THE WOLVES AT BAY
Summary: In the brief interlude between the showdown with the Claimers and the carnage at Terminus, Daryl and Rick take stock of everything they have lost and what little remains to them. Daryl wonders if the closeness they shared at the prison can survive the uncertainties ahead. [Rickyl]
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
XXX
We gonna fight a long time
We gonna fight your brother
We gonna fight til you lose
We gonna raise trouble
We gonna raise hell
- The Clash, "Death or Glory"
XXX
After, Daryl took Rick to the stream to wash. He did it for Carl, so the boy wouldn't have to see his dad, mouth stained red like a predator. He did it for Michonne, too. And for himself, so he could see Rick in the clear light of day and tell him with his eyes that he understood, that he was sorry.
The trees closed in around them and they walked in silence, Daryl following signs visible only to him. The tracks of a fox, a dip in the ground, changes in the wind. Rick followed, a pace behind. After nearly a quarter mile, Daryl found the stream.
He nodded at Rick to go ahead, and he scanned their surroundings with a sharp eye while Rick peeled off his shirt and crouched on the bank. It didn't feel right to watch, so he listened to Rick's yelp as he plunged his hands into the cold water and kept his eyes averted. He heard Rick groan and the sound made his breath catch. Everything they had shared at the prison now seemed like a chapter from someone else's life. On the run with Beth, keeping miserable company with the Claimers – he had begun to wonder if he hadn't just dreamed the whole thing up. The touches, the kisses, the feeling of Rick's body under him, around him… How could any of it have been real? You're my brother, Rick had said, staring deep into his eyes like he was trying to tell him something. But Daryl's shame had been too great, too consuming, for him to hold Rick's gaze for long.
"You sonuvabitch!"
Daryl started and looked at Rick in spite of himself.
Rick was sitting back on his heels, his hair dripping and the blood mercifully scrubbed from his beard. Daryl braced himself for the tirade he knew he deserved. Hell, he almost craved it.
"You tried to die for us."
That wasn't what Daryl had expected to hear. He shrugged. "'S what we do?" he said, but it came out questioning.
"Not like that." Rick's eyes were burning in his gaunt face. He looked almost deranged. "You told them to let us go, to take your blood instead."
"Yeah?" Daryl didn't understand what Rick was getting at. His life for the safe passage of Rick, Michonne and Carl seemed like small enough price to pay. Especially when it was his fault for running with those bastards in the first place.
"Offering to take someone's place is different from keeping each other alive."
"Rick," he said impatiently, "over my dead body is the only way any harm'd come to you, or our people. Your life, Carl's life, Michonne's – they're worth more'n mine."
"You believe that?" Daryl couldn't understand why Rick's tone was so flat and empty. Like Daryl had disappointed him, almost.
"What I mean is," Daryl said, stumbling, "your life is worth more to me than mine is." He watched, baffled, as Rick slumped to the ground, his hands covering his face. Daryl was frozen in place, unsure if he should go to Rick or back away until whatever spasm of madness had run its course and Rick came to his senses.
"You offered your blood," Rick said, muffled, through his hands. "Those men beating you to death, and then what he said he would do to Carl – the two people I most-"
Daryl's boots were rooted to the ground, his crossbow dangling limply from his hand.
"Christ." Rick's voice was muffled. "I went mad."
"That weren't madness." Daryl's voice, when he found it, was a hoarse croak. "Ain't nothin' worth tearin' yourself up over-"
"You don't understand." When Rick raised his head, his eyes were calm and steady, though his cheeks were wet with more than creekwater. "I'm not afraid of it, what I did back there. I'd do it again and again and not regret it any of those times either if I could save you and Carl."
"Then I guess we're even," Daryl said. "I do the bloodlettin' and you keep tearin' out throats, I reckon maybe we got a chance after all." Rick laughed, a weak chuckle, but still it was better than anything Daryl had heard in days. He added, "I hope Carl and Michonne got more sense'n us."
Rick nodded, but he seemed lost in thought, staring out across the stream.
"What?"
"I was thinking," Rick said, "how the things you've done. In the old world, people used to get medals for that sort of thing."
"Bullshit," Daryl said, his heart sinking. The losses piled up before him. Sophia – he hadn't found her in time. Hershel – killed in cold blood while he told Carl to keep his finger off the trigger. Beth – gone, just gone. He could hardly bear to think his brother's name.
