The investigation into the Wolves' deaths continues.

Trigger warning: discussion of sexual abuse and attempted rape.

Helpless

"I am here to tell you that there are people who have never been defeated.
They managed to avoid scars, humiliations, feelings of helplessness,
as well as those moments when even warriors doubt the existence of God.
They are the ones who never fought.''
―Paulo Coelho, Manuscript Found in Accra

Carol was placed in custody pending further investigation, detained in the new lock-up, a house near the south side of the compound near the gardens. Michonne volunteered for guard duty while Rick convened a meeting of the Family to explain the situation. Deanna had already issued carefully worded formal statement to the community at large, but Rick and Daryl wanted a chance to observe Enid's reaction more closely.

The news set people on edge. Most found it hard to believe that Carol had done it, but others, like Eugene, thought if she had, she should be celebrated, not punished.

Daryl saw Enid nodding along with the Mullet's stilted but sincere praise of Carol's "awesomeness" and wondered how she really felt about the woman she had possibly set up for murder. She was close enough to Carl that the kid might've told her what Carol had really done to rescue them at Terminus; what kind of a person she really was. Would Enid admire that? Probably. She'd survived out there on her own for some time as well.

After the meeting Tara asked Enid to help get Judith ready for bed, something Rick had prearranged to separate her from Carl and Ron so they could talk to the boys individually. Thinking Daryl would have better luck with Carl, they'd decided to have Deanna talk to Ron under the pretense of asking his opinion on the determination of his and Sam's permanent living arrangements.

Daryl looked over at Carl, who had spent the entire meeting looking pensive, holding Enid's hand. As soon as Enid left, Daryl approached him.

"Can't stay cooped up in here—goin' for a walk." Daryl said, "Maybe shoot some rabbits down in the garden." That was true enough. The hungry little pests were digging under the walls to get at the produce the gardens were full of at this time of year.

"Could use some help n' you could use more practice with the bow." Daryl said to the boy, but Carl was watching Enid take Judith from her playpen, laughing with Tara at how rank her diaper smelled when they checked it and then heading upstairs to give her a bath.

"Carl!" Daryl said a little more brusquely. "Stop moonin' over yer girlfriend and pay me some mind."

"What?" Carl reeled back, blinking up at Daryl—though in truth the boy was almost as tall as the archer now. The way he'd grown in the last two years he'd probably be taller than his father as well by the time he was done.

"Headin out to police the garden for Peter Cottontail so's I don't go stir crazy—you in?" Daryl offered again. "Get in some bow practice."

"I thought you'd be..." Carl frowned, his hands making a confused little gesture, "I thought you'd go over to see her."

Daryl looked pained.

"Off limits." Daryl scowled and grunted.

"You're not allowed to see Carol? That totally sucks!" Carl said indignantly.

"They think I'm gonna try and bust her out or some such shit." Daryl snorted.

"Are you?" Carl asked, totally serious, sounding ready to offer his help if needed.

"Only if I have to, little man." Daryl said quietly, putting his hand on Carl's shoulder and giving him a push towards the door.

"So she couldn't have pulled it off by herself." Michonne argued, "Girl barely weighs a hundred pounds soaking wet."

"She's not helpless. Someone can drag a person heavier than they are easier than they can carry them." Carol said and they both went quiet at the uncomfortable recognition that she knew that from experience.

After an awkward silence Michonne started rifling through the box of games, movies and paperbacks that Rosita had brought by to keep them occupied. She picked up an old DVD, Thelma and Louise and held it up for Carol, who chuckled wryly. The story of a woman who killed the man who beat and tried to rape her best friend also cut a bit too close to home for both of them.

Sometimes during the winter they were alone together, she and Andrea would tell each other favorite film plots, like bards reciting myths; this was one of their favorites. They identified, perhaps a bit too much, with the bad ass women's tragic but oddly triumphant pilgrimage across the country, searching for a place they could be safe, assailed from all sides. But Andrea had gone off the cliff...without her...

