Chapter One—Your hair was long when we first met
Daryl was worthless. His father told him this everyday. With words, he screamed that it was Daryl's fault that his mother was dead. With his fists, he showed Daryl how he was helpless to defend himself. And with his eyes, on the rare day that he was sober, he glared at Daryl with such a focused hatred, that his son knew just how unwanted he was.
Daryl knew that in a just world, he would be dead. There was no reason for him to continue living this life, really. He filled his life and bed with meaningless people, searching for temporary relief from the pain of being unloved, disgusting, a waste of space.
Each fuck was cathartic. Every boy and girl that came home from school with him, came in his bed with him, was a reprieve from the reality: that he would live a short, meaningless life, and then die alone.
He was 16 now, and a junior in high school. He was smart enough to keep up with his age level, but made sure to keep his head lowered and his hand down in class. No need to involve the teachers in his home life. After all, it's not as if anyone really cared. If someone did, Daryl imagined that the DHR lady that was sent to his home a decade ago would have found him a different family. He would have made good grades, gotten a hug before he left for school in the mornings. Instead, that lady had bought all the shit his dad was shoveling and he got a backhand more often than anything else.
In school, Daryl got to be the tough guy that no one fucked with. A lot of people fucked him, sure, but that was always under Daryl's control, and every person he touched knew not to expect a call the next day. Or ever, really.
Daryl lived his life like people in songs told him to: like he was going to die tomorrow. Because in all actuality, that fact was always more probable than not.
It was two months into his junior year, and fall was beginning to set in to his small corner of Georgia. He woke earlier than usual, and was on his way to school after avoiding his dad, who was recovering from a bender, by climbing out the window.
Walking into his school, he nodded at Casey, the dude he got his pills from, to let him know that he was running low. Casey tipped his head back towards the gym doors and held up one finger, letting Daryl know to meet him in there at lunch time.
Daryl continued to his locker, and grabbed the books he would need for his first two classes, English and Bio. His English teacher was an old gal, almost completely deaf, and everyone expected her to croak any day now. His Bio teacher was a huge douche bag who goaded Daryl into losing his cool almost every fucking day. Mr. Walsh was Daryl's least favorite part of his school day, and he had an intense desire to punch that asshole in the face, just one time. He knew it would make him feel better.
Daryl walked into his English class, and continued to the back of the room, keeping his black hoodie up over his face, the better to hide his bruised eye. His dad had come home wasted and hit Daryl in the face while he was sleeping. Fucker couldn't even wake him up to start beating the shit out of him.
Daryl looked to the front of the room and saw the old bird talking to a kid he hadn't seen before. The boy was gesturing with his hands, trying to talk to Ms. Thomas, and being largely unsuccessful. He was about Daryl's height, just under six feet, and had sandy blonde hair that was slightly curly, and reached the nape of his neck. He was lean and angular, and had a handsome face. Daryl looked him over, noticing that his lips were made for sucking cock, full and almost pink. He kept licking his lips, obviously nervous about his first day at a new school.
Ms. Thomas stood up, grasping the boy's arm, and drug him to the front of the class, just as the bell rang and the last few students took their seats.
"Class, quiet down! We have a new student!" Ms. Thomas shouted. She only had one volume level: loud. Everyone in class looked up at the new boy, and he blushed to the tips of his ears. Daryl snorted. He forgot what it felt like to be embarrassed. Half of the people in this classroom had seen him naked, so it was rare that he felt the emotion.
Ms. Thomas didn't seem to notice the boy's reluctance to stand at the front of the room like a prize pony. In fact, instead of ending the torture, she gave him a little push towards the class and said, "Go on, dear, introduce yourself to your peers."
Daryl watched as the kid cleared his throat, his gaze moving awkwardly from the floor, to a student, and back to the floor. The kid looked up once more, and his eyes locked on Daryl's. If it was possible, his ears turned an even brighter shade of red, and he looked off to the side.
"Um," he cleared his throat again, "m-ma name is Rick. Rick Grimes. I'm from Atlanta, an' I moved here last week 'cause my dad got a new job." He made to go sit down, but Ms. Thomas stopped him with a hand on his arm.
