Scraping By, Chapter 4: Past is Prologue
Title: Scraping By
Fandom: The Walking Dead
Rating: M
Disclaimer: All rights for The Walking Dead go to Robert Kirkman and AMC. This story takes place strictly in the TV show 'verse.
Chapter 4: Past is Prologue
Andrea was jolted out of a deep sleep by an unfamiliar noise. Groggy, she turned on her side and blinked at the dark figure hidden under several blankets. Whitney was curled tightly into herself and her hands were shoving at something unseen.
She was the source of the high-pitched keening sound that had filled the tent.
Andrea gently touched the woman's back and startled when the raw noise broke into horrible, body cramping sobs. She couldn't get her to wake up. Assuming that Zeke had been there for her before, Andrea unzipped the tent and almost ran into Daryl coming her way. He had Zeke by the collar and his hair was standing up everywhere like he'd been tossing and turning for hours.
"She okay?" he asked.
Whitney started wailing again and Daryl immediately let go of Zeke's collar. The mutt darted into Andrea's tent and started licking Whitney's face, pawing her arm, and whining quietly to wake her up.
Slightly uncomfortable, Daryl scratched his bare chest and tried to look anywhere but at Andrea or Whitney.
Shane hopped down off the roof of the RV and jogged over to them.
"S'going on here?" he asked.
Whitney woke up halfway through a scream and covered her mouth when she realized she was making the sound. Andrea ran back to her side and gathered her shaking body into a tight hug, making shushing sounds and smoothing her hair. Zeke crawled closer to his mistress' side and rested his head on his paws without taking his eyes off Whitney's face.
Daryl rubbed his face and glanced at Shane.
"Didn't seem like no nightmare I've ever seen," he confessed.
"That looked pretty awful," said Shane.
Daryl shuddered in the cool night air and crossed his arms. "I ain't gonna be able to sleep after that," he said. "I'll take last watch."
Shane nodded and only looked back twice as he walked to his tent. Whitney's sobbing had turned into the voiceless sort of crying that was almost suffocating. Daryl quickly grabbed the first T-shirt he found thrown in his duffel and yanked it on. Crossbow in hand, he sat on his heels in front of Andrea's tent and started chewing his thumbnail. The blonde woman peered at him and shifted Whitney so she could stop craning her neck to see his face better.
"Think she'll be okay?" he asked.
"I hope so."
Daryl kept on chewing his thumbnail and had to force himself to stand up again. "I'm goin' up. She might need one 'a them codeine pills from her bag. Her knee probably ain't thinkin' too kindly on how she was all squashed up."'
Andrea fought her instinctive amusement at Daryl's thoughtfulness and just nodded.
After one last look at Whitney and a gentle scratch between Zeke's shoulder blades, Daryl headed for Dale's RV.
Whitney calmed down enough for Andrea to hold her at arms length and use the sleeve of her nightshirt to wipe her face. "Was he right? D'you need a pill?"
Her face was pained and she was grinding her molars. She let out a gasp that sounded an awful lot like: "Fuck."
Andrea unzipped Whitney's backpack and grabbed the bottle of pills and her own bottled water. She helped the other woman swallow the tablet and resumed her previous back-rubbing. After some deep breathing exercises and several minutes of petting Zeke's back, Whitney was gathered together enough to sit back on her own.
"Sorry 'bout that," she said.
Andrea waved away the apology and reached down to pet Zeke with her. "Don't start that. Are you okay? Does that happen a lot?"
Whitney shrugged and tried to clear her throat of the frog that had been developing there. "It's hit or miss. I've been told that I talk in my sleep, too. If that's gonna bother you, then I'll-"
"Oh, hush. You're fine."
Whitney waited for the standard "what was the nightmare about" line of questions, but Andrea changed tactics on her. "I have never seen Daryl get that worked up over someone who wasn't his brother."
"That's twice I've heard a brother mentioned. Did he die?"
Andrea pursed her lips and looked at the tent flap as if Daryl was standing outside. "No one is a hundred percent certain of it. There were some rough circumstances and Rick handcuffed him to a pipe on the roof of a department store. I didn't see what happened, but T-Dog said he dropped the key on accident just before we left. He chained and padlocked the door to the roof when he left. Daryl went back to the city to get him, but Merle… Apparently he sawed his hand off and cauterized the stump right before he stole the cube truck the guys were using. They missed him completely."
Whitney considered the trauma that self-amputation caused, factored in a self-cauterization, added the summer Georgian sun, and came up with odds of survival that were "not good at best."
"Jesus H. Christ on rubber crutches," she murmured.
"Look," said Andrea, "maybe it would be better if you got the rest of this story from Daryl. I'm a little too involved in the matter to give you an idea of what Merle was like when he was… Sober."
"He was drunk at the time?"
