When Daryl was a kid and his pop's screams got too loud, he'd climb the tree right out his window and onto his roof.
He remembers being snot nosed and cold all the time, gathering the part of his sweater that ran too long, balling them in his fist before wiping at his face. Merle, leaving him some dignity he'd like to think, never said anything 'bout the dried and crusted lines on the sweaters, which was good since they were usually his.
He remembers the sound of crickets singing and looking to the moon like she owed him something. He spent a lot of time wondering what exactly that was.
Days before the turn, Daryl'd been out hunting again. He had just lost his job down at garage for a fight that he didn't even start, so he rolled himself a few fat ass joints, threw his crossbow over his shoulder and left.
He remembers finding a clearing one night, where the treetops looked to meet the stars, and he laid there in the duff, watching his smoke dance in the glow and the silhouettes of owls fly against violet.
He didn't know how long he'd been knocked out, but it couldn't of been but midnight when helicopter lights polluted the sky and the sound of snarls and horror stuck shrieking woke him.
He didn't know it then, searching up for clear sky, that his loss was to be twofold.
Having hunted for as long as he had, and being as fast a learner as he had been too, Daryl picked up a few different tricks for finding his way in and out of a forests.
At night it gets a little harder, though, blunted visibility making for uncertain readings and the like, so he used what he had heard time and again, and looked to the North Star in hopes it'd guide him towards where he had to be.
As the world turned to shit, however, Daryl gave up and went back to simple tracking. Out of practicality and much practice.
Maybe he wasn't going to ever find where he needed to be, but it at least he knew how to get back where he ought to and how to scrounge up a decent meal once in a while - no matter how little of comfort that gave him.
Daryl hadn't contemplated the night since.
He kept his footing light, crossbow up.
Constantly, he stalked the noises, knowing better it than him, and better used to and wary of the sounds than not.
It's a wonder why the hell he found himself on a roof again.
Held up at a house at the end of a small sub-development, Daryl sat on the roof with his knees to his chest, blood splattered boots dug into algae covered panels.
He couldn't remember the last time the night was this quiet. No growls, no guns, no smoke in the sky, he couldn't understand how the fuck the stars could be as bright as they are, how it's been twelve days since they've been shacked up here and haven't came across one person dead or alive trying to give them the boot.
His heart stammering in his chest, Daryl hung his head between his knees and dug his fingers into his hair, pulling hard - wondering how long.
How long 'til it all got loud again.
"Daryl?"
"R-rick." Daryl sobbed, feeling like he was nine again as he dragged the back of a hand underneath his nose.
Rick climbed out of the large window and sat next to him. Even with his head down and eyes closed, Daryl knew that Rick was studying him. He could hear Rick sigh, hear his back crack when he bent in closer and how he wiped the tire from his face.
"It's ok, Daryl." Rick said, and shifted. "We're ok. I'm going to make sure we're going to be ok. All of us."
Daryl just shook his head, his forehead rested in his winter bitten palms, his elbows at his knees now.
"But if you need to be not-ok, right now, then be not-ok, on me." Rick continued. "Can you do that?"
Daryl turned up to him.
Rick looked years older than when they'd first met - heavy lidded and gray, with his mouth turned down in a way that'd rival a senior citizen's who'd lost concerned for how shameless a bitch life could be. But something willed his voice from wavering, and something kept Rick's legs from giving out when Daryl knew the man was tired of running.
"Now that we're all back together, I can't get it out of my head." Daryl sighed, wiping off his tears with a thumb.
"Rick, man, this can't last. It can't last. One day we're gunna run into another sick fuck's trap and it'll be all of us on the grill."
And what if they were separated again, he didn't say.
He felt his stomach drop. He couldn't even imagine trying to fight it all alone again. Not again. He didn't want to imagine a world where fighting for life didn't mean fighting for his family; for Carol, Maggie and Glenn, Tasha and Tyreese, Michonne, Carl, Lil Asskicker - for Rick.
"Fuck, I can't loose you." Daryl hiccoughed, pinching at the bridge of his nose.
"Tell you what," Rick croaked, shuffling closer. He grabbed Daryl by the neck, pulling him in, resting his forehead at Daryl's temples, his lips close to where Daryl's jaw and neck met.
Subdued, he didn't make to retreat, just sat pliant, his chest and tears, filling and falling.
"I meant what I said, Dare. I prayed once. I don't know why. Was half-conscious, lying on some couch and Carl yelled at me, said he didn't need me and I prayed to god that he was right because I didn't know if I was gunna die or not. I prayed to this god who I ain't ever been too close with and I asked for a miracle. Like I did back in that old church, I asked for any kind of sign that I've been doing the right thing, keeping myself, my family, my son alive."
Rick voice shook. Daryl could feel the uneven breath at his skin, jabbing at him just as hard as the words were.
"Then Michonne found us, got my boy to laugh again and I knew I'd find you. I fuckin meant it, I swear to you, that finding you meant everything. It meant finding reason I didn't know I could establish again, meant hope. You were the sign I needed to believe that my baby girl was out there - that our family was out there, you."
With a shutter all too different, Daryl turned to Rick this time, nudging him with his nose, shifting so their foreheads met.
"Tell you what" Rick murmured, his lips a few hairs away from Daryl's. "You don't believe in much right now? That's all fine because I believe well enough for the both of us."
"Rick," Daryl said low and like a question, his eyes fixated at their too close lips.
"What would you say if I said 'I loved you,'" Rick said low and like an answer, his smile crooked.
"I love you." Daryl murmured, finally bridging the gap between them.
Daryl remembers being out on his parent's roof and feeling nostalgic. He remembers the crickets' songs and looking up to the moon like she took something from him, but it wasn't the moon or Rick's god, wasn't the north star or any of 'em, was Rick himself that guided him to where he had to be. Was this, with his fingers entwined with Rick's, their family fast asleep, clean and fed, what he found in the still of the night – home.