Telepathic Heart
Part I - IMPALA_2Y5
IMPALA_2Y5: Nice shot
That's the simple message sent to him. Daryl blinks, squinting his eyes at the words, the TV screen illuminating the otherwise dark room. He glances back over his shoulder at Rick, the other boy curled up under the sheets and already sound asleep, like any sane seventeen year old with school tomorrow would be.
He purses his lips, staring at the screen for a moment longer. What the heck, Daryl shrugs, typing back a brief message. At least this player isn't insulting the heck out of him.
CROSSBOW-SAINTS: thanks
The Dixon gets back to the game, waiting for the session to start when the corner of his screen notifies him of another message, surprised when he realizes it's the same player.
IMPALA_2Y5: you new at this game?
This time, Daryl doesn't take half as long to respond.
CROSSBOW-SAINTS: yeh
IMPALA_2Y5: 4 how long?
CROSSBOW-SAINTS: 2 weeks
The player sends another response, but the session had just begun and Daryl focuses his attention on shooting down his opponents. When a character runs across his screen with the words IMPALA_2Y5, he can't help the way his eyes track it, grinning softly to himself when the player's character offers him a thumbs up. And just like that, the two stay on the same team for the rest of the night, playing session after session.
It's only when IMPALA_2Y5 sends him another message that Daryl belatedly realizes he had never responded to that other one.
IMPALA_2Y5: Not much 4 messging huh?
IMPALA_2y5: *messaging
For some reason that makes Daryl crack a small smile.
"Dude, you're not even playing. What are you doing?"
The older Winchester glances over his shoulder at his brother, Sam, the remote on his lap, fingers on the buttons, and a message ready to be sent.
"I am," Dean retorts, green eyes returning to the screen. "Just messaging someone real quick."
Sam doesn't bother answering, shrugging his shoulders as he opens his book to read. "Dude, check this," he grins, shuffling with his elbows towards the edge of the bed, and once he's there he reads out a funny comment written on the page. He doesn't like when students write in their textbooks, but this shit is funny. He can barely get the last word out without laughing, but when he doesn't hear the same laughter from his brother, who would laugh his head off with comments found in the book, Sam regards him with a worried expression.
"Dean, you ok?" Sam can't help but ask, reaching out to touch Dean's shoulder.
The older Winchester looks over at Sam again, eyes locking with hazel for a brief moment. "Yeah-" Dean doesn't finish what he's saying, looking over at the screen again to be able to read the message sent to him by CROSSBOW-SAINTS.
Dean doesn't see the eyeroll sent his way. The younger brother drops onto his back, deciding to leave Dean alone. Apparently he's busy talking to his new friend.
The bright light that flashes across their window prompts both brothers to look up. Dean is quickly hopping up to his feet, while Sam practically almost eats the floor trying to scramble from on top the bed.
"Son of a bitch, it's dad," Dean curses under his breath when he recognizes the Impala parking just outside their motel room.
Sam turns to Dean, gesturing with wild hands at the gaming system. "Hide it," he insist, not wanting to see their father unleash his wrath on Dean if he catches him playing it.
After all, he didn't buy it for them, the older Winchester stealing the gaming system, and John would not approve of them wasting time on something like playing games when they should be doing something more efficient, like training to become the next marines. John has it in his head that nothing else is more important, not even school and it would be a shame if they don't follow in his footsteps. While Dean falls into this kind of obedient dog brainwashed by their father to follow his every command without question, Sam wants to go to college. That's the reason why he studies at night, taking advantage when John is away on his long weekends. But if he has to be fair, John gives him much more slack than he gives Dean, and while Dean can't see anything else for his future because of it, Sam, on the other hand, can. He's tried to gear Dean away, but Sam thinks it's too late, John has programmed it into Dean's head, and it's not going anywhere. The same thing could be said about Dean looking after him, but that's something on an entirely different level.
The older Winchester is moving, grabbing the controller and telling CROSSBOWS-SAINTS he needs to go, but the pounding at the front door tells Dean he has little time to send a simple message. If John is drunk and he sees him with the gaming system he's not going to like it. John has never been a happy drunk and no one wants to see him when he gets angry.