"Rick said he was high. Very high. I have no idea if Daryl knows," she raised her hands in submission and fought a yawn. "Are you going to be able to sleep again?"
Whitney pulled on a hooded sweatshirt and shook her head. "I don't think so. I'll see you when you wake up, okay? Thanks for… Well, just thanks."
Andrea slumped back down into her sleeping bag and pulled a blanket over her head while Whitney unzipped the tent flap again. The blonde fell back to sleep listening to the newest member of the group order Zeke to stay put as she zipped the tent back up.
Whitney shoved her hands in her pockets and limped over to the RV. As quietly as possible, she climbed the ladder to the roof and saw Daryl checking the tree line.
"Couldn't go back to sleep?" he guessed, his attention still trained on the bushes that rustled in the night breeze.
"It's a lost cause now that I'm up. Thought I might as well keep you company."
Daryl shrugged and gestured at the extra lawn chair.
As he looked to the east and Whitney looked westward, Daryl sighed. "You gonna be alright?" he asked.
Whitney tugged her hoodie over her bare knees and huddled in her seat in a little ball. "Yeah, I'll be fine. Just some…"
"Bad memories?"
She glanced at his face and caught him looking at her for a split second. "Pretty fuckin' awful memories," she clarified.
Daryl finally took some time to observe her without feeling like he was peeking. He could see in the soft light of the full moon that Whitney was small, tanned from months outside, dark blonde with grey eyes, and her hands were covered in scars. She had one white scar slicing through her left eyebrow and a few smaller ones on her forehead and chin.
They were quiet for a few minutes, just content to observe each other's face. For once, Whitney didn't feel like she was standing outside her own body when she started to speak about something very personal. She zeroed in on the mole beside his upper lip and cleared her throat nervously.
"Um, it was some looters in the city limits of Macon. One of 'em pretended to be hurt and two others came up behind me and shoved me on the ground. They cut up my hands to keep me from clawin' their eyes out. I dunno how many times they slammed my face into the pavement, but it was enough to give me a concussion," she took a few moments to gather enough composure to continue and started to stare at her hands.
"To be absolutely clear, they didn't get far enough to… I mean, Zeke came out of nowhere when they were rippin' my jeans and he took out the lead guy's throat. He wouldn't leave my side after that. I don't even know why I named 'im 'Zeke' or where in the hell he came from. But he saved me," she paused and he watched her play with the string on her hood. "Do you think that means people have less morals that fuckin' dogs?"
"I reckon so. Dogs know things 'bout people that we can't tell right off," he said. Daryl checked the trees again and smiled a little. "Good thing he ripped out that asshole's throat."
"Shook 'im, too."
"Give that dog a Milkbone."
Whitney laughed a little at that and hugged her legs tighter to ward off the chill. She liked being able to have human company that didn't constantly talk to hear his own head rattle. Daryl seemed to be the kind of man who only spoke when necessary. It was a rare quality.
She waited until the mood tapered off before asking him the question that had been bugging her for a little while now. "You mentioned a brother when we were in the truck, and then Andrea said somethin' about it in the tent just a few minutes ago… What happened? I mean, I understand if you don't-"
"They cuffed 'im to a roof in Atlanta. Left 'im there. I went back to find 'im, but he sawed off his own hand and ran off with our cube truck."
He said it all like he was ripping off a bandage.
Whitney watched him jam his thumbnail between his front teeth and start chewing on the cuticle. She waited for him to settle a bit before she continued.
"Andrea mentioned that he was pretty high when Rick cuffed him."
Daryl's head snapped to the side to meet her eyes, instantly checking for any deception within. Whitney was used to delivering cold hard facts like that and simply held his eyes with her own. He swallowed hard and ran his hand across his face. She could see the first stages of anger wrinkle his brow and reached over to grab his free hand.
He almost jerked away from her, but Whitney tightened her grip and leaned across his lap to grab his shoulder. "You didn't-"
"Fuck!" Daryl tried to push her away, but Whitney was expecting him to fight her. "God dammit, woman, let me go!"
"No, Daryl. Not until you listen to-"
"Asshole swore he was done with that shit!" he met her eyes again and the anger contorting his face smoothed a bit. His face fell and she could see disappointment of the deepest kind twist his mouth. "Asshole," he repeated.
Whitney squeezed his shoulder and slowly let go of him. She knew not to say "sorry," and stayed beside him until the pill she'd taken made her drowsy enough that she started nodding off. Daryl cleared his throat and gently shoved her arm.
"Go on. Get some sleep, woman."
Whitney nodded and made her way back to Andrea's tent. She unzipped the flap and crept in, falling face-first on the sleeping bag. Zeke uncurled himself from his spot next to Andrea's disheveled head and laid at Whitney's feet with his head aimed at the open flap. He sat in silent watch of the camp and made sure his mistress stayed safe.
