Author's note: Damn you, Rickyl Feels….7am is too early for me to wake up with Daryl-chibi's thoughts whispering in my ear…why you be this way, Daryl-chibi? My muse is a slave driver…*sleepy blinks*
Warnings: spoilers for s4e16, themes of rape are present
It was the note of crazy in Joe's voice that stopped him. He'd hung back when the group moved in for the kill. They'd found the man they'd been hunting, and Daryl could make it to Terminus from there without them. Terminus seemed like the kind of place his people would go. If nothing else, it was probably better than staying with a group like Joe's. The man sounded a little more unhinged than usual, and Daryl felt an urge, a prickle at the back of his neck, to see the poor man who'd inspired such a state of mind in the deceptively placid leader of the Claimers. Inching closer to the road, he peered hard through the dark. Tony finally shifted a bit to the side, letting him see…
Daryl's heart stopped cold in his chest.
His feet were moving him around the back of the Suburban before he was fully conscious of his own actions.
"Joe!" he heard himself say, slowing his step as his instincts whispered cautions to him. Joe looked up and for the first time Daryl saw clearly the devil he'd been walking with. From that moment, he had eyes only for Rick. "Hold up."
"Yer stoppin' me on eight, Daryl."
"Jus…hold up."
He'd felt fear before. Fear kept you moving, kept you fightin' limber, kept you going in a tough spot. Like the one at the prison. He'd been scared for his family then, but everyone was tough. Everyone had had a fighting chance. Despite Beth's interpretation of his silent and neutral exterior, Daryl had held the tiniest of hope that someday, he'd come across the people he cared for again. He just had to drift about the area like he'd done most of his life, a ghost in the shadow of his brother now a ghost in shadow of a loss too great for him to move on from, but he'd never imagined…this.
This was dread. Cold, icy and as hard as the toughest ice in the coldest places. It shook him to his very core, flooded his stomach with an chilly, dead weight and clawed at his insides, its cold, clawed fingers squeezing his heart every time the muzzle of Joe's pistol scraped against Rick's temple.
The look on Rick's face…he was mad. Furious like Daryl had never seen him, but the look changed, subtly, as Daryl shifted himself from the shadows and the recognition on Rick's face at the sight of Daryl turned that fury into wrath. Cold, quiet rage.
One of the other men spat words in Daryl's direction, the bloodlust of a pack of rabid hyenas rising like a palpable energy in the air, but Daryl heard only Joe's voice rambling about having nothing but time. The words, "Speak yer peace, Daryl," gave him a sliver of hope. Maybe the Joe he thought he was getting to know was still in there…still able to be reasoned with.
"These people…You're goin' t' let them go. These are good people," Daryl answered, the terror in his chest barely letting him force the words out.
"Well, I think Lou would disagree with ya on that. I'll o' course have t' speak for him an' all, seeing as your friend here strangled him t' death in a bathroom."
Rick's eyes barely left Daryl the normally bright blue gaze blackened by the choleric mood that was settling about Rick like a tangible cloak. He'd failed his family once. Daryl wouldn't be doing that again.
"You want blood. I get it." The crossbow went easily to the ground. "Take it from me, man. C'mon." Daryl spread his arms, opening every avenue for attack.
Joe looked undeniably betrayed. "This man killed our friend. You say he's good people. See now…that right there is…is a lie." Wild eyes darted to the others in the group as if surprised by a lack of response, and Daryl felt his heart sink his hands falling with it. "It's a lie!" What more could he do outnumbered and with a gun to Rick's head. He barely felt the first blows through the agony inside him. To find his family…to find not only Rick, but Carl…and Michonne…only to have them die minutes later was cruel even for the vicious bitch of a Fate that seemed to follow Daryl wherever he went in life.
Overrun by the men he'd been traveling with, unable to fight back for fear of retaliation against Rick or Michonne or Carl, Daryl let each blow land. He saw in glimpses as Rick tried to gain the upper hand. There was a gunshot that stopped Daryl's heart again, but when Rick got unsteadily to his feet and swung, Daryl felt an inappropriate surge of pride and his heart picked up again twofold, the fighter in him gearing up to take a stand as soon as Rick got some traction. Rick Grimes was a fighter, but Joe was a tough old bastard. A blow to his side sent Daryl to the ground and he lost sight of Rick. Desperate to keep Rick in his line of sight, he rolled and struggled through the kicks and grabbing hands, until he was up. He didn't stay that way for long, but he kept his eyes focused on Rick through the flail of limbs around him and kept getting back to his feet when he could. Daryl felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. Rick was reeling, and that dread clawing at his chest increased its scrabbling against the inside of him tenfold. He couldn't hear Joe's taunts as the man pulled Rick close, but something about Rick seemed to go still for just a heartbeat, and then everything changed.