His temper flared back to life. He advanced on Rick, raising his voice. "That's fucken bullshit an' you know it! People are dead on account of me. You'n'Carl, Michonne, the three of you damn near joined that list too."
Rick got to his feet, staggering slightly from exhaustion. He didn't look like a leader just then. He looked like a supplicant. And he raised a placating hand. "Not your fault, Daryl. I told you that-"
"My life shoulda been forfeit, and you're offering me a goddamn medal!"
He almost hated him, there in that moment. Hated the tremor in his hand, the jutting hipbones, the thin chest, most of all the calm voice when Rick said his name. "Daryl-"
"No!" He shoved Rick backwards, taking vindictive pleasure when the man stumbled. He advanced and shoved him again. Anger and something else were coursing through his veins and he paused, trying to figure out what the something else was. It was hesitation enough. Rick had regained his footing and he surged forward, seizing Daryl by the shoulders so forcefully their foreheads slammed together. Daryl grunted in pain and surprise. He jerked away. Rick was smirking, damn him, and altogether in spite of himself, Daryl felt the corner of his mouth rising.
"Dixon, you stubborn son of a bitch," Rick said.
"Fuck you," Daryl said, and it came out sounding almost like an endearment. Rick certainly seemed to think so, for he invaded Daryl's space again, gripping his arm and standing too close. By an act of sheer willpower, Daryl managed not to step back. They hadn't touched in so long, since before the fall of the prison, since before the sickness came… and he'd forgotten how to allow Rick in, how to stand nose to nose, eye to eye, without retreating, how to touch without flinching. It was a gentler Rick who had eroded the walls of his confusion, his fear, his shame. A Rick who planted cabbage and tomatoes and buried his gun in the ground. A Rick who was quick to laugh, slow to anger.
But this was a different Rick, a gaunter, leaner model, electric with ferocity. A Rick more like himself, perhaps. Unpredictable, feral. You're my brother. Maybe he was. They had grown so close over the past years that they moved as one, communicated without speaking. Daryl had felt himself changing, and was grateful for it. Confidence, compassion, leadership – qualities he never could have imagined were suddenly flourishing within him. All on account of Rick, the proximity, the companionship, the respect. Daryl had always thought it was a one-way transaction, with Rick's better qualities flowing into Daryl. What could he ever offer Rick in return? Nothing good, surely, just a canvas of scars and old anger. But today, on this cold, clear morning, Daryl realized he may have given him something after all. Something of the wild, predatory nature that had kept him, them, alive thus far. Something lethal.
"You still trust me?" Rick asked, pulling him out of his reverie.
"Hell'n'back," Daryl said, his breath shallow.
Rick's nostrils flared. "Come here."
If he moved any closer it would be an embrace. Daryl hesitated, and then he stepped in to Rick. Tentatively, he rested his hand against the cold damp skin of his shoulder, and Rick shuddered under his touch. Daryl buried his face in the crook between neck and shoulder. He could be weak for a moment, lips pressed against Rick's skin, before he tore into him like an animal devouring its prey as they fought for control. Mouths bruised, clothing torn, eyes flashing, until at the last second Rick would yield to him, let Daryl take him. That was how it always went, never any less thrilling and terrifying for all they'd agreed on how it would end before Daryl would allow Rick to undo so much as one button.
Now, he closed his eyes and nuzzled into Rick. Felt Rick's arms close around him. It made his throat constrict. Then he heard Rick chuckle. "What?" he growled, giving Rick's neck a little nip with his teeth.
"I just – ouch! – It's like I can't remember how to start," Rick said, his voice very deep and very warm. "Been so long. Used to be, you wouldn't let me kiss you at all." Daryl bit into his neck again. Rick made a whining sound in the back of his throat, but he was still talking, damn him. "You didn't trust me then. Not with that."
"Didn't want to be nobody's goddamn bitch," Daryl mumbled. "Told you that."
"You did. Still, woulda been a much more poetic start to the whole thing, if you'da quit fighting and just let me kiss you."
"Ain't fighting now," Daryl challenged, wondering what Rick was getting at.
