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boygiwrites · 7 months

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Harley D. Dixon 24

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📖Chapter List.

Author's Note.

Almost a whole MONTH later, and I've finally got the next chapter to share with you guys. 😭 To make up for the wait, I made this one extra chunky. Just over 10,000 words. Enjoy reading!

"What about you, Maggie?" Lori's voice comes from downstairs. "Can we get you anything?"

"Naw, that's okay. I just wish my Dad was here, that's all... House feels so wrong without him."

Plodding back down the stairs, I find the three women sitting in the living room together, still talking. They look like a group of friends like this. I quietly take a seat next to them on the vintage sofa, hugging a cushion to my chest. I think I'd rather be out in the woods, laying in a patch of sunny dirt or climbing a stumpy tree, but I wouldn't make it five feet past the fence, not with Dale on watch. So I'm better here.

"He always knows what to do." Maggie muses sullenly. She got a weighty, tired look about her. "Guess I feel wrong without him, too."

"You're doing your best." Lori reassures her. "Those three, they're good at what they do. I'm sure they'll be back with your Dad soon."

She gives a little huff. "Good at killin' folk. We heard what happened to Shane, y'know. Not like it's a secret."

She's right. Ain't a secret. It's the opposite. Everybody knows Rick shot his best friend in the chest and my Dad finished the job.

"It sounds bad." Jacqui stammers, 'cause it does. "But there was no way they were gonna let him take off with Harley. No way in Hell."

"I'm not sayin' they would've," She lilts, "And I don't blame 'em. But I'm just wonderin' what that might do a person, what it means for 'em."

"It means they'll do whatever it takes to protect their own." Lori calmly explains. "Whatever happens after that is worth the trouble."

"Rick's a good person, Maggie. So is Daryl. So is Glenn. Life is so different for us now that goodness doesn't look the same, anymore."

"I've never had to kill for my family." She fiddles with a stray thread on her jeans. "Life ain't thrown that at me, yet."

"Well, one day, it will." Lori says truthfully. "And when it does, you'll still be a good person, too."

"There was a moment, with Glenn." Her gaze flits between two vague points on the floor as she speaks. "At the pharmacy. We'd split up to save time. I was in the back by myself, pickin' around for meds, and these... these two cold hands grabbed me. They were so much stronger than I thought. I couldn't pry 'em offa me. I couldn't... I had my gun on me but I couldn't. Glenn had to do it for me."

I've had those hands on me before. I can tell she can still feel them on her, too, by the way she shivers. Gross. Best to ignore it.

She shakes her head. "I guess the definition of murder's a lil' skewed nowadays. It ain't always in cold blood like the bible says."

"It isn't." She agrees. "Putting down Shane wasn't all that different from putting down a walker, and we just have to be okay with that."

My body goes cold all at once. I lock eyes with her across the room, dark and cutting. She got no idea what it was like watching him be lured, tricked, the life beaten out of him punch by punch. Nobody should be okay with that. It ain't the same. "How can you say that?"

He was human. I know, 'cause when I held his hand, it was warm. He could think, and feel, and hope. He could bleed.

She gapes a little, glancing at the other women like they'll know what to say. "I— I just meant—"

"He weren't dead." He was somethin' more complicated than that. I know he's gone, but Rick said he'd cherish his memories of him, the good ones, the old ones that are a little harder to recognise, so I will too. "He was sick and hopeful and alive. He was in pain when he died."

"Sweetie," Jacqui breathes beside me, brushing back a lock from my temple, pulling me into a hug. "We know that."

"I'm sorry." She sighs. "I can't... I can't imagine what that must've been like. For any of you. That was insensitive of me to say."

"It weren't nothin' like killin' a walker." I definitely ain't the brightest crayon in the box, but I still know what I saw was murder. It's just somethin' that you can feel, like my heart stunting right before the blood shot out Shane's back. Lori can pretend all she like, but it was different. Rick's a murderer, through and through, and so's my Dad, and so's almost everybody else, but we can still love 'em.

"I guess I just wish it was." She confesses a little sheepishly. "It'd make things a whole lot easier that way."

As Jacqui releases me, I frown, thinking of Dad. "Well, he is a murder. That's what we gotta be okay with."

Looking like somebody who doesn't, she mutters, "I know."

"Whole world's gone to horseshit." Maggie comes out and says, in a sudden way that almost makes us laugh. "Makes sense we would, too."

Jacqui grins, quirking a brow. "And we got that famous tater soup to get us through it, too."

"I think if anybody'd understand that, it'd be Harley." I feel my cheeks flush under her warm, green gaze. "How was Beth, by the way?"

"She seemed," I hesitate, afraid of saying the wrong thing. I'm good at doin' that. I could tell her that her baby sister thinks all she's good for is dyin', that she's revolted with herself just for bein' alive, but that's not the important part. "She seemed like she was sorry."

That surprises her, like she ain't think it was possible. Her face lights up a little as she asks, "She talk?"

I give a nod, making Jacqui snort, impressed. "We been tryna crack her since yesterday. Hardly given us a second glance."

"This is good." Maggie decides. "Y'know, that girl ought'a be sorry. Scared me and poor Daddy half to death, pullin' that stunt."

Maggie's real tough on the outside, 'cause she likes it that way, but it's obvious how on the inside she been worrying for Beth. Losing family to a gunshot, or a bite, or an unlucky mistake is awful enough, like the massacre at the barn, but to have 'em taken away from you 'cause they wanna be — That's a whole other brand of pain. I know they'd all be devastated if Beth had really died.

"Speaking of Herschel," Lori says, "You think he'd know anything about getting Harley a hearing aid? Types, sizes, things like that?"

"Ended up getting worse, did it?" She hums, even though she already knows, just so she can make a sympathetic face. "Well, I don't think his veterinarian knowledge will shine too bright there, but we had some old family friends who were deaf and hard of hearing." She says this part like Carl did, as if the existence of other deaf people will make me feel better. It don't really. "Picked up a thing or two."

"You wouldn't happen to have any spares left over, would you?"

"Naw," She regrets telling us, "They all lived separate to us."

"Hang on. That works." Jacqui butts in. "You got a whole list of addresses Rick and Daryl can hit for a hearing aid."

