Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.
Authors Note #1: Written in response to a lovely anon request for some Darlenn soul-bond/soulmate fic. I haven't written Darlenn in about five million years, so yeah. *This storybasically takes off after we see Daryl and Glenn, side by side and gagged in Terminus and is true to canon till just after 5x01's opening credits. This fic will differ a bit in terms of timing issues and how things exactly went down between getting free of their bonds and escaping Terminus.
Warnings: This story will touch on elements of the soul mate/fated love/one love bond trope, only this one is a bit different. Centering around the idea that one can only recognize their soul mate upon skin to skin contact. In my version of the trope, the couple experiences what is known as 'the pull' a period of intense emotional, physical and sexual desire that is both irresistible and impossible to avoid no matter the circumstances. *Contains: possible dub-con, animal mannerisms, adult language, adult content, sexual content, slash, deals with vague aspects of past abuse (childhood and adult), violence, gore, relationship issues dealing chiefly with infidelity, ie: the fact that Glenn and Maggie are married and Daryl and Carol have an 'almost thing,' plus the usual emotional baggage.
The Pull
Chapter One
"I remember you. Yeah. You're the sneaky one, the one with nerve. You don't scare easy, do you? I like that."
It was messed up, but that was what'd been going through his mind when the thin little guy beside him pissed himself. Flooding the air with the harsh tang of fresh urine, a strange accompaniment to the flash of floppy brown hair - swaying this way and that - as they cut the throat of the third man in line at the trough.
That was all he got. No Maggie. None of his high school crushes. Nothing. Not even the after-images of his parents. Just the acrid sting of sweat and camera-quick flashes of overexposed stainless steel and flowing red as Merle's words came back to haunt him.
It was unfair. And frankly, pretty darn telling when you considered how fucked up the world had to be for it to be Merle, of all people, who he was dwelling on. He shook his head, fists clenching around the plastic straps as they bit deep across the inside of his wrists. He couldn't stop himself from yanking at them - ripping at his own skin. Doing little to ease his current reality as the reel of Merle's stupid smirk flared out across his closed eyelids. Following him around like the shitty aftertaste of stale beer and that container of week old take-out you had to hype yourself up to take a chance on when your fridge was that empty and you didn't get paid for another three days.
The worst part was the way the bodies – no – the people kept moving afterwards, twitching and lurching as the blood gurgled and spat. Spraying out across the basin in a mist of red as half formed cries and wordless syllables of sound echoed horrifically. Because that was the real kicker, wasn't it? They were still alive. Still moving. Still screaming. Their brains just hadn't caught up with the rest of them yet.
Somewhere in his mind's eye, Merle laughed – cackling and cruel - taunting him with the memories of a strength that seemed to have deserted him. Vanishing like moisture hissing across glowing coals, a stark contrast to the sluggish tide of red surging down the metal trough towards him as Daryl breathed hard through his nose beside him, shivering and angry.
"Now… I wanna know where my brother is. I wanna know where the sheriff is. I wanna know where they're hiding, where your camp is, and I wanna know now. Where the hell are they? Tell me…"
It made him wonder – trembling and sweating and barely holding it together as the bat connected with the head of the man next to him - if that was what his English professor would've called a cruel irony.
Considering that Merle hadn't lived long enough to see just how wrong he really was.
"You have two hours to get them on the driers. Then we go back to public face. Now's the time we can get messy, but we need to dial it all in by sundown."
He had his eyes closed again. Teeth sunk so deep into the gag that his gums hurt. So tense that he didn't even hear the first gunshot. Or the second.
"Hey, Chuck?"
But he still felt the change in the air when the man behind him raised his bat. Sensing the smaller one, the one with the ski-goggles and hyper expression, shifting excitedly. Plastic apron like nails on a chalkboard as the fabric rubbed together – high-pitched and cringey – as he bounced in place.
He sensed the beats between the breaths as the fabric of Daryl's gag creaked – straining. Shoulders brushing against his like words unsaid. Sensing more than seeing the way the man was pushing and snarling just underneath his skin. Too busy dealing with his own problems as a scream lodged itself deep in the back of his throat and stuck there.