Fingers tangled in the long hair at the nape of his neck, wrenching his head up. It detonated like an explosion, Rick's mouth hard on his, their teeth clicking together with the force of impact. Daryl tasted blood and felt Rick's tongue flicking against his split lip and he fought back, jamming his own tongue into the other man's willing mouth. Rick's hands remained in his hair, tugging as they jostled for dominance. Uncharacteristically, it was Daryl who sighed and eased back, turning the kiss into a shallow, open-mouthed thing, a gentle brushing of lips. They relaxed in to one another. Daryl traced the outline of Rick's mouth with his tongue, teasingly, and he felt Rick smile under him. Rick had taught Daryl to kiss nice, a lifetime ago back at the prison. Daryl's technique was akin to the collision of two trains, barreling towards one another at top speed. There could be bleeding and bruising. Rick had taught him there was pleasure to be had in gentleness, in delicacy. But this time it was Rick who drew blood, and Daryl who brought him back.
"We ain't got time for this," Daryl said huskily, pulling away. "We gotta get back to the others."
"Yeah." Rick wasn't smiling anymore. "I guess we better." He didn't move.
"What?"
"My boy's afraid of me," Rick said flatly. "He thinks I'm a monster. I could see it on his face."
Daryl almost said, you wouldn't have wanted to see his face if Joe made good on his threat, but he held back. Rick was still wrapping his mind around the true horror of what had almost happened, and maybe it was better if he never did. There was no reason for Daryl to spell it out for him. Daryl, who had no problem comprehending it at all, had stared into the eyes of men like Joe, men like his father, and known there was no one coming to save him.
"He'll get over it," he said instead. "He's a tough kid. He knows about fightin'. He knows what you gotta do."
Rick dragged his hands through his wet hair. He was shivering so Daryl found his shirt on the ground and roughly pulled it over his head. "C'mon, Rick," he said.
Rick's eyes were glassy and overbright. "I just… I just need…" his fists opened and closed uselessly. "Daryl…"
"What?" Daryl grasped his shoulder, squeezed it gently. "What do you need, Rick?"
"This. You."
"Rick…" he said, but it wasn't really a protest. His heart sped up as Rick leaned in to kiss him, softly this time and mindful of his split lip. He could feel Rick's erection, hard and persistent against his hip, and he ground their pelvises together, making them both groan.
"On the… on the ground," Rick whispered into his mouth, and Daryl bore him down to the grass, eagerly covering Rick's body with his own. It had been so long, and they had lost so much. Daryl thought he might come from the friction alone as they rubbed together through their jeans. He shoved Rick's shirt up over his ribs, kissing and biting at the skin revealed inch by inch. Rick was already fumbling between them, undoing his belt, undoing Daryl's. He muffled a shout into Rick's shoulder when he felt the familiar calloused hand wrap around his cock. "Take it easy," he growled; he was still fighting with Rick's button and zipper. "Else you want me to leave you behind?" Rick only chuckled, a bit breathlessly, and gave him a firm stroke, head to base. Daryl finally got the jeans unfastened, and Rick raised his hips accommodatingly so he could tug them down.
He nearly lost his mind at the feel of skin-on-skin, the heat of their erections rubbing up against each other. To distract himself, he shoved three of his fingers in Rick's mouth. "Suck," he commanded, and Rick obeyed, eyes blazing up at him as he drew Daryl's fingers deeper into his mouth, laving them with his hot tongue and coating them with saliva.
He hissed when Daryl slipped one finger inside him, crooking it gently against the tight ring of muscle. "That's it," Daryl mumbled, his voice coming out strange and gravelly as Rick relaxed into his touch. He added a second finger and Rick pushed back against him, growling deep in his throat.
"How d'you want it?" he ground out, working his fingers inside Rick.
"Hard," Rick bit back.
"Imma give it to you sweet then," Daryl whispered.
He slid into Rick, inch by excruciating inch. The other man tried to speed things along, bucking his hips up, but Daryl placed a hand on his chest and held him down. He was determined it would be slow, not just for the sake of their bruised and battered bodies, but so he could extend the moment as long as possible, impress the memory on his brain. If he was going to die today, tomorrow, or the next, he would close his eyes and see Rick's beloved face beckoning through the darkness.
Daryl would only fuck if he could see Rick, face-to-face. A faceless back became a nameless terror. Without Rick's eyes to anchor him and remind him where he was, who he was inside of, he would panic and wrench himself away, unable to explain the fear that ripped him out of time and place.