Hearing the knocking on the door, Dean knows it's going to be too late, and if he takes too long to open, that will only make John angerier. Luckily, Sam is next to him, urging Dean to open the door and he will take care of the gaming system. Dean offers Sam a small smile before he leaves the task to his younger brother.
"Sir," Dean greats when he opens the door.
John looks down at his son, a frown painted on his lips and the smell of alcohol clinging to him like a second skin. He doesn't say anything as he steps into the room, almost taking Dean with him if the older Winchester hadn't moved from in front of him. Closing the door, Dean follows his father, sweat starting to form on his skin as John makes his way towards the small bed on the side.
To Dean's relief, Sam has packed the console away and is under the sheets, 'asleep'. He knows his brother enough to know he's not sleeping. Three factors: one, he was up seconds ago, two, Sam is still fully dressed in his school uniform meaning he didn't even take a shower yet, and three, Sam sleeps on his back, usually with one hand draped over his stomach if not both, however, now he's laying on his side, back facing John and him.
Sam knows better than to be awake at this time. It would spell trouble for him, and especially for Dean. John slowly turns to face Dean, the boy's eyes downcast as he waits for his father's reaction. He can feel the man looking over the place, but Dean is sure everything is as it should be. The dishes are washed, the clothes are clean and folded, and those that needed ironing without a wrinkle in sight, and Sam is fed and in bed.
The Winchester doesn't say anything, just walks over towards Sam, ruffles his messy hair before he shrugs off his clothes, letting it drop onto the floor, kicking off his shoes before dropping onto the bed.
"Night, dad," Dean whispers as he picks up the clothes John left on the floor, knowing that if he leaves them there John's not going to happy about it.
Glancing over at the small safe each motel provides, Dean knows that's where Sam hid the game. He's tempted to connect again, wanting to talk to CROSSBOW-SAINTS, but he knows better. John would break it the moment he sees it.
Dean finishes cleaning up the place and locks down before he lays down next to Sam.
Daryl winces, the fingers brushing against the bruise blossoming under his right eye making it sting something awful.
"That looks like it hurts," Rick frowns, brows furrowed in worry, though his expression is hard to see with the sun shining bright behind him.
"Then stop touchin' it," Daryl returns, squinting up at his friend, but that only makes his bruise sting again.
Rick's lips are pressed into a firm line, "Don't know why you don't just call the cops on him."
"Rick," the Dixon frowns, reaching up to swat the other boy's hand away. "Just got one year before I get the hell outta dodge. I can handle it. Been doin' it all my life."
Rick releases a defeated sigh, "It's cause Merle isn't around anymore, huh?"
The Dixon purses his lips, pointedly looking away from the other boy to the school's track field.
"Rick!" a voice calls out from behind them, both boys glancing up to see Shane approaching them, shirt clinging to his sweaty skin.
"Still on for tonight, right?" Walsh inquires as he comes to a stop in front of Rick, gesturing with his thumb over his shoulder at Lori, the girl lingering on the field, arms crossed over her chest as she watches them.
"Nah, sorry, have plans with Daryl," Grimes answers, Daryl not missing the way Shane sends a glare his way. "Welcome to come join us. Lori too."
Shane doesn't even bother to acknowledge Rick's invitation, "Had plans with us first."
"I know and I'm sorry, but something came up," the curly haired boy shrugs, Shane once again shooting Daryl an annoyed look. "Make it up to you guys. Lori's been wanting to go to that new museum, right? Let's go tomorrow."
The offer seems to placate Shane, though the pinched look on his face doesn't leave. "We'll see," he responds curtly before turning on his heels to head back towards Lori, hand coming up to rub at his head.
Daryl snorts, leaning forward to rest his arms on his knees, "Don't bother. Go hang with your friends tonight."
Rick glances over his shoulder at Daryl, "You're my friend too. Besides, not letting you go home after he gave you a shiner."
"Shane's been yours since you were kids," the Dixon shrugs, not bothering to argue with Rick.