Daryl was briefly reminded of the catacombs of the prison just after Judith's birth. Rick's violent clearing of nearly all the Walkers down there had been told plainly in the story painted in gore on his body. Daryl'd hardly needed Glenn to recount his brief, unappreciated interference. It had then, as it did now, brought to mind a story he'd been told by one of the drug dealers he and Merle had run with about the greatly feared ancient Greek warriors that tranced out in a rage during battle. Bersekers, the guy had called them. Furious, unstoppable fighters. The sight of Rick savagely ripping out the man's throat definitely seemed to fit that description.
Everything seemed to slow as horror overtook Joe's group, the sight of their leader crumpling to the ground with blood spurting out his neck and a vicious, feral looking man standing silently triumphant over Joe's prone body giving them pause at the basest level of their beings. Michonne, never one to waste an opportunity, attacked, and Daryl felt himself rise to the challenge. Two on one weren't so bad a odds with Rick safe from immediate harm, and that dread crystallized into the same desperate fear that had kept him alive all this time. A second gunshot rang out taking out one of Daryl's opponents and then the odds were even better. When his last opponent's jaw gave under Daryl's boot, ending the man's life, Daryl spun back to bring Rick back into view. His balance deserted him and he stumbled, catching himself on and leaning hard into the pale blue hood and fender of the Suburban. On the other side, Michonne sat on the ground, with Carl curled up in her lap. Rick, still lost in the blood boiling rage, was brutally mutilating the corpse of the man who had dared to accost his precious son. Daryl watched on as Michonne and Carl did, taking satisfaction in their survival. Their victory.
The squelching noises of the knife slowly ceased. Eventually, the wrath that had driven him bled away with the letting of the blood of his enemies, and Rick slowly rocked back onto his heels one knee casually resting on the ground as though surveying his work. He didn't move for a long time. Michonne eventually got Carl to his feet and guided him into the backseat of the van. Her hand briefly grazed Daryl's shoulder as they shuffled past him, and Daryl turned his head a little in her direction, but his eyes never left the back of Rick's head. He stared hard for a long while, unable to take his eyes off the man for fear that he'd vanish.
Eventually, Daryl felt the now familiar pull of his responsibilities. Rick needed a moment and there were things that needed doing. He belonged in this group. This was his family, and it was his duty to help take care of them any way he could. Slowly, he straightened from the hood. Nothing was broken, but he'd be sore as hell for the next couple days. It just didn't fucking matter because they were alive and together. Michonne had left the door open, and Daryl came around it, leaning against the end of it. Carl glanced up from Michonne's lap, and Daryl slowly stretched out a trembling hand, laying it on the boy's crown. He'd been there in the dirt under men he couldn't get away from. Carl seemed to sense that this was empathy and not simply sympathy, certainly never pity from Daryl, and closed his eyes. Michonne's hand clasped the corner of his vest, and Daryl glanced at her. Their eyes met briefly, and then Daryl slowly pulled away, closing the door.
He had Joe's group's supplies to retrieve and bodies to drag away.
It was tough. By the fourth thug, Daryl was panting, ribs and back aching. A sudden presence beside him should have startled him, but Rick's energy was as calm as the surface of a lake at dawn now. Daryl just leaned a little into the man's shoulder as together they finished hauling Joe's dispatched corpse off the road and out of Carl's line of sight. The last bastard they hauled off was what was left of the man who'd laid his hands on their boy. Daryl gave the corpse a satisfyingly solid kick before turning and following Rick back up to the road. He managed a few longer strides, taking the lead, and Rick followed without question. Together they brought all of the Claimers' supplies back to the Suburban, dumping the packs in front of the vehicle. Rick, at the end of his stamina, took a few more steps and settled hard on the asphalt beside the vehicle's front tire.
