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“Deserved” Pt 2

Word count - 5,100 (sorry). But I added lots of pictures!

Perspective - 2nd person

When - Quarry, right after you and Amy dry off following The Chicken Swim, until the following day when Ed gets beaten up; episodes “Guts” and “Tell it to the Frogs.” The Masterlist has all of the Slowpoke Series if you would like to read more of the continuing story!

Relationships - you and the gang! It’s all the gang, and work-in-progress Daryl. The fun part about this one is that you get Daryl’s on-screen TWD debut.

Genre - Part 2 is significantly heavier than Part 1. Like Part 1, it follows the quarry camp’s events of episodes “Guts” and “Tell it to the Frogs”

Pronouns - not mentioned outright, but the dialogue from the show about “all the women” doing the laundry was left as it was. Also note that being Shane’s sibling in this series is not one of full blood relation, so visually you should look however you want (which is preferably however you yourself look, without any alteration. So long as you’re healthy, you’re fine how you are - and don’t you forget it)

TWs - spousal abuse, violence, allusions to and discussions of parental and spousal abuse, and language. The kids were unfortunately around for one of the slip-ups (but not you, Daryl done it). However, Dale is keeping track of your potty words and the quarters you owe ;)

“What do you think about what I said?”

“About Shane, or?”

“About all of it,” Dale puts to you.

“I guess...sometimes, maybe, ‘deserved’ is more a relative term than I’d wish,” you reply to Dale. He was keeping you company in his RV while you’d...had a minor breakdown, after you’d lunged yourself at Ed and tried to beat his face in, before Shane took over and finished the job.

“If the world were black and white, everything would be easier. But a lot less beautiful, huh?” Dale said, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.

“So philofofs–philosophlisc–” Oh no, why can’t you pronounce it? You start giggling at this point despite yourself.

“I’ll wait,” Dale gently teases, hands held up.

“Oh my gosh, philsolph-ical. Wait no, philo-soph-ical!” Hey, at least you were laughing. You relax and take a deep breath. “When Shane started to beat on Ed, it...at first, I liked it,” you admit. “I wanted it to happen, I’d tried to do it, I thought he deserved it and I still think that he deserved it. But seeing what I thought was justice being doled out. I dunno,” you mumble. “It revolted me. It hit different.”

“Pun intended, kiddo?”

“Oh man,” you chuckle, shaking your head and rubbing your eyes. You thought more about what had gone on. “And Merle, he would be the type of person that I would’ve dismissed as deserving what he got, too. More or less.” Racist, sexist and rude neo-nazi drug dealer who rode in a criminal MC.

Yes, Merle was an awful person, but to die from either dehydration and exposure or by being eaten alive while handcuffed to a pipe in the broiling Atlanta heat?

“But the way that Daryl reacted when he found out? Even if it was out of, I dunno, blind loyalty to blood or out of some unhealthy dependence or reliance, like Carol has with Ed...” you chew on your bottom lip and think on it. “It just hit different again. And it made me worry about the kind of person I am. I mean, why the fuck do I bother prayin’ for my enemies and shit if I then go on to do or think things like that?”

“‘To err is human,’” Dale answers simply. “We make mistakes, we learn, hopefully. The thing that keeps us human is our ability to be humane, and it’s certainly a struggle. And that’s another two quarters from you, by the way,” he mentions, eyes crinkling.

Your thoughts returned to earlier today.

After showing you the Chevy, Glenn had dragged you over to T-Dog, who told you what happened in Atlanta, his face full of shame for something that was out of his control and guilt over something for which he didn’t hold culpability.

At any rate, you knew that you’d needed to radio Daryl. Right then.

“Hey, you still alive?” you say over the walkie.

“Sure hope so, I’m staring at you.”

“Not you, Amy,” you giggle. “Daryl, you in range? Or did you not turn the walkie on yet this morning.” That last part was more stated aloud to yourself (and Amy) rather than asked.

So you busied yourself as the morning progressed, checking in every so often to see if he’d answer.

You solemnly watched with Glenn as Jim, Mr. Morales, and Dale began to strip the Chevy for parts. Keeping the RV up and running was of the upmost importance.

“Vultures,” Glenn muttered. You tried not to smile, and left him to his grieving.

