Aaron and Daryl do their best to survive their captivity, as do Erin and Deanna, while Rick has to break the news of his mother's brave sacrifice to Spencer.
Trigger Warning: References to sexual assault, torture and its aftermath.
This is a rough one, guys.
"Homo homini lupus est."
Homo homini lupus est is a Latin proverb meaning "Man is wolf to man." The wolf as a creature is thought, in this example, to have qualities of being predatory, cruel, and inhuman.
The door to their cage opened and a body came hurtling through the opening, landing in a heap on the cold hard floor. Raucous laughter, crude insults and kissing noises followed him in, along with lewd promises to return for the next round soon.
Breathing hard, Daryl spit blood onto the dirt to keep from choking on it. It was flowing down the back of his throat and over his lips from the broken nose he'd been gifted with for his resistance. The young woman dressed in a tattered nightgown kneeling across from him was weeping; her body crouched inward, protectively, over her abdomen, almost every inch of skin visible on her ravaged body covered in bruises in a rainbow of blues to yellows.
An older woman beside her sat stoically, wearing only an oversized man's dress shirt that may have been white once upon a time, looking at neither of them, mumbling something to herself over and over. Her reddish blonde hair had been crudely shorn leaving it in uneven tufts and bald spots, which she periodically tugged at and sighed.
"Here." Aaron said quietly, kneeling down and handing Daryl a piece of cloth—part of the shirt that had been ripped from his back earlier—that he had wet in the single bucket of water that they had been given for both their drinking and washing.
Daryl tipped his head back and held the lukewarm cloth to his nose gingerly.
"Broken?" Aaron asked and Daryl grunted out an affirmative that became a choking cough and then a groan of pain forced him to hold his free hand to his side. Like the other, the ligature mark where the rope with which he'd been tied was raw and bruised around the circumference of his wrist.
"Ribs too?" Aaron asked, thinking that perhaps he could tear and knot together some longer strips from his shirt to bind them. He leaned closer, reaching out to examine Daryl's side but his friend flinched back in a violent reflex to avoid the contact. That unbalanced him and he fell backwards, rolling himself into a ball, in much the same way as the girl had done. It was then that Aaron saw the bright red blood soaking through the seat of his tattered khakis.
"Oh fuck...oh shit, Daryl..." Aaron said hoarsely, his gorge rising, acid burning his throat.
They'd come for the girl, the young blonde covered in bruises cowering in the corner. Daryl and Aaron had stopped them, protecting her, getting in a few good licks before the big Wolf, the one with the cattle prod, had stunned them both into unconsciousness. When he'd come around, Daryl had been gone and the girl was practically catatonic.
"I'm so sorry...this is my fault..." Aaron muttered, awash in an agony of guilt. Daryl had gotten away—he had fought off the walkers and Wolves surrounding him—but Aaron hadn't. Too slow to react, he'd been taken. Daryl had come back for him and had been captured in the process.
"Ain't..." Daryl said, slowly uncurling until he was able to look up at Aaron through slitted eyes that would be surrounded by black in a few hours as the blood from his broken nose pooled there under the skin. His sweat soaked hair hung in heavy hanks partially obscuring his face, masking more of the bruising over his cheekbones and catching on the drying blood in places.
"What those animals did—" Aaron choked out, furious tears spilling over at the violation...the thought of Daryl being forced to relive his worst nightmares from his childhood.
"Better me than her...or you..." Daryl said flatly, "Know I can take it..." but then a shudder went through him and his face went even paler and his eyes drifted shut and he seemed to black out.
Aaron scooted closer and pulled Daryl's upper body into his arms, holding him, waiting for him to rouse, but realizing he needed to stop the bleeding and it would be easier to do if his friend was still unconscious.
He decided to try examining the nose first and gently lay Daryl down on his side so he could carefully press his fingers on either side until he found the break and then with a quick jerk, snapped it back into place. Replacing the wet cloth he tilted Daryl's head back and pressed in, noting that the blood flow out of the nostrils was almost stopped. The gory trail down into his moustache and scraggle of a beard coagulated in thick crimson clots, which Aaron wiped at with the cloth.
"Hurts..." Daryl whimpered and his eyes fluttered open briefly, trying to focus on Aaron's face. His voice was higher pitched, confused and plaintive, "Why's he hurtin' me? I'll be good...promise..." and then he wept with the anguish of a heart broken child.
"Oh God." Aaron exhaled, "Daryl—" but the other man's face went slack again, his head lolling forward, his body going limp.
A sudden movement to his side caused Aaron to startle back protectively, putting his body between whoever was moving and Daryl. It was the older woman, holding out some leaves and a small towel that she'd wet in the bucket.