"So have you," Grimes counters, tilting his head to the side. "You, me, Shane. What happen-"
Rick doesn't get to finish his question, a whistle cuts through the air, the coach letting it drop down to his chest when he catches the attention of his students, "Come on. One more lap."
Grateful for the distraction, Daryl pushes up from the bench, heading back out to the track, Rick jogging along behind him.
That evening finds Daryl laying on his stomach, head propped up on a pillow as Rick furiously taps away on his controller. He watches as Rick's character is shot from behind, then riddled with bullets.
"Damn it," Grimes frowns, glancing down at the Dixon beside him. "These spammers annoy the hell out of me." The game returns to the lobby, the spammer leaving the game session and earning a huff from Rick. "Was gonna go after him next."
Another player joins the lobby, the ID familiar to Daryl.
IMPALA_2Y5
"Hey, ain't that your friend?" Grimes asks, glancing over at Daryl again. Apparently the ID is familiar to Rick as well.
"Mmm," the Dixon shrugs.
"Yeah, I'm sure it is," Rick continues. "The one you're always talking to."
The Dixon furrows his brows, "Don't talk to 'em."
"Yeah, you do," Grimes snorts. "I see his ID flash with messages to you all the time, Daryl."
Daryl hugs the pillow closer to himself, "Just happen to get online at the same time."
"And join the same lobby and play on the same team and send messages back and forth all night," Rick chuckles. "Think if I send him a friend request he'd accept?"
Daryl glances up at Grimes at that, "Don't know."
"Probably would if I tell 'em you're my friend," Rick muses. "Here,"he says, logging out of his account and switching over to Daryl's before handing the controller over. "Probably waiting for you to get online."
"Nah, he -" Daryl starts before Grimes cuts him off by jumping up from the bed.
"Gonna order pizza," Rick states, waving at Daryl to go ahead and play as he slips out of the room.
Turning his attention back to the screen, the Dixon bites down on his bottom lip to stop himself from smiling as a message from IMPALA_2Y5 arrives.
Rick glances up from his phone when he realizes Daryl seems to still be waiting in a lobby, the answer as to why coming to him in the form of a reply message from IMPALA_2Y5.
Grimes rolls over onto his back, "Wouldn't it be easier to just talk to him?"
"Hm?" Daryl grunts, barely sparing him a glance as he works on typing out a reply.
"You're just sitting there writing to him," Rick observes before he reaches over to his nightstand and grabs his headset, tossing it over at the foot of the bed where the Dixon is sitting. "Use that, that way you can play and talk to him and I won't be tempted to read everything."
Daryl glances down at the headset but makes no move to grab it as he glances back up at the TV, "No."
Rick shrugs, "Have it your way."
The Dixon puts down the controller then and gets up, slipping out of the room, Rick hearing as the bathroom door down the hall is pulled shut. The opportunity presents itself and Rick wastes not time launching himself over to grab the controller, typing out his own message.
CROSSBOW-SAINTS: got a mic?
Rick keeps his ears open for any sign of Daryl returning, wishing for the player to just hurry up and respond.
IMPALA_2Y5: yes
CROSSBOW-SAINTS: me 2
Rick is grinning ear to ear, scurrying to connect the headset just as he hears the bathroom door open. He leaves the headset on the edge of the bed and scoots to where he had been before, trying to appear as normal as possible as the Dixon enters the room.
Daryl plops down at the edge of the bed, grabbing the remote before he pauses, no doubt noticing that his ID has a flashing icon beside it. Realization sets in and he only manages to glance over at Rick before a voice filters through the TV's speakers, making the Dixon freeze.
IMPALA_2Y5: "Hello?"
Daryl sucks in a deep breath, sitting like a deer in the headlights even though the player can't see him.
IMPALA_2Y5: "Hello? Can you hear me?"
The voice is like smooth velvet, despite the slight static of the headset. He sounds young and Daryl finds himself wishing for him to be the same age, if not at least close enough.
Rick crawls forward, grabbing the headset and handing it to Daryl, hissing under his breath, "Answer him."
The Dixon turns to level a glare at his friend, Rick not regretting his actions one bit as he moves to settle the headset over Daryl's head for him since the boy hasn't moved to do so yet.