Then you joined Carol and the girls on laundry duty. Yesterday had been a water duty day, but making everyone smell less like they were living-outdoors-in-a-Georgia-summer was very important. Plus, cleaner clothes reduced the likelihood of infections and vermin, and helped the clothes degrade slower.

Rick had woken up late. You happily (and still not-fully believing it) watched as he walked into the hub of the camp, chatted with Carol who was ironing his clothes, went over to the Chevy and seemed to give his condolences to Glenn about the car, then headed to where you were working with the ladies. Lori tried to hide her shy smile. “Morning, officer,” she greeted him.

Amy, you, and Andrea shared a look.

Oh, that reminded you: you should’ve had Carl sleep over in your tent last night so they could have some privacy! You made a mental note to offer that he sleep over tonight, instead.

Then you heard static on the walkie, so dismissed yourself. Daryl’s grating, annoyed sounding voice radioed back “Finally got that sumbitch, I’m draggin’ it back to camp. Can you come help? Damn thing’s heavy.”

“Been tryin’ to contact you all morning, where you been?”

“I was busy gettin’ food for us all,” he snapped back.

You stifled a groan. “Need some coffee there. friend? Right, where you at, Daryl?”

“M’right by the treeline.”

“On my way.”

Your brother pulled in on the Jeep with a few more jugs filled with water. Water duty never ends, does it? The quarry water did in a pinch, and most of you had had some after boiling it, but there was no telling what nasty stuff was in there, so the nearby stream was preferred.

“Water’s here y’all. Just a reminder to boil before use,” he directed. He saw you and jogged over to return your mp3, murmuring that he’d played ‘Going to California’ so many times that he’d be humming it in his sleep for weeks.

Then at last, you made your way to the treeline and hopped over the tied cans.

“Hey, where are you going?” Eliza called from behind you, Sophia beside her, Luis and Carl close behind.

“Hi babies. Daryl hunted us a deer, so I’m gonna help him bring it back.”

“Cool! Can I help?” Carl exclaimed. He loved helping out with grown-up things.

But Sophia’s face fell and she shook her head. “I don’t want to see the dead deer, Carl.”

“Oh, okay,” he quickly replied to her. “Let’s keep playing tag then!”

“You’re still it, though,” she giggled, and she and the rest of the kids zoomed off in the opposite direction.

“Just keep away from these edges where we got the hangin’ line of cans, okay?” you reminded them, then jogged further in the woods.

But when you looked around, you saw nothing. “Daryl, you east or west from the camp?” you asked.

You got no reply at first. Then he radioed back “You ain’t run into the deer yet? I left it right in the clearin’.”

“You left it?”

“I said it’s damn heavy. Couldn’t carry it around while I got my bolts back, now could I?”

Ever charming and friendly, huh?

“Daryl, it’s fine, just tell me where you are in regards to the camp,” you repeated. “I came from the eastern side near the tents. And how far after the can-line is it?”

“Head west. And I dunno, it’s maybe a few yards or somethin’ after the cans.”

“Joggin’ there now.”

Then you heard screams and shouts from the kids, your stomach dropped, and you shot towards the sounds. It happened to be coming from the same direction as the deer, too, but you didn’t care a foot or a leg about the deer anymore.

You saw members of the group running for it, too, and called to them so they wouldn’t aim at you.

The kids were fine, thank God. Just spooked, and with good reason. “One of the monsters was eating the deer!” Sophia cried. Oh shit. You were so far removed from things out here, so far from the city, how had one found the camp and got so close?

Next thing, you heard the sounds of something getting smacked and beaten. You could see through the trees where the deer and the sick person must’ve been, since that’s where the group was taking turns beating the geek down.

Hey, why weren’t they aiming for the head, though? Nothing else stopped them, did your people not know that by now?

You steeled your stomach to jog over to where Amy and Andrea where standing when next you heard an awful gushing, slicing sound as you watched in horror as the sick person’s head got lopped off by an equally horrified Dale wielding an axe.

Wordlessly, you stood there in shock, eventually coming back to reality in time to hear Jim say “Well, they’re running out of food in the city, that’s what.”

“Daryl, where are you?” you hushed into the walkie. “You bit?”

His answer is quick. “Bit? Nah, chill out, m’fine. Had to take a quick piss,” he told you. Oh-ho, he was going to need to remember to chill in a few moments, tell you what. And you hoped that he washed his hands somehow before handling the walkie-talkie, ew.