"It's mint." she said, gesturing with the towel, "You should pack it where they hurt him." She proffered the fragrant bunch of herbs. "When the bleeding stops use these. It'll help with the pain and it's good against infection. Usually they let you rest up for a day or two until the next time." she shrugged.
"Thank you."Aaron accepted the towel with a nod. "I'm Aaron and he's—"
"Daryl. I heard you. Do you want help with him?" she asked, shifting closer.
Nodding again, grateful for the help, Aaron reached for the waist of Daryl's pants so he could lower them to examine the damage Daryl's attackers had done, but stopped, knowing how private a person the Archer was. At his hesitation the woman seemed wearily amused.
"Doubt he's got anything I haven't seen before." she said, thinking it was her sensibilities of which Aaron was leery.
With a grim smile and slight nod, Aaron undid the fly of Daryl's pants and lowered them along with his underwear to his upper thighs and turned him so he could continue his exam. The tortured scratches, welts and bite marks on the pale muscled flesh of his buttocks made Aaron grimace in sympathy.
"I didn't know men could be raped too..." the woman said in a flat voice. "Not til I came here...they go at anyone...two at a time...sometimes...one after another...fuck people to death...or 'til you wish you were dead. They don't see us as human, call us cattle, sheep, but they're not human..."
"No, they're not." Aaron agreed with a deep sigh. He'd known that from what they'd seen on their previous scouting trips; what they'd learned from Erin. He'd had no wish to experience it for himself, but they couldn't live in fear, so he kept going out beyond the wall.
Aaron gently worked to clean Daryl's wounds as best as he could, whispering reassurances softly to the other man even though he probably couldn't hear them and then placed a light kiss on his forehead before he moved slightly away to start ripping the terry cloth into several long strips which he rolled to make a compress.
"He yours?" the woman asked, curious at the apparent intimacy between the two men.
"He's my friend." Aaron said, shaking his head. "I was just reminding him Carol will kick my ass if he dies so he'd better not. He's hers."
"You really think he'll ever see her again?" the woman asked, again sounding only mildly curious.
"I have to." Aaron said, picturing Eric standing next to Carol with his arm around her as the gates opened and Daryl roared through on his bike, all of them aware of the risks. "How long have you been here?" Aaron then asked, wondering how long they'd have.
"Don't know. Doesn't do any good. Better not to know." The woman shrugged, indicating she had no way to keep track of the days.
"But you helped us—you must have some hope left." Aaron stared up at her with concern.
"We had a medic, she taught us about the mint, but they took her out on a run and she never came back." the woman said.
"Erin?" Aaron asked.
"You know her?" the woman asked, while crushing the mint leaves into one of the strips of towel with the heel of her hand and handing it to Aaron.
"I do—she's in our...back where we came from." Aaron said, knowing that meant the woman had been here almost two months, before the Wolves' attempt to take the ASZ.
"Is it a safe place?"
"Yes, as safe as anything can be these days." Aaron told her.
"Then you should've stayed there, shouldn't you?" the woman said, with dry sarcasm.
"They'll come for us...our people." Aaron said with assurance, checking to see if the blood had stopped enough and then packing the area with the cooling antiseptic herb infused towel. Daryl moaned softly but didn't rouse. Aaron pulled Daryl's briefs and trousers back up, wishing they could spare the water to wash away the soaked-in blood that would stain them. He left the fly unfastened in front, knowing that he'd have to check the injuries again after a bit.
"You'll be dead before they do." the woman disagreed.
"No—they need us alive." Aaron disagreed. He'd heard that distinctly when they'd brought Daryl back. They men were allowed to have their fun, but were not allowed to kill the new meat: the Wolf Queen had plans for them.
"Gonna do his ribs too?" the woman asked. "The way they string you up by your wrists and pound on you like Rocky in the slaughterhouse...probably cracked or broke...might puncture a lung if you don't."
Sickened at the image she conjured, Aaron nodded and she started making the longer strips needed to bind around Daryl's chest. Aaron leaned in to examine Daryl's upper body, sighing sadly at the ugly bruises blooming there.
"Would your people want us? Do they take people in?" the woman asked suddenly.
"Of course..." Aaron looked over at her and smiled his best friendly recruiter smile which looked out of place on his battered face. Maybe she did still have hope buried in there somewhere.
"Brianna." the woman told him, "I'm Brianna and that's Riley...my sister...thank you...thank you both for trying to help us..."
"It's what we do." Aaron said, looking down at Daryl, whose brow had smoothed out and now seemed to be resting more comfortably.
Where Dixon's head would be when he woke up was an open question.
"It's not here." Erin said, her voice slightly muffled and soft.
