In Their Shadows (4)
Tw: mentions of wounds, physical exhaustion, mentions of childhood physical abuse, and a general warning
Stepping out of the car makes you feel dizzy, the sound of your heart pumping and your blood rushing loud in your ears as you try to follow Daryl’s instructions and stand off to the side while he regroups with Rick. A moment. Just a moment, he said, and then you can go home and rest.
And believe me, that's all you want to do.
The moment you get a chance to, you're going to ask Daryl about heading to the safe point and staying there for a few days. –At least until you can recover from all that's happened and explain yourself to him.
You tug at the sides of the oversized dress shirt, hunching over to make yourself appear smaller in the hope that people won't notice you right away. Daryl has already started moving over to Rick, getting the attention of most people. They should just keep their eyes over there and not on you, not look back this way or take any time to think about what's wrong with you, why you're standing practically pinned to the car.
It's futile. The moment you opened the passenger door, you knew it was over. The others spot you in a matter of seconds, a wave of confused and vaguely shocked looks washing over their faces, but they thankfully don't look to you for answers. You hardly ever have them, and you're sure they doubt your ability to give a satisfying answer with clipped, nervous sentences. Most of them turn away or direct their attention to Daryl for answers about the situation and what happened to the two of you.
Carl doesn’t.
He stays right where he is near the gates, his face going from distrust, to confusion, then finally recognition as he runs his eye over the contours of your face, catching something familiar.
But it’s your eyes that seal the deal.
Those glittery pools with little slits of green. It's barely noticeable to the naked eye, but if you're paying close attention all the underlying colors are clear as day, it's one of his favorite things in the world. It almost made him jealous, for you to have one of the most common eye colors in the world and still have so much going on within. But he’d be damned if that wasn't the most perfect manifestation of who you are. –Bland as dirt, ordinary on the outside, with so much beauty within that someone would have to spend their entire life trying to understand you to get an idea of it.
Even he was still trying to decode them when you'd been taken from Alexandria. He wanted to know you, to understand what made you, his closest friend, tick, but he never did.
Carl blinks a few times, coming back to himself only to be dumbfounded and alarmed by your beaten appearance. One cuff is still dangling from your wrist, a myriad of wounds old and new peeking out at him from your clearly stolen clothes. –And that's just what he can see from afar.
This reunion is… going a whole lot different than he expected.
He takes a few cautious steps forward, his hand slipping from where it had been resting on his beretta 92.
You do the same, bracing yourself as you push away from the car and prepare to meet him halfway, not even close to ready to face the consequences of your lies.
The two of you stop short of a foot away from each other, his baby blue trailing up from your stolen shoes that you keep narrowly avoiding tripping in, to the walkie hooked into the band of your underwear, to your unbound chest, before finally landing on your face, his eye narrowing. He must be putting it all together… Or what he can at least.
You wince, holding your breath for the worst, only to snap your head back up to look at him when all he says is;
“Your hair got longer.”
Not angry, not demanding, nor sad. Just simply him, Carl, stating a fact with the same objectivity one would use to tell the weather. Then he reaches out, hesitating to wait for any objection before he starts playing with a lock of your hair, looking focused.
You can't help the teary laugh that escapes you.
“No seriously,” He insists, smiling fondly. “Wait any longer to come back and your hair might've been longer than mine.”
He pulls his lower lip into his mouth, clearly struggling with the brave face he's putting on.
These past five weeks have been horrific for everyone. With the destruction of Alexandria giving everyone left no choice but to relocate to Hilltop, Rick's terror when he found out about the man Carl had been keeping in the sewers and nearly gotten bit saving, and the recapture of his closest companion Daryl, this past month has left everyone hanging on by the skin of their teeth.
If Siddiq hadn't turned out to be a doctor, Maggie would have been out of luck for help giving birth when the time came. She could have ended up like Lori. Carl could tell everyone was thinking the same thing, their eyes averted and downcast with every bout of pain she found herself in, the baby inside of her about as sure as Schrödinger's cat.
But now she's getting regular appointments with the man like that's the way it's always been. She's healthy, the group is free of Negan's rule other than the war they know is coming, and The Kingdom is prospering.
He was just watching his father and thinking that the only thing that would have made it better was having the entire group reunited when Daryl called and they rushed over here to meet you at the gates of Alexandria.
“Uhm,” Carl takes another step forward, nearly closing the distance between you. He would hug you, but given the way you're looking right about now he's not sure if that's such a good idea. “I'm really glad you're–”
“Bambi,” Rick calls sternly from beside the two of you, trying to get your attention.