You touch Amy’s and Andrea’s shoulders as you pass by them to join the group of men where they stood around the chewed-up deer and dead (not dead yet, actually, it’s jaw was still biting) sick one.

As your ears pricked at the sound of something rustling through the trees, everyone aimed their weapons at the noise, your brother foremost among them, shotgun at the ready.

“That’d most likely be Daryl,” you said, and someone swore.

And sure enough, next comes Daryl Dixon’s trademark “Son-of-a-bitch!” as he rounded the bend. “That’s my deer!”

Was he shouting at the...dead/undead guy? Fair enough, you suppose.

“Look at it,” he groaned. “All gnawed on by this,” then he kicks it, “Filthy!” Another kick. “Disease bearin’!” Another kick. “Motherless,” and yet another kick and yells “Poxy bastard!” as he finishes with a final kick.

Dale, upset and looking almost like he pitied Daryl, said gently “Calm down son, that’s not helping.”

“What do you know about it, old man?” You noticed that your brother had put the butt of his shotgun against Daryl’s chest to stop him from getting too close when he shouted in Dale’s face.

“Hey! You wanna rethink that?” you protested, but Dale held his arm up subtly at you, and your brother gave you a look and shook his head to tell you to cool it.

“Why don’t you take that stupid hat and go back to ‘On Golden Pond?’” Daryl sneered at Dale.

Ugh, asshole. And what stupid reference was that even from?

“C’mon man, don’t insult him of all people,” you drawled low to him.

Calming down from his little temper tantrum, Daryl shuffled back to the carcass and started to rip the bolts out. “I’ve been trackin’ this deer for miles. Was gonna drag it back to camp, cook us up some venison.” Then he bent down to examine the bite marks. “What do you think?” he said to you. You tilted your head and grimaced “Maybe?”

Then he looked around at everyone. “Do you think can we cut around this chewed up part right here?”

Your brother sounded very sure when he warned “I would not risk that.”

Daryl sighed, defeated. “That’s a damn shame.” Then he seemed apologetic when he added “I got some squirrels, about a dozen or so.” Another sigh and a look around at the group. “That’ll have to do.”

After this, Amy noticed that the sick person’s head was still trying to chomp, and hurried away in revulsion. Daryl just stared at it, annoyed and complaining as he aimed his crossbow. “Come on people, what the hell?” and a clean shot through the eye put a final stop to it. “It’s gotta be the brain. Don’t y’all know nothin’?”

As he sauntered his way back to the camp, you and the rest of the group followed. Glenn mumbled to you “This is gonna be bad.”

And sure enough, Daryl started calling for his brother to “get his ugly ass out there,” (and yes, you find yourself thinking how he owes all the kiddos another quarter), content to think that he and Merle were gonna stew up some squirrel together.

Your own brother, you noted with a twinge in your stomach, said to him “Daryl, just slow up a bit. I need to talk to you.”

You’d quickly settled yourself away from the two of them, aaand it had all gone downhill from there.

Shane, Daryl, and Rick went at it, Daryl whipped out a knife, and Shane wrangled him into that (illegal!) choke hold that he’d once showed you.

You didn’t even like Daryl as a person that well and you felt sorry for how humiliating it must’ve been. He was freaking out, and rightly so, over the fact that his brother had been chained to a roof and left there to dehydrate or get ripped apart.

Yes, he’d most certainly overreacted by his choice to use violence, and then compounded on that by intending to use his knife, but in the end, Daryl was a man who just found out that his brother was likely dead without a fair trial.

Rick, thank goodness, managed to convince him to speak calmly with him (with a little help from Officer Choke-Hold), and stressed that the decision to handcuff Merle was not done lightly.

T-Dog then stepped in and confessed that it was actually his fault, that he’d dropped the handcuff key by accident down a drain (personally, you consider Teddy to have zero blame).

But poor Daryl all but crawled after that, digested it, and stood himself up to resume his angry pacing back and forth.

Then T-Dog assured him that he’d been able to chain the door and padlock it to keep the sick people at bay and give Merle a chance. Which may have eased Daryl’s upset somewhat and given him hope, but after being told, he quickly rubbed his eyes (holy moly, was he crying?) and yelled “Hell with all y’all!” before asking to know where it happened so he could go get his brother back.

