Daryl's not entirely sure how they ended up here, trading stories as they share a bottle together like old friends.
Apparently, the Hilltop still celebrates Christmas. A more modest version of it, of course, more focused on having everyone together than anything else, but Christmas still. And with Alexandria invited it all turned into a big feast, all while Daryl kept to himself away from it under the pretense of keeping watch.
The hunter is no stranger to the holiday blues.
He just never expected Jesus to not be, either. Or for it to still happen even in the middle of the goddamn apocalypse.
Yet here they are, sitting outside the house where their family and friends are with only the whiskey bottle Daryl sneaked away to warm up and each other as company. Side by side like nothing else mattered.
"My family used to be crazy about it, you know? Each year we would put up a beautiful Christmas tree, and the job to put up the decorations at the top would be mine," the other told him, trying his best to sound casual but the melancholyin his voice still perceptive to Daryl's ears.
Daryl takes another swing of the bottle and nods as if he understand, though truth to be told he can only imagine.
"My dad would make every food he could manage. It was incredible, really, he was a great cook. My mom? Not so much, but she tried," Jesus tells him, his voice distant. "She'd usually stick to getting us all awful matching Christmas sweaters. Every. Single. Year."
"Bet you looked ridiculous."
The other laughs, but his eyes are still down. "Oh, we did. They were always itchy too. I used to hate it then."
He tries to picture it: white picket fence family posing to a family portrait, a younger Jesus wearing a godawful monstrosity of a sweater with a pout on his face. It's dumb enough to make his mouth twitch a quick smile at the image.
God knows he never had anything similar.
"Now I'd do anything to go back, itchy sweater and all," the scout continues. "It was all so… magical. Then I lost them. I missed them everyday with everything I had in me, but the holidays were when I really felt it, you know? Christmas at the group home couldn't be more different."
Jesus accepts the bottle from him with a 'thanks', giving him a quick sad smile when Daryl puts a hand on his shoulder.
"Sorry, you likely don't want me giving you a sob story and ruining even more the mood tonight. I just saw you sitting here alone and thought… well, I don't know what I thought, really."
There's a second or two of silence before Daryl speaks up, looking at Jesus in the eyes before at his own hands.
"We didn't really have Christmas. When I were a kid, I mean," he reveals.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I remember one time though," Daryl starts but trails off a bit before continuing. "I remember one time my ma got us a small plastic tree from work, it fit on her hand but it were just perfect, y'know? Only one we ever had. Put it on the middle of the table, threw some cheap lights on the door. She made a big dinner too and my pa didn't even make a fuss or nothin', just sat there with us all and ate."
He remembers their laughter, though his mother's face is now so faded from memory it's barely there. He remembers Merle messing up his hair and telling him to eat. He remembers his father's smile.
He remembers feeling like a normal family, even if only for one night.
Then his pa got drunk and Merle pulled him to their room, putting on loud music to cover the screams he knew where bound to happen.
They didn't do it again next year, or any after that.
"Didn't last though."
He doesn't say more, but Jesus seems to know what he means anyway. "I'm sorry."
"Merle— my brother, he… he'd try sometimes, yeah? Whenever he were there, he'd try. Wasn't much but…"
"But it was what he could do," the other completes.
Daryl nods. "Got me my first crossbow, too. Taught me to hunt, to track, so I could get food."
"He sounds like a good brother."
"He weren't." The hunter snorts. "You'd hate him - he was an asshole, just ask Rick. Merle were with me when it all happened." Merle would though, he'd like Jesus. He'd call him awful names but respect the guts he has. "He was all I had though, he was family. That matters."
Jesus smiles at him, and though it was a sad one it makes Daryl feel warm regardless, shying his eyes back down to try and avoid feeling too overwhelmed.
"Can I tell you something?" Jesus ask, and Daryl finds himself nodding before he can even think of it.
He likes to hear Jesus talk, comes the revelation. He'd say yes to anything if it kept the other going, his voice so soothing that Daryl couldn't help but feel drawn to it, hanging to every word.
He steals the bottle back, needing the alcohol to get away from thoughts he'd rather ignore.
"I don't know how to get used to having a family again. It terrifies me."
Daryl looks up, not having expected that though from what he knows now from the other's past it shouldn't be that surprising.
It is, though. Jesus was always welcoming to everyone from the very beginning, so open to all of them - even more Maggie, Sasha and himself - that he never imagined that the other was scared.
"I wanted it, you know. To become family to you guys, to have a voice and be part of the group - to belong somewhere. I let Maggie in, but she was just the start. And now I am, and I do, and it just…"
"It feels real."
"It does," Jesus agrees, "and it scares me shitless. Is that stupid?"
"Nah." The other glances at him, and Daryl cleans his throat. "Maybe a bit. But it is what it is, and we's here. We ain't leavin' ya. So you better get used to it."
That seems to do the trick, as Jesus relaxes and gives him the first bright smile he's seen from him today. Their shoulders bump together and for a second Daryl thinks the other will grab his hand.
He doesn't, though, he just steals the bottle and downs the last of it in one go. The hunter tries to ignore how disappointed he feels. What the fuck?
"Thanks, Daryl. That's… thanks."
The emotion on the other's voice makes Daryl uncomfortable, something in it that he can't identify, so he tries to dismiss it instead. "'S true though, I'm just the one statin' facts. They'd all tell you the same."
"Still, you're the one saying it. It means a lot to me," Jesus says, and their shoulders bump again. "You do, too."
You do, too.
Daryl fidgets his hands, nervous for some goddamn reason. He takes a deep breath before nodding and looking up at the other, leaning on where their shoulders meet ever so slightly. It's not much, but the other notices and smiles even more, lightening up.
He shrugs. "So do ya, prick."
Jesus laughs, delighted, and it makes the hunter's heart feel even lighter.
"Merry Christmas, Daryl."