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Summary: Some only see the pain behind a scar. For some they are worn in honor; proud badges of victory and bravery. For Lillian James Harper, they are a mark of survival. Every scar has a story, this one is hers.
Warning: This fan-fiction is rated Mature for Language, Gore and Adult Situations. Readers under the age of 18 are strongly discouraged from reading.
Pairing: Daryl x Lillian James Harper
Chapter Five
~The scars of others should teach us caution. –St. Jerome~
Neither Daryl nor Merle had returned last night and it left me in less than a stellar mood for most of the day. I slept like shit, being all alone in my tent, but it was nice to be around people again…even if they were all driving me crazy.
It was nice to be around semi-normal people again, to belong somewhere. Everyone in this rag-tag little group seemed to have wandered into the main part of camp and were all busy off in their own little world. Lori and Shane were around the main fire-pit with Carl, cracking jokes as Lori cut her son's hair. Morales' kids were playing tag with Sophia—Carol and Ed's daughter.
Shane had just said something about frog-giggin' when the man I was introduced to as Dale suddenly stood up on the roof of his R.V., looking concerned. I thought I had been losing my mind when I first heard the car alarm, at least now I knew that I wasn't the only one.
Shane, seeing Dale's distress, jumped up immediately. "Talk to me Dale."
Everyone became panicked, myself included as I jumped to my feet, reading my weapon and looked to Dale for any signs of trouble.
"Can't tell just yet." He said, holding out his binoculars to look down to the road.
Amy—Andrea's sister—looked frantic as she strutted up the motor home. "Is it them? Are they back?"
"I'll be damned," Dale muttered under his breath, which had me just as anxious and confused as the others.
Using my hand as protection against the blinding afternoon sun, I had to ask, "What is it?"
"Stolen car would be my guess." He replied, looking down at me, disbelief shining in his big brown eyes.
"Dumbass," I scoffed, wondering who would be stupid enough to bring so much noise back to camp. Then of course my preservation instincts kicked in and I drew Merle's pistol from my side holster. Whoever this was, they might not be one of ours, and there was no telling if they would be friendly.
Everyone stood with watchful, mistrusting gazes as the red Dodge Charger sped into camp. In fact, nobody said anything until the driver came into view. It was the Asian kid. Glenn, I think his name was; I was still a little goofed up on Merle's pain pills this morning when proper interdictions were being made.
"Holy crap, turn that damn thing off!" Dale yelled as he and the rest of the group swarmed around the kid.
Shane was yelling—no big surprise there—demanding that the kid pop the hood, while Amy was grappling at his shirt, grilling him at the speed of light about her sister's whereabouts.
The next few minutes were nothing but a blur of shouting and the blare of a car alarm. Suddenly, I wished that I had gone hunting with Daryl this morning. How did he stand this for so long without killing anybody?
Finally, Jim found the power box to the alarm, disarming it and most fell silent. Amy was still demanding to know if her sister was safe and wanting to know why she wasn't with him. I felt for the girl, I really did, but her blatant ignorance regarding the safety of the others who were also obviously missing raised my hackles a bit.
I gritted my teeth against the angry rebuttal that stung my tongue like acid. Did she understand that if she'd just shut up for a few minutes, Glenn would most likely tell her everything she needed to know?
A few minutes later the white Fernec truck that the group had been using for supply runs pulled up, and I breathed a sigh of relief as everyone began pouring out.
The sister's shared a tear filled reunion, hugging like they hadn't seen each other for years as everyone else in the group congratulated the scavenging party on their finds. There was just one problem with all of this; I didn't see Merle.
Just as I was about to ask the others where he was, I heard Merle say something about a new guy.
"Helicopter guy." He called him.
He was a lean man, with a handsome face and gentle eyes. All of a sudden Carl—Lori's son—charged forward screaming "Dad!"
It confused the hell out of me because Lori had told me her husband died in a hospital from a gunshot wound in some small town west of here. But nothing ruffled my feathers like the look Shane got on his face when he saw the blue-eyed man. He looked torn; happy and excited to see the man alive…but he also looked angry, resentful and incredibly guilty.
I guess it made sense; Daryl had told me something about Shane and Lori having a relationship…well, he said they fucked in the woods a lot.
"At least someone's getting it," I grumbled to myself as the couple embraced.
As the others continued smiling and hugging, I turned to Glenn, "Excuse me, but where's Merle?"
"Um," Glenn said, nervously scratching at his head. "There was an accident—
He didn't say another word, and I didn't want to hear them either. I would find out what happened to him later, right now…I needed to breathe.
"Disoriented. I guess that comes closest. Disoriented." Rick paused as we all sat quietly around the fire and listened to his story.
The man had woken up in a coma in a walker infested hospital, I could scarcely believe he had lived, especially waking up and not understanding all that had happened.
"Fear, confusion, all those things, but disoriented comes closest."
Dale muttered something quietly to himself about things falling short.
"I felt like I'd been ripped out of my life and for a while I felt like I was…trapped, in some coma dream—
I drifted off after that, not really paying attention to anybody. It was day two and Daryl still hadn't returned from his hunting trip. I couldn't believe I was destined to stumble across his camp just to lose him the next day; the fate's just couldn't be that cruel, could they? As I listened, I tried not to think about Merle—or Daryl—for that matter, or how much this was going to break his heart when he found out Merle was gone.
Flaming embers flashed before my eyes, snapping me out of my morose thoughts as they singed my hair and licked at my face. Ed—Carol's douche-bag husband stood there not giving a shit if he burned his daughter as he unceremoniously tossed another log into the fire.
"He Ed, wanna rethink that log?" Shane asked from behind me.