And that’s how T-Dog, Rick, Glenn, and Daryl drove off away to Atlanta and you’d found yourself scrubbing a very insistent grass stain on a pair of jeans on the quarry’s shore with your friends.

Jacqui, Andrea and Amy, and Carol were with you, just chatting about nothing. It was nice.

Shane was actually playing with Carl by you, too, teaching him how to catch frogs, and you were glad for a break to do some mostly mindless, routine work.

Your brother had been very taken aback by how quickly Rick had decided to go back to the city and risk himself (along with the others). He thought it was selfish to risk any more able-bodied, smart individuals to try and save that man, especially when the sick people, the, um: “walkers” he referred to them as, had found their way to the camp already.

You were still on the fence about it. You’d voiced wanting to go, citing that Merle would need a least minimum medical care if still living, but Shane and Jacqui and T-Dog firmly said no, Shane most of all. Stupid migraines.

But your gut reaction was that it was the right thing to do, to go and attempt to save him, and that’s what you would have argued! It felt right, it sat right. But to hear the counter argument that trusted, capable, skilled people shouldn’t be risking themselves unnecessarily out of care for the majority...whatever. You were allowed to agree with both, weren’t you?

But before you’d headed down with the girls to wash some more laundry, you’d watched and listened to the argument that Shane had with Rick. Shane put forth that Merle was a douche bag who wouldn’t give someone a glass of water even if they were dying of thirst.

And Rick put forth that he didn’t care, because it wasn’t about Merle deserving to be rescued. It was that Rick would try anyways. It was what he believed in, what he lived by. In doing what was right even if it was thankless.

T-Dog had said as much to Daryl, after that racist dick had sarcastically expressed his ‘appreciation’ that he would help rescue Merle.

“You see anybody else here stepping up to save your brother’s cracker ass?”

“Why you?” Daryl had thrown at him.

“You wouldn’t even begin to understand. You don’t speak my language,” was Teddy’s only reply, and it had made tears well in your eyes. You murmured to him that you’d pray for all of them to come back in one piece, and find Merle alive and well.

Lori was upset, too. She knew her husband, knew the kind of man Rick was. But how could she help but feel a little disregarded, that he’d so soon risk himself only the morning after reuniting with this family who’d thought him dead?

Rick was sure to add the part about some magic duffle bag full of guns and gear that he’d dropped after stocking up at their police station. Also, he needed the other walkie-talkie that was in it to warn the man and son who’d saved him to stay out of the city.

That swayed your brother somewhat. The old police radios they used had their own frequency. The man and his boy wouldn’t get the warning without it.

Holy Moses, you wished you could go. And you could’ve, you were your own person and made your own decisions, but that would’ve been a risk to the group if you’d gotten a stupid migraine out there. You’d really started to have so many in the past couple of weeks for whatever reason. It happened like that sometimes, but...

Ugh, you planned to blast some music after this. Really, really loud so you could forget everything for a while. Maybe you’d compulsively replay “Going to California” like your brother did when he needed to calm down. But first, laundry!

And that’s when the incident occurred.

Carl and Shane had already finished their frog catching and were somewhere around nearby, or maybe back at the camp? And you all had almost completed the day’s washing. You remember it passed through your mind that you were sweating so much in your clothes that you should ought to have just flopped into the quarry to cool down and scrubbed yourself clean, too.

Jacqui had bent over to catch her breath, and questioned “Can someone explain to me how all the women wound up doing all the Hattie McDaniel work?” You weren’t quite sure who that was, but you got the gist.

“The world ended,” Amy replied with a wry smile. “Didn’t you get the memo?”

“It’s just the way it is,” Carol said quietly. You looked over at her and saw that she’d looked back at Ed, who was leaning over there, facing you all and smoking.

“Dumbo over there should be helpin’ us,” you grumbled. “What’s his job, hallway monitor?”

“Dumbo’s too kind a name for him,” Amy said, speaking low enough that only you could hear.

“Maybe Jabba?” Andrea hushed back.

“Or just dickweed,” you whispered.

Carol, unaware that you were insulting her dickweed of a husband, sighed and admitted “I do miss my Maytag.” Lord above, she deserved so much better than him. And he deserved whatever bad was headed his way, tell you what. Oh, there was that word again, you’d realized. Deserved.