He wasn't sure what to do with the sudden surge of hysteria when he considered what might happen if that scream found its way to open air. Throat tightening – choking and thick – as he thought about what would happen when the blade split him open. Laying him clean from the inside out as everything he'd held back, everything he hadn't been able to force himself to say came tumbling out.
He muffled a sound through the gag – a cry – a huff of air - maybe a laugh when the third shot rang out. Eyes blowing open, uncertain if that was good or bad as Daryl shuddered. Working himself up towards what sounded like a full blown panic attack as the man behind him raised the bat for the last time and-
That was when the world outside just fucking exploded.
They were still picking themselves off the floor when it happened. When Rick cut the zip-ties around his wrists and he surged down to yank at the ones around Daryl's ankles, pulling ineffectually until Rick got the first set open and passed him the shard of wood to deal with the rest.
Daryl sprang up like something half-feral and on the wrong side of tamed. The whites of his eyes wide and blood-shot as he spat out the gag and caught his hand in his own, yanking him upright – rough and sloppy – so that when his knees ricocheted against the floor, he rebounded into the curve of his chest. Temporarily weightless in a personal ecosystem of stale breaths and worn leather as Daryl's hand tightened, absorbing his weight with a grunt. Heart going a mile a minute before-
-oh.
A year could pass and he still wouldn't know how to describe it. It was static, an explosion. It was the universe folding back. It was dancing outside of your own skin – careless and free for the first time. It was stillness - being. It was a thousand things he didn't know how to pronounce. Adjectives and verbs he was pretty sure had been hammered into him during middle school that were now lost to him, right when he needed them.
But then, just as quickly, it narrowed down. Simplifying itself into baser things. Concepts and impressions that were easy and simple to understand as the flesh underneath his skin prickled and flushed. He bared his teeth, all primitive drives and barely-there awareness as his body flooded through. Preparing itself for the joining without even a ripple of uncertainty as he fought against the urge to just run at him.
His one.
He arched, aware of the provocativeness of the display. Watching his one through the fan of his lashes as Daryl hissed in response, gravelly and loud in a way that made him want to bend his neck. But it was a strange thing. For unlike in the animal kingdom, where a hierarchy of dominants and submissives made up the group order, the pull was a mating – no, a connection - of a far more equal order.
It was a matching of equals, a coming together of twinned souls that initially manifested itself in a language that no one, not even humans, could mistake. For as much as he wanted to drop low, desperate to please - belly up and whining – another just as strong part wanted to demand the same.
To pin Daryl down right there on that filthy concrete floor and cover him with every inch of skin he had to give. To scent him clean and chuff comfortingly into the hollow of his neck. Marking him so fully that no one would ever so much as even look at him again. So that everyone would know, like a neon sign during the darkest night, that he was his. That Daryl was his. That he'd always been his.
Want.
Need.
Desire.
Belonging.
Dang-gyeo
The Pull.
"They've got problems, we've got a chance," Rick shouted, distant and unimportant despite a niggling little voice in that back of his head that told him he should be listening. That it was probably important. That there were others counting on them as Bob untangled himself from the floor and popped up beside Rick.
"What the hell are these people?!" Bob gritted, anger and disbelief chief on his features. Forcing him to blink to keep them in focus as Daryl loomed over him, closing in, expression a strange mix of awe and terror as the instinct to come together – to take and cherish and protect - screamed right down to the very soul of him.
"Daryl, what-"
He jerked back, mouth falling open, tasting laughter on the air as the hairs on the back of his neck tingled and flared. Unmistakable and heady as Daryl stumbled back, curling into himself, shoulders hunched - protective. Eyes glittering underneath his fringe, accusatory and wanting as the world condensed and the sound of the others yelling, tugging and pulling at them finally seemed to register.
"Glenn, are you-"
He blushed scarlet, whether in embarrassment or the other thing, he didn't know. Probably both. Either way, it didn't matter. The deranged fog had receded slightly, peeling away to flood his senses with the taint of blood and fear. Helping him regain enough of himself to realize that Rick and Bob were staring at them uncertainly.
Jesus Christ, Daryl Dixon? Of all people?
It felt like a fucking pot-shot from the universe.
