A/N
Apologies if this is the second new chapter alert received. Had to delete the first attempt as for some reason it load a load of gibberish.
Thanks to Guest for the kind review and to 1rockstar for the follow. Special thanks to BreenaBelle-xoxo for the follow, fav and review and for the amazing shout out on her page. Check out her brilliant stories - well worth a read.
More reference to child abuse.
Thanks for reading
Chapter 2
The man loomed over him, blood dripping from the cut in his lip as he snarled at the boy in front of him.
"You piece of shit, you're gonna pay for hittin' me"
He advanced, reaching out to grab a handful of the boy's shirt but the boy was fast and dodged, slipping past the angry man as his hands grasped at the air where the boy had been. The child dashed for the bedroom door but it crashed open before he reached it. He froze, cowering back at the angry expression on his father's face as he filled the doorway, his fists already clenched.
"Where you think you're going?" he sneered, shoving the boy further back into the room as he took in the furious man with the bleeding lip.
"Hell's going on here?" he slurred, voice thick with alcohol and drugs.
"Little Bastard hit me" the man glared at the child "Tried to say no, tried to tell me it weren't happening again"
"That so?" He saw the way his father's eyes narrowed and braced himself for what he knew was to come next. Even expected the blow was still hard enough to knock him off his feet, his head ringing from the impact. He felt the blood trickle down his cheek and knew the signet ring his father wore had gashed open his cheek again. Fighting back tears of pain, anger and frustration he used the edge of the bed to pull himself to his feet before his father had a chance to aim a kick to his ribs, calling him a pussy for laying on the floor too long.
"Seems like he needs to learn a bit of respect for his elders"
His blood ran cold as he heard the familiar chink of a belt buckle being undone followed by the soft swish as the leather was pulled through pant loops.
"Turn round boy" his father demanded as he folded the belt in half, wrapping the buckle end around his fist.
The child shook his head, tears filling his eyes as he pleaded.
"Please Pa" he begged "I'll be good, I'll do what he wants, jus' don't hit me again" He tried to back away but the back of his legs hit the bed and there was nowhere left to go.
He saw the look of disgust on the older man's face.
"Quit the snivellin' boy, acting like some little pussy, makes me 'ashamed to say you're my son" The man reached out and grabbed his tee shirt, twisting him round and throwing him face down onto the bed. The threadbare fabric ripped revealing the child's already scarred and bruised back.
His fingers dug into the blanket as the belt made contact with the already tender flesh and he tried not to make a sound. The belt struck him again and he heard another voice.
"Stop!"
Hopefully he risked a glance over his shoulder at the man with the still bleeding lip, daring to hope the man was going to help him. That tiny hope was dashed when he saw the predatory gleam in the man's eye as he reached over and took the belt from his father's unresisting hand.
"Little shit hit me, let me be the one to punish him"
As the belt came down again and again he closed his eyes, biting his lip hard enough to break the skin, refusing to give them the satisfaction of hearing him cry out.
He was 12 years old and had just entered the next level of the Hell that was his life.
Daryl woke with a start, this time unable hold back the cry from his lips. This dream was different, it had moved a few years into his shitty childhood, to the point when the abuse became even more violent. The pusher his father dealt with had began to demand more than he was already taking to keep supplying the drugs. His father had willingly accepted the new terms, no regard or love for his younger son, no remorse for what he was allowing to happen to him.
The only time Daryl had any respite was when Merle was home. At 22 years old Merle was big and strong and would stand up to the older Dixon, not allowing any harm to come to his baby brother. Unfortunately he had no idea what went on while he wasn't there. Their father had made it clear to Daryl that if he blabbed something bad would happen to his older brother. The pusher he dealt with had friends, large, savage friends who would have no problem teaching Merle a lesson he wouldn't forget. Daryl loved his brother enough to want to protect him, even at that early age, so he kept quiet and treasured the few days Merle was home. They didn't happen often as Merle was unable to keep out of trouble and spent most of his time in juvie, or once he was old enough, jail. Sometimes he would go off on a bender and disappear for weeks. Daryl soon learnt not to rely on him, he coped by retreating further and further into himself. He gave up attending school and nobody in authority cared enough to try and find out why. He tried to run once but friends of his father saw him hitchhiking on the road and forced him home.
Unconsciously he touched the scar on his stomach, remembering how much the blows had hurt, how he'd been unable to get to his feet afterwards, only able to watch as the knife had slashed across his skin, deep enough to scar but not severe enough to let him bleed out.
"Think about this next time you try to run, you little runt" his father had snarled as he gave the shivering child a brutal kick to the ribs.