Chapter 3: Fireside Chat | Chapter 5: Discourse
Fandom: The Walking Dead
Rating: M
Disclaimer: All rights for The Walking Dead go to Robert Kirkman and AMC. This story takes place strictly in the TV show 'verse.
Chapter 4: Past is Prologue
Andrea was jolted out of a deep sleep by an unfamiliar noise. Groggy, she turned on her side and blinked at the dark figure hidden under several blankets. Whitney was curled tightly into herself and her hands were shoving at something unseen.
She was the source of the high-pitched keening sound that had filled the tent.
Andrea gently touched the woman's back and startled when the raw noise broke into horrible, body cramping sobs. She couldn't get her to wake up. Assuming that Zeke had been there for her before, Andrea unzipped the tent and almost ran into Daryl coming her way. He had Zeke by the collar and his hair was standing up everywhere like he'd been tossing and turning for hours.
"She okay?" he asked.
Whitney started wailing again and Daryl immediately let go of Zeke's collar. The mutt darted into Andrea's tent and started licking Whitney's face, pawing her arm, and whining quietly to wake her up.
Slightly uncomfortable, Daryl scratched his bare chest and tried to look anywhere but at Andrea or Whitney.
Shane hopped down off the roof of the RV and jogged over to them.
"S'going on here?" he asked.
Whitney woke up halfway through a scream and covered her mouth when she realized she was making the sound. Andrea ran back to her side and gathered her shaking body into a tight hug, making shushing sounds and smoothing her hair. Zeke crawled closer to his mistress' side and rested his head on his paws without taking his eyes off Whitney's face.
Daryl rubbed his face and glanced at Shane.
"Didn't seem like no nightmare I've ever seen," he confessed.
"That looked pretty awful," said Shane.
Daryl shuddered in the cool night air and crossed his arms. "I ain't gonna be able to sleep after that," he said. "I'll take last watch."
Shane nodded and only looked back twice as he walked to his tent. Whitney's sobbing had turned into the voiceless sort of crying that was almost suffocating. Daryl quickly grabbed the first T-shirt he found thrown in his duffel and yanked it on. Crossbow in hand, he sat on his heels in front of Andrea's tent and started chewing his thumbnail. The blonde woman peered at him and shifted Whitney so she could stop craning her neck to see his face better.
"Think she'll be okay?" he asked.
"I hope so."
Daryl kept on chewing his thumbnail and had to force himself to stand up again. "I'm goin' up. She might need one 'a them codeine pills from her bag. Her knee probably ain't thinkin' too kindly on how she was all squashed up."'
Andrea fought her instinctive amusement at Daryl's thoughtfulness and just nodded.
After one last look at Whitney and a gentle scratch between Zeke's shoulder blades, Daryl headed for Dale's RV.
Whitney calmed down enough for Andrea to hold her at arms length and use the sleeve of her nightshirt to wipe her face. "Was he right? D'you need a pill?"
Her face was pained and she was grinding her molars. She let out a gasp that sounded an awful lot like: "Fuck."
Andrea unzipped Whitney's backpack and grabbed the bottle of pills and her own bottled water. She helped the other woman swallow the tablet and resumed her previous back-rubbing. After some deep breathing exercises and several minutes of petting Zeke's back, Whitney was gathered together enough to sit back on her own.
"Sorry 'bout that," she said.
Andrea waved away the apology and reached down to pet Zeke with her. "Don't start that. Are you okay? Does that happen a lot?"
Whitney shrugged and tried to clear her throat of the frog that had been developing there. "It's hit or miss. I've been told that I talk in my sleep, too. If that's gonna bother you, then I'll-"
"Oh, hush. You're fine."
Whitney waited for the standard "what was the nightmare about" line of questions, but Andrea changed tactics on her. "I have never seen Daryl get that worked up over someone who wasn't his brother."
"That's twice I've heard a brother mentioned. Did he die?"
Andrea pursed her lips and looked at the tent flap as if Daryl was standing outside. "No one is a hundred percent certain of it. There were some rough circumstances and Rick handcuffed him to a pipe on the roof of a department store. I didn't see what happened, but T-Dog said he dropped the key on accident just before we left. He chained and padlocked the door to the roof when he left. Daryl went back to the city to get him, but Merle… Apparently he sawed his hand off and cauterized the stump right before he stole the cube truck the guys were using. They missed him completely."
Whitney considered the trauma that self-amputation caused, factored in a self-cauterization, added the summer Georgian sun, and came up with odds of survival that were "not good at best."
"Jesus H. Christ on rubber crutches," she murmured.
"Look," said Andrea, "maybe it would be better if you got the rest of this story from Daryl. I'm a little too involved in the matter to give you an idea of what Merle was like when he was… Sober."
"He was drunk at the time?"
"Rick said he was high. Very high. I have no idea if Daryl knows," she raised her hands in submission and fought a yawn. "Are you going to be able to sleep again?"