Oh, she's right. Search wouldn't be so blind that way. It's a strong start, and Rick and Dad have proven a strong start's all they need.

"Yeah. Suppose we do." I'm sure it ain't feel the best, having your old friends' houses looted, especially knowing the reasons they wouldn't exactly need their belongings anymore, but that don't stop her from giving us her blessing. "When they're back, I'll write 'em down for you."

"That would be an incredible help." Lori smiles, reaching out to cup her shoulder. "Our group would appreciate it very much."

"Told y'all," She drawls with her own weaker smile, grabbing her hand, squeezing it. "Ain't no trouble. Your problems are our problems."

It's starting to feel more like there ain't two groups on this farm, just one bigger, stronger one. I think if anybody were to look in on us without knowing who we are, they'd have a great deal of trouble tryna figure out who belongs to which side. I like that.

She gives her a grateful look before pulling away, nodding lightly. "The same goes for you."

"Thanks, Maggie." I mutter shyly, forcing myself to at least say that.

"Wouldn't just leave you hangin' like that." She tells me. "If you need a hearing aid and we can help you get one, it's as simple as that."

"Hey, I just had a thought. Do I have to learn sign language?"

Walking down the pebbled path with Carl in the late morning, lugging heavy buckets of water, I send him a deadpan look.

"English is hard enough, y'know." He says with a grunt. "But if that's gonna be your language, I'll learn."

When we reach the gate to the cow paddock, I toe the peg off the ground and push it open. "How 'boutchu just stop talkin' altogether?"

"Eugh. No." He cringes, following me through. The gate clicks shut behind us. "That sounds awful."

We make our way through the wispy, dry grass, trying our best not to spill too much water along the way. It ain't like we can't get more — The well on this side of the farm is conveniently walker-free — but we promised Maggie we'd do a good job filling the troughs for her. They're these bathtubs made of metal that cows and sheep like to drink from. They must have real big stomachs to handle all that water.

"You saw Beth, didn't you?" He asks as we haul the buckets onto the ledge, tipping the water in. "She's sad, isn't she?"

"Nah, she's more than sad." I explain. "She's, like, depressed. Doesn't wanna live."

He pulls back with a pout, squinting against the sun. "Doesn't wanna live?"

"Don't wanna live, wants to die. Same thing." I shake the last droplets out. "She's in shock. S'why she cut herself like that."

We fall back into step together, but I almost trip over myself when he comments sadly, "Kinda like you, right?"

"What?" I exclaim, "No. That's stupid."

The herd of black cows start to meander over at the sight of fresh water, the deep honk of their moooos carrying on the breeze.

"It's not stupid." He counters rather weakly. "Since Shane and Sophia died, you've been more than sad, too."

Just like his Dad, Carl pays more attention than I thought he did. I huff, "Well, ain't everyone?"

"I guess." He holds off on blurting his next thought, until he just can't hold it in anymore. "You're not gonna do what Beth did, right? Because that's what would make me sad. You're my best friend. Even if you were only in second grade. I-I won't have anyone to push on the swing, otherwise. I won't learn any new facts about mushrooms. I'd rather read you my comic a hundred more times than seeing you do that."

I stare at my boots as they scuff the dirt, step, step, step, so I don't gotta look at his round, freckled face.

"Mom and Dad say I have to be nice to you. But if I need to slap you to get those thoughts out your head," He warns, "I'll do it."

That makes me snap my head up. He puffs out his chest a little, juts his chin out. He don't look like the slapping sort at all.

That's an honest to god chuckle coming out my mouth. A soft, fond one. "You don't gotta hit me, Carl. I swear it."

As we come to a stop in front of the crumbling well, he tests out the feel of my answer in his head before nodding. "Good."

"And me, I'll hit ya, anyway." I joke, giving him a shove. "So hurry up and fill yer bucket, 'fore my hand slips and catches yer cheek."

His mouth lifts into a tiny smile. I don't got a real good way of saying it, but I'm lucky to have a boy like him as my best friend. I wouldn't lie to him like that. We lost Sophia already. Another grave would break him. It'd break everyone. My Dad would wanna stop living, too. Much as I can't handle the constant blows life keeps sending us, I can't handle that, neither. So, no. I won't do what Beth did, even if I really want to.

We make the back-and-forth trip from the trough to the well a handful more times before they're filled all the way up.

Before we leave, we give the cows some friendly scritches on their huffing snouts. They seem happy with their simple lot in life.

On the way back up the hill, we pass the oak tree again. Really, it's a graveyard, but I like calling it the oak tree better 'cause it don't feel so terrible to say. But in the end, it don't matter. It feels terrible anyway, 'cause there's Carol kneeling in front of the white roses, sniffling into her hands. Me and Carl share a look. She hasn't left the RV in days. I ain't sure what she does in there, but I imagine it looks a lot like this, shedding misery all over herself. I guess she decided to finally visit her daughter's grave. I bet she ain't even believed it was real 'til now.

I grab Carl's hand to tug him along so we can leave her be, but she's heard our footsteps. She looks up at us.

"You know," She croaks, sounding like she ain't slept for days, neither, "We'll see Sophia in heaven someday. She's in a better place now."

His fingers coil tighter around mine. We both know Sophia's actually just in that hole, which ain't a better place than anywhere.

"Heaven's just another lie." He blurts. My eyes go wide. You ain't meant to say that part aloud. "And if you believe it, you're an idiot."

I yank on him again, giving him a stern look, but he ain't budging, and Carol already heard him loud and clear anyway.

"That's a very nasty thing to say." She scolds him tearily, before standing and hurrying away.

As soon as she's out of earshot, I turn on Carl with my bucket reared back and smack him with it, but he dodges and I smack him again and he dodges, and the scuffle goes on like that for about a full minute. "You damn moron, why'd you go and tell her that? Now I'll really hit ya!"

"Well, it's true, isn't it?" He bickers, tryna steal the bucket off me. "No such thing as heaven. You die, you rot in the ground, and that's it."

He quickly side-steps another swing, so I just throw it at him and it clatters at his feet. "But you don't go tellin' people that!"

"I'll tell my Dad you threw a bucket at me!"