With Daryl's first long, languorous thrust, Rick inhaled sharply and tipped his head back. "Look at me," Daryl commanded, and Rick obeyed. Blue met blue, Rick's wide and sure, Daryl's narrow and watchful, the right blackened nearly shut.
Rick slid his hands under his shirt, stroking his back. Daryl felt calloused fingers running over his scars as they moved together, tracing the long ones made by the whip, the deep rectangular gouges left by the belt, the small puckered craters from when he was his old man's favorite ashtray. Rick was moaning, writhing under him, and now he was speeding up in spite of himself, thoughts of slow and sweet flung to the breeze as he fucked him hard and fast. "Rick…" he whispered. It was overpowering, his cock gripped in the tight heat of Rick's body, the hands reading history on his back, the blue eyes boring into his. He couldn't breathe. Rick was supposed to be dead, not ten hours ago he was nearly killed in front of him, and now they were joined together again, like before but nothing like before.
Rick pushed himself up on one elbow. "What's wrong?" He cupped Daryl's face and leaned in to kiss him. His lips were sweet, but Daryl could feel an immense pressure building up behind his eyes. "Switch," he said, almost inaudibly.
"What?"
It was torture, having to spell it out, when he was so close inside Rick and he could feel Rick's cock hard and pulsing against his belly, and his brain was a violent muddle of arousal and sorrow and trepidation. "You…" he croaked. "I want you to-"
"What do you want me to do? I'll do anything you want, Daryl." Rick was smiling crookedly up at him, so open and trusting, so unlike the maddened blood-drenched creature he had been earlier.
"I want you to do it to me." It took all the strength he had left to keep his eyes on Rick's, which widened in surprise.
"You want me to - ? But you said, when we started this thing-"
"I know what I said."
"Daryl." Rick didn't move a muscle. "You don't have to do this. I don't want you to feel like you have to-"
"I want it." It was impossible to stay still inside Rick; his hips juddered against the other man's, and they both gasped.
"You're not trying to – fuck, Daryl, if you're trying to give yourself some sort of punishment-" Rick looked so concerned for him that Daryl didn't know if he wanted to kiss or punch the man.
"Don't ask me to fucken explain it, Rick!" Daryl snapped. "I want you inside'a me, ain't that enough?" If he had the words for what he felt, he would have said, I want you to fill the emptiness inside me, I want you to take away the hollowness that's been eating me alive since I lost you, since I thought you were dead and gone from me forever, I want you to bring me back and remind me of who I was before we lost everything, everyone. I want you.
And Rick understood. Daryl could see him understand, watched the frown between his brows disappear. And he didn't miss the flicker of pure lust that darkened Rick's eyes to deep cobalt. He withdrew from Rick and crouched above him. "How do you want me?" His voice didn't shake.
"On your back," Rick said, licking his lips. "Where I can see you."
They changed positions. Daryl was riding the same dizzying wave of anticipation and alarm that had shaken him to his core the first time they touched, the first time they fucked, the first time they kissed. (In that order.) "Trust me?" Rick asked, for the second time that morning.
"I trust you," he said, his voice harsh and grating to his own ears. "I trust you."
His body was taut and vibrating like a plucked guitar string. He couldn't watch Rick spitting into his own hand and he automatically clenched against the first brush of Rick's finger. He couldn't do it, he couldn't let him in, couldn't let anyone –
"Daryl."
He grunted.
"Don't be…"
The word "afraid" dangled between them. Daryl felt a blazing heat rush through his belly and he propped himself up on his elbows to glare at Rick.
"I ain't. Afraid. Of nothin," he snarled. He lunged up and caught Rick's lower lip between his teeth, biting down hard enough to draw blood. Then he reached between them and took Rick's heavy cock in his hand and shoved it, artlessly, gracelessly, inside of him.
It tore, it burned, it stung something awful. He hadn't given Rick a chance to use his fingers and his unprepared body resisted, but Rick was helping him now, sliding in to him until their pelvises were flush together. The discomfort spread throughout his body, up his spine, like burning cigarettes were being extinguished along each of his vertebrae. And Daryl thought, he had been right all along to fear this, it was agony, it was unnatural, it was tearing his body apart.
"Do you need me to stop?" whispered Rick, who was hard and heavy and still inside him.
