone. His eyes skipped away from the binoculars and back towards his dad.
"Already?" Rick said lifting a brow and watching the trio. He could just barely make out the shape of what he figured had to the gas cans they'd left with. "That was quick."
"Miles," Carl said back, flopping himself back into a sitting position at the edge of the loft. Rick's gaze slipped back to his son and he raised a brow. "Danny says he's too much like Callie these days. Too damned efficient for his own good, he said." Rick chuckled and nodded, Danny's colorful and flippant turn of phrase sounding so completely out of place coming out of Carl's mouth that he couldn't help it.
"He's right," Rick said. He gave his son a small smile before lifting a hand to the hat a top his head and sliding it around. "We're lucky to have him. Lucky to have all of them." Rick watched as Carl's head bobbed once, his gaze flicking down to the binoculars he held and then to the toes of his boots dangling before him. Rick's eyes moved back towards the small group and he watched as Daryl reached out and took one of the two cans Miles had been lugging as they continued on towards the house. Miles stopped at the Hummer, settling his gas can down along with the rest of the unpacked supplies, and Rick watched him. Watched as his head shifted this way and that looking for some sign of Callie nearby. Miles was off and walking again a second later, his steps even faster it seemed than before as he made his way towards the house. Rick sighed as his gaze continued to follow the boy's form. "I'm gonna check in with them. See what's what. You okay?"
Carl shrugged and Rick nodded.
Really what more of an answer could someone give to that question these days? What constituted 'okay' anymore?
"I think I'll stay here for a bit longer," Carl said. He lifted his eyes away from the binoculars where they'd remained and then down to the gun settled beside him. "Someone should be on watch."
"A'right," Rick said quietly. Carl's eyes hit his and he nodded, unable to voice any other words. Any other thoughts. The idea of his son sitting watch over the group just seemed so far-fetched. So much so that he wanted to tell him 'no'. Wanted to tell him to come back down to the house, where it was safe. But then again, he'd just handed the boy a gun and asked for his help.
Hypocrisy was an easy road to travel these days.
Callie knew him too damned well.
That was all there was to it. She knew exactly what job to give him to make him feel both productive and punished at the same fuckin' time. Fuckin' smartass woman.
And to be honest, if he wasn't the one on the receiving end of the punishment, he'd have been laughin' his ass off at the poor soul who was. Instead, he was stuck listening as Jimmy prattled on about one thing or another. The boy hadn't fuckin' shut up since they'd left the farm. In fact, Danny was pretty sure the boy had been saving up his all his conversations, saving every fuckin' story he had in him, for this moment.
He'd never heard the boy speak more than one or two sentences back home. Not more than a 'Doc Greene needs' here or a 'Patricia said' there. Callie's cool glare, and Miles's completely unfiltered hate wasn't really the most welcomin' of things. And he knew he wasn't much better. He tried to be, but he just wasn't good with bullshit anymore.
The ridiculous thing was, out of all the kids left in the world this was the one he shoulda had some kind of camaraderie with. This boy who had grown up in the church, just like him. Who'd made mistakes, just like him. This boy who was tryin' so hard to make up for things.
Just like him.
They were a match made in fucked –up Post-apocalyptic Heaven.
But still, no matter how hard he'd tried, Danny couldn't put aside the image of Jimmy firing that shotgun at Jenna's back. Couldn't. At least not when he was face to face with the little sum'bitch. And as they'd driven away from the scene of the crime, Danny's eyes once again on the field where Jenna had been murdered he'd felt a wash of hate roll through him.
Mistake or not. Ignorance or not. Despite his own words to Hershel on that boy deserving a second chance, the second chance he'd never got until life as they'd all known it had ended. Despite it all Danny was having a hard time reconciling his hate when put face to face with it.
So as Danny leaned against the tree and watched Jimmy as he hacked fuckin' haphazardly at the last of the Walkers they'd spotted along that deserted back roadway on their way back from the church, he found himself clutching the hilt of his knife tighter. The little daydream he was havin' in that light fallin' misty-rain of backhanding the boy somethin' good just to shut him up for a minute, causin' a small smirk to lift his lips.
"It's strange," Jimmy said. His voice was slightly breathless from his borderline-ridiculous efforts, but the tone of confusion still bled through.