"Smart too. If she tapped Carl and Ron like we think she did, to help her." Carol added. "Lucky for her they both had good reasons to take the Wolves out."

"Brains will only get you so far and luck always runs out." Michonne quoted Harvey Keitel's fatalistic prophecy about Thelma and Louise's chances.

"Shit, I hate these goddam things." Daryl said, tossing his crutches to the ground when they reached the garden gates.

"Coulda been worse." Carl observed, reminding him that they both knew how much worse.

"Yeah. Ain't that the truth." Daryl nodded thoughtfully.

"And it gave Carol a reason to get your pants off..." Carl teased, making Daryl's eyes go wide.

"What the hell did you just say?" Daryl swiveled his head around to stare at the boy.

"You know, to sew it up." Carl said, dead pan.

Daryl side-eyed him and then grunted in appreciation of the wry ribbing. He pulled his bow around to the front and off, narrowing his eyes to look for the brown fur of the rabbits amongst the green of the garden crops.

"My mom would be happy." Carl said, pulling the lighter weight Stryker crossbow off his shoulder and fitting a bolt to it.

"It's good you n' lil' ass kicker got a safe place to live." Daryl agreed.

"Well, yeah, but I meant about you and Carol." Carl said with a grin.

Daryl stopped, thinking back to the first days at the quarry, the CDC, the farm, the prison, seeing Lori and Carol, heads together teaching their children, comforting one another when first Sophia and then Carl were in danger; how they had become as close as sisters that winter on the road; Carol's face when she saw the baby the first time and how she tried to comfort Rick even as her own heart was breaking.

"Suppose she would." Daryl sighed with a sad little smile. "Hey—over there." he suddenly said with quiet urgency, pointing at two fat rabbits at the edge of a row of late lettuces.

Carl tipped his hat back so he could see better and took careful aim. His bolt hit the first and passed through its body to lodge in the second, two in one.

"Whoa! Did you see that?" Carl asked excitedly, sounding more like Sam, an innocent kid, than the battle hardened warrior Daryl knew him to be.

"Nice" Daryl grinned, giving him a pat on the shoulder, and then holding out his hand for the bow. "Go get' em."

Carl handed off the weapon and jogged over to the gate, at the last minute jumping over it instead of opening it to pass through. His left foot caught a bit on the top railing so it wasn't the smoothest landing.

"Shit!" Carl exclaimed, hitting the ground awkwardly but still upright, the hat tilting precariously, but still on his head.

"Grace." Daryl razzed.

Carl gave him the finger, with both hands, and then turned away to pick up his bolt and the bunnies.

Daryl had a memory flash of another defiant kid flipping him the bird, her dirt covered angry face and tangled blond braids the only thing he had to focus on or he'd slip into the pit that was so welcoming; the darkness seductive and sly. How did they keep their hope? After watching their mothers and Hershel die in front of them? Maybe it was the resilience of the young; maybe it was growing up knowing you were loved unconditionally. Daryl hadn't known that...not until these people, not until Carol...

"If they make her go...would you go...with her?" Carl asked haltingly, making Daryl blink, startled. The boy stood and looked at him, holding the bloody small bodies by their ears in one hand and his bolt in the other.

"Ain't gonna come to that." Daryl said, shaking his head.

"My dad? Deanna? The rest of the Council, they think she did it—they'll make her go." Carl disagreed, upset, his concern for Carol showing.

"And we know she didn't, right?" Daryl asked, his voice calm, as if he was gentling a spooked horse. "Coz your little girlfriend did." and then watched how Carl's face seemed to go grey, his brows coming together, his mouth working, but no words came out at first.

"How did you...?" he finally said, his voice raspy, breaking a bit at the end, caught between that of a boy and that of the man he would become if he lived long enough.

"The food." Daryl told him.

Carl swallowed hard and nodded.

Daryl opened the gate so he could pass through. He limped over to a bench just inside and sat, his injured leg stretched out before him.