"Jus' remember I got eyes everywhere, you won't get outta town without me knowing it. Try again and it'll be worse and maybe I'll get someone to pay a little visit to that bastard you call brother, see how he likes the feel of a blade on his skin"
There'd been another punch and he remembered nothing more until he woke up cold and alone, still on the filthy kitchen floor his whole body screaming in agony. He hadn't tried to run again.
With a sigh Daryl pulled himself from the bed and once again made his way outside. This time he made sure he had his lighter and kept well away from the woman's house. He hadn't had that bad a time with her the previous night, actually found her pretty good company, but he sensed she saw through his tough guy act and didn't want to run the risk of her trying to find out more about him. There was no way he was ever going to open up to her - he would deal with things his own way.
Making sure he had a good supply of bolts and his knife at his belt he shouldered his crossbow and climbed over the high fence, avoiding the gate. He made his way into the forest surrounding Alexandria, feeling the tenseness leave his body the further away he got.
It was daylight when he returned through the gate, covered in walker blood and gore and carrying a string of several dead animals and birds over his shoulder. The guard on duty let him in, recoiling in horror at the sight of his blood caked clothes and skin.
"You gotta a problem?" he snarled at the revolted man, glaring at him until he looked away, shaking his head. He was heading for the pantry when Rick headed him off.
"What the hell?" the Constable questioned, indicating his appearance.
"Ran into a couple of walkers out huntin'. Dealt with them, aint an issue" Daryl pushed past his friend, wanting to hand over his catch.
"You can't walk around here looking like that" Rick hissed "You know we're trying to fit in, not scare the hell out of them"
"These people need to get real" Daryl met Rick's eyes, his look challenging "Aint you said enough times they don't have a clue what's out there?"
Rick closed his eyes briefly,
"This isn't the way to do it. This just scares them and makes them think we're a pack of savages" As soon as the words left his mouth Rick knew it was the wrong thing to say.
Daryl thrust the dead animals into his chest.
"Was good enough for you when we was out there. Didn't hear no complaints when I was the only one bringing any damn food in, the only one feeding your damn kids" His sleep deprived brain lost control of his mouth as he leaned in closer to Rick.
"You call me a savage but I aint the one gunned a man down 'cos I wanted to get into his Wife's pants" he hissed.
The blow caught him by surprise and he reacted instinctively, throwing a punch of his own, satisfied when he made contact with flesh. The pair traded punches for a few seconds before Abraham caught hold of Rick and dragged him away. Strong arms wrapped around Daryl, pinning his arms to his sides as he struggled to free himself.
"Take it easy man, I aint letting you go 'till you calm down" Coop shifted his grip, pulling Daryl's arms behind him, Abraham doing the same to Rick. Glancing round Daryl saw Aaron staring at him,a look of disappointment on his face. Other townsfolk were gathered around, whispering among themselves and he could guess the sort of things they were saying.
"Stupid, ignorant redneck"
"Waste of space trailer trash"
"Good for nothing"
It was what he'd been hearing all his life, drummed into him by his father from an early age his low opinion of himself had never left.
He was aware of a voice, soft and calming, close to his ear.
"Come with me now before Deanna gets here, unless you want to explain this to her" He blinked, realising Jasmine was next to him, her expression unreadable. He saw Deanna striding towards them, her stern face angrier than usual.
"'Kay" he said quietly, suddenly wanting nothing more than to get away from everyone, from the accusing, judging eyes.
"You give the Doc any trouble, you got me to answer to" Coop's tone was threatening, leaving Daryl with no doubt he would come worse off in a confrontation with the protective big man.
He saw Jasmine wave Deanna off, getting a small sense of satisfaction when the leader changed direction and headed for Rick.
"He started it, let him sort it" he thought childishly as he followed Jasmine back to her house.
Once they were both inside she closed the door and turned to him. He'd been about to throw himself down on the cream couch in her sitting room when she stopped him.
"Don't even think it" she snapped "not while you're covered in all that…." she waved her hands in his direction "I don't even know what it is you're covered in"
"Blood, guts, brain, bits of skin" he told her helpfully, smirking as he considered whether or not to sit anyway, just to piss her off.
"Get yourself up the stairs and in the shower" she demanded "Leave the clothes outside the door and I'll get them cleaned"
He stared at her defiantly.
"I aint no kid needs to be told when to clean up" he snarled.
"Then stop acting like one" she shot back "What was that all about, brawling in the street? This isn't the playground"
He shot her another glare and moved towards the front door, intent on leaving.