"What is?" Danny said as he blinked a few times and shook his head clear of the image of himself sitting atop the boy's unconscious form and lighting up the last of his smokes for a good ol' victory sit down. The last bit of conversation he'd been able to catch onto before his mind had decided to roam on down the imaginary beat-down road, was the boy's amazingly detailed recollection of Beth's pretty blue party dress. The one with the embroidering at the hem he was sure had to have been hand-stitched, at least that's what his momma had said at the time. And good God, even his own mind replaying those words had him wantin' to smack somethin'. Danny raised his free hand up to scrape his over-grown rain-slicked hair back from his forehead.
"There's a lot," Jimmy said letting the body of the Walker he'd been pummeling with a hatchet. Six hits in and he finally hit the sweet spot.
Danny pressed the palm of his hand hard into his forehead and closed his eyes.
"What do you mean?" Danny muttered. He opened his eyes to see the boy starin' off into the woods and he sighed. The attention span on this one was almost as bad as Ben's had been when they first picked him up. "Hey, dumbfuck."
"There haven't been this many around here," Jimmy said. His brow furrowed as he looked back at Danny for a moment and then off towards the woods. "Never have."
Those last two words sent a chill up and down Danny's spine, and suddenly that light misting rain felt more like pins and needles hittin' the bare skin of his forearms and face. Something about the way that boy was starin' at the woods. Something about his words had him thinkin' back to Callie. Her sad, exhausted eyes starin' down at Ben's prone form mumbling something about history repeatin' itself.
"That happens," Danny said tryin' to shake off the foreboding atmosphere that had settled around them. Tryin' and fuckin' failin' as his mind took him back to the Quarry. The small horde that had blown through there and torn their newly created world apart at its fragile little seams. Amy screamin'-. He shook his head and blinked away the image. The idea of that happening again, of another horde blowing through and ruining another safe haven for their group had him shifting on his feet. His bum leg twitched under the pressure as he pivoted to look over his shoulder and down the road to where the RV sat just out of sight around the bend in the road that would lead them back to the farm. The supplies they'd loaded up inside just sitting there waitin' for them to take them on home. They weren't far, barely five minutes out if that. They needed to get back. He needed to reel in this boy's constant need to try and serve his penance and get their asses back to the farm. "We should go-"
Danny's head swiveled back towards Jimmy just in time to see the boy break into the woods at a fast trot.
"Motherfucker," Danny seethed as he pushed off on his bad leg and hobble-ran after him. "Hey," Danny snarled, his voice coming out as more of a growl than anything as he worked to keep it lower. There were more undead fucks out here now after all. Wouldn't wanna draw attention to the dumbasses skippin' and hollerin' along haphazardly in the rain. "Son of a bitch," Danny seethed through clenched teeth as he made his way after the faster form of Jimmy.
Each step he took sent a fresh wave of pain through his leg and abdomen, a new level of searing torture that had him panting like a dog as he roughly bounded over top of a root and practically fell on his face. His bad leg bent like a limp fuckin' noodle as soon as his foot pressed hard enough into the ground below. His hands hit the dirt as he toppled forward, fingers tightening in the mud an inch away from his nose. He stared at the ground pushin' up between his fingers for a moment before lifting his gaze to where Jimmy's form scampered light as a fuckin' forrest fairy ahead.
His gaze drifted back to where his hands had settled in the dirt and he dragged in a deep breath. He hadn't realized it, hadn't given himself a moment to really think about what a detriment this wound would really be to him in the world they lived in.
"Fuck that," Danny snarled. Then growling low in his throat he pushed roughly up from the ground and started off again. He was fuckin' galloping now, an awkward as fuck sort of half-run half-skip lookin' movement. He was damn sure he looked like an idiot, but the change up was effective as he easily ate up the distance and spotted Jimmy standing near an outcrop of trees. The kid was struggling with another Walker and Danny shook his head as he pounded towards him, his knife held tight in hand.
Jimmy must have heard his approach. How could he not have? In Danny's own ears his steps echoed like he was a wounded fuckin' hippo skippin' across the land. But he was a wounded fuckin' hippo with a purpose now. Jimmy's eyes were wide as Danny strode towards him, his hands losing grip on the torn and deteriorating clothes covering the used-to-be woman's frame. Jimmy's foot slipped and he spun the Walker with him, placing the undead woman in just the right position for Danny to slam his knife into the right side of the base of the skull.
The Walker went limp and Danny took its weight as Jimmy stepped back and let out a long breath. Settling the Walker to the ground Danny put his foot to its head and slipped his knife out. He stared at the woman's bedraggled black hair and pushed lightly, testing for any kind of movement. When she didn't budge he lifted his foot and then slammed it back down. Better safe than fuckin' sorry. Especially feelin' like he did now.