"You and Ron both help?" Daryl asked, steepling his fingers as he leaned forward. "For his mom?"

Carl nodded again.

"N' you wanted to help your friends; protect the place from the Wolves." Daryl nodded and then beckoned the boy forward, but Carl shook his head and started pacing.

"They needed to die." Carl said coldly.

"That was the Council's call, Carl—not you kid's." Daryl told him, understanding the need to eliminate a threat, but knowing the cost. "You shouldn't have to have that kinda thing on your soul."

"When the Council met...I was there under the window; waiting for my dad. I was listening." Carl said, stopping and looking off into the distance. "I heard what the doctor said, about what the Wolves did to people...like what almost happened to me that night...those men you were with..."

"Carl-" Daryl's eyes were full of understanding, he knew, better than anyone, what thoughts haunted the boy, but there had never been time on the road; he hadn't wanted to open a wound that he didn't know how to heal, even for himself. The boy seemed to have been dealing with by forgetting it ever happened. He should've known nothing was ever that easy.

"No! You don't get it! Dad...doesn't think I know what that man was going to do to me! He wasn't just gonna kill me n' Michonne! I knew Daryl! I could feel him...pressing into me through his pants...I know what he wanted!" Carl shouted.

"Carl—stop—I get it!" Daryl said, but the boy just shook his head at him."You were scared—I get it..."

"How could you? You aren't afraid of anything!" Carl said bitterly.

Daryl sighed, feeling out of his depth, knowing he needed to let Carl know his truth, but unable to find the words. Instead he stood up and took off his jacket and vest and then started unbuttoning his shirt.

"What are you doing?" Carol asked, confusion moving across his face.

Daryl pulled off his shirt and turned around, putting his back on display, the crossed pattern of scars warring with the demons that rode his shoulder.

"You've seen these, right? Sometime when we were on the road or maybe back at the prison? Prob'ly wondered how I got'em—made up some story in your head about how I saved a bunch a babies or somethin' and then the bad guys went after me with whips n'chains? Or I wrecked my bike n' this is super bad road rash?"

Carl looked embarrassed. It was true. All of those who had seen them had speculated on how Daryl had gotten his scars, from some ritual initiation into whatever biker gang he and Merle had belonged to, to some heroic withstanding of torture for the better good. Daryl was a hero to him and the people at the prison.

"What happened to you? What almost happened? Happened to me." Daryl said tightly. "My back, well, that's what I got for tryin' to fight back."

Carl stared at the livid red and purple stripes, some more faded to white, that criss-crossed Daryl's back. That meant they hadn't all been applied at the same time. Whatever torture Daryl had endured had gone on for years. He tried to wrap his mind around what Daryl was telling him, to say something, but all he could do was look at those scars with horrified fascination.

"I wasn't lucky as you. I didn't have no one like your dad to rip out the bastard's throat." Daryl said, and then turned back around to face the boy, flashing an ironic grimacing smile as tears filled his eyes. He fought to control his sandpaper rough voice and get out the rest, "Bastard that did it was my dad."

Carl's knees gave out from under him and he sat down hard in the dirt, the dead rabbits flopping down beside him as he pulled his hat off of his head.

Daryl sighed and lowered himself to the ground, eye to eye with the boy. He watched the realization of what Daryl was telling him, that he'd been raped, by his own father; try to take root in Carl's young mind, hoping it had been the right thing to do, to tell him.

"Ain't ever only told three people that—Merle knew soon as he seen my back, Aaron figured it out, n' Carol...well, I guess just can't not tell her anything." Daryl shrugged.

"Because she loves you." Carl said quietly, grasping onto that simple truth.

"Didn't ever understand it—why she kept sayin'—that I was every bit as good as respectable folks like your dad, why she even cared what I thought, why she even talked to me. ...If she knew who I really was? What I'd done? She'd never look at me the same way again. I knew I was trash... used... worthless..."Daryl's voice trailed off.

"You're not—you're a good man! You've saved us all, so many times!" Carl protested.