“I miss my Benz, my sat-nav.”

“Such a fancy way to say GPS, Andrea,” you teased.

“I miss my coffeemaker,” Jacqui began, and in a very comical way. “With that dual-drip filter and built-in grinder, honey,” she crooned, making you chuckle.

Amy began staring into space, full of longing as she told the group “My computer. And texting.”

And you were about to joke about the walkie-talkies, until you saw that mischievous look on her sister’s face. “I miss my vibrator.”

You and Amy were scandalized, but still started to giggle as Jacqui exclaimed a long “Ooh!” and Carol – sweet, quiet Carol – sheepishly admitted “Me too.”

All of you were full-on laughing at that point, and it felt so danged wonderful to have that, that moment of peace and normalcy (as much as hand-washing clothes in a quarry lake could permit).

Interrupting this peace and normalcy came that dickweed’s voice, asking “What’s so funny?” But not in a friendly way.

“Just swapping war stories, Ed,” Andrea assured him, but in a very pleasant way.

But he kept slow-stepping towards you all, smoking his cigarette. Everyone grew quiet. Your ears pricked and your pulse quickened. You caught Amy’s glance and lowered your brows. There was that “prey instinct” you’d talked about.

“Problem Ed?” Andrea inquired. She’d stopped what she was doing and was staring back at him.

He smirked. “Nothin’ that concerns you.”

Your face twitched at that statement. The smugness of it, the cockiness! The predatory smirk as if he were anything but a fucking waste of space (and yes, at that point, you were trying to calm yourself down and think logically and objectively, rather than thinking about his being a “fucking waste of space”).

That is, until Ed continued spewing bile and reprimanded either to you all or to just poor Carol that “You should focus on your work. This ain’t no comedy club.”

Calm down, calm down, don’t snap, it’ll make him worse. It’ll cause harm to Carol and Sophia if you react badly you tried to repeat in your head. Amy seemed to notice your expression and put a hand on your arm in acknowledgment.

Her big sister, however, was doing what you wished you had the wherewithal to do. She stood up, unruffled, and turned towards him to suggest “Ed, tell you what: you don’t like how your laundry’s done, you are welcome to pitch in and do it yourself.” Then she made the ballsy move of saying “Here” and tossing the wet shirt that she was washing right to him.

Within a second, he’d thrown it back in her face and berated her that “Ain’t my job, missy.”

After that, you realized that you’d stood up as you silently fumed at him, placing yourself next to Andrea. “Andrea, Y/N, don’t,” Amy cautioned.

You gritted your teeth as you shook your head slightly, stammering when you asked “What is your job, Ed?”

Andrea continued, “Sitting on your ass smoking cigarettes?”

And you clenched your fists and tried to stop shaking as he sneered back that “Well, it sure as hell ain’t listening to some uppity, smart-mouthed bitch, tell you what.”

Looking back now, it was strange, but at the time you didn’t really think much of how the sounds around you seemed to muffle after he said that. You could still hear what was going on, but all your focus was on that horrible person and what you knew about him.

Carol reminded you and Shane of your mom, because she was kind and gentle – and had once been married to a sick man like Ed. You’d heard about it bit by bit as the years went by when you were younger.

Just the bits were enough.

“Come on, let’s go,” he ordered Carol, who of course slumped her shoulders and wordlessly obeyed.

It was your own voice that shook out “No.” You looked at Carol and mouthed please, don’t go.

“Yeah, I don’t think she needs to go anywhere with you, Ed,” Andrea had echoed, leaning in closer to you.

And all Ed did in response was to ignore you as if you were two dogs begging for food at the dinner table. “And I say it’s none of your business.”

He looked at Carol again. “Come on, now. You heard me.”

You must have looked like an idiot. You were hyperventilating and trying not to shake too obviously as you marveled at how all of your senses were targeting on that man.

You think that Andrea or Jacqui might’ve been whispering something to Carol, but you weren’t sure. All your attention was stuck on Ed, until you heard Carol whimper “Please, it doesn’t matter.”

“Hey. Don’t think I won’t knock you two on your asses, just cause you’re some college-educated cooze, and you’re Boss Pig’s kin, alright? Now come on now, or you’re gonna regret it later,” he threatened you three.