You turn and give him the same deer in headlights look you always do when he uses that sharp tone, hands beginning to fidget over your stomach as if riddled with guilt despite having done nothing wrong.
“You're not in trouble,” He adds, looking you up and down before sending a disheartened glance Daryl’s way.
They exchange a silent look, probably something at least partially to do with the conversation they had via radio, before Rick turns his attention back to you again.
“I need your wrist,” He explains, motioning to your cuffed hand.
You look down at it, pulling your hands apart to get a good look at it yourself as if it's the first time.
Rick is trustworthy, you know that… or you did, but you don't feel too keen about letting him near you injuries without knowing why, especially now that he knows you were lying to him. He hasn't had time to process the information and react to it. What if he decides he is actually mad about it once he has you in his grasp?
The worry is completely baseless going off of what you know about the man, but it doesn't stop you from thinking about it. Closer people have turned on you.
Rick tries a different approach.
“You're all cut up around there, huh? They let you get rope burn?” He questions, kneeling down in front of you and slowly reaching backward to retrieve the key in his rear pocket. “‘Gotta get that off’ you so my friend can take a look at your injuries. –I bet they hurt.”
They do hurt…
He takes your wrist into his hands, simply holding it for a moment before he does anything, giving you an opportunity to deny him permission instead of pushing you like he had when you'd first arrived. Rick is rewarded for this with your compliance, the muscles in your arm going slack as he does his best to get the cuffs off without hurting you, despite the fact the key to his handcuffs isn't an exact match.
The man seems a bit stressed, probably thinking about all the other tools they might have to resort to when you hear a click, and he releases you.
“Alright,” He says with relief, wiping at his sweaty brow as he stands up straight. “That's one problem out of the way.”
“Need'a get behind walls,” Daryl says skeptically, looking around like he's expecting something to happen at any minute. “S'not safe here.”
Rick's lip twitches. “I told you–”
“I know what you said,” Daryl interrupts, stalking his way over until he can take his place next to you, an unfamiliar man approaching from another vehicle with a messenger bag slung over his shoulder. “Jus’ wait.”
You look to Daryl for answers when you realize the man is coming directly over to the two of you, but all he does is give your shoulder another singular squeeze.
“Hello, I'm Siddiq,” The man offers once he's close enough that he's sure you can hear one another, extending his hand out to you. “I was uh– I am a doctor.”
You don't take it, looking up at Rick with your best what the hell look. Last you checked, Alexandria didn't have a doctor and all the roads leading to the place were blocked, so where did they find this guy? Rick said he was a friend? Did he mean from before?
The man doesn't seem surprised by your reluctance, giving a thin smile and nod to both men near you.
“I hear you don't talk very often, Bambi,” He begins, turning on his flashlight and pointing it towards your ears. “Gunshot wound, old scarring, but there's nothing new. Hearing shouldn't be damaged,” He notes, moving the light in front of your face. “Can you tell me why that is?”
You turn away, grimacing and looking towards Daryl for help, but Siddiq seems to notice himself and points the beam upwards instead.
“Now this might be difficult for you if where you were kept was dark,” He starts, speaking more softly to you as if you're some kind of child he has to placate. “But can you please follow this end–” He accentuates by tapping on the tip of the light, “–With your eyes?”
Daryl scoffs, narrowing his eyes. “He– She's partially mute. She ain't stupid.”
The man glances back at Daryl without turning his head, continuing to test you for a concussion or any life threatening injuries that may kill you before you can get to Hilltop.
“She seems alright…” The man concludes, sounding unsure of himself. “But when we all get back she should definitely be treated. If the wounds she has that aren't infected aren't properly cleaned, they'll be infected too and she could wind up with a lot worse.”
“Mm,” Daryl grunts in acknowledgement, crossing his arms over his chest.
The man straightens his back and turns his focus to Daryl, holding up the flashlight. “Now, for you. If you'd let me to do the same, I could–”
“No way,” Daryl denies. “‘S not happenin’, put your crappy lil’ gadgets back in yer’ coat doctor.”
You give the two a nervous look, recalling the last semi-normal conversation you had with Daryl before you were both taken– about the scars from his father's belt, and the similar ones lining your own body.