Daryl opted to give him a moment and went to get the last pack. If he remembered correctly, the skinny shit he'd basically curb-stomped had had a bottle of water he'd claimed in his backpack. When he returned, he pulled his rag out of his back pocket, stopping just in front of Rick.
The man was a filthy mess, and he just looked even worse in the broad light of the autumn morning.
"Naw, we should save it t' drink," Rick protested Daryl wetting the rag, but Daryl did it and offered it to him anyway.
"You can't see yerself. He can." And that was that. Rick took the rag. Daryl settled beside him as Rick began to wipe his face, the motions tired.
"I didn't know what they were," he confessed. Shame flooded him that he'd associated with such a sick bunch of people. He'd almost felt like he actually belonged with them a time or two. It made his stomach turn and the back of his throat burn with bile.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rick nod and turn interested eyes his way. "How'd you end up with them?"
Daryl's heart sank a little lower. "I was with Beth. We got out together. I was with her for a while."
It was hard. Hard to admit yet another failure. Hard to speak of someone he missed so badly. Beth was a good girl, young and brash yet maybe, not yet tempered by maturity, but she'd been on her way to being a brave and good young woman. They'd bonded during their time together and her kidnapping weighed heavily on his shoulders and his heart. He couldn't look at Rick. Couldn't see the disappointment in the other man's eyes at the confirmed loss of another one of their people. He'd had her and she'd just…slipped away from him. Daryl dropped his gaze to his hands in his lap.
Rick's voice was a little hoarse as he asked softly, "Is she dead?"
The weight of Rick's eyes on him demanded his attention, and Daryl looked up at him again at last. "She's just gone."
Their eyes met and after a few breaths Rick's chin dipped, just a bit, and he looked away, looking up as he nodded a silent understanding that it had been out of Daryl's control. Daryl felt a little lighter having shared the burden of Beth's loss. With Rick's silent support, he found it easier to tell the other man the rest.
"After that…that's when they found me. I mean, I knew they were bad, but…they had a code. It was simple. Stupid. But it was som'thin'. It was enough."
"And you weren't alone," Rick interjected his voice full of understanding. Daryl felt a band tighten around his heart, but he continued, encouraged by Rick's words.
"Said they were looking for some guy." A spike of lingering fear, a little tingle of residual terror crept up his spine, and Daryl had to pause to gather his courage. It was a brief moment before he could finish. "And last night they said they spotted'em. I was hangin' back. I was gonna leave. But I stayed. That's when I saw it was you three…right when you saw me…I didn't know. What they could do."
The guilt. The shame. They were crushing. Rick could have died. If Daryl had left, Rick could have died. Michonne…Carl…he couldn't even think it. He'd been so close to making what amounted to probably the biggest mistake of his life. Rick's voice broke through the haze of remorse.
"Tha's not on you, Daryl." Daryl found he couldn't look at him. Rick seemed to sense that Daryl was sinking and murmured an urgent, "Hey." Daryl looked up, forced by the firm tone to meet Rick's eyes though barely. "That's not on you. You being back with us here…now. That's everythan'."
How could he be so forgiving? Daryl wondered and looked away again, struggling to realign his world again.
"You're my brother."
Three simple words, but they rocked everything Daryl knew off its axis again. He looked up sharply only to find no mockery – Merle – and no deception – his father. There was nothing in Rick's eyes but genuine trust and earnest emotions like respect and love. They stared at each other for a long moment and under that stare the tight band around his heart slowly eased away.
He found he had to look away and release a slow sigh to collect himself. It would be embarrassing to break down in front someone again even if it was Rick. The tension and a good deal of the guilt and shame finally mostly drained away. Words came to him then, and they seemed right, so Daryl looked back to Rick, noting the man's lowered gaze and spirits. "Hey. What you did last night…anybody woulda done that."
Rick's eyes came back to his and then looked quickly away for a second before meeting his again, owning his actions like the honorable man he'd always been. His expression was resigned. Accepting. "No. Not that."
"Som'thin' happened. That ain't you," he insisted softly, needing Rick to understand that Daryl didn't think any less or worse of him for what had happened.
Rick looked him right in the eye that same intense stare he gave Daryl whenever he needed to make Daryl understand how serious he was. "Daryl, you saw what I did t' Tyreese. It ain't all of it, but…that's me. That's why I'm here now, and that's why Carl is. I'm gonna keep him safe. That's all that matters."