Danny slipped his knife back into place at his hip and bent at the waist, both hands coming down on his knees as he sucked in a few horrifyingly painful breaths.
"Boy, you are gonna strangle yourself you try and stretch that leash you've been given any further," Danny said through panting breaths. Jimmy was still staring at the dead woman at their feet, his chest and shoulders rising and fallin' rapidly as he took another step backwards. Danny shook his head as he straightened up and cracked his now sore back. "Swear to God. What the fuck were you thinkin'?"
"I just-," Jimmy said. His voice was low as he worked to drag in steadying breaths. His eyes roamed the area and Danny stared at him in fuckin' awe. There didn't seem to be any way to get through to this kid. Fucker just seemed determined to dig his own grave.
"Look, kid," Danny began. Spotting Jimmy's fallen hatchet along the brush he shook his head again and bent down to retrieve it. "I get it." Danny extended the weapon out towards the kid and waited for the boy's eyes to slowly lift from the ground up to his. "Honestly, I do, but-"
Danny's mouth clamped shut as he heard the very distinct sound of voices not far off. Instantly, Danny's free hand reached out and grabbed a fistful of Jimmy's shirt, before the fast little fuck could take off again. His hand tightened in the fabric of Jimmy's shirt pulling the kid towards him and shoving the weapon into the boy's chest, pressing hard until Jimmy lifted his limp arms and took hold of it. Jimmy looked back at Danny and Danny gave a curt shake of his head before lifting a forefinger to his lips. Universal signal or not he gave the kid a rough shake to drive the point home before pulling him behind him.
The pain in Danny's leg was left behind with that dead fuckin' Walker as he slowly worked towards the hushed sounds and cracking twigs beyond. Sweat broke out along his hairline, as he pulled the gun settled at the small of his back. Randall's words, 'thirty men' and 'heavily armed' played in a loop as he slowly shifted around the base of a large tree. He kept one arm outstretched, trying to keep Jimmy herded behind him just in case. Danny shifted his gaze over his shoulder as they moved catching Jimmy's wide-eyed fear head on.
The sound of the muffled voices echoed around them and Danny stopped, his hand once again curling into the fabric of Jimmy's shirt to hold the little bastard in place. Danny's eyes roamed the area, and he snarled and cursed under his breath.
"They're headin' towards the farm," Jimmy mumbled low near Danny's ear. Shifting his eyes again to the kid, Danny glared. Jimmy pointed his finger over Danny's shoulder. "We're headin' back towards the farm, and so are they."
Danny's eyes narrowed as he looked back and followed the path of Jimmy's slightly trembling finger. He squinted through the low light filtering in from above and saw the dark movement of shadows just beyond. He stared, stared and hoped that just by sheer force of will he'd be able to change what he saw. Strange, to actually hope to run into the undead over the living, but that's where he was in that moment.
"C'mon," Danny snarled through clenched teeth, his fingers blindly grabbin' out behind him and hitching into the fabric of Jimmy's shirt again. He pulled the kid towards him and half dragged him a few steps before stopping and turning. Finger lifted to the kid's nose he stared hard and caught that boy's skitterin' gaze as it bounced around them. "You stay behind me. You stay quiet, and you stay behind me, and if shit goes down you run. You get me? You fuckin' run?" Jimmy stared and Danny gave him a quick smack to the side of the head. "Ain't shut up all damn day. You say it."
"I got it," Jimmy said quietly, his head bobbing only once in a slow mechanical way.
Danny's eyes rolled away, his hand tightening on his gun as he shifted slowly around the base of another tree. He could feel the pounding of his wounds burning down into his ankle and up into his hip. Felt it, and felt himself slowing down with it. A voice in the back of his head, a voice that sounded like Dale Horvath, was beggin' him to turn around.
Begging him to head back to the RV, to the farm. Beggin' him not to go a step further, especially with a wet-behind the ears kid.
That voice of fuckin' reason, Dale's fuckin' voice, echoed low in the back of his head and he felt his eyes burn with the tears he wanted to shed. Knowing that even when the man had been alive and starin' him down with that imploring fatherly stare of his, it hadn't been enough.
Danny's foot slid along the brush as they cleared the last tree, the voices were closer now and the distinct sound of a fight breaking out had Danny slamming his arm out to once again stop Jimmy from moving any further.
"What-"
"Shhhhh" Danny shook Jimmy hard and settled his left shoulder to the tree nearest him.
