LL - Hehe 'quality time with his remaining hand'...you made me laugh. Thanks for that.
KrisAnthemum221 - I love how everyone feels bad that Merle can't bury his bone...it's like they all feel his pain or something. Thanks for the review!
Surplus Imagination - Interesting that you'd think he'd be a one dimensional monster and have absolutely no conscience when it comes to nuns who helped save his life...interesting...
Lilone1776 - I think Merle and the Lt might get into it if the Cajun ever found out just what Merle's been trying with the Old Missy. But yeah, I think Merle could be of some good kicking around the convent if he decides to stay.
MollyMayhem84 - I know. When the horse bit it (or got bit I should say) in season one I was a lot more horrified then when someone else gets it on the show. I was really rooting for the thing. V_V
GG - I think the thing about Merle is that all we've seen of him on the show was coked out Merle in the first season and 'enemy' Merle who just happened to have fallen in with the wrong crowd. I think there's a lot about him we don't know. I hope he sticks around long enough for us to get a better look into his character. He is fascinating.
Brazen Hussy - What is it about Merle that is kind of sexy? I don't know...but he kind of is. Maybe it's because he's bordering on being the villain in this show (I love villains so hard). Of course he is still redeemable, I think, he just needs to work on it a little bit.
Axelrocks - Carol has really toughened up since her dick of a husband died. I think she's a much bigger bad ass than some of the women on the show. She isn't always looking for a fight or trouble, she just steps up a lot to do what needs to be done and that's why I respect her as a character.
Supfan - I don't think Merle is so one sided as people think. He's a real shit, believe me, but I think - like any human being - he has his intricacies and subtleties and while he is hard to get on with, I think he isn't all evil. After all, no one ever really is, are they?
Okay, I'm going to have to admit I can't recall the name of the dude from Tyreese's group and I have no real interest to look that shit up. His name is Max here. Because I'm extremely lazy.
Chapter Twenty: En D'oeuille
**Daryl**
"And Andy said 'boy don't you lose your head, cuz to tell you the truth, I've been with her myself'."
They had been driving for all of five minutes, when the Cajun decided to take over the job of the radio.
That dog the weird fucker had 'rescued' was lying on the truck bench seat between them, head on Daryl's lap, big brown eyes on his every move.
Honestly, Daryl was ready to drive the truck into the first tree he saw that looked big enough to end it all.
"That's the night that the lights went out in Georgia, that's the night that they hung an innocent man. Well don't trust your soul to no backwoods Southern lawyer, cuz the judge in the town's got bloodstains on his hands."
"Yo, Vicki Lawrence, shut your mouth," Daryl grunted. "Got a damned dog hogging my lap space, dumb assed Cajun caterwauling in my ear…"
The Lieutenant chuckled. "I'm sorry, Texian. I just miss having music on the road is all."
"And I miss sleeping in on Sundays and not smelling like shit. We're all making sacrifices."
Snorting the Cajun beamed, reaching over to stroke the dog's back. "Yeah, because I bet you were real big on using the lavender and rosemary shower gel before all this went down."
Daryl was no longer paying attention to the man, slowing down the truck as he spied about thirty walkers heading down the highway towards them. He stopped the truck completely.
"What now?" The Lieutenant asked.
"I'm going to kick your ass out here and have you sing them to death," Daryl grunted, putting the truck into reverse before the herd noticed them. "We'll go around, I know a back way."
..-~-..
..-~-..
It was late afternoon by the time they made it to the gates of the Greene farm and Daryl was anxious.
They had lost a few that night and he wasn't really eager to see what was left of them.
Besides, he wasn't entirely sure the walkers had completely cleared the area. He knew they migrated, just kept heading in one direction as a herd, but he didn't know for sure if they had kept moving.
Turning the engine off, Daryl let the truck roll to a gentle, quiet stop just inside the gate, eyeing the farmstead and the area surrounding for walkers.
He could remember sitting in nearly the same spot on Merle's chopper watching the barn as it burned to the ground. That night wasn't pleasant and it seemed to be the start of all their problems.
Well, they had problems before, but that was when things got infinitely worse.
Finding no walkers visible and the house blocking the view of any possible vehicles the others may have used to get there in, Daryl debated getting out and walking in the rest of the way to give them the element of surprise on any remaining walkers or driving down the long dusty driveway to park the truck close in case they needed a fast getaway.