Daryl swats Grime's hands away, noting belatedly that the shuffling on their end could be heard. Damn it.
CROSSBOW-SAINTS: "H-hello?"
The Dixon hates how his voice had broken, even more annoyed at his hushed tone.
IMPALA_2Y5: "Hey man."
Daryl glances over at Rick, the other boy motioning for him to keep talking, but what the hell is he supposed to say?
CROSSBOW-SAINTS: "Hey, uh, you're a guy."
The Dixon mentally kicks himself, not having to glance over at Rick to know the boy is giving him an incredulous look before he breaks out into a fit of laughter, falling off the edge of the bed.
CROSSBOW-SAINTS: "Not that I thought you were a chick or nothin'. Just - crap, I don't know. Ain't makin' sense. Just forget it."
IMPALA_2Y5: "Can't tell if you're a chick or not." The voice comes in, light and humorous. "So, are you a chick?" He snickers, but he doesn't let Daryl answer as he continues to speak. "Nah, man, just pulling your leg. I didn't expect you to be so forward about the mic thing. I've been meaning to ask you, but…" The voice trails off before he speaks up again, "Thought I might scare you off or something."
Daryl throws a glance at Rick, narrowing his eyes at the boy as Grimes clamps his mouth shut from where he is sitting on the floor and shrugs.
"You guys should thank me then," Rick whispers, wagging his brows in emphasis.
The Dixon lifts his foot and shoves Rick back onto the floor, only earning another round of suppressed laughter from the boy.
CROSSBOW-SAINTS: "I, uh, thought it might be easier this way. Y'know, talk 'n play." He bites down on his bottom lip, "Ain't scaring ya off, am I?"
IMPALA_2Y5: "No man, like I said, I've been meaning to ask about the mic thing. You just didn't seem like the type to want to talk like this. I'm glad we're able to," the voice says soothingly.
CROSSBOW-SAINTS: "Me too," he says too quickly before he clears his throat, feeling his cheeks heat up at the sound of that voice. "Glad too, I mean. Ain't as bad as I thought it would be." The Dixon purses his lips then, glancing down at the controller in his hands. The guy really does sound genuinely happy about it, but the Dixon hadn't even been the one to consider the headset and for some reason, making him believe so feels like a lie to Daryl. A lie he's unable to keep up. "I...you're right. I ain't the type. My friend made me do it, but I...I'm really glad he did."
Daryl chances a glance at Rick, surprised to find the other boy staring at him as if in awe about something.
IMPALA_2Y5: "Really now?" Daryl can practically hear the smirk in his voice. "Tell your friend thanks for me. He's like my wingman, huh?"
Rick grins at that, the chuckles escaping him as Daryl is left sputtering.
"I like this guy," Grimes laughs, climbing back up onto the bed and dropping flat onto his back, not catching the light blush spreading across Daryl's face.
Yeah, I do too.
To say Daryl had really come around to using the headset would be an understatement. Every time he plays, he's always chatting away with IMPALA_2Y5, Rick watching on in amazement.
Daryl isn't much of a talker and even less with strangers, and yet here he is looking forward to his talks with this guy. It's easy for Rick to see with the way the Dixon has been staying over by him more often than not these days. Not that Rick is complaining. It means Daryl is out of his house and away from his father and that is enough for him.
Slouching in the dining room chair, Rick is unable to focus on his textbook, glancing over at Daryl to find him slumped over his books, face buried in his folded arms. Homework is either really boring or the Dixon is tired and Rick knows which one it is. If he stops staying up all night talking to Impala he wouldn't be so damn sleepy.
Rick reaches out and pokes the Dixon's arm with his pen, "Hey, wake up sleepyhead."
Daryl grumbles, burying his face deeper as he tries to get back to sleep.
Grimes taps his pen on his textbook before he speaks up again, "What's his name?"
Daryl is silent, still slumped over before he glances up at Rick through his messy bangs, "What?"
"Impala's," Grimes clarifies. "What's his name?" At the furrow of Daryl's brow, Rick sits up straight. "Wait, you don't know? Are you serious?"