The fuckers were just around that tree, he could hear them. Could practically fuckin' feel the air between them as he stood there listening to them scuffle about on the ground. Danny's eyes darted around them, hitting off his bum fuckin' burnin' leg, and the gun he held in a damn death grip at his side. He shifted to look at Jimmy who had settled right behind him just listening as the men beyond continued to fight, heavy harsh breathing mixed with the telltale thump of fist hitting flesh filling the air and drowning out the sound of the wind whipping along the leaves above.
Danny shifted his good leg out pivoting slightly on the toes of his bad and pushing past the almost too intense pain that shot up to his hip at the movement. He shifted and let out one low breath as he angled his eyes behind him. With the tips of his fingers he pushed Jimmy back the few steps he'd taken, giving another stern shake of his head to the boy who merely stared in return. One last slow step with his foot and he was around the tree, his eyes immediately landing upon the source of the scuffle.
He couldn't see much of them, just the back of the head and shoulders of one, but it was a familiar fuckin' head. Not so freshly shorn anymore, the dark hair starting to grow back like the permanent black fuckin' rain cloud he was. Shane Walsh was a distinct sum'bitch.
Danny's blood ran cold for an instant, worry flooding him as he watched as Shane struggled with something. His broad shoulders moved with the weight of something Danny couldn't see from his current vantage point. The gun held in Danny's hand lifted a fraction of an inch as his impulse to help the bastard overpowered his need to see the man smacked down a few pegs.
No matter what had gone on between them in the past, Shane was still a member of their group. And as loathe as he was to admit it Shane was a part of the family they'd built here. The fuckin' hemorrhoid on the ass of the group, but still part of the group.
Danny stumbled forward not caring what kind of noise he made at this point as he made his way closer to where Shane was crouched upon the ground. He slid along the brush and winced as he jarred his already pounding leg.
Halfway down the small incline Danny was making his way down, Shane's body shifted. Twisting in a violent manner his arms coming apart as he let his assailant's body fall to the ground. Danny's eyes shifted, his feet freezin' in place as he got his first glimpse of who that assailant was.
He'd never been stunned breathless. Never really believed such a thing could happen. Not anymore, at least. Not with the dead walkin' the earth tryin' to eat you. But in that moment he was.
Randall lay in a heap on the forest floor, his body slumped awkwardly on its stomach and his head twisted around at an odd angle. One dead eye peered at him from the half-visible landscape of his face as it pressed strangely into the muddied ground below. He stared for what felt like an eternity waiting for that euphoric feelin' to come over him. The one he swore he'd feel when he got to finally see that little prick get what he deserved. He waited, and waited and fuckin' waited, but the only thing he felt was raw and nauseous and he snarled at the bile as it rose slowly up the back of his throat.
Danny's chest hurt as his lungs held tight to the air he'd captured in that moment of shock. Hurt with a burning intensity that scorched a path through his entire body as his eyes skipped towards where Shane was. He was still crouched down, hunched over the body of the boy he'd just killed, unmoving.
Questions flooded Danny's mind, the weight of them all making his arm go slack as his gun settled heavily at his side. He stared on, wondering just what the fuck had happened to let this play out? Why were they here? Where was everyone else?
Why was Shane still starin' at him?
Was he hurt?
In that moment, Danny's feet began to move again. A slow, painful step down the bare hint of an incline he was on, his bum leg stiff and burnin' still. Shane was movin' now, his body slowly lifting from the ground where he'd been crouched down beside Randall, his wide mass of shoulders lifting almost fuckin' defiantly and his head tippin' just slightly to the side.
Danny's feet stopped again as he watched Shane pull his gun from the holster at his thigh. His own hand tightened around the gun he held, a small war going on in his confused fuckin' brain on whether or not to holster the fuckin' thing. Danny's mouth opened just a fraction of an inch, Shane's name stickin' to the walls of his dry fuckin' mouth as the man slowly started to turn to face him.
"You didn't see his eyes, man."
Miles's voice filtered into his head, that horrified tone he'd used when he'd finally broken down and told Danny about what really went down at that FEMA station with Otis echoing loudly. Danny hadn't really understood what Miles had been talkin' about then. He'd seen men kill, seen the horrors that others could inflict. Seen the sheen of insanity blazing wild in Garrison's eyes just before he'd put a bullet in him at the CDC. He'd seen that, and told the boy as much, but still Miles had shaken his head. He'd shaken his head and told him that it was different. Different to see the that 'goodness' die.
Danny understood now. Horrid time and place to fuckin' have an epiphany, but there it was nonetheless.