He'd been reluctant to let you see his at first, but one day you came into the house while his shirt was in the sink and pounced on him from behind, hardly even looking at the raised skin as you hooked your arms around his neck and tried to playfully take him down in the way he taught you. After that, he didn't seem to really care what state you saw him in as long as it wasn't a fatal injury…
But right now there are too many eyes on him. The doctor's not going to be able to reach around his clothes like he did with you, because Daryl is in a sweat suit. He'd have to take it off.
You part your lips planning on saying something to ease the tension between them, when you feel another sharp pain and close your mouth with a gulp, one hand absent-mindedly touching your throat. –And like a good doctor, Siddiq catches it.
“Are you feeling some pressure around that area?” He asks, looking at the mostly untouched skin of your neck. “There's not much to see out here, but it couldn't hurt to check. Open wide?”
You scrunch your nose up at the idea but after a moment passes and you realize he's not going to let it slide, you open your mouth, sticking your tongue out so he can see the wound there.
“What is it?” Daryl asks, seeing the look on Siddiq's face shift. “Infection?”
“No, thankfully,” Siddiq sighs, stepping back from you. “It looks like someone made an attempt to sever her tongue.”
“And that's better to you?” Daryl asks incredulously, eyes wide.
A wave of unsettled and concerned looks passes over a few of the group close enough to have heard the news, the people close enough to get a glimpse trying to peek around the doctor and catch sight of your mouth. But before anyone can, you shut it again.
“Siddiq,” Rick hisses in response to Daryl’s reaction, warning the man that he's on thin ice. –He already risked Carl’s life, he doesn't need him pissing off Daryl in addition.
The doctor lowers his head bashfully.
“Not better per say, but the incision is only about half a centimeter thick. It's something I know can be fixed with the proper care,” He explains, taking a small step back from the man who has apparently designated himself your protector. “Not to mention, the tongue is a muscle. The injuries there can hurt quite a bit and they're prone to infection, yes, but it's not currently swollen or impairing her speech in any way from what I can tell. Which is good. –Just don't be too worried right now. Remember, people used to bisect their tongues before everything for style.”
Daryl narrows his eyes at the man, turning you towards him by the shoulder and using some of the non-verbal hand signals you used to use when you first arrived to say see, as in, let him see.
You loll your tongue out again, starting to feel a little ridiculous, and more than glad that Carl stepped away when he saw Siddiq begin to check you out.
The man stares at the long, ugly slit placed horizontally across your tongue, nothing like the ones people used to get before the apocalypse happened.
“Sure,” He growls out, side-eyeing the man.
Rick scrunches his noise up at the entire interaction, turning his back on the bickering to motion to the group with a flick of his wrist.
“Let's head out!”
He'd only brought so many armed people in the first place because he wasn't sure if you'd been followed. But now that he's sure everything's in order, it's time to get moving and get everything and everyone all back to safety.
The group all begins moving towards their cars. Daryl hooks his arm around your shoulders and leads you towards Tara’s where she’s sat waiting in the driver’s seat, a pair of plastic orange slatted sunglasses on her face. She greets Daryl with a raised hand when he slides into the back, then turns the key in the ignition. You quickly follow him inside, seeing Rosita hooking your stolen vehicle up to Aaron’s truck, presumably to dump it into the lake with all other lost possessions of the Saviors.
“Ey,” He calls, tapping you on the head when he sees you staring intently out of the window when you pull off, your hands hooked onto the window ledge. “Get some rest if ya’ can. I got this.”
You're going to deny the offer when he pulls your head down onto his shoulder and forces you to stay there, his hand locked in place until your nervous breathing evens out. He had a feeling there was no way you'd still be awake if it weren’t for pure adrenaline, and he was right. Your eyes start to flutter shut.
“I'll wake you up when we get there,” He promises.
*
*
*
The second you two are out of the car you get separated –against your will and with much resistance on your part, as much you can muster half asleep with drool still running down your face anyway– then ushered away to a weird looking room you realize is supposed to be a doctor's office where Siddiq starts patching up surface injuries as quickly as he can.
Eventually he starts to slow down when he reaches the last few scrapes on you, and you relax, leaning back on your hands on the table repeating Daryl’s words to yourself to stay calm.
Just a moment.
“I'm going to try and get you out of here as fast as I can, Bambi, but I need to be thorough. You understand that, yes?” The man says, pulling you from your mind. “This might be a big ask, but… would you mind taking off your clothes so I can treat the rest of you?”
What the– You lean away from him, scrunching up your face like a rabid dog to let him know that you would in fact mind that.