"No." His whole body was shaking now, he could barely keep his legs spread to accommodate Rick between them. But he had asked for this, he would suffer it and see it through to the end. Then he felt Rick withdrawing anyway, and he wrapped his arms around him to keep him close – but now Rick was thrusting deep inside of him again –
And then he felt it, a jolt of electricity that ran through his body, chasing away the pain and replacing it with something else. "Fuck," he said. "Fuck."
Rick moved again, and again, now planting sloppy open-mouthed kisses along his jaw. Tentatively, Daryl moved with him for the next thrust, and the result made them both moan; too loud, surely, loud enough to bring all the walkers in a five-mile radius, but Daryl couldn't bring himself to care. Rick had found it, the secret spot inside of him that was the source of all this feeling. It sent waves of ecstasy through his body every time Rick's cock slammed into him. Arching and bucking against Rick, digging his fingers into his thigh, he could see the other man coming undone too. But not so far gone that he didn't fumble between them and grasp Daryl's cock, neglected and painfully hard, and begin stroking it in rhythm with his thrusts. Daryl was damned if he was gonna whimper Rick's name, but it might have escaped him anyway, because suddenly Rick was looking at him with the whole world in his eyes and crying out as he fell apart inside Daryl. For Daryl, seconds later, it was more of a convulsion, a series of staccato bursts that coursed through his body and finally exploded into a sticky mess in Rick's hand that dripped down onto his belly.
He felt boneless, spent, with Rick depleted and lifeless on top of him. And then the first stirrings of life – Rick stroking his fingers through Daryl's sweaty hair, then kissing him deeply. "Jesus fuck," Rick was mumbling into his mouth. "Fuck, Daryl." The sound of his own name brought him down from whatever gravity-less orbit he'd been flung into, and back to earth. "Fuck you," he said back, because it was the tenderest thing he could think of to say.
Rick's face mirrored the anguish, the loss Daryl felt, when he drew away from him. His body had accepted Rick, and now it was losing him, and all his nerves were screaming out in agony. He had to squeeze his eyes tight shut, but Rick hadn't gone far, only moved to lie on his side next to him, and his gentle fingertips were whisking away the dampness that seeped from beneath his eyelids.
Rick gave him a moment before asking, "You alright?"
"Yeah." And he was, he could open his eyes and blink the last drops of moisture from his lashes and even manage a lopsided smile. "Dunno if I'll ever let you do that again, Grimes."
"You don't have to," Rick said comfortably, placing a hand on his sweaty chest, tracing the light dusting of hair he found there before coming to rest right above his heart. Daryl put his hand over Rick's, holding it close against him.
"Thought you was gonna break me in half."
"Yeah?" Rick smirked. "How do you think I feel every time?"
"Well, maybe I got a new respect for you, Sherriff."
The first time they fucked back at the prison, Daryl had been terrified of what would happen once it was over. What could they say to each other? Would Rick bundle himself back into his clothes and make for his own cell as quickly as possible? But their natural banter had returned to them, dissipating the gravity of what they had done with light teasing and comfortable familiarity. And Rick had stayed in his bed, their sweaty limbs tangled together, until Daryl kicked him out just before first light. And so it went and so it was today, not in a cell or up in the guard tower, but on the grass beside a stream in the middle of the woods with only each other and the two back in the car to call family.
Rick pulled Daryl against him, drew his head down to rest on his chest. "Wish we could stay like this, always," he murmured into Daryl's hair.
Daryl grunted.
"Don't you?"
"Ain't possible," Daryl said shortly. "Gotta face up, Rick."
"If this place – if Terminus turns out to be everything we… Sometimes, I imagine what it could be like. Us."
"'S a mistake. Imaginin'."
Face hidden against Rick's chest, Daryl could hear the other man's heart beating.
"Thought you were done caring about words, labels."
"That ain't what I'm talkin' about."
"What are you talking about, then?"
Daryl draped an arm over Rick's stomach. "Had time to think. After I lost Beth. Don't care anymore what this, us, makes me." The nameless, faceless women, taken from behind with all the indifference he could muster, and then the burning, consuming passion for Rick and Rick alone that was singular as a lightning bolt. "There don't gotta be a name for it. Hell, I doubt one exists for what this is."
Rick tangled fingers in his hair, tugging gently. "So what's the matter?"