The Dixon lifts his head, resting his chin on his hand, "Why would I know his name?"
"Oh, I don't know, maybe the fact that you've been talking to the guy every night for the past six months," Grimes supplies, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Thought you both woulda already known each other's names."
The Dixon shakes his head, "Stranger danger, Rick. Might talk to the guy, but he don't know nothin' 'bout me."
Rick hums. That's actually a good thing, he muses. "It's just your name," he comments before he shrugs. "With how much you guys talk, I just thought you'd both be way past that."
"Past what?" Daryl inquires, scrunching up his nose. "Why you gotta make it sound like that?"
Grimes blinks, "Like what?"
"You know how you're makin' it sound," Daryl waves his hand in the air as if that would help Rick understand.
A sly smirk graces Rick's features as he crosses his arms on the table and leans forward towards Daryl, "I don't. Tell me, Daryl. Like what? Like you guys like talking to each other? Like you guys have become really good friends? Like you spend a whole lot of time flir-"
"Yeah, like that," the Dixon cuts him off. "Cut it out," he demands before he turns his attention to his homework, ignoring the smug grin plastered on Rick's face.
"What is wrong with you, Dean?"
Standing with a pistol in his hands, aiming at the cans lined up along the fence is Dean, his father standing a few feet behind him with his arms crossed over his chest, a disapproving frown on his lips. The sun is barely out, John using what little time he gives the boys for training early in the morning. It's the only time Dean sees his father sober and without a beer in his hands trying to forget about everything. Sam is left behind in the motel room, most of the time sleeping and only needing to wake up to lock the door.
"I'm just tired, sir," Dean responds, glancing over his shoulder and wincing when he sees the disapproving frown on his dad's face.
He can hear the words already, failure, not good enough, you need to get better, but Dean's head is reeling so much he can't concentrate. He's struggling as it is to keep his eyes open, and his aim is shit at best. As much as John prides him on his marksmanship, it's never good enough, and he wants more, and right now, his father just sees him as a failure.
The unexpected shove makes Dean's eyes widen for a fraction of a second, John yanking the gun from between his fingers and quickly firing a shot without aiming as if to prove a point. The bullet barely grazes the soda can set up as the target. The way his father's nose flares indicates to Dean that John is upset he had missed, not surprising since the man had surely been trying to show off.
"Stop disappointing me," John coldly states while shoving the gun back into Dean's unwaiting hands. The fact that he almost drops it has John tilt his head to the side in annoyance, the disapproving look in his eyes never leaving. "What the hell am I raising?" he mumbles as he steps behind Dean again.
Staying up late to talk to CROSSBOW-SAINTS drains him the next day. Though he's used to little sleep, his father's training is starting to wear his body down to the bones. He finds himself sluggish, almost lifeless.
Any sane person would cut ties or make their meetings shorter, but… - Dean licks his lips as he takes aim… - talking to the other player distracts his mind from everything, and he feels normal, like he's allowed to have friends, can communicate like a human being and is not some kind of freak. Dean pulls the trigger, the bullet blazing out of the barrel of the gun and hitting the soda can dead center before it falls off the edge of the fence.
Dean looks over his shoulder at John, a smile on his lips, expecting to see his father proud, but the man's expression is stoic, arms still folded over his chest. Green eyes drift away from John's as the smile that had worked it's way onto his face drops.
Slowly, John make his way over to Dean, the same expression still on his face. "I don't want this to happen again. After school I want you to step up, you're starting to slack and it's affecting the family. Don't be so damn selfish," the oldest Winchester chastises as he places a hand on Dean's shoulder and guides him towards the Impala.
Dean doesn't speak up, only mumbles under his breath a "Yes sir" as he gets into the car and closes the door.
John circles the car and sits in the driver's seat. He glances at his older son, noting the lost look in his eyes. He's tempted to speak up, but that would only make Dean weak. The boy is not a baby. He can't have that in this family- especially not for Dean. He's the one who will redeem his name, and go on to being a top notch Marine.