"I'll tell my Dad you're a stinkin' jerk-face!"

"That's a swear word!" He annoyingly quips, before taking off in a sprint up the path to escape me.

I snatch up my bucket and set off after him. "Hey! Get back here!"

I sure got a big mouth and a meaner streak than any other kid I ever met, but even I wouldn't've said that to Carol. Believing in heaven ain't gonna get nobody killed, so I say let her be an idiot in peace. All he managed to do was make her sadder than she already was.

I'm much faster than him so I'm about to grab the back of his shirt when Lori quickly steps in.

"Hey, hey, hey." She grabs my wrist and pulls me back from him. "Stop it. Both of you, this is ridiculous."

Before she's even finished speaking, Carl gets his defence in. "Mom, Harley threw a bucket at me."

As I roll my eyes and shake Lori offa me, she raises her brows. "Well, Carl, from what I heard from Carol, you might've deserved that."

"You can't go around willy nilly, calling people names." Carol tells him, her mouth a thin line on her tear-streaked face. "It's not right."

"Think about it. We've all gone through a big loss recently, and Carol doesn't need this right now. It doesn't matter if our beliefs—"

"But you know she's—"

She shushes him. "Don't talk. Just think. It's a good rule of thumb for life. Now you're gonna apologize to her, okay?"

I try not to get a little kick outta watching him begrudgingly recite, "I'm sorry I called you an idiot for believing in heaven."

No you ain't, I feel like saying just to annoy him, but I hold my tongue in case that gets me in trouble, too.

"Thank you." Carol accepts his apology 'cause it's the good thing to do. "I just hope you'll learn some manners from this."

Right as he's about to turn back into sassy Carl, Lori talks over him with a simple, "He will. And Harley, you think about your manners, too."

Oh, come on. "I only hit him 'cause he was bein' bad!"

"That's the problem, honey." She mutters awkwardly. Oh, right. That sort of punishment is bad. I forgot, but I don't even know why. "I'll have to talk to your Dad about that... In the meantime, you guys gonna get along or do we have to sort something out here?"

We mull over whether or not we wanna keep fighting, but we're the only kids here and we're best friends, so the choice is already settled.

She takes our silence as a positive. "Good. Now, go play nicely for a while. Shouldn't be long before the others get back."

Carol follows after her, much to my satisfaction, to go sit at the picnic table together, and not to slink back into the RV. I hope I'll see her around more often now, for her sake. Ain't good to be cooped up like that. Rick said that once.

Stuck with Carl again, I wordlessly drop my bucket in the dirt and sit against the fence. He could go play on his own, read a comic or somethin', but instead he follows suit and settles at my side, a non-annoying distance between us.

He quietly suggests, "You wanna bet a cookie on how long it's gonna take for 'em to get back?"

And of course, I say yes.

Carl's fallen asleep on my shoulder by the time the cars appear at the end of the driveway. I shake him awake, ignoring his blubbering, what, what is it. I get up and go running down the hill to greet them. It took them about an hour to get back. That means I earnt myself a cookie. There's Herschel, sitting in the passenger seat of Rick's car, by the looks of it, totally alive. Dad's truck lurches to a stop nearby. He hops out, and as I clock the brooding look on his face, I realize I got more than just a cookie to be worried about.

"Daddy, what's wrong?" I ask cluelessly, a little sad I didn't get the chance to hug him. "You ain't hurt, is you?"

Carl jogs up to my side. A few others gather around as Dad yanks the back door open and, holy shit, hauls a full-grown man out by the elbows, throwing him into the grass. We both jump back as if the stranger's diseased. What in the Hell?

As Rick comes around the car with a coil of rope slung over his shoulder, Lori exclaims, "Who the Hell is that?"

The door slams. The man groans in pain as he's forced to his feet by both men.

Ain't no friend of ours, I got that much figured out. He got a bag over his head and two vague pits for eyes, skinny torso, a bloody leg.

"Oh, fuck," He panics as they drag him like a sack of bricks through the crowd. "Oh, fuck, please, no."

Rick simply grunts, "Welcome back, Jim."

My jaw drops. This crippled man, it's Jim. They found him. Or they ran into him. Or they—? Did they capture him? As Glenn guides Herschel outta the car and Maggie rushes over to them, I stay with everyone else, tailing Rick and Dad and Jim, 'cause yeah, that's really him. Those are his lanky limbs and that's his dark arm hair and his broken wrist-watch right where it always was. I weren't expecting this at all.

"What's going on?" Dale demands to know. Exactly what I'm thinking. "What on Earth are you—?"

"Please," Jim begs. "My leg — It- It needs surgery. The tendon, it's fucked— I can't—"

"Ran into some fellers in town." He gruffly explains. "He was runnin' with 'em. Got his leg daggered on a fence."

"Running with them?" T-Dog gapes in confusion. "Wasn't he shacked up in some dingy little tent, last we knew of him?"

"Please, my leg— My le-leg, it hurts so bad—"

"He got a story to tell, alright," Dad growls, taunting him through the fabric, "But man ain't so loose-lipped as he used to be, is he?"

"Man, I duh— I don't even remember saying those things about your kid," He whines, "I swear. That was so long ago now."

"You got nun' to swear on, ya useless shit. You keep talkin', you won't even have yer life to swear on, ya hear me?"

"Oh, fuck," He goes back to chanting, "Oh, fuck, please, no."

Dale scoffs, "So, what, he's back with the gang, now, Rick? This is insanity!"

"We keep him in the shed 'til he talks." Is all he offers as explanation. Lori grabs me and Carl by the shoulders and pulls us back, away from the struggle of limbs and blood, as Dad kicks the shed doors open. They're gonna lock him in there, like a prisoner.

They muscle him inside. We keep hearing cries of, you assholes, I need surgery, as they tie him to a post with the rope.

"Shut up!" Dad snarls, forcing him down. "You ain't worth a damn q-tip right now, let alone surgery!"

"Ran into some fellers?" Jacqui repeats with uncertainty to Lori, who's got no clue what it means. "I thought it was just us around here."

I did, too. Us, cows, sheep, and the sky. But there's fellers out there too, now. I don't think anybody likes the sound of that.