“Okay, okay,” He says, holding up his hands in submission. “I'm not going to force you into letting me treat you. I heard about your… uhm, hiding, but since you won't tell me the severity of your wounds, would you mind nodding while I list a few for you? I just want to help. –Promise.”
That sounds… alright.
You lean back in, showing him that you're engaged but keeping your eyes narrowed to let him know that he's pushing it. You already aren't a fan of the way he was talking to Daryl.
He starts off by listing some wounds and injuries he can think of off the top of his head, eventually resorting to looking through a medical text book just to cover all his bases and avoid facing the wrath of screwing something up in Hilltop. After that, he leads you to a pantry where all the medical supplies are stored and starts rummaging for antibiotics to treat your infections, recommending a healthy diet to follow so that you can regain all the weight you lost, plus some.
All that really means to you in that moment is that he's distracted.
So while he has his back turned, you take what you need and stuff it into your boot.
*
*
*
The farmer wipes the sweat from his neck, tonguing his front teeth as he considers Rick’s question.
“Well… there’s a house over there. –Actually, closer to a barn if I’m honest,” He laughs to himself, pointing in the direction of a shoddy looking two story shack. “But should be good ‘nough for a few nights sleep… Kids love it,” He says, making eye contact with you. “Especially the loft.”
You look away.
“That sounds great,” Rick says before you or Daryl can say what's on your mind after a day of being poked at. “Thank you again, for everythin’ you've given to us.”
The farmer nods. “We wouldn't be alive right now if it weren't for Maggie, and she wouldn't be alive if it weren’t for you and your boy. It's a circle, my friend. –A tiny circle. Could go ‘round and ‘round with it all day.”
Rick laughs awkwardly at that, pushing you and Daryl towards the house when he opens his mouth to respond, most likely bitter and sarcastically, to what the man said.
The house is boring on the outside, made mostly of unpainted grey wood, and just like the farmer said, it really is closer to a barn. It has large double doors with a sliding mechanism, hay bales for their horses everywhere, and an open loft horseshoeing around above you in place of a real second floor. The place smells like sweat, gunpowder, and the rot of walkers just like every other place. It's not a shock, but it's in stark contrast to the medical office you'd just been in.
You're vaguely aware of the conversation Rick and Daryl are having behind you, but honestly you're too exhausted to listen to the brotherly chatter. Instead you search the barn with your eyes until Rick's gone on his way and Daryl turns to you.
“Used to think of askin’ you ‘bout movin’ outta the Rick's house, but I was afraid you'd agree,” He laughs, slapping your shoulder blade in a friendly way. “Now look at us.”
You give him a long, tired stare, hoping he'll understand.
He nods, pulling you close and knocking your foreheads together. “Go check out the loft, I heard they left ya’ some stuff. –Good stuff. Candy and all that crap.”
With that you grin at him, hoping that your genuine excitement reaches past the weary feeling chaining you down and makes it to your eyes. Then you venture up the ladder and make your way over to where you see a hint of pink that matches the sunset peeking out from the hay, discovering that it's a bundle of multicolored blankets.
You unbundle them and find a random assortment of things that were left for you. Most notably, some home-made cookies wrapped in cheese cloth and a book meant for someone with a 4th grade reading comprehension.
The age you were when everything went to shit.
“Bea!” Daryl calls from downstairs, waiting for you to pop over the side of the railing before he continues. “I'm goin’ to Maggie's, need'a see her!”
You give him a thumbs up and watch him leave before you go back to setting up the area you plan to sleep in, using the hay stacks to your advantage to make something of a pillow fort.
It's just plush enough to be comfortable aside from the hay occasionally poking through the fabric, and with the battery powered string lights you found in a box labeled christmas decorations in the corner of the loft, it's really starting to shape up. It looks like somewhere you could see yourself staying for a long time, somewhere you could hide under the covers from the grotesque monsters just beyond the gates…
You frown, reaching into your boot and shoving the thin pink box you stole underneath the blankets, slightly burying it with straw.
“Bambi?”
You nearly jump out of your skin, barely covering the stolen item before you whip around and see Carl, his right hand resting on the rail.
“Carl,” You greet back quietly, your voice still a complete wreck.
If he's at all surprised that you responded, he doesn't show it on his face, instead coming over and plopping down on the blanket next to you, smiling dopily at you all the while.
“Agh,” He grunts, sprawling out on his back. “How ya’ doing?”
You feel your lips start to turn up and lie down next to him, arms crossed in front of you as you shrug.
God you missed him.
---