Sam though, from the get-go he knew he would be different. When he had asked for a computer instead of a gun like Dean had, John already knew things would be completely different for Sam. He allowed Sam some slack, much more than he would give Dean, and it seems it's biting him in the ass now. The kid is smart, but a Winchester has no business in college. Their role lies in the marines. At least he's still got one son that understands that.
Rick brushes the sweat off his brow, leaning forward to catch his breath. The sun is merciless, beating down on them as the coach makes them run laps around the track again. If only the school had funding for proper gym supplies, then they wouldn't be stuck out here.
"Tired already?" Shane grins, slapping Grimes on the shoulder before he jogs on by.
Rick grunts, straightening up and glancing over to the bleachers, gaze landing on a certain blue eyed boy. Daryl isn't one to join in on much, but the look on his face is enough to worry Rick.
Glancing around for the coach, Rick jogs off the field and up the bleachers, Daryl glancing up at him as he plops down on the cool metal beside him.
"Hey, what's the matter?" Rick inquires, bumping his shoulder with his friends. Daryl ducks his head, bangs falling across his face as he shrugs, but Rick doesn't let him close himself off. "Your frown is deeper than usual. What's up?"
The Dixon purses his lips, gaze sweeping over the field as he answers, "He wants to meet."
Rick blinks, his brain filling in the blanks for him, "Impala?"
Daryl nods, "Talkin' 'bout stuff. Don't even remember what anymore, but he...didn't sound too good. Could tell something was up. Told me he was goin' through a lot of shit but that talkin' to me made 'em feel better." He bites down on his bottom lip then, Rick studying the Dixon's profile as the boy seems resolute on not looking at Grimes directly. "Don't know what came over me, but I said that if I were there with 'em, he could talk to me whenever he wanted to." Daryl finally turns his head to meet Rick's gaze, "He said ok."
"Ok?" Grimes repeats, furrowing his brows.
Daryl nods, "Ok, like, ok let's do it."
"Daryl," Rick winces at how firm his tone had sounded.
"I know, Grimes, I ain't stupid," the Dixon frowns, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees as one hand comes up so that he can bite the side of his thumb. "Don't know nothin' 'bout 'em. Don't know his name. What he looks like. Where he lives. Don't know nothin' and I...I-"
A snort resounds from behind them, both boys glancing up to see Shane standing on the steps to the bleacher they're on.
"Figures the weirdo would spend all his time playing stupid games," Walsh rolls his eyes.
"Shane," Rick frowns, lips pressed into a thin line as he narrows his eyes at the other boy.
Shane ignores the warning in Rick's voice, "What's the matter, Dixon? Scared the guy will be weirder than you?"
Daryl's face is carefully blank, blue eyes narrowed at Shane.
"Probably some 40-year-old fatass that lives in his momma's basement," Walsh continues. "Talking to lil' idiot boys like you."
Rick sets his jaw, "Shane."
"Or maybe he's some 8-year-old psycho ass kid. Didn't realize jailbait was your thing," Shane snorts. "Bet you-"
"Shane, that's enough," Grimes snaps, standing up to face his friend eye to eye. "We get it, so cut it out already."
Shane lifts his hands in a placating manner, taking a step back from Rick, "Settle down there, Rick. Watchin' out for Dixon, is all."
At the sound of movement behind him, Rick glances over his shoulder to see Daryl hopping down the bleacher seats before jumping down onto the field, never once turning back towards them as he marches his way back towards the school.
Rick turns his attention to Shane, the other boy also having caught Daryl's exit before he turns back to Rick.
"What?" Shane shrugs. "You wanna ditch me and Lori to hang out with him? Fine, I'll help you out. Give Dixon a reality check so you can stop fuckin' babysitting him."
With that, Shane turns on his heels and heads back down towards the field, leaving Rick to release a heavy sigh as he places his hands on his hips and shakes his head.
They're quiet the whole way there, Rick sneaking quick glances at Daryl, the other boy leaning against the passenger door. Today is the day and Rick can tell the Dixon is nervous with the way he chews on his thumbnail, blue eyes focused on the road.
Impala lives pretty far from them, Rick on the road for two hours, Impala having to cross relatively the same distance to arrive at the meeting spot both he and Daryl designated.