"Now, dear, take a seat by Mr. Dixon in the back there. He'll catch you up on where we are in the textbook." She pointed at Daryl, who raised his eyebrows.
"No, thanks, Ms. T. I got no interest in babysittin' the new guy." In all honesty, Daryl wouldn't mind spending a little one on one time with Rick Grimes, but hell if he was gonna let the teacher put her job off on him.
"Now, now, Mr. Dixon," Ms. T said primly. "If I recall correctly, you could use the extra credit. Your grade sure couldn't get much worse."
Daryl glared at the old bat. She had no right to talk to him like that. "Fuck this. I don' need yer fuckin' extra credit. Nex' time you wanna bully someone, pick an easier target." With that, he grabbed his bookbag from the back of his desk chair and stalked out of the room. He fucking hated bullies: parents, teachers, students. They were all the same.
He could still feel Grimes' piercing blue eyes boring into his hours later, even as he pulled Casey's cock further into his mouth. His knees were on the unforgiving linoleum of the gym floor, and he had one hand kneading Casey's hip while the other stroked from the base of Casey's prick to where his mouth was sucking intently.
He pulled Casey's cock farther into his mouth, deepthroating him, and hummed. Casey arched his back, moaning Daryl's name, and came into his mouth. Daryl swallowed his come down, and stood up, his knees creaking. Next time, he thought, he was doing this somewhere more comfortable.
"Shit, Dixon," Casey panted, still out of breath, "you suck dick like a fucking champ."
Daryl smirked and held out his hand. Casey rolled his eyes and pulled a bag out of his back pocket, simultaneously pulling his baggy jeans back up around his hips from where they had been bunched on his thighs.
"What, no pillow talk?" Casey sneered. "You'll make me think you're only using me for my supplies."
"I am, dickhead," Daryl said before grabbing the baggie in Casey's hand and making for the exit. He still had to find a place to take some of this shit before his next class, and he only had five minutes until the bell. Fucker took forever to come.
"Don't you want me to take care of you, man? You've gotta be uncomfortable." Casey looked pointedly towards the crotch of Daryl's black jeans.
Daryl smirked at him again. "There ain't nuthin' ta take care of." Casey gaped at him as Daryl walked out of the gym. Shithead didn't seem to realize that sucking his cock was the opposite of a turn-on. Not that Daryl disliked going down on guys; quite the opposite, in fact. It could be fucking hot. But not when it was for an ugly fucker like Casey, who traded BJs for drugs.
Now, if Daryl was sucking on, let's say, Grimes's cock: that would be another story. Daryl found himself zoning out as he made his way towards the bathroom on the far side of the school, near the band room. They were out at practice right now, as they had an earlier lunch period, so that end of the school would be deserted.
Daryl pushed open the door of the bathroom and walked into the farthest stall, locking it behind him. He sat on the toilet and pulled out the baggie. He swallowed two of the pills dry and then rolled the baggie into his gym shirt and placed it in his backpack.
Daryl opened the stall and started to step out, but stopped in his tracks as he came face to face with Mr. Walsh.
"What are you doin', Dixon?" Walsh asked harshly, suspicion in his voice.
Daryl swung his bookbag onto his back and shrugged innocently. "Just takin' a dump, sir," Daryl replied, a saccharine sweet smile on his face.
Walsh's face twisted in a grimace, and he grabbed Daryl's arm. He started to drag Daryl out of the bathroom, but Daryl would be damned if he made it easy for him. He dug in his heels and tried to wrench his arm free from Walsh's iron-tight grip.
"Stop strugglin', Dixon!" Walsh grated as he tightened his grip on Daryl's arm. Daryl continued to struggle against his teacher's grip, but his arm was starting to go numb from lack of blood circulation.
Suddenly, the door to the bathroom opened, and both Daryl and Walsh looked up to see Rick Grimes walk in and stop suddenly, blue eyes wide in surprise. His gaze shot to Daryl, then he looked at Walsh, and finally his eyes fell on Walsh's grip on Daryl's arm, which probably looked as painful as it felt.