Turning to see what the Cajun thought they should do, he found the man hopping out of the truck.
"I'll take a stroll ahead, give you the all clear to pull in." The Lieutenant said.
Daryl nodded.
He watched as the soldier walked down the driveway, combat boots kicking up as little dust as possible and snorted. The man even walked like a goddamned marine.
Beside him the dog whimpered and buried it's face deeper into Daryl's lap.
He pet it absently, keeping his eyes on the soldier boy as he moved down the long drive ahead of the truck, that fucking .22 of his with the scope duct taped to it in the sling ready position.
Eyeing the worn looking heavy pack the Cajun wore from behind, Daryl figured the man must have seen some heavy combat since he was deployed to combat the walkers. Hell, half of his gear was battered to shit, not including the shoulder of his vest where the walker had gnawed on him.
Since meeting the Cajun, Daryl noticed that he didn't ever wear his helmet, though he did keep it on his person, resting on the top of the pack, secured there by the chin strap woven through the pack's latch. What he used it for if not to protect his thick skull was beyond him.
Over top of the worn pack, the man had often worn a heavy looking old WWII field phone, which he hadn't had on him since they began looking for Rick and the others. It had seemed odd to Daryl at the time that the man bothered with such a heavy, clumsy looking thing, but he never bothered to dwell much on it.
They must have had time to hand out new gear before the world went to shit, though. Because the man wore woodland green camouflage and not the desert pattern he'd expect a soldier to wear while at war with a desert country.
It was then that Daryl realized he never really took notice of the man much at all. He was so caught up in finding his people, in getting everyone back together and safe, that he took no notice of the man who was helping him.
Reaching the end of the driveway, where the dirt road opened into the barnyard, the Lieutenant knelt and reached around to retrieve his helmet, jerking it off the latch with a sharp tug and pulling it on his head. Carefully he raised his rifle to a low ready position and proceeded slowly out into the middle of the yard.
Daryl noticed the man was left handed, or perhaps just liked to shoot lefty as the Lieutenant used his scope to look about, kneeling by an old set of harrows that Herschel had left standing by an old tractor.
Daryl's crossbow trigger finger twitched nervously as he watched the soldier eyeing the area.
The man was too far from him for Daryl to do any good if something went down and it made him nervous. He should have been the one to go in, if the others were there they wouldn't be too friendly seeing a stranger. At the time he was too busy worrying about walkers that he had forgotten that the Lieutenant was new to the others and if they were just attacked at the prison, they'd be even more inclined to shoot first.
No sooner had this thought entered his mind then he spied movement creeping up the side of the farmhouse, it moved too fast and stealthy for a walker, but smaller than a full grown adult.
"Fuck," he cursed, reaching behind the seat for his crossbow and hopping out of the truck.
Daryl raced down the drive, doing his best to stay in the ditch where he had better coverage just in case the movement wasn't friendly.
Getting close enough to make out the short stature of the stalking figure, Daryl glanced over to see if he could make eye contact with the Cajun in order to give him a head's up and noticed someone creeping upon the man from behind.
Hoping his gut instinct was right, Daryl stopped and cupping his hands to his mouth shouted at the person by the farmhouse.
"Carl!"
The person creeping up against the house paused, turning to him, gun in hand.
Daryl edged in closer, crossbow ready just in case. As he neared, he could clearly make out the hat the boy wore and the gun he carried.
"Daryl?" The boy called back.
Jogging towards the young man, Daryl lowered his weapon and nodded towards the Lieutenant. "He's with me."
The young man glanced over too, cupping his hands to his own mouth.
"Glenn! Stop!"
Across the yard the Lieutenant glanced over his shoulder to find the Asian ex-pizza boy standing behind him a few yards back, the Cajun stood up carefully and approached Daryl, Glenn behind him.
The four of them met in the middle of the farmyard.
"Did dad send you?" Carl asked, holstering his gun.
"No. I came here on a hunch. Who's all with you?" Daryl greeted.
Carl eyed the Lieutenant. "Glenn, Tyreese, Sasha and Max."
Daryl sneered. "What the fuck is a Tyreese?"
"It's a long story." Carl said. "You find the others?"
"Carol, Beth, Herschel and Judith."
"You didn't find Maggie yet?" Glenn broke in.
Daryl shook his head.
The young man seemed to slump in on himself. "At least the others got out okay." He said, eyeing the Lieutenant. "Who's this?"