"No, please! Please!" Kicking and thrashing, like that day in the parking lot again. "I'm gonna bleed out before I can tell you anything!"

Rick retorts with one last brutal tug to the rope, "You best start gettin' your story straight, then."

"No, you fuh— you fucking assholes! You can't do this! It's inhumane!"

The doors close on him without mercy, sealing him inside the stuffy darkness.

"He's right, Rick." Dale argues, trying and failing to get a good look at his sweaty, blood-speckled face as he braces the doors with more rope. He got that spooked predator feel about him that I only ever saw on him once or twice before. "He needs medical attention, and now."

"Herschel repaired his calf muscle last night." He shakes his head, turning to face the group. "Pain's only gonna help him talk."

I break away from Lori and wrap my arms around Dad's waist, burying my face against his ribs. He instinctually cradles my head.

"Listen." Rick holds a hand out in front of him, his gaze dark and feral, chest heaving. "For the safety of everybody here, I've decided this is what has to happen. I'm not taking chances anymore. We found Herschel in town, holed up in that bar just like Maggie said, but we weren't the only ones. Couple'a big-mouthed tough guys got in the way and I dealt with 'em. They was with a bigger group, and we picked up Jim on our way out. Camped in the woods for the night. So far, he's told us a whole load of nothin' about these folks."

"What do they want?" Andrea asks, lookin' ready to go hunt them down right here and now.

"What we have." He answers with a shrug. "Source of food, water, stability. It's gotten bad in town. Nothin' left but walkers and rats."

I glance up at Dad through my screwed brows, 'cause bad folk steal what they want from the people who got it, and that's scary. I don't want those men to take our fresh cheese and bread, our swing, our wells. He gives me a strong look, soothing his hands through my hair.

"It ain't like they know where we are." He reassures us all. "I doubt they're gonna be ridin' down here like Jesse James."

"Not yet," Dale scoffs, unamused. "How long until they do?"

Jacqui adds, "We got that horde to think about, too, don't we?"

"I am figurin' it out." Rick scolds loudly, scaring everyone into silence. "Christ's sake, I killed my best friend yesterday. I am trying."

There's nothing to argue against that with. Trying is all Rick Grimes does. He does it for us. Nobody can fault him for that.

"But, Rick," Lori apprehensively mutters, as if he hasn't quite thought it through yet, "There's a dying man in that shed."

"I know that, Lori." He quips a little harshly. "Of course I know that. You think I'm enjoyin' this?"

"We should at least start considering what his future is gonna look like." Dale suggests.

"Yeah, man." T-Dog agrees. "I mean, he talks. What then? What's the plan?"

"The plan is he talks and then I kill him."

When Rick says this, I feel like I'm looking at someone who looks an awful lot like the Rick Grimes I care about, but ain't actually him. That's how I'd expect someone to announce they're going on a supply run or taking next shift for watch, not that they're gonna end someone's life. Maybe Maggie was right about him being changed after murdering Shane, because I ain't never heard him talk like this before.

Another murder. My second one. Shane first, now Jim. I'm going to be ready for this one. I'll be strong.

"You can't." Dale lies. We all know it only takes a bullet, and we got plenty of those. "You can't, Rick."

"I don't recall asking for any feedback." He sounds tired. "There is no discussion on this. Not this time. He talks and then I kill him."

As he walks off, the group share startled, disturbed looks, because nobody's okay with this, right? Nobody's actually letting this happen? But the fact is anything Rick says is gonna happen is gonna happen, 'cause Shane's dead and we need a leader, and without anybody really hashing it out or realizing how it turned out this way, seems like that's gonna be Rick from now on. He's doing this to protect the people he loves, same reason he killed Shane, same reason he does everything. It's like Jacqui says. This is what goodness looks like now.

Dale goes running after him, probably to waste his breath some more convincing him to change his mind.

With Rick gone, the next person everybody looks to for guidance is my Dad.

"I'm with Grimes." He warns before they can hassle him. "I wanted that skinny bastard dead the day we left the quarry, y'all know that."

Rubbing at the fine wrinkles on her forehead, Lori sighs, "I don't like this."

"Can't we just take him out to the main road once we're done with him, give him a canteen, send him on his way?"

"Nah, we've done all that before." He frowns. "And his new boys, he'll go crawlin' back to 'em, tell 'em things we'on want 'em knowing."

"Man, this is fucked." T-Dog tsks, turning away.

Dad retorts, "Yeah, what else is new?"

"Look, there's nothing we can do. Did anybody really like Jim, anyway?" Andrea levels in that blunt way she got. "No. So, I say fuck him. The guy's good as dead anyway. It's clear where his loyalties lie, and it sure isn't with us. Now, who's gonna stand watch?"

"I will." Dad answers. "Gimme 'bout ten minutes, I'll take up watch. T can take graveyard."

"Maggie has a plan for that hearing aid, Daryl." Lori says as heads up. "You might wanna go check that out when you can."

He nods in thanks, reminding Andrea not let anyone near the shed, before grabbing my hand and walking over to the house with me. I glance over my shoulder at her, arms crossed over her chest, holster back-lit by the midday sun. She'll be good at ignoring Jim's pleading.

As I turn back around, Dad asks, "How ya been while I was out, chicken?"

"Fine. Helped cook. Did chores." That's not what's on my mind, though, or on his. "Jim gon' die, ain't he?"

"Yeah," He tells me straight. He don't add much else, 'cause there ain't really anything else to add. "He's gonna die."

Unlike some of the others, I know I can't stop it. I couldn't stop the bullet that killed Shane, so why would I be able to stop this one?

People who don't fit in right, people who put us in danger, they get killed. Jim got a whole new group. They ain't lookin' to be our friends. That's danger. Sum' I learnt from all this is that you're better killin' off the problem before you get hurt by it. It's what we do with vermin, like rabbits and bugs. Maybe that's a morbid thing to say. I know Dale would think so. Jim's just a normal man, dyin' in a shed. He ain't killed nobody. But neither did Shane, and look at all the damage he done anyway. Maybe if we killed him to start with, it wouldn't've been so cruel.

"Alright." I settle on. I wouldn't stop it, even if I could. I said I weren't gonna be stupid ever again. So I say fuck him, too.