Pulling into the parking lot of a diner, Rick glances at the customers inside through the huge window, going as far as to stick his head out the driver's side as curiosity wins him over, but it's a lost cause. He doesn't have the slightest idea of what the guy looks like and neither does Daryl.
"Thanks," the Dixon speaks up, attention trained on the diner just as Rick's had been.
"Don't mention it," Grimes shrugs, cutting off the engine. "How are you gonna know it's him?"
"He's gonna have his controller," Daryl informs his friend, teeth still chewing on his thumb as his gaze sweeps over the outside of the diner again.
Rick blinks, "His what?"
"His controller," Daryl answers, finally sparing Rick a glance as he pulls out his own from the pocket of his hoodie.
Rick snorts, "Are you serious?"
The Dixon shrugs, "Couldn't think of much else. Besides, I'll definately know it's him cause who the heck walks 'round with a controller?"
"You two, apparently," Grimes chuckles, but it immediately dies in his throat when he realizes Daryl isn't laughing. He isn't even smiling.
Daryl bites at the skin of his thumb, wincing when he draws blood and only then seemingly realizing just how hard he had been chewing at it. He takes in a deep breath, Rick tempted to say something before the Dixon beats him to it.
"What if...what if Shane is right and he-"
"You're already here. Find out for yourself. I've got your back," Rick assures before he adds. "Unless you want me to wait here. I unders-"
"No, it's fine," the Dixon shakes his head. "You can come with."
Rick nods and slips out of the car, falling in step with Daryl, giving the Dixon credit when he doesn't hesitate to pull the door open and step in. The same can't be said a moment later when Daryl freezes at the doorway, shoulders tense as his blue eyes glance over the occupants of the diner.
When Daryl remains standing there, even when a hostess moves to help them, Rick steps up to tell her they're here to meet someone. She gives them a funny look when they can't tell her who or what he even looks like.
Glancing over the people at the diner, Rick's gaze lands on a man sitting by himself in the corner. He's rather large, his button down shirt straining to contain his stomach as he takes another bite of his burger.
"Daryl, 10 o'clock," Grimes speaks up, tapping Daryl's shoulder to get his attention. "What about that fat guy?"
Daryl scrunches up his nose, throwing a look at Rick over his shoulder, "Ain't no controller by him."
"Aright," Grimes agrees, deciding not to note the relief on Daryl's face that the guy isn't Impala. "What about that one?" he asks not a minute later, pointing out another man sitting alone at a booth.
For a man looking to be at least in his forties, he isn't that bad looking. Hair slicked back and a clean shaven face. The man seems to be looking around for something, both Daryl and Rick holding their breaths when his gaze lands on them. Except, it isn't really on them, but on the hostess from before as she steps around the two gawking boys to see what the man needed.
"Huh," Rick hums, "Doesn't have a controller either."
Grimes purses his lips. It can be anyone really, a simple controller the only distinction. Could be that old man making his way back from the bathroom. Or that kid sitting towards the front, brown hair falling across his hazel eyes as he divides his attention between a book and his milkshake.
"It's like trying to find a needle in a haystack," Rick sighs, hands on his hips. Could it be that Impala hasn't arrived yet?
When his comment is met with silence, he glances over at Daryl, only to see the boy's attention trained towards the back of the diner. Rick turns around and follows his gaze, finding a young boy looking to be around their age huddled in a booth in the corner. He has the most vivid green eyes Rick has ever seen, his short-cut brown hair suiting his features. He's honestly surprised he hadn't noticed the other teen sooner, but despite how stunning the boy is, something else captures Rick's attention. There is a controller on the table. Partially hidden by his arm, but it's definitely there.
"Daryl," Grimes breathes out, reaching out for Daryl only for his hand to grasp at nothing.
Looking over, Rick realizes the Dixon is no longer beside him. Rather, he's already out the door and heading towards the car.
Author's Note: Happy New Year! 2018 is in full swing and so are we with our favorite pairing Daryl and Dean.
On a side note, we own PS3s and it's the only reference we have to online game chatting. Hope it wasn't confusing or anything.
Happy reading!