"Some dumb assed Cajun, can't understand his funny language, don't even bother."
"Dumb assed Cajun saved your hillbilly ass, couyon." The Lieutenant replied, pushing his helmet higher on his brow with a crooked grin.
Daryl ignored him, addressing Carl. "You know where your dad might be?"
Carl shrugged. "He said he was going back to Woodbury for you. Said to come here, that he'd meet us back here where it was safer."
"You been to the highway?"
The young man nodded with a wince. "Been through there, grabbed the food we left for Sophia, thought we'd run out. Found some more in Herschel's basement though."
"We could always use more back at the convent," the Lieutenant broke in softly. "If you don't mind us packing it up."
Carl eyed the man warily.
"It's alright, Carl. The Lieutenant's done right by us so far." Daryl assured.
Eyeing the farmyard better now that the danger seemed to have passed, he noticed the Cherokee jeep and Merle's bike parked on the side of the house out of view from the road.
Noticing him, Glenn spoke, "I didn't think you'd want the Governor's men taking it."
Daryl sneered a little at the shorter man. "Better pray you didn't scratch it, Short Round." He growled, half teasing, half relieved that the man thought about how much the bike meant to Daryl.
"It's called 'gratitude'. Fuck," Glenn shot back.
Heading towards the bike, Daryl didn't care much if the others followed, he just wanted to make sure the saddle bag he kept on it was still there.
"Carl?" Someone called out, moving from the house.
Stopping halfway to the chopper, Daryl watched as a big black man stepped of the porch, followed by a smaller black woman and a scruffy looking man.
"It's okay, Tyreese," Carl said. "It's just Daryl and…" the boy looked over at the Cajun quietly.
The Lieutenant looked back at him for a moment, before his eyes widened. "Oh! Lieutenant Vancoughnett."
"Van what now?" Tyreese returned moving to stand with the group.
Deciding the newcomers were no threat, Daryl kept on, heading for Merle's bike.
"Maggie went with Rick," Glenn said, catching up with him. "He told me to go with Carl. That was the last we've seen of them."
Touching a hand to the engine casing of the chopper, Daryl inspected it for dents, before turning back to Glenn. "I'll find them. But for now let's pack up whatever supplies we left behind her and get back on the road. We may be able to get to the convent by nightfall."
Glenn eyed him for a moment with those brown puppy dog eyes of his. "Daryl," he began, "Merle…"
"Don't worry about Merle," he snarled. "Merle's my problem."
"He mangled my face, man!"
"Yeah, and I've wanted to mangle it at times too, what's your point?"
"He's dangerous. Why would you risk the others by going back for him anyways?" Glenn growled.
"Because he's my brother, dipshit!" Daryl yelled, the hand that wasn't hanging on to his crossbow strap balling into a fist at his side.
Glenn backed down a little, but still managed to glare at Daryl.
"What? Suddenly you don't trust me because I had to go back for kin?" Daryl went on, getting in the man's face. "I came looking for your sorry ass didn't I?"
"You weren't there," Glenn said softly. "You didn't see what he did to us."
"Yeah, well, don't worry about him." Daryl said, backing down a little. "Just worry about keeping your ass free of walkers and bullets. Be ready to move in twenty minutes," he stated, moving off, away from the Asian and the bike.
He was halfway to the truck, when Carl caught up with him.
"You alright, Daryl?" The young man asked.
"Fucking peachy."
Carl eyed him for a moment quietly. "I'm glad you got out okay." He finally said. "The group isn't as safe as we are when you're around."
Daryl glanced over at the kid. He had seemed to age four years in just one winter and walked more like a man than a boy.
"You're good at what you do," Carl clarified. "Dad really relies on you."
"I'll find your dad," Daryl assured him firmly. "He'll be just fine."
"I know."
..-~-..
..-~-..
Daryl waited until the others were busy loading supplies and preserves from Herschel's root cellar into the vehicles, before approaching the Lieutenant who was shoving a box of canned goods into the box of the truck.
"I'm going to take a little walk. See what I can find that we can use."
The Lieutenant eyed him for a second, before nodding. "Okay. I'll hold down the fort, yeah?"
Daryl nodded.
Walking off in the direction of the pile of ash that used to be the old barn, Daryl kept his eye out for walkers. He didn't think any lingered from last fall, but he still didn't feel as safe as the farm once made him feel.