You resolved in your head to never make a piggy joke to Shane again as you desperately attempted to hold onto any shred of calm so that you didn’t. Blow. Up.

It’ll harm Carol and Sophia if you blow up, it’ll harm Carol and Sophia if you blow up, you know that it’s risking them if you do it, Y/N.

Jacqui’s voice reached your ears. “So she can show up with fresh bruises later, Ed? Yeah, we’ve seen them.” She’s either crying or about to cry. And Carol was certainly crying, quietly, the way that people who think their situation is hopeless usually do.

Carol. Who had been trained and groomed to think and believe that she was worthless and helpless and deserved the abuse he gave her.

The other thoughts in your head began winning. If you hurt him, he might stop. If you hurt him, he’ll feel it, too. If you hurt him bad enough, he won’t be able to hurt them back.

“You know what? This ain’t none of y’all’s business,” Ed dismissed. Then his voice had deepened. “You don’t wanna keep proddin’ the bull here, okay? Now I am done talking. Come on.”

And he started to pull her away with him, dragging her by the arm while Andrea and Jacqui pleaded with her to stay with them, trying to take her arms and hold her back.

Then it happened.

Ed started yelling and his hand flew and suddenly you felt like you were no longer in your body.

He’d just struck her. He’s struck Carol, his wife, right there, in front of everyone! Yeah, it was definitely your fucking business after that!

All you saw was red, all you heard was screaming, and the next second you found yourself pummeling into him, slamming your fists down and roaring whatever words and threats saw fit to fly out of your mouth.

You don’t remember why your jaw began to ache, what happened to make your shoulder hurt so much, or when and how you found yourself almost underneath him, but within seconds of that, someone else had dove onto him, dragged him away, and you were left laying there, dazed and numb.

You turned to look.

It was your brother.

And you realized what a mess you’d just made.

And it sickened you that you were happy to see Shane beat that man senseless, even while the others grew frightened and shouted at him to stop. Poor Carol was sobbing for him to stop.

You blinked. One of the women was with you, now. Amy?

You blinked again and looked again at what Shane was doing, but it didn’t feel so good anymore. He needed to stop.

Even if he had stopped hitting Ed in his mind for what he did to Carol and you, his fists were still beating down on whoever it was he saw in there, whether it was your mother’s first husband, or any one of the low-lives that Shane had been called to but had to leave without the victim pressing charges, all while knowing that he was ultimately powerless to stop it from happening again.

“Shane. You’ll kill him,” you called softly.

And that was it. You watched him finally stop, grab Ed by the shirt and growl at him that “You put your hands on your wife, your little girl, anyone else in this camp, one more time – I will not stop next time. Do you hear me? Do you hear me? I’ll beat you to death, Ed,” and pounded down with one last strike.

Then he left Ed laying there, helped you stand, and half-dragged you up the hill, only slowing once he saw that he was indeed dragging you.

He’d been quiet as you helped direct Carol on what medical attention was needed that she was unfamiliar with, which wasn’t much. Setting a nose, she was familiar with. Almost all of Ed’s injuries she was familiar with. She’d suffered from them at his goddamned hands before.

Then Shane, still quiet, had let you examine his right hand for any broken fingers or strained joints.

He next took a look at your jaw and your own fingers, helped you clean the blood from under your fingernails, and told you that “You did very good,” but that it was “…risky.” And after that is when your tears finally started flowing and you ended up in Dale’s RV, balling your eyes out and kicking yourself for how stupid and impulsive you’d just been.

At least you had calmed down by now, only taking a shuddering breath every so often.

“I'm thinkin' about the fosters we had over the years who had parents like him,” you hush. “Hey Dale?”

“What’s on your mind?”

“There was a particular time during my training in the ambulance that was to a domestic,” you start to tell him. “Shane and Rick hadn’t been called to that one, so different officers were there,” you mumble. “But um, two ambulances were dispatched, since there were two patients. B-but instead of getting to take care of the kid who’d been beat on by his ma,” you swallow back more tears, “It was the mother I had to help tend to, who we took to the hospital. The kid had grabbed one of them big glass candles and got her in the head with it to make her stop.”

You swallow. “Later, when I was home and sharin’ with Shane what, you know, privacy laws and stuff allow you, he recognized who it was, even with the bare minimum that I gave him.”