Dad glances at me. He knows this is how it's gotta be, so that's where the conversation ends.

We step up to where Glenn, Maggie, and Herschel are standing together at the bottom of the porch steps. He looks a little shaken up, his shirt grimy and his suspenders wonky, but he's still standing, which is all that matters. It could'a gone a lot worse for him.

"Bethy's gonna be fine, Dad." She says sweetly. When she notices us, she smiles. "Hey. Thanks for your help, Daryl."

Dad gives a little shrug, 'cause he never liked thanks. "Don't worry 'bout it."

It's clear how much Herschel is loved by his family. I wish my Grandpappy Dixon could'a been a little more like him.

"But I heard from one'a the women you got somethin' for me about a hearin' aid?"

"Oh, right." Her mood dampens a little at the mention of it, but she knows he means no harm. "We were talkin' about it earlier. I offered to give y'all the addresses of some people we knew who might have what you're lookin' for. None of 'em are too far from here."

"That's good of ya." He nods, grateful. "We got our hands full with that shit-sack Davison, but we'll find the time."

Glenn frowns in confusion. "Wait, what's all this about? A hearing aid?"

"It's for Harley." He explains and looks down at me, squeezing my hand. "That gunshot messed her hearin' up pretty good."

"Oh, man. That's unlucky." He gives me that soft, mushy look everybody been giving me. "So you're, like, deaf in that ear?"

"Yeah." I murmur, nervously tugging on the nub under my hair.

He looks at Dad. "Let me know if you need any help searching, man. Anything I can do to help."

"I'on know if Rick's gonna be up for it way things are, but I'll head out sometime tomorrow if I can. Won't fuss if you wanna join."

"And that business with your friend there in the shed," Herschel says, "Whatever you do with him, please just keep it to yourselves."

"Well, we weren't plannin' on a public execution." Dad shrugs. "Rick'll wanna do it in the barn, I reckon. Y'all won't see nothin'."

"Good." He sighs, even though none of this is good. "I'm not saying I like it, but I know better than to impede on your... politics."

"That what it's called, huh?" He murmurs sardonically.

"C'mon. Let's get you inside now." Maggie gently guides him away. "Thank y'all both again. I'll get that list to you when you need it."

As they climb the porch steps together, Dad gives me a kiss on my forehead and tells me he's gotta go guard the shed now, handing me off to Glenn to walk me back to main camp. Because I guess they don't want me impeding on the politics, neither.

Dad's not actually on watch. I get that now. I watch the little shed sit there in the distance. There's nobody standin' outside the doors, and they wouldn't just leave Jim unattended like that. So that would only mean that he's inside the shed, doing what people do when they're tryna make someone talk. I can't see through any of the boarded-up windows or the little loft space that looks in, but I don't need to.

Jim don't deserve this, but I think we're a little past getting what we deserve. It ain't my fault he's suffering.

Shane's bones are breaking again. I'm half deaf, but I hear them just fine, and the blood, the cries, the smack of fist on muscle. I thread my fingers through my hair, grip and twist and pull on it, like the memories are in the roots and I can rip them out and throw them away and be done with them, but I can't, so I just drag my hands down my face and throw my head back against the tree I'm sitting under. On the other side of the leaves, the white ball of the sun shining down. I take a few deep breaths. In and out, nice and slow, like Dad showed me.

We been through so much. Escaped and killed and hurt so much, just so we can live. If Jim were to ruin that, or his fellers were to ruin that, I would wanna beat his face in, too, 'til it was just a piece of meat balanced on a neck. That, he would deserve.

It's as I'm staring at the clouds floating across the sky, that the brim of a cowboy hat enters my vision.

I know it's Carl before I look at who it belongs to. He says something I can't hear, holding out a granola cookie to me. I assume that's the cookie he owes me from the bet, and that he's telling me I can have it, so I take it from him. He settles down to my right.

"I tried to get one without raisins," He says apologetically, voice clearer now. "But Glenn kinda ate them all already."

"'Course he did." I take a big bite. "It don't matter. I like raisins anyway."

He pulls a bit of a face, because nobody likes raisins. "I'm just gonna forget you said that."

We fall into silence after that. There's nothing to talk about except the hostage in the shed and the fact his Dad is gonna kill him soon, and maybe raisins, but nobody likes talking about raisins. You know, there's lots of different types of killing. There's mercy killing, which is what the vet did to Tank. It's what Dad does to any deer we find half-dead on hunting trips, or ones suffering on the side of the road after they weren't ran over all the way. Then there's self-defence killing. That's for walkers, and people that wanna kill you. There's killing for food. We do that all the time. And then there's murder, which is almost the same, but feels a whole lot different.

"How do you think they're gonna do it?" Carl suddenly asks, his tone dull, neither here nor there.

I pause. It. Killing Jim. I don't know how they're gonna do it, but Dad says it'll be in the barn. They got ropes and rafters in there.

"Maybe hang him." I guess, but that don't feel right. "Prolly just cap him in the head, though."

"Is that what they did to Shane?"

Bones breaking. Fist on muscle. A spike of blood. I shake my head with a simple, murmured, "No."

He knows better than to start guessing what did happen. "Well... How'd your Dad kill Ronnie?"

Huh? "How you hear about that?"

He shrugs one shoulder. "Heard Maggie talking to my Dad about it."

I didn't think anybody else knew about Ronnie. I've always been told it's a bit of a taboo story, and I shouldn't talk to Meemaw or any kids at school about it. But if anyone had a problem with mine and Dad's past, I would'a known about it by now.

"That was my Dad and Merle." I confess, after deciding I can answer this question. "They didn't shoot him. They chased him into the woods and beat him so bad he ended up dyin'. Then Merle ran away for a bit and Dad went to prison."

"Guess both our Dads are murderers." A sentence I've never heard before. "Do you ever wish you were more like him?"

"Nah. I couldn't get any more like my Daddy if I tried." I'm my Daddy's girl. I'm just cursed that way. I got his little moles and his nasty glare, his dirt blonde hair and his short temper. I got all his good parts and all his bad, painful, thrown-away parts running through me, and I poke my tongue out when I skin animals, and I hurt the people I love. I guess the only gene I'm missing is the one that lets him lock it all away. I ain't strong like that, but I don't wanna admit that to Carl, or to anybody. I don't wanna admit I'm weak. "What... What about you?"