"Damn it—I was afraid this car was too old to have it." Deanna whispered back, sounding frustrated. She'd helped sponsor legislation to have emergency release latches built into car trunks to prevent just what the Wolves had done to transport their captives away from the ASZ, despite Rick's protests. Erin had used her mouth to feel along the inside of the trunk since their ankles were tied and arms bound at the wrist behind their backs.
"It was a good thought. Keep having those and we may get out of this yet." Erin said encouragingly.
"I do admire your ability to see the gold amongst the shit." Deanna said, somewhat dryly, shifting her body to try and ease the pain of being in the same position for so long. In the dark of the trunk the few bullet holes that allowed air in showed them that it was still day light, but that was the only indication of time that they had.
"I've just been here before." Yang said matter of factly. "The first time they took me they locked me in a car trunk for three days...no water, summer heat...The other woman I was with died and turned. Luckily we were in here head to toe just like this and I kicked her nose up into her brain before she got her teeth into me. Knowledge of anatomy comes in handy at times like that."
"Good to know." Deanna agreed in a slightly off sounding monotone. "When the time comes I'd like it to be just as quick, but I doubt that will win Daryl and Aaron's release."
"Do you know much about torture, Deanna?" Erin asked conversationally.
The ASZ leader wasn't sure how to respond to that at first.
"I mean, you're a well read government official—you've been briefed on rendition, Abu Grav, extreme interrogation techniques? Water-boarding?" Erin continued.
"Yes." Deanna said slowly.
"Well, I lived it." Erin said quickly.
"When you were held by the Wolves? Before?" Deanna asked, a bit confused. "I thought you were under Davidson's protection."
"Not the Wolves. Before the Turn. In Iraq." Erin said.
"You were...? You did...?" Deanna stuttered. still unsure of what Erin was telling her.
"Geneva Convention requires a doctor to be present during all interrogations."Erin said and then paused to let that statement settle. "The goal was to extract information that would save the lives of our troops and civilians. The end justified the means...that's what we told ourselves whenever the ethics of the situation were questioned..."
Deanna gave a little snort. Tricky ugly ethical questions were all she'd been dealing with since the world fell apart.
"But these...these Wolves...they're not after information." Erin finally said.
"Homo homini lupus est." Deanna said. "If I remember my college Latin. "
"Man is wolf to man..." Erin translated, "But real wolves don't kill for fun...these animals will hurt you...they'll make it last...and they will get off on it."
"Then let's hope our people find us sooner rather than later." Deanna said with remarkable optimism.
"Find us? You saw they'd ripped the GPS and the CB out of the car." Erin said. "Even the best tracker can't follow a car on pavement, Deanna."
"They'll find us. Keep working." Deanna said, feeling the silver heart pendant she wore, now all she had left from her love, her Reg, press against her breast as she shifted, trying again to work at loosening her fellow captive's bonds, finding the knot of the rope around Erin's ankles with her teeth.
"You just let her go?" Spencer yelled, anger and desperation making everyone looking on wince in sympathy.
Carol, Michonne and Eric had accompanied Rick on his mission to tell the last Monroe what his mother had done.
"She was determined, son." Rick said, reaching out to put his hand on the young man's shoulder.
Spencer glared at him and stepped back before Rick's hand could make contact, turning to storm away.
"She wanted me to tell you...tell you that she has your father's heart." Rick said.
"What did you say?" Spencer stopped and turned back towards Rick.
"The pendant she wears—did your father give her that?" Carol asked, "She called it Reg's heart."
A huge smile broke over Spencer's face and he shocked Carol by hugging her and then turning to the others excitedly.
"You're sure she was wearing it—a big silver heart?" Spencer asked, his voice fast and excited.
"Yes; it looked like a locket." Eric said.
"My dad got it for her when she was elected—he told her if she ever needed him, needed his help or was lost he would be there for her." Spencer said, shaking his head and practically vibrating.
"But your dad's..." Glenn said slowly, frowning.
"Smiling down from heaven!" Spencer said, happy tears streaking down his cheeks, grinning and laughing. "It's a GPS tracking device. In the pendant...like the chips they put in dogs? As long as she still has it we can find her—get her back!"
"All of them." Rick said, sharing a hopeful glance at the rest of the group, Glenn smiling, Michonne nodding in agreement, a look of fierce determination on Carol's face and tears shimmering in Eric's eyes at the possibility.
I know, poor Daryl. I'm sorry, but it's where the story needed to go. I tried to handle it with care. Rape is about power and domination; abusing and assaulting Daryl, the strongest of the captives, made the Wolves feel in control. It'll also be what destroys them.
There were hints earlier that Erin had something in her past she needed to "reinvent" herself after; her complicity in war time torture is something she's done her best to atone for ever since.
Thanks for sticking with me!