"You step out that door and I'll go tell Deanna I don't think you should go on anymore recruiting runs with Aaron. I'll tell her you're suffering from some kind of post traumatic stress disorder and that it's not safe for you to be out there. I'll tell her you need something trivial to do, get her to assign you to garden maintenance or maybe you can help Olivia in the pantry. I happen to know she's got a bit of a crush on you and your whole bad boy vibe"
He froze with his hand on the door handle.
"Nah, you're bluffing" he studied her face but she was giving nothing away.
"You want to take that chance?" even her voice was neutral and he remembered what she said about never playing poker with her.
He considered his options for a moment, didn't like any of them and knew she'd won this round.
"Fine, I'll go clean up but I want my clothes back, none of this fancy crap they all wear here" he tried to bargain.
"You'll shower and I can't promise about the clothes" she was unmoving, then relented a little "I'll make sure you get the vest back"
He was stubborn but even Daryl knew when he was beaten. With a muttered curse he turned and headed for the stairs. Halfway up he realised she was following him.
"Hell you doin'?" he asked "You plannin' on scrubbing my back or somethin'?"
She gave an unladylike snort.
"Maybe in your dreams" she countered "Just making sure there's enough soap and towels. Got a feeling you're going to need a lot of both"
As she slipped past him he found himself wishing his dreams were full of her, she was a bitch but anything was better than what he was currently conjuring up in his sleep.
Predictably when he peeked out the bathroom door 30 minutes later, the clothes piled up outside weren't his. Muttering he pulled them on, trying to convince himself it didn't feel good to be wearing fresh clean clothes.
There were no shoes so he padded downstairs in his socks, finding Jasmine in the kitchen, trying to clean up his winged, leather vest. A pot was bubbling away on the stove, filling the kitchen with a delicious aroma that made his stomach rumble.
She glanced up when she heard him and gave a nod of approval, not surprised to see he'd ripped the sleeves off the denim shirt she'd managed to find in the store room.
"Almost finished with this" she told him as she wiped over the fabric wings on the back of his vest. "It's not perfect but I've done the best I can" she glanced at his sock clad feet.
"There's boxes on the couch, wasn't sure which size so I bought a few" He wandered into the sitting room and found half a dozen Timberland boxes stacked on the couch.
"Apparently one of the supply runs found a warehouse full of new boots and shoes so they bought back as many as they could. Something should fit, if not there plenty more to try" He blanked her voice out as he opened the first box, trying on the expensive, suede boots.
Jasmine was stirring the pot when he came back into the kitchen. She jumped when he appeared at her side, peering into the simmering pan.
"Whatcha cooking?" he asked, hoping she'd offer him some "smells good"
"One of the rabbits you bought back this morning" she gave him a sly look, "It kind of found its way into my bag before we came back here"
He gave her one of his rare smiles.
"Damn it woman, we're gonna have to lock up the silverware round here, you got sticky fingers. My brother would've liked you"
A knock at the door interrupted the conversation and Jasmine opened it to find Carol and a shamefaced Rick on the doorstep.
"Hey" Rick looked suitably apologetic "Can I talk to Daryl for a minute please?"
Jasmine exchanged a look with Carol, both woman struggling to hide their grins.
"Are you going to play nice if we leave you alone?" she asked as Daryl appeared behind her, ignoring the whistle from Carol as she took in his now clean appearance.
The women retreated to the kitchen and at once Carol turned to her.
"How did you do it?" she demanded "I've been trying since we got here, how'd you get him to shower and change?" a sudden thought struck her.
"Are you sleeping together, is that why he disappears every night and why he's so tired?" she asked with a grin.
Jasmine laughed out loud.
"Oh God no, we're not sleeping together. Something's stopping him from sleeping but it's not me. As for the shower you just needed to know the right threat to convince him it was in his best interests."
"You'd be good for him, maybe you should think about it" Carol teased "and you'd better hurry, now he's all cleaned up he's going to get a lot more attention. This is going to be fun to watch"
The two women were still laughing when Rick and Daryl came into the kitchen, clearly having sorted their differences, Rick teasing Daryl about his fancy new boots.
"Piss off Grimes, yer jus' jealous 'cos they're better than them battered ole cowboy boots of yours" he grumbled.
They were still arguing good naturedly when the three of them left a short while later. They had invited Jasmine back to eat with them but she declined, saying she had a stew needed eating and not to worry.
She pulled a face at Carol when the older woman gave her a wink and told her to remember what she'd said about needing to hurry if she was interested.
She closed the door behind them, glancing around the empty house. She was meant to be sharing with Marcie but the young woman spent most of her time with Eugene, the two of them having hit it off almost immediately, much to Tara's delight. With a sign Jasmine helped herself to a portion of stew, pulled a paperback book off a shelf and settled back for a long, quiet night alone.