"Startin' to think it's bad luck ta imagine any kinda future. Shoulda known the prison wouldn't last. I'm sayin', Rick, I don't think you should be thinkin' any further'n keepin' you an' your boy alive."
"And you too." Rick tightened his grip on his hair. "Daryl, I'd die for you."
"No," Daryl said gently. "You gotta save that one for Carl." You gotta know what to fight for, he thought, and what to die for.
Now Rick was rolling on top of him, burying his head in the crook of his neck. "Yeah. But I wish I could offer you the same as you've given me."
Having said his piece, Daryl didn't feel like prolonging the conversation, especially with Rick looking to heap more guilt and sorrow on himself. Instead he undulated his hips against Rick and drawled, "I think you already have, Sherriff."
Rick grew hard instantly and Daryl laughed at him. "You are one randy motherfucker, Grimes."
"Been a long time," Rick mumbled, grinding their hips together. "Never thought I'd see the day when you'd let me fuck you."
"Ain't likely to happen again," Daryl warned.
He felt Rick smile into his neck. "You saying you need to fuck me back, make you feel like yourself again?"
"Christ Rick." And it was true, his cock was hardening and he wanted nothing more than to dive into Rick and fuck him to oblivion and back. His cock was already leaking in anticipation, for fuck's sake, an observation that hadn't escaped Rick, who was moving down his body now, biting at his nipples, licking along the planes of muscle dividing his abdomen…
"We gotta get back to the car," he choked, but Rick had already enveloped his cock in his hot mouth. Rick was the first person who had ever done that for him, gone down on him, and at first the experience aroused and appalled him in equal measure. He couldn't reconcile the Rick he knew as leader, benevolent despot, with the man suddenly crouched between his thighs sucking him off. It wasn't until later that he realized Rick gave of himself more freely than he would ever ask from anyone else, and that was why they had put their lives in his hands.
Rick swallowed him in deep, using his hand on what he couldn't take into his mouth. Head flung back, face turned up to the sky, Daryl noted the position of the sun, saw it creeping higher in the sky, and knew this would have to be quick. Not that he had much chance of holding out, with Rick doing what he was doing. He pushed himself up on his elbows so he could watch Rick moving up and down, lips pursed around his cock. Rick was smiling, or smirking, with his eyes, and Daryl huffed out a laugh that turned into a breathy moan as Rick took him deeper than ever. God, the things that man's mouth did to him.
When he couldn't stand it anymore, he tugged urgently on Rick's hair, some remnant of insecurity prompting him to give the warning that Rick never heeded. When he came a moment later, biting down on a finger to stifle himself, Rick fucked him through it. Not stopping until Daryl pushed him away wearily. Christ he was done in. His whole body ached as he forced himself into a sitting position and planted a shallow kiss on the corner of Rick's mouth. "You're gonna be the death of me."
"That's what I'm afraid of," Rick said, but some of the lines had cleared from his face and he looked more relaxed.
"Pull up yer pants, Sherriff," Daryl growled, dragging his own back over his hips and fastening his belt one notch tighter than he'd worn it at the prison. Then he hauled Rick up by his armpits and made a rough grab for his zipper that sent Rick spinning away. "Jesus, Daryl, you trying to take me out of the game?" Rick said, taking care of his own clothing.
Daryl retrieved his crossbow and checked the knife at his waist. He always shifted gears more quickly than Rick did after sex, and the weight of the day ahead was already creeping back to him.
Picking up on his thoughts, as he so often did, Rick said, "Guess we kept the wolves at bay long as they're gonna keep."
Daryl nodded. His mind was clear and the crossbow at his back was a comforting weight. Himself, he was bracing for a fight. The name of the place they were headed sent an ugly shiver down his spine. Seemed like the fight never ended, and he always put everything he had at the fore of it. Three people, three people that he loved were left to him, and he would die before he lost a single one of them. His life. His life for Rick, for Carl or Michonne.
He looked at Rick. Bearded, gaunt, savage. Saw himself through Rick's eyes. Battered, bruised, watchful. Dangerous. They were like men from some primitive civilization. Nomad warriors. Mescalero Apaches. Maybe someday, like Rick imagined, they would have something else.
"Ready?" he said.
"Yeah," said Rick. Then: "Daryl, I-"
"I know," he said. "You don't gotta say it."
Their shoulders brushed. Daryl led the way back to the road; Rick was right behind him.