Passing by the RV which was scorched black by the fire that destroyed the barn, he kept on, heading for the tree where those they lost had been buried.
Slowing, Daryl eyed the mounds of dirt, Otis, the two Greene family members from the barn, Dale, Sophia.
Sophia.
He paused very, very briefly at her smaller mound of dirt and rocks, before moving on, heading for the old summer kitchen where he had set up his camp.
There was really no need for him to go the long way, moving him past the graves, but he felt like he needed to see them. To remind him that what seemed like years ago had only just been last fall.
Arriving at his camp, he noticed his tent had been trampled by the walkers, utterly obliterated, but he hoped some of his stashed things survived the geeks feet under the nylon of the tent.
Taking the Cajun's combat knife with the word 'salt' etched into the handle, he sliced open the tent and began sorting through his sparse items.
Finding a handful of 9mm rounds and his back up hunting knife, he pocketed the rounds and slid the knife into his belt, but kept digging. Reaching under a pile of clothes, he found the small wooden item he had been whittling in his free time and eyed it quietly for a moment as it sat in the palm of his hand.
He hadn't finished it, put it away after the barn was opened and there was no more use for the hope it would have brought.
Eyeing the small wooden Cherokee rose he had been fashioning for Carol, Daryl grimaced. Clenching his fist around it, he thought about just tossing it aside and forgetting how close he had come to making a complete ass out of himself with the woman by giving her something as stupid as a wooden rose, but instead shoved it in his pants pocket before he could accomplish the action.
Standing up from sorting through his crap, he looked about quickly, checking for walkers, before heading back towards the house.
Two steps into his journey, he veered off quickly and moved back towards the graves.
Glancing around to ensure he was clear of walkers and inquiring eyes, he stopped first at Dale's. The man had called him decent once and while Daryl didn't much care for how much the man seemed to see and know, he couldn't help but miss him. Dale was always a good man to have around. He wasn't much use physically because of his age, but he was a good pair of eyes on the roof of the RV.
Nodding at the mound of dirt, he moved on to Sophia's grave, dropping to one knee at the side of it he sighed lightly.
Thinking about how she had emerged from the barn, how her legs were unsteady like a newborn foal's, recalling the way Carol fell apart in his arms as he held her back, how the whole moment was so ingrained in his mind and yet so blurry at the same time, Daryl winced.
He should have been there for Sophia. If he was even close enough to be the first man on the spot, she wouldn't have been lost, she wouldn't have been afraid, she wouldn't have died.
In his pocket the wooden Cherokee rose poked at his thigh and Daryl grimaced, looking skywards at the vivid blue Georgian sky spotted with fluffy white clouds. "Okay," he said, answering and unasked question.
..-~-..
..-~-..
When he rejoined the group, he came upon a loud spoken argument in progress and moved to stand beside the Cajun who was watching quietly as the fellow named Tyreese argued with the black woman and the scruffy man.
Tyreese was obviously trying to keep the argument to themselves, but Daryl could hear everything as the woman and scruffy man discussed things with their apparent leader.
"We got ourselves into this mess by going to that prison, Ty." The woman stated. "Are you so sure you want to keep on with this group? Did you see that one with the crossbow? He looks like a criminal."
Exchanging a mildly amused look with the Lieutenant, Daryl pulled his crossbow off his back and held it so that he could lean back against the truck.
"What choices have we got, Sasha? There's literally no one left alive. We can't go on with only three of us!" Tyreese argued in a gruff whisper. "Carl and Glenn are good people," the black man went on, "if they say that Daryl can be trusted, then we can trust him."
"What about that Cajun? The soldier? I've never trusted anyone who smiles as much as he does." The scruffy man added.
Beside Daryl, the Lieutenant jerked his chin to his chest at the verbal abuse, but grinned after a moment and leaned towards Daryl. "He's got a point, I'll admit. No one likes an overly friendly man with a gun."
Daryl snorted in mild amusement.
Glancing over, Tyreese noticed the two men watching the conversation and winced.
"We'll discuss this later, okay?" He suggested to the two.
They all looked over to find Daryl and the Lieutenant peering back quietly. The Cajun raised his hand and waved warmly.
Slapping the Cajun's gut hard, Daryl smirked as the Lieutenant grunted in surprise at the action. "Come on, smirky, let's get moving."
The Cajun Dialect
En d'oeuille – To be in mourning.