Daryl had to look away from the growing intensity of Rick's stare. The man was like an alpha wolf. Fine until riled and then the whole world had better just watch out. Daryl nodded and they fell into companionable silence.
Out of the corner of his eye, Daryl saw Rick try yet again to use the barely damp rag to wipe the clotted and dried blood from his face. There wasn't enough water in the bottle to clean up that mess. Stiffly, Daryl pushed to his feet and turned offering Rick a hand up. "There's a small, autumnal pond…back a ways the way I came. You could clean up."
Rick took Daryl's hand in a firm clasp and allowed himself to be lifted to his feet. He didn't face the vehicle, but he did lower his head and half turn, calling out softly, "Michonne?"
"We're fine," she called softly back. Rick didn't ask again. Daryl snagged his crossbow on the way by and led Rick off the road and into the woods. It wasn't long before Rick came up beside him. Daryl's heart fluttered nervously. Had this been a walk in the woods before the fall of the prison…
A soft shake of his head loosened the thought from his mind. Things were such a mess, he didn't know what he was thinking. Nothing was the same and he couldn't just make assumptions about now being the same as before. He cast the man beside him a quick glance and then turned his attention to the task at hand, pointing. "Just there," he murmured and as one they turned a little more to the right and picked up the pace.
Rick still had Daryl's rag in his hand and he crouched eagerly in the muddy edge of the water right away, dipping it in and soaking the cloth before really setting to work on his face and neck. His hands cleaned themselves but he took an extra moment to make sure all of the blood was gone from his skin before pivoting toward Daryl and looking up. "I get it all?"
Daryl brought his eyes down from their surroundings, ever vigilant when he was by Rick's side and studied the countenance below him. Rick's skin was damp and pink from his scrubbing, but it looked as though all of the blood was gone from both skin and beard. Daryl nodded and watched as Rick pushed himself to his feet. Rick didn't ask and Daryl didn't protest when he just tossed the red stained rag into the middle of the water. Together they watched it sink.
When the rag was out of sight, Rick looked up to Daryl again and the redneck met his gaze evenly, crossbow lowered between them. In a sudden burst of movement, Rick stepped forward and cool hands came up to cradle Daryl's cheeks. Daryl let the crossbow swing out to the side in one hand and Rick moved in to fill the empty space it left. Lips made cool by the cold water and fall air brushed lightly, hesitantly against his. Daryl grabbed a fistful of faux fur and pulled Rick in tight, pressing into the kiss with a desperation he'd barely managed to keep at bay until now. One hand slid over Daryl's ear and into his hair while the other dropped down along his chest, coming up under Daryl's raised arm to grip the sleeve of the light jacket he'd pulled on underneath the vest at the back of his shoulder, Rick's fingers clenching tight in the stiff fabric.
The kiss was filled with desperation and longing and all of the pent up fear and hopelessness they'd felt without the other beside them. Daryl's heart hammered hard in his ribcage. It was a relief beyond measure that nothing between them had changed. They'd been new, barely into anything when the Governor had come a callin' again, and Daryl had feared that the time apart, the unshared experiences and horrors they'd both had to witness alone would drive a wedge between them. He'd never been happier to have a concern proved so unfounded.
When they broke the kiss so that they could breathe, Rick's hands dropped so that the man could wrap his arms around Daryl in an almost too tight hug. Daryl returned the embrace with one arm, holding Rick close and pressing his lips firmly into the side of the other man's head just above his ear. Rick was trembling, coming down hard as everything from the previous night caught up with him. Daryl just held on tight and gently shushed his lover. In time, Rick stopped shivering and just rested against Daryl's sturdy body. Daryl, in turn, scanned their surroundings, guarding what was his. He'd never let the man out of his sight again if he could help it.
"We should get back," Rick mumbled against the side of Daryl's neck. Daryl slowly let his arm slide from around Rick's shoulders and each of them took a small step back. Rick searched his face for a long moment and then stepped in close again to steal another quick but no less passionate kiss. "We need to keep moving."
"Terminus?" Daryl asked, softly. Rick nodded and together they turned and headed back toward the road their hands brushing every other step. Whatever Terminus was, they'd be facing it together and that made them damn near invincible.
Fin