a/n: disclaimer: if you haven't seen the season 6 finale, don't read this. again: don't continue if you don't know what happens. and for a third time: this contains spoilers for season 6, and potentially season 7. okay? okay.

not quite a fix-it fic, but something relatively lighthearted-ish since kirkman, gimple, and the rest of the writers seem to believe daryl's allergic to anything good in life. also, i'm on issue 143 of the comic series and jesus is actually a humongous sap. total, undeniable, 100% syrupy tree sap. he reads to his boyfriend in bed. is that not the sweetest thing you've ever heard of in ZA canon? yes, you bet your sweet bippy i'm brainstorming something fluffy.

"He hasn't looked this bad since Andrea shot him at the farm."

Rick looked up to see Maggie resting on the bed, her face pale as she watched Daryl's chest rise and fall with his - finally - even breaths.

"Yeah… it's been awhile since he's been in this rough a shape."

Michonne and Carl wandered in and out to check on everyone before leaving to check on everyone else. Aaron and Glenn took it in turns, leaving only to get food and go to the bathroom. Sometimes, Jesus stopped in to check on them.

He stood in the doorway idly, listening to Rick and Maggie muse about the past. "... that necklace of walker ears sure was something," Rick tried to laugh. It came out strangled, and Jesus watched him bow his face and cover his eyes with trembling fingers.

"Rick," Maggie said. Her eyes were honed in on his, serious and unshakable. "You cannot blame yourself for what happened."

"Can't I?" he asked, not quite meeting her gaze. "I'm the one who proposed this whole thing. I led the raid. I…"

Maggie shook him off. "Daryl proposed this to Jesus," she said harshly. "I'm the one who negotiated it Gregory. Alexandria - we all agreed to this. If you blame yourself, don't. We're all to blame for this."

Jesus watched Rick nod in shame before returning his eyes to Daryl, sleeping as peacefully as he could with Harlan's drugs running through his system. The color was slowly returning to his pallid skin, the circles under his eyes becoming less pronounced the longer he was out.

He asked Rick and Maggie from his position in the doorway, "How often does he get to rest?"

The two looked at each other and frowned. Rick shook his head. "He sleeps like a bird. He always has. He'll lay down for an hour and be up any time there's even a shift in the air."

"Daryl's been in survival mode since before the dead started walking," Glenn mumbled from his place beside Maggie. "He's been conditioned to sleep lightly, and he's just… he's adapted to be able to function with as little sleep as he gets."

Jesus shook his head and sat down in the chair beside his bed. "What do you mean, he's been like this since before?"

Rick blinked and looked back at his hands. "We all had different lives before all of this. I - I was a deputy. Maggie was a farm hand. Glenn delivered pizza." He interlaced his fingers and knit his brows together. "Carol was a housewife, but she was a victim of domestic abuse.

"Daryl…. He doesn't talk about his past, but I can tell you he shows all the signs of abuse and neglect. He doesn't bring up how he feels about anything because he's convinced no one cares. He's let his guard down around us, but he still puts up this wall and acts like he's tough, like nothing can happen to him. If you move around him too fast he flinches. He won't let anyone touch him unless it's absolutely unavoidable because he's got scars all over that are older than we've ever known him."

Jesus propped his elbows on Daryl's bed and rested his chin in his hands. "So you think his childhood shaped him into being more capable of surviving in this world?"

Maggie met his eyes carefully. "We're not sayin' it's right," she said. "No one ever should have to go through that, no matter what world we live in. But Daryl… he and his brother had the same life before this, and Daryl came out stronger where Merle came out…" she trailed off, but Rick shook his head.

"Merle's defenses were just as high as Daryl's," he said. "When he was in the prison, he opened up to your father. He saved Michonne and Daryl. He took a little more time, but he was working on it."

Jesus turned his eyes back to Daryl, who laid curled on his side, facing Jesus with his injured shoulder to the ceiling. Maggie and Rick's conversation drifted into the background as he lifted a hand to comb Daryl's damp hair away from his forehead. A small smile graced his lips when Daryl blinked pale blue eyes at him.

Quietly, with his head resting on his palm, Jesus murmured, "How are you feeling?"

Daryl grimaced. "Can't tell," he admitted roughly. "What happened? Where'm I?" he asked, his eyes now widening in alarm. As he tried to sit up, Jesus could hear Rick moving to go find Harlan. Calmly, he made hushing noises and pushed Daryl back against the pillows.

"You got shot. It's been two days. No one else has any major physical injuries. Maggie's right here, and she's okay. You're at the Hilltop because Harlan can't afford to go all the way to Alexandria right now."

Slowly, Daryl's anxious wheezing subsided as he met Maggie's eyes and then settled on Jesus's. He leaned back against the pillow, wincing as his shoulder blade hit the lumpy cotton.

Jesus continued and met Daryl's eyes evenly. "Eugene, Rosita, and Sasha are… dealing," he said gently. "It'll be a while before they can come to terms with it. All we can do is give them time and give them space."

Daryl nodded before easing his eyes shut. He took a deep breath before sputtering out a self-deprecating chuckle. "Tara's due back any day now, I'm sure," he said, opening one eye to meet Jesus's confused gaze. "Someone's gonna have to explain to her that her girlfriend and Abraham were killed - and for nothin'. To… send a message." His voice began slurring as Harlan entered and gave him another dose of painkillers, but he continued, his eyes never leaving Jesus's. "I shoulda been killed, not her. Dwight aimed for me. Negan shoulda picked me from that lineup, saved Abraham from that - that fuckin' -"

Jesus brought a hand up to cup Daryl's cheek (and ignored the drop in his stomach when Daryl clenched his eyes shut and braced himself). He leaned down and pressed his lips to the other man's forehead, holding the position even after lifting his mouth away and resting his forehead against Daryl's greasy, sweat-drenched hair.

"You can't let yourself think like that," he urged, desperation coloring his voice. He felt Daryl shut his eyes. "You are not guilty for being a survivor," he mumbled against his temple.

Daryl hummed underneath him, eyelashes tickling Jesus's thumb as they bounced around under his lids, the medicine kicking in almost immediately. Taking his seat once again by the chair, he ran a hand through his hair and combed through his beard with his fingers. He saw Aaron in the doorway with a bottle of water for everyone in the room, an understanding smile in his eyes.

Taking the floor next to Jesus, he looked up. "Daryl's a tough one to crack, but if you give him enough time, he'll open up." He paused and shook his head. "He's never been this vulnerable, though. I don't know how he's going to bounce back…. If he'll bounce back."

He nodded in response. "We'll just have to wait and see and be there when he needs us. All of us."

a/n: i should also maybe mention that i think it was abraham that was lucille'd.