For fucks sake, this was his life?!
The worry and confusion on Rick's face he could handle. He knew how to handle all of that. How to deflect and tease and make a quick exit on stage left. But it was the dawning spread of realization that had started to flood across Bob's face that pounded everything home.
Everything that had happened.
Everything that was happening.
Everything he wouldn't be able to stop, even if he wanted to.
He let go of an embarrassing keen in favor of words. Bashful and practically gagging for it in a way that made no sense, especially when he snapped his mouth shut. Forcing the sound to cut off, warbling unattractively. Because he could actually see the outline of Daryl's dick pressing against his zipper – already hard like his own – twitching visibly at the sound.
A beat passed. Then another. Feeling the weight of their stares like a vice grip in his chest until Daryl, who - bless him - seemed determined to out embarrass him, causing a minor distraction by nearly keeling clean over in shock. Stumbling backwards like he expected something behind him to hold him up – flailing and choking through a strangled noise as Bob flicked a brow – concerned but wary.
It would have been hysterical if they were anywhere but here. If they weren't surrounded by cut throats still drizzling slowly. If they weren't stuck breathing in the smell of bleach and cold iron and he wasn't vibrating with the realization that he was going to have to re-evaluate his entire life in thirty seconds or less.
Woulda.
Coulda.
Shoulda.
"We have to get out of here, this isn't the time to-" Rick started, words punctuated by a burst of gunfire from outside. He sucked in a breath when Rick started towards him, one hand out, eyes determined like all they needed was a good shake and they'd be able curb it for long enough to rescue the others and make for the treeline.
But weirdly enough, that was what brought it back. What ramped the pull, the desperate all-consuming need he was feeling from navel to soul, right back up to a roiling fever-heat burning just underneath his skin.
He trembled. Fighting every inch that was screaming for him to claim and take when he looked up and found Daryl painfully – unrepentantly - close. Panting like a dog in heat as Rick took a careful step out from between them. Finally seeming to realize he was in a precarious position as Bob placed a careful hand on his shoulder, shaking his head and firming his grip when Rick tried to shrug it off. Watching the two of them closely, a mix of recognition and growing sympathy as a frightened scream issued from just outside. It was the only warning they got before another spattering of bullets ricocheted off the metal siding on the other side of the building.
Somewhere beyond the haze, he spared a second to wonder if that was something Bob had learned in the Army, or if it was just common sense. Because despite the gritty reality of it, most of the world seemed to focus on the romantic version of the joining. Waxing poetic about how blessed you were to have found your one. How lucky you were to be among the few that found each other. To have that connection, that bond that was deeper – more – than anything else out there.
Well, he didn't feel lucky.
He felt manic. Insane.
Five seconds from just fucking losing it if Daryl didn't-
"Go," Daryl grunted, gritting his teeth as he curled a calloused palm around the jut of his shoulder, squeezing down hard and forcing the words out like just saying them was the hardest thing he'd ever done. "Get the others."
"We'll catch up," he stuttered throwing the words over both their shoulders as Daryl started towing him towards the nearest door – desperate and uncaring of their audience as he ground his hips into the plush of his ass. Not sure who was pushing who in the end as he wrestled Daryl in front of him, hands tugging at his clothes in his need to discover bare skin.
"But-" Rick started, fingers twisting around the hilt of the knife he'd lifted from one of the side tables. Cut off before he could get any further when Bob nodded, taking the initiative and herding Rick towards the side door and into the blinding mid-day sun.
"Give them some space, Rick," he urged, orange shirt flickering out like a ratty looking flare. "Com'on we'll get the others out then come back for them. This isn't something we can stop. Besides, they are going to need us when this is over."
He caught a glimpse of Rick's face just before the door slammed shut.
He didn't have to think too hard to imagine the look on Maggie's when he told her.
A/N #1: Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – There will be two more chapters, stay tuned!
Reference:
* dang-gyeo: Loose Korean translation for "the pull" – technically just "pull" as apparently the Korean language doesn't have a word for "the". So, just pretend my Google translate skills are worth something, okay?
* Thank you to gunslingerdixon for providing me with the Merle dialogue from season three.