Carl's got his Dad's blue eyes and his goodness. Oh and of course, his hat.

He considers the question for a long time. "I'm not a very good protector. I've never killed anything."

"Well, you ain't got a gun, do ya?" I try joke, swallowing the last bite of cookie. "How you meant to protect anybody?"

It don't make him laugh. "Be serious."

"Carl," I say a little frustratedly, "I've killed two walkers and watched a man die by now, and I can tell you it don't make you any tougher."

I don't know why he can't see that, especially with his parents arguing over by the fence the way they are, getting louder by the minute.

"Kinda just messes things up." I mutter. "It's horseshit, like Maggie says."

I watch Rick pinch the bridge of his nose as Lori shouts at him.

"You know what," Carl cringes, "Maybe you're right."

"Do you think they're arguin' about Jim?"

We both know they are. "Yeah."

I like Lori. She doesn't laugh at me when I can't spell something right. But if I were Rick right now, I'd bust a damn gasket and scream somethin' like, leave me alone, woman! Because the last thing I'd want is somebody badgering me on this. He said it himself. He doesn't want to kill Jim, but he doesn't have any other choice if he wants to keep us safe. He's stressed enough without this nonsense.

Instead of that, though, Rick exclaims something totally different, just loud enough for me to hear.

"You're pregnant?"

Oh, Lordy. She told him?!

Carl whirls on me like this was my doing. "Did he just say pregnant?!"

I don't get time to reply before he gets up and runs over to them, calling out excitedly. I knew he'd be happy. But I don't know so much about Rick. He threads his fingers in his hair, taking a step back. The look on his face is the same one Dale used to get when the RV suddenly started making a strange noise and he had to figure out how to fix it. I don't even think Lori meant to tell him. She just blurted it out.

"Cat's out the bag, I guess." Glenn muses lightly from nearby, as Carl wraps his arms around his Momma's belly.

She seems a little shocked, too, but she still returns the hug and kisses his fluffy hair.

I can't hear them anymore, so I walk over to Glenn and ask him eagerly, "What're they sayin'?"

"He's asking if it's a boy or a girl," He relays to me, "But they won't be able to tell until the baby's born."

"When's that happen?"

Carol approaches us with a fun little smirk. She must've overheard as well. "In about nine months, if everything goes right."

That's almost a year. Where are we gonna be a year from now? A lot can happen in one month, let alone nine. Will there still be eleven of us, or will there be less? We gonna make it to twelve? I'm not sure how having a baby at the end of the world works. I think ya need lots of medicine and a little beanie to put on their head, but we don't have those things. We only have each other, a vet, and some aspirin.

Lori and Carl walk back into camp together. He's smiling like he's swallowed the sun.

"I'm gonna be a big brother." He exclaims, as Carol gives Lori a supportive hug. "Pretty cool, huh?"

"Pretty cool." I agree, but I can't help glancing over his shoulder at Rick, who's slumped against the fence, head in his hands.

"You heard? God. I don't want this to be made a big deal out of." Lori mutters to her. "It's not good for anybody."

"Don't be silly. I think we could all do with a little hope around here. What's more hopeful than a baby?"

"I'm talking about..." She whispers this next part.

Carol smiles sadly when she pulls back. "Don't worry about that. He's out of the picture, now. Just focus on Rick."

"Hey, if the baby's a girl," Carl suggests, "Can we name her Sophia?"

"I think that would be lovely," Lori says very earnestly, looking to Carol, who seems to also like that idea. "Guess we'll have to see."

The two of them get sucked into conversation with Glenn after that, and it looks pretty serious, so me and Carl are left on our own again. He continues babbling about the baby, and I try my best to listen, but I'm distracted thinking about how Glenn's no longer keeping an eye on us like he's meant to, and Dale's facing the opposite direction on watch. We could sneak off to the shed without anyone noticing.

"And if it's a boy, we can name him Nate, like Nathan Heavy-Hand from Fight Street. The comic I read you, remember?"

I don't know what's gotten into me, but I ask him with no warning, "Wanna sneak into the shed?"

His grin fades, until there's nothing but apprehension on his face. "But we're not allowed. I thought you said you hated getting in trouble."

"I thought you said you wanted to be tough like your Dad," I retort. I do hate getting in trouble, but I wanna get inside that shed a whole lot more. I wanna see what Dad's done to Jim, see what happens to people that put us in danger. "Come on. Nobody will see us."

"I don't know, Harley." He mumbles. I never thought I'd be the one coercing him into mischief. "It might not be safe."

"Safe? When since do you care about being safe?"

He hesitates to answer. "It's just, I'm supposed to look out for you. And I'm gonna be a big brother soon, so I gotta learn how."

"I ain't your practice-sister." I scoff, feeling a little offended. "I don't need no big brother to take care of me. I taught you to shoot."

"I just wanna keep you safe like the adults do." He says more sternly now, like I'm being unfair. "Like my Dad does."

"Well, I wanna go smack the shit outta Jim," I sass, "Like my Dad does."

With that, I turn on my heel, making a beeline for the shed. It don't even take him five seconds to give in and follow after me.

"No, no, Daryl, c'mon, man, please. We used to be on the same side. You don't have to do this."

"How many in yer group, huh? I said, How many?!"

Whack!

I pull Carl with me around the corner of the shed, ducking down into the grass, holding a finger to my lips. On the other side of the wall, Jim groans. It sounds blubbered, as if his gums are swollen and his lips are fallen off. I peek through a tiny hole in the wood.

"Thuh— Th- Thirty." He answers breathily. It's dark in there, but I can make out both their figures. "Thirty. Thirty guys."

"Where?" He growls, pacing around in the shadows. "Where they camped?"

"Why— Why the fuck would I tell you, huh?" He sniffles wetly, but it's not snot. "I'm dead, anyway, man! Fuck the whole lot of ya!"

"You wanna put this whole farm in danger, is that whatcher sayin'? You're a smart-mouthed piece'a shit?"