Whitney pulled on a hooded sweatshirt and shook her head. "I don't think so. I'll see you when you wake up, okay? Thanks for… Well, just thanks."
Andrea slumped back down into her sleeping bag and pulled a blanket over her head while Whitney unzipped the tent flap again. The blonde fell back to sleep listening to the newest member of the group order Zeke to stay put as she zipped the tent back up.
Whitney shoved her hands in her pockets and limped over to the RV. As quietly as possible, she climbed the ladder to the roof and saw Daryl checking the tree line.
"Couldn't go back to sleep?" he guessed, his attention still trained on the bushes that rustled in the night breeze.
"It's a lost cause now that I'm up. Thought I might as well keep you company."
Daryl shrugged and gestured at the extra lawn chair.
As he looked to the east and Whitney looked westward, Daryl sighed. "You gonna be alright?" he asked.
Whitney tugged her hoodie over her bare knees and huddled in her seat in a little ball. "Yeah, I'll be fine. Just some…"
"Bad memories?"
She glanced at his face and caught him looking at her for a split second. "Pretty fuckin' awful memories," she clarified.
Daryl finally took some time to observe her without feeling like he was peeking. He could see in the soft light of the full moon that Whitney was small, tanned from months outside, dark blonde with grey eyes, and her hands were covered in scars. She had one white scar slicing through her left eyebrow and a few smaller ones on her forehead and chin.
They were quiet for a few minutes, just content to observe each other's face. For once, Whitney didn't feel like she was standing outside her own body when she started to speak about something very personal. She zeroed in on the mole beside his upper lip and cleared her throat nervously.
"Um, it was some looters in the city limits of Macon. One of 'em pretended to be hurt and two others came up behind me and shoved me on the ground. They cut up my hands to keep me from clawin' their eyes out. I dunno how many times they slammed my face into the pavement, but it was enough to give me a concussion," she took a few moments to gather enough composure to continue and started to stare at her hands.
"To be absolutely clear, they didn't get far enough to… I mean, Zeke came out of nowhere when they were rippin' my jeans and he took out the lead guy's throat. He wouldn't leave my side after that. I don't even know why I named 'im 'Zeke' or where in the hell he came from. But he saved me," she paused and he watched her play with the string on her hood. "Do you think that means people have less morals that fuckin' dogs?"
"I reckon so. Dogs know things 'bout people that we can't tell right off," he said. Daryl checked the trees again and smiled a little. "Good thing he ripped out that asshole's throat."
"Shook 'im, too."
"Give that dog a Milkbone."
Whitney laughed a little at that and hugged her legs tighter to ward off the chill. She liked being able to have human company that didn't constantly talk to hear his own head rattle. Daryl seemed to be the kind of man who only spoke when necessary. It was a rare quality.
She waited until the mood tapered off before asking him the question that had been bugging her for a little while now. "You mentioned a brother when we were in the truck, and then Andrea said somethin' about it in the tent just a few minutes ago… What happened? I mean, I understand if you don't-"
"They cuffed 'im to a roof in Atlanta. Left 'im there. I went back to find 'im, but he sawed off his own hand and ran off with our cube truck."
He said it all like he was ripping off a bandage.
Whitney watched him jam his thumbnail between his front teeth and start chewing on the cuticle. She waited for him to settle a bit before she continued.
"Andrea mentioned that he was pretty high when Rick cuffed him."
Daryl's head snapped to the side to meet her eyes, instantly checking for any deception within. Whitney was used to delivering cold hard facts like that and simply held his eyes with her own. He swallowed hard and ran his hand across his face. She could see the first stages of anger wrinkle his brow and reached over to grab his free hand.
He almost jerked away from her, but Whitney tightened her grip and leaned across his lap to grab his shoulder. "You didn't-"
"Fuck!" Daryl tried to push her away, but Whitney was expecting him to fight her. "God dammit, woman, let me go!"
"No, Daryl. Not until you listen to-"
"Asshole swore he was done with that shit!" he met her eyes again and the anger contorting his face smoothed a bit. His face fell and she could see disappointment of the deepest kind twist his mouth. "Asshole," he repeated.
Whitney squeezed his shoulder and slowly let go of him. She knew not to say "sorry," and stayed beside him until the pill she'd taken made her drowsy enough that she started nodding off. Daryl cleared his throat and gently shoved her arm.
"Go on. Get some sleep, woman."
Whitney nodded and made her way back to Andrea's tent. She unzipped the flap and crept in, falling face-first on the sleeping bag. Zeke uncurled himself from his spot next to Andrea's disheveled head and laid at Whitney's feet with his head aimed at the open flap. He sat in silent watch of the camp and made sure his mistress stayed safe.
Chapter 3: Fireside Chat | Chapter 5: Discourse