Walsh's grip automatically loosened as he became aware of the repercussions of having an audience, and Daryl wrenched his arm free at last. He brought his other hand up to rub the circulation back into his arm, glaring at Walsh all the while.
"What are you doin' in here, Rick? I know you have lunch now, 'cause you just got outta my class," Walsh said, his voice now portraying authority, but not anger as it had with Daryl.
Grimes's gaze moved from Walsh back to Daryl, who had stopped rubbing his arm, because he didn't want to look like a pussy in front of the hot new kid.
"He's here ta meet me," Daryl said, grinning at Grimes, whose eyes grew even wider. Walsh's gaze snapped to Daryl suspiciously, then went back to Grimes, who blushed under the scrutiny.
"Is that right?" Walsh asked Grimes.
Daryl jumped in, though the question wasn't directed at him, "Yep. Old Ms. T tol' me ta show the kid around, so I was gonna give 'im a tour of the school."
"I wasn't talkin' ta you, Dixon," Walsh snarled. His face cleared of anger as he looked to Grimes. "Well, Rick? What are you doin' on this side of the school?"
Grimes cleared his throat, and looked Walsh straight in the eye. "Jus' like he said, sir. He's supposed ta give me a tour." He then looked right into Daryl's startled gaze. "Sorry I'm late, man, I got caught up in the caf."
Daryl schooled his expression back into a smug grin as he looked at Walsh. He continued watching him even as he answered Grimes, "No problem. Wanna start that tour now, or hold off 'til tomorrow?" He looked at Grimes, who looked very pleased with himself and his ability to lie.
"Now's good, I got a free period next. Track was cancelled 'cause o' the rain."
"Fuck me, it's rainin'?" Daryl said. Walking home was gonna be unpleasant.
Grimes nodded, and looked at Walsh. "Can we go now, Mr. Walsh? Or do ya need anythin' else?" Daryl had to grin at just how fucking innocent the kid could look. He had mad skills at deception.
Walsh grimaced, then turned to glare at Daryl one last time. "Nah, go on Rick, Dixon." Grimes turned to exit, but Walsh blocked Daryl's way to offer one last threat, "I've got my eye on you, boy. Next time you screw up, I'll be there ta make sure you pay fer it."
Daryl smiled sweetly at Walsh, and maneuvered around him. "I have no idea what you're talking about, sir," he threw over his shoulder. He pushed open the bathroom door, and spotted Grimes a little ways down the hallway.
"C'mon, Grimes, I ain't got all day."
He turned to walk the opposite way from Grimes, away from the band room, and towards the rest of the school. He glanced beneath his eyelashes at Grimes, who had been looking at Daryl, and smirked when the kid moved his gaze to the floor as his ears turned red again. Daryl checked that his bastard of a teacher was nowhere around, and then looked back to Grimes.
"Listen, Grimes. Thanks fer that back there. I dunno why ya stuck yer neck out fer me, but I 'preciate it all the same."
Grimes met Daryl's gaze, and he nodded. "I don' know why Mr. Walsh was such a dickhead to ya, but I know he hurt yer arm." He rolled his eyes when Daryl scoffed. "Aw, now, don' try ta act all macho now. The man is a tank. He could injure the Hulk, I'd wager." Grimes smiled at Daryl, and Daryl felt his dick twitch in interest. Damn, but Grimes was pretty.
Daryl shrugged and rubbed his arm absentmindedly. "Nah, I've had worse."
As Grimes looked at him curiously, Daryl decided it was time to change the subject.
"Actually, Grimes, I got a class now, so I'll have to give ya a raincheck on that tour, if ya really want one."
Grimes smiled at Daryl again, "Sure I do, Dixon. An' you can call me Rick."
Daryl couldn't help but smile back. He didn't know the last time he genuinely smiled at someone. "Daryl. The name's Daryl."
Rick reached out a hand. "It's nice to meet ya, Daryl."
Daryl grasped Rick's warm palm in his, and shook his hand. "Likewise."
His hand was still tingling as he walked away.