Danny stared into Shane's eyes, dark gleamin' balls of black starin' back at him, eatin' up the distance between them. He watched Shane's eyes, watched them squish up as his head moved in an almost imperceptible shake, his lips tilting in a snarl of a smile as blood poured down from his nose and into his mouth. Danny's jaw was tight, the muscle there tickin' as he clenched his hand tight around the gun he held.
His arm was lifting, slowly, his mind not yet able to catch the fuck up to the truth bein' thrust upon him. Shane's arm lifted quickly, so fuckin' sure, so unquestionably that Danny's stopped for just a second as utter disbelief rocked him to his core. A fraction of a second later Danny followed suit, but he was too slow.
Always too fuckin' slow.
The scuffling sound of hurried footsteps through the brush behind him registered just as the gun was fired.
"WATCH!" Jimmy's voice cracked out, as he hurled himself into Danny.
Danny felt the impact of the boy, their bodies sliding along the brush and into the large base of a tree. Danny's saw the pain lace the boy's face as the bullet tore into his stomach, and felt a moment of shared memory. Jimmy fell to his backside, his hands lifting to his bleeding center, wide eyes starin' at him as Danny crouched down painfully before him, his free hand reaching out tentatively to the boy's.
"Son of a bitch," Shane's huffed out words reached Danny's ears and had him springing up.
His gun was raised this time, no more doubt. No more remorse left for the man that once had been, Shane Walsh. Only hatred for the fucker that remained.
Shane was movin' towards them, his gun sighted and ready to fire, but Danny beat him. Impetuousness gettin' the better of training. Danny fired half-blind through the thicket of fallen branches Jimmy had landed behind. Shane recoiled, his body sliding right as he returned fire. Danny felt the fire of the bullet tearing its blazing path along his right cheek and felt his ear catch fire. He screamed as his body followed along with the momentum of his turning head, his shoulder rising to cradle his bleeding face and ear.
Danny stumbled, his bad left leg giving out and sending him to an unsteady knee at the feet of the gut-shot Jimmy. He lifted his left hand to his face, pulling it back and starin' at the blood coating his fingers. He seethed out a breath and waited for Shane to round that small thicket of branches, watched the fucker stumble in his steps and stop. Danny's gun lifted and he took aim, his finger twitching on the trigger. What was Shane waiting for?
Danny's breathing slowed as he watched Shane stutter-step backwards, his eyes narrowing in confusion for an instant before he heard it. Before he realized what had Shane backing away. Danny's head spun behind him, the distinct groan of the Walkers shambling towards them finally making it through the pounding of his blood. Six undead fucks were barreling down on where he and Jimmy were sprawled.
Danny's eyes shifted back to where Shane stood, the man's eyes glarin' at him through the branches between them. Danny's right eye twitched, his vision blurring as tears welled from open wound beneath it. He held Shane's gaze for a single rapid beat of his heart, and watched him take another step backwards.
He only had one second to decide. Kill Shane and let the Walkers get Jimmy, or let Shane go and try and save a kid who was probably gonna die anyway.
Danny's hand clenched tight around his gun, his lips tilting in a snarl as he turned away from Shane's retreating form and back towards where Jimmy was sliding his blood-soaked ass along the brush away from the reaching hands of the Walkers. He pushed up from the ground and fired a single shot at the closest Walker, before holstering his gun and pushing the next as hard as he could into the rest.
"You're lucky I'm tryin' to be a better fuckin' man," Danny seethed as he hauled Jimmy to his feet. Hooking the boy's arm over his shoulder Danny spared a glance in the direction Shane had disappeared before lookin' back towards the Walkers closing in.
Well you can't get free without some blood, sweat, and tears
That voice in your head has got you all balled up in fear
Time to pack your bags and tell yourself goodbye
Habit got you changed mind body and soul
And you'll never feel free until you learn to let go of that
That bag full of bricks you been dragging around
You turned on me for the devil you know
~The Devil You Know/ JJ GREY & MOFRO
AN: I know this is a drawn-out clusterfuck of a thing, but if you haven't realized by now…that's just the way I work. There's a plan, and a reason that you're getting to see all the different aspects you're getting to see here. I want to make sure that the mindset of each of our major players is fully realized before we head into Season 3. Because it's those mindsets now that make the decisions for later.
So, bless you all for sticking around, and welcome to all the peeps who have hit that favorite or follow button. And all of you that have left reviews. I love you all. I'm trying very hard to get back into the flow of writing, because I feel I've lost a bit of myself without the wondrous interaction I've garnered from this experience.
Hit me up any time people. I'm always around. Even if it doesn't seem like it.
Much Love and Happy Reading!