Dale stays silent to allow you to finish, and you huff out a bitter kind of laugh to explain “She was a regular. Bystanders used to often, you know, call in worry about what was goin’ on, cause her man would beat her. She’d sometimes accept and sometimes reject medical treatment, but always refused to press charges.”

You wish you weren’t so cold in your heart about her. “Turns out, one of the older cops knew the beater from when he’d get called to the his house when the beater was a kid, can you believe that? He gets beat, then does it when he grows up. She gets beat, then she turns around and beats her own kid.”

“I can believe it, unfortunately,” Dale responds sadly. "It can become a learned behavior, as heartbreaking as it is."

“So what’s to say that ain’t Ed? W-what’s Sophia gonna be like when she’s grown?”

“Just breathe, kiddo.”

You listen, and control your breaths until you can speak again. “At first I hated that I had to help that kid’s mama. And I-I hated her. But then—well, I talked to my mama, she explained some things. Said how it can be a vicious cycle. After that, I grew too sad to hate her.”

“It can be a vicious cycle," he allows. "But certainly not always, nowhere near. There’s always hope, always another way. I do think that the idea that abused people will turn around to do the same can be a self-fulfilling prophecy, and a very harmful one. I think that, in general, people recognize when bad happened to them, and generally don’t have the desire to cause more of the same.”

You feel calmer. “Yeah. Mama always treated us gentle, she'd barely even shout. She was extra-cautious about shouting around our fosters," you add. "She would say how grateful she was that she'd learned about healthy love and not ended up married to another beater. Dad was wonderful."

“Ah, so your mother was…mistreated, once before?”

Shoot, you hadn’t meant to blab!

You freeze.

Dale seems to understand and nods. “She sounds like she was a wonderful woman. A good person.”

You close your eyes and smile. Also, you well up again, but it’s more of a happy tear situation, so it’s an upgrade. “She was. She would’ve adored you, tell you what,” you sniff. "I wish she made it, she would've felt so blessed to have found the people here."

“Why so?”

You shrug. “She was the kind of person who loved everybody. Sometimes we called her 'too good for her own good.' But as for you, you’re all just good. I mean, you heard what Teddy said to Daryl about why he was goin’ to Atlanta to help save the nazi – sorry! I know I should call him by his name.”

Dale happened to have been privy to you first noticing the SS symbol on Merle’s motorcycle as well as your subconsciously made but very real flinch in response to it.

“He alluded to his decisions being due to something other than himself,” Dale nods. “That he was doing it because it was right, and that his beliefs dictated that he do the right thing regardless, despite what Merle may have done to him, or what his other side may have thought the man deserved.”

There’s that word again. Deserved. “Yeah. I still wish ‘deserving’ was a more objective word, don’t you?”

“Especially these days, kiddo. We don’t know what went on with someone to make them who they are or to tell us why they do what they do. And in the end, it doesn’t matter as much as how we ourselves behave. If more people acted based on what was right, as opposed to the idea of someone needing to be ‘deserving’ of it –”

“Unless they think that everyone deserves to be treated well!” you interrupt. You feel light enough now to make an obnoxious addition like that.

“Unless that, absolutely,” Dale chuckles. “And well, the world would be a much better place. Even with these, uh, zombies –”

“Walkers. I think everybody’s gonna go with walkers.”

“A step up from ‘geeks,’” Dale considered, a twinkle in his eye. “And slightly clearer than ‘sick people’ or ‘infected,’ and easier to say than ‘roamers.’ Mm, I think I’ll enjoy this new moniker. ‘Walkers,’” he repeats. “It’s certainly more euphemistic than the ‘dead ones’ or ‘zombies.’”

“And it sounds cool, as befittin’ the zombie apocalypse.”

“Ahem, I thought it was made clear that they’re ‘walkers’ now?”

You scrunch up your nose at him. “Ah, forgive my blunder Mr. Horvath.”

Dale is now smiling broadly at you. “Ready to head out, kiddo? Or do you need to slow-roast in here a little longer?”

You stand up and stretch, bending your knees a few times. “I most certainly might would hide longer you were able to crank the AC in here.”

He turns and walks to the door, with you right behind him. “Gotta save as much power and gasoline as we can, troublemaker.”

You groan. “Please don’t make that my nickname, Dale?”

A wink. “We’ll see.”