"I started to believe that, there at the prison. Felt like I was useful, felt needed. We had it good, we were surviving. But when it all fell apart? When I lost everything again? I was back to bein' that kid that snuck 'shine from daddy's still and beat up on kids more helpless n' I was just to make myself feel big." Daryl said with self loathing.

Carl knew that feeling, remembered after the prison fell when he thought Judith was dead; the anger and despair the night he thought his dad had died and turned.

"I was a prick to Beth—all she tried to do was keep me from giving up n' I treated her like shit. Then I let her do whatever the hell she wanted coz I felt guilty and when the walkers came, like they always do when you're stupid, she got took. That was it. I was done. Joe n' them came and made me fight to stay alive a few more days, but I was done. No way to find anyone, I was as worthless as my daddy always said I was."

"But you found us." Carl said, "You were gonna let them kill you to save us—that's not what a worthless man does, Daryl."

Daryl made an embarrassed sound deep in his throat.

"Gave me back my hope, findin' you. Even with the bullshit at Terminus, didn't care. I had family again." Daryl said. "And then when Carol walked outa the woods I knew I must be worth somethin' coz someone was givin' me a second chance...to say and do all the shit I shoulda a long time ago."

Carl remembered his amazement at the running tackle hug Daryl had given Carol. None of them had ever seen him act that way.

"Losing Bob and then Beth after we almost had her back and then Ty right after...it was a lot to get through, for all of us, but we're doing it because we have each other." Daryl said. "You been thinkin' you're all alone with this, tryin' to deal with what happened to you that night. You ain't."

Carl looked down at the battered hat that had fallen from his head when he'd sat down. Worn down from its original blocked crisp form, chunks taken out of the brim, dirt ground into the felt, the badge of office missing, leaving small holes behind, it was a map of all they had endured since he'd been reunited with his father there in the quarry. There where he'd also met Daryl Dixon, never suspecting he'd become like another father to him.

"I'm tellin' you 'coz I don't want you to think what happened to you is something to be ashamed of—it ain't. You didn't do anything wrong. Took me a long time to figure that out. Guess I'm still workin' on it." Daryl said

"Those men, the Wolves, they were like your father, like Joe's group. They made my dad have to kill Ron's mom. Men like that...they hurt Enid too...when she was out there." Carl explained, revealing the motives of all three co-conspirators.

Daryl nodded, he'd expected as much.

"Men like that don't deserve to live." Carl said.

Daryl couldn't disagree.

"But this place? What we're trying to make here? There's a right way n' a wrong way to do things." Daryl said. "You gotta try too, Carl." He tried to rise, but his lame leg refused to cooperate. Grunting, he motioned for Carl to give him a hand up to stand.

"What do you think they'll do to us?' Carl asked, releasing his grip on Daryl's arm when they were , both on their feet.

"You be a man, own up to it, I promise I'll talk to 'em—explain things." Daryl told him. "Carol n' me are going to meet with the new woman, Claire? She's a psychologist. Think you need to do that too—all you kids. Think that'll help."

Carl nodded, shouldering his bow. He bent down to pick up the rabbits that had been Daryl's excuse to get him here. Daryl leaned over to snag the scarred Stetson and put it back on Carl's head. They started walking towards the gate, slowed by Daryl's limp.

"But Carl?" Daryl said, stopping at the bench to pick up and put on his shirt, jacket and vest, "You're gonna be the one to tell your dad."

Carl nodded again, biting his lips.

"Daryl?" Carl said and looked up at his friend, "I wouldn't have let them send Carol away."

"I know, buddy." Daryl said, leaning on Carl as they passed through the gate. "I know."

That the show never dealt with what happened to Carl during the Claimer's attack has always bothered me, just like not having Daryl be any part of the abuse story line with Sam, so this is my take on it.

I'm heading out for vacation in a few days & don't know how often I'll be able to update for the next couple of weeks. I'll do my best, so please bear with me.

Thank you to everyone who reads & those who have time to review, I love reading your thoughts & comments.