"It's cold, man," Ed excused himself, as he sat his lazy, fat ass back down in his lawn chair like he was at the Saturday night drive-in.
If there was anyone in this rag-tag group of survivors that I hated, it was Edward Peletier. He was a chauvinistic pig of proportions I didn't even think existed anymore; I thought they had died out with the cavemen. He treated his wife and daughter like they were his personal slaves, and I was pretty damn sure he was beating them both on a regular bases. Merle might be a piece of work, but even he didn't treat women like that.
Shane sighed, leaning forward so his head was closer to my ear. "Cold don't change the rules, does it?"
For the first time since meeting Shane, I felt pity for him. It was obvious from the jump that having to tell Ed anything would be like scolding a cinderblock.
"We keep our fires low so they can't be seen from a distance, right?"
"I said it's cold," Ed interrupted, turning his head so he wouldn't have to look Shane in the eye.
What a fuckin' pussy. I bristled at the comment. Here I was, along with all the woman in the group, seriously underweight but not saying a thing, and there he was complaining about being cold. I just bet that fat prick beat on his woman because he couldn't go toe-to-toe with a real man.
"Why don't ya mind yer own business for once." Ed spat, still not looking at the man who addressing him.
I peered over my shoulder at Shane, and though he smiled at me, it was obvious that he was fast losing his temper.
Not a second later, Shane jumped to his feet and strutted toward the fat man—as much as I disliked him in general, I was sad to see his body heat go; the man was like a walking talking furnace.
T-dog chuckled, slightly palming his face to hide it and in doing so covering the bruises on his face that he seemed to have acquired somewhere on the trip to Atlanta. He didn't tell and I didn't ask; it wasn't my business anyway. Glenn looked like he wanted a bowl of pop-corn and Rick and Lori just smiled to each other in a knowing way. Well duh, it didn't take a fuckin' genius to figure out Shane had a short fuse. Dale just chuckled along with Andrea and shook his head.
From across the fire, Shane leaned down and spoke to Ed in a tone too quiet for my ears to pick up. It was really too bad Daryl wasn't here; that man had ears and a nose a dog would envy. Ed said nothing in response—that much I could pick up myself—and looked across to Carol who immediately got up and bent to retrieve the burning log—showcasing a nasty bruise that started at the base of her hip. I could only imagine how she came by it.
As Shane returned to his spot behind me, Dale spoke up, grabbing my attention. "Have you given any thought to Daryl Dixon? He won't be happy when he hears his brother was left behind."
"What the fuck do ya mean, left behind?" I snapped and T-dog winced next to me. It was only then that it dawned on me just how T had gotten that nasty fat lip.
He didn't answer me directly, but then again, he didn't have to either. I had a fairly good idea of what happened now.
"I'll tell him. I dropped the key, it's on me." He said remorsefully.
"Key?" I asked, standing up and looking down my nose at him.
He nodded as Rick filled me in on how Merle went crazy on the rooftop of a building they were trapped in. I don't think the man understood just what the Dixon's meant to me when he described restraining him and handcuffing him to a pipe on that roof, if he had, I don't think he would have mentioned it quite so crudely.
T-dog and Rick continued to argue over who was gonna be the biggest martyr for the sake of the group and I was just about to lose my patience when Glenn spoke up.
"Guys, this isn't a competition and I don't mean to bring race into this but maybe it would be better if came from the white guy."
My blood boiled in my veins as I turned my head towards the fire, hoping to find something to distract me so I didn't attack someone and become walker bait myself.
"Just because Merle could be a raciest bastard doesn't mean Daryl is. It isn't gonna matter who tells him. Ya'll left his brother ta die, the man's gonna be pissed either way." I spat.
T-dog raised his head proudly, if not stupidly. If I were that man, I'd be hiding under a rock for the foreseeable future. "I did what I did. Ain't gonna hide from it."
"We could lie." Amy offered.
My head snapped in her direction. "Over my dead body. He deserves to know the truth about his brother."
"She's right," Andrea agreed, "We tell him the truth. Merle was out of control and nearly got us all killed. If it's anyone's fault that Merle got left behind, it's Merle's."
Dale went pale. "And this is what we tell Daryl?" He asked incredulously. "Word to the wise but where gonna have our hands full when he gets back from his hunt."
"Maybe she should tell him," Andrea said, pointing to me with a stick. "I mean she's close with the Dixon's, right?"
Bristling, I growled. "She has a name and it's Lillian. Don't be rude and don't be a coward. Whether or not Merle was wrong or right, he was still a human being who has a family who loves him. Now yer all have a discussion about how yer gonna justify leavin' him on a rooftop to my fiancé because yer scared and ya expect me ta help ya? Fuckin' cowards, all of ya."
Andrea stood up, suddenly all Mighty Mouse and got right in my face. "The Dixon's have been nothing but trouble and I'm sure that everyone agrees with me when I say that neither Dixon would be missed."
Growling, I stepped straight into the firelight, making sure she got a good look at my face as I pulled my hunting knife from the sheath at my hip. "Unless ya want yer face ta look just like mine, I suggest ya sit yer ass down and shut yer fuckin' mouth, blondie."
She went to say something else but Rick stood up and declared that enough was enough. Shane was still chuckling at my back, but for some reason, I don't think he was laughing at me.
With one more glare, I spat at her feet and returned to my tent, having nothing left to say to the lot of them. I'm sure that if I had remained out there, Daryl would be definitely attending a funeral when he returned.
My chest throbbed painfully and instinctively my shaking fingers found the scar that ran the length of my breast bone. "Where are you, Daryl?"