"You're the ones who left me!" He shouts, kicking and pulling and wriggling against the rope like a feral creature itching for a fight. He's never gotten along with our group. Given the chance, I know he'd throttle any one of us. "Maybe I should want you to pay!"

"The feeling's mutual." He snarls. There's a little, wait, no, before he rears his fist back in the air, and then a disgusting cracking sound as it comes down on his cheekbone. Carl whispers in my good ear, what do you see, but I don't answer him. I watch as Dad crouches, his face mere inches from the bruised mess that's meant to be Jim's, staring him down like if he does it hard enough, he can kill him just like that. "I'm only gonna tell you this once." He warns, his voice a rumble. "My little girl is on this farm. If you breathe the wrong way. If you make a funny look I don't like. If you take too long answerin' me 'cause you're chokin' on yer own blood, and that puts her at risk..."

Jim's bloodied neck bobs under a heavy gulp, his chest shivering with shallow puffs.

"I will kill you so slow... you'll be beggin' to eat a bullet." That's far from an empty threat and he knows it. "You understand me?"

"Yeah. Yes. Yes." He nods. "I'm not tryna be smart. I'll— I'll talk."

"Let's try this again, huh?"

"They move around." He confesses. "They never stay anywhere more than a couple nights. That's all I know, but they got guns. Heavy stuff, like automatics. I used to clean them. That's why they let me stay, after they found me camping in the woods. I went with them b-because they had food, but that's all gone, now. They're branching out. I swear I had nothing to do with the other stuff. I swear."

"You just happened to be there last night, is that it? Tryna tell me you're innocent?"

"I've always been innocent."

Liar. I remember him snarking to my Dad that the trip out the quarry to save my life wasn't worth it, that it was a waste of our gas.

"If you're memory's that bad, buddy, I can crack yer head open and we can sort through yer brains together, how's that sound?"

"Like a f-fucking nightmare." He slurs. "Always is with you."

Dad's about to break his other cheekbone in when Andrea calls out his name. I pull away from the peephole just as he turns around, my heart racing as the creak of the old doors come, then their voices. I can't make any of it out like I would'a been able to before my hearing went to shit, which makes me a little jealous of Carl, but I can tell the point at which one of them walks away 'cause there's silence.

With the shed quiet and empty, Carl points above my head. "We can get in that way."

The loft. It hangs over a pile of rotten wood laying in the overgrown weeds. It doesn't look like an impossible distance to climb, so I give him a nod. He follows me out, warning me to, be careful of splinters, which almost makes me roll my eyes because he really does think he's a mini grown-up now. I ignore him and hop onto the planks. He jumps up onto the loft first and then rolls onto his tummy and pulls me up after him. He asks me if I'm alright, which of course I am, so I duck through the opening and climb down the ladder.

My boots hit the straw, then his. I can't believe we're really in here. This is way worse than sneaking into the woods.

"Who's—? Who's there?" Jim startles, peering at us through his puffy eyelids.

I step into the single beam of sunlight shining down on the dirty floor, and only then his face morphs with recognition. I stare him down. He looks exactly the same as he did at the quarry, but scruffier, angrier, splattered with blood. It's what I must look like, too.

He actually starts laughing, an empty laugh. "Harley Dixon... My fucking luck."

"Be careful." Carl mutters from behind me.

The laughter catches in this throat, a phlegm-y knot that he spits on the floor. "He's right, kid. Your Daddy thinks I'm dangerous."

"I ain't afraid of you," I take great satisfaction in telling him. I've never been able to say that to anybody before. I been scared of Merle, been scared of Grandpappy Dixon, scared of Shane. But I out-lived all of them, and I'll out-live Jim, too. "You're nothin'."

"I thought you died on the road, you know. They always do." A grin creeps onto his lips. "But not you, huh?"

Not me. I been scratched, trapped in a horde, chased, lost, stabbed, taken and shot at, but no. "Not me."

"I'll be dead soon." He lilts uncaringly. "I'm not gonna beg. No you. Not anyone. I know it's coming. Your Dad, Rick, or... Even my own leg. Something's gonna kill me, and I'm not gonna fight it." As he speaks, his head lolls to the side and he gazes out at nothing. "You can't. Can't fight gravity, can't fight nature. Can't fight death. I tried, though. All of it, I tried, and here I am. Pissin' blood in a shed, waitin' to die."

"I ain't never cared for no sob story." I scowl, moving into his line of sight, crouching down. "'Specially not yours."

He glares at me through his dark brows. "You're a little s-shit-stain, aren't you, just like your old man."

"None of us ever liked you, neither."

"Whatever happens after I'm gone," He sneers, breathing heavily, so heavily I can feel it huffing and puffing on my forearms, "You're all gonna deserve. F-for being so cocky. Thinkin' you're better than everyone else, thinkin' you can cheat death. For leaving me."

"Whatever happens after you're gone," I retort just as angrily, "We sure ain't gonna spend it missin' you."

He bares his teeth, straining against his bindings to get in my face, but I remain stony, like Dad would. "You— You should've never made it out that quarry." He rages under his breath, "They can give you all the— all the hugs and kisses in the world, but when they tell you everything's okay, they'll still be lying. It's what I told my wife and my two boys a hundred times, but it didn't matter."

The louder he hisses the words at me, the wetter his eyes get.

"They came out of nowhere. Dozens... and dozens. Pulled them right out my hands." His voice cracks. "The only reason I got away was because the dead were too busy eating my family. I was meant to die with them. I was. And you— you're just a little kid. You should've died to those scratches. You're supposed to be dead. All of you. You're all supposed to be dead."

Before I can stop myself, smack!

"You don't get to say that." I scold him, shaking out my stinging palm. "Only dead one 'round here is you."

He groans. "Shuh— S-sure."

The doors swing open. Andrea comes in, shock across her face as she realizes what's going on. She snatches mine and Carl's hands in her own and drags us out. We stumble as she throws us ahead, shouting something at Jim before slamming the doors shut again.

"What the Hell were you two doing in there?" She asks incredulously as she picks up the rope and re-binds the handles.

"Please don't tell our parents." Carl immediately begs.

Too angry to speak, I take myself over to the swing and plop down on it, rubbing at my red palm. I slapped Jim pretty good. If only we didn't get caught, I could'a done a whole lot worse to him, maybe even broken in his other cheek. He's a bastard for sayin' those things. We had our reasons for casting him out, and he sure as shit ain't bothered figuring out what they were. He's still as smart-mouthed as ever. I ain't even feel bad his wife and kids got eaten, 'cause that's just what happens now. He ain't special for letting it drive him mad.

"Listen, buddy," She scoffs as she turns around, putting her hands on her hips. "I won't, but that was plain stupid."

"We were only talking to him." He argues innocently. "We didn't do anything."

She raises a brow. "Oh, yeah? What was that slap sound, then?"

"It was me." I admit with a bitter tone, dramatically dropping my hands in my lap. "I cracked him for bein' smart."

"I wouldn't expect anything less from you." She chuckles, seeming annoyed and amused at the same time. "You wanna die? Is that it?"

I frown deeply. Like I said, blunt. She's the only person outside my family who's ever given me a run for my money on that front. "Maybe I do," I sass her. "Maybe beatin' on somebody makes me feel a little better. You got a problem with that?"

"Not at all." She surprises me by shrugging. "I get it. But really, guys? Jim?"

"You want me to hit you instead, then?"

"God," She laughs. "Maybe if Beth had half the fire you got in you, she'd actually be worth something."

"Hell's that mean?"

"Means if you asked me for a knife like she did, I wouldn't bother giving you one. You'd find a way."

"Give her a knife?" Carl pulls a stank-face at her. "That was you?"

"She didn't have the guts to do it herself." She explains. "So I gave her the push she needed."

"Why would you do that?" He sounds betrayed when he says this, turning and taking my hand. "Come on, Harley. Let's go, now."

He pulls me off the swing and leads me away, a grumpy look on his face.

"Screw her." He exclaims. "Don't talk to her ever again. She's crazy."

"Sure thing," I murmur, too busy thinking about how I can sneak back in the shed again soon to sound all too convincing.

That afternoon, I relish in the gentle sounds of rustling leaves and little squirrels and birds chittering throughout the forest, the crisp breeze blowing through my hair. I've never really liked the cold all that much, but this is good. I remember when I was just a tot, around the first time I ever saw snow, I tugged on Daddy's sleeve and asked him, when we goin' huntin' today, but all he said was, can't, baby, all the game's hidin' away in holes. I was a little confused on that for a while. Couldn't the animals just put a coat and hat on like the rest of us? That was back when I thought the whole world was like it was in the cartoons. I learnt fast that it weren't.

"Heard you was beatin' on Carl today." Dad casually hums. I follow him along the trail, keeping an eye out for paw prints or broken twigs. September's almost over now, if it ever even was September, and Winter's on its way. Nature's one of the only things ain't changed, and I know the slim chances of finding game ain't changed neither, and so does Dad, but I think he don't care. "You wanna talk about it?"

He just wants away from the farm for a while, time where it's just the two of us. Even if we ain't catch nothing in the end.

"He was bein' a jerk to Carol." I explain, and that's putting it lightly. "So's I whooped him."

Surely Dad won't care like Lori does. He was the one that taught me to whoop stupid boys in the first place.

"Baby," He seems to struggle saying, before coming to a stop, facing me with a funny look. "You can't be doin' that no more."

Oh. He does. But, "I've always done that."

"Yeah, and so've I." He tells me. "I don't gotta tell you twice. Only time my fists ain't been swinging was when I was busy cleanin' the blood off 'em. But like I told you at that pond, I'm puttin' that behind me when it matters, a'right? That lil' scrape wit' Carl, that matters."

Only other punishment I ever got was time out. "You sayin' I should'a put him on a stump, instead?"

"I'm sayin' let his parents put him on a stump, or take his shit away, or whatever it is they wanna do. It ain't on you to dish that out."

"But Grandpappy Dixon and Merle used to beat on me, and they weren't my parents."

"Weren't on them, either." With an angry scoff, he turns back around. I chase after him. "Weren't even on me. Ain't none of us treatchu right."

I guess I should'a thought more wisely about laying into Carl. But I ain't ever practiced. None of my family have. Beat first, think later. Next to, Fuck the cops, that's always been the Dixon motto. But me and Dad, we gotta be different. There's more to us than our anger.

"Well, I'm gon' try treat everybody else right, anyway." I decide. "Next time, I'll just call Carl an idiot and leave it at that."

I hear him chuckle to himself. I guess that means it's a good plan.

It's at this moment that the honking trill of a deer sounds through the trees. Both of us stop dead in our tracks. He reaches for me, takes my wrist, pulls me behind a nearby shrub. I peek over the leaves, swallowing down a gasp. Rats on hats, there she is. A deer, with sweet black eyes like polished glass, and long, beige legs, walking through the underbrush as if she were made of it. I ain't seen a deer in months, not even when the weather was warmer. Guess I thought the dead ones at 'em all. I almost forgot how magical they are. Merle always teased me for it, but I used to think deer were just unicorns whose horns fell off. I was always a little sad whenever we ate them.

Dad loads a bolt into his crossbow. I can't hear it, but I'm sure it makes the faintest click, because her big ear twitches, but she doesn't bolt. I watch her bow her head, munching on dead grass, as he lines the sight up with her heart.

He never hesitates to down a target, but this time he does. He watches her, too, then lowers the bow altogether.

I whisper to him, "You ain't gonna shoot?"

"Nah," He whispers back, "It's good just like this."

The deer grazes on the forest floor for a few more minutes, until she decides to move on.

After which, we do, too.

Author's Note.

Whew! Hope you enjoyed this one.

We finally ran into Jim again! Lots has changed since he's been with us, including Harley lmao. She's a menace.

Like I said in the last chapter's notes, I've been dealing with some motivation issues and just a creativity slump in general, so working on this chapter was a ride and a half 😩 Thanks for your support and patience as always. Your comments are what fuel me to write when I can't fuel myself 💙

@poetoflawed

#fanfic #the walking dead #daryl dixon #twd #angst #twd fanfiction #rick grimes #daryl dixon daughter #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon twd #daddy issues

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