Author's Note: Hey everyone! I'm sorry about the overall shortness of this chapter and the vague filler feel it might have to it but I hope it tides you all over until I can get another longer chapter out. xo.
Spare Me: Chapter Twenty-Two.
One moment, Daryl was staring down at the grass, vaguely aware that his feet were dragging along the ground behind him. He could hear overlapping voices in his ears, the words too mingled and loud to be coherent and he could feel something steadily dripping down his forehead towards his eyes. Then, he blinked and seemingly within seconds, he was lying in a bed, his temple stinging, overwhelmed by noise and light and sensation. It felt like there were hands all over him and he kept trying to jerk away from them, tried to lash out with his feet and his arms so they'd get off of him. He could hear someone roaring wordlessly above the din but it was only as the roar caught in his throat that he realized the godawful noise was coming from him. Then the stinging in his temple spiked into agony and he was gone again, falling into a gray abyss with no light and no sound and, thankfully, no pain.
When he woke up long enough to have more than a tenuous grasp on reality, the room was dark. After his eyes adjusted, he realized that he was in the guest room of the farmhouse, the blankets pulled up to his neck. Someone had removed his shirt and boots and when he rolled over towards the door, he could feel bandages on his ribs and wrapped around his head, tugging at the skin where they were taped down. He could hear voices coming from beyond the door, hushed murmurs punctuated by the sound of silverware clinking and once it registered what was going on, his stomach growled loudly. It had to have been at least six hours since the meager squirrel innards and any food sounded like good food at the moment.
He was attempting to figure out if his legs would support him long enough to get up when the door slowly creaked open and the lamp on the bedside table clicked on. Carol was standing in the doorway with a full plate of food in her hands and Daryl propped himself up against the headboard, stretching his legs out in front of him. The simple series of movements made his head spin and he was still exhausted but getting rid of the hunger pangs was his main priority at the moment.
"Thanks," he muttered as she put the loaded plate into his lap. He didn't know what the occasion was to warrant such a feast but he wasn't going to complain one bit. She smiled at him before reaching into the front pocket of her cardigan and pulling out Sophia's doll. While Daryl was glad that someone had been smart enough to give it to her, it only brought up thoughts of the other trophy he had brought back from his encounter. Someone had taken the ear necklace and although he had no idea who had done it, he had a feeling there was going to be some pretty awkward questions coming his way once he could get out of bed properly.
"Was there anything else?" she asked, fingers absently smoothing the frayed yarn hair away from the doll's pale face. Daryl shook his head, picking up a piece of chicken with his fingers and dropping it into his mouth.
"No footprints or anything. Just the doll." She put the doll back in her pocket and then leaned in and kissed the part of his forehead that was covered in a bandage. Wincing hadn't been part of his original plan but it had been an unexpected gesture and she didn't seem to take it too personally, based on her small smile. He was sure that, on some level, she understood.
"You're every bit as good as them," she said quietly, hands smoothing over the lump of the doll in her pocket. "Every bit."
"Thanks." He knew it was a stupid response but it was the only one that had come to mind. She simply smiled again and left, closing the door quietly behind her. Her words stayed in his head long after she'd gone and the more he thought about it, the more they unsettled some fundamental part of him. Frankly, most of him thought that they were just a lie; he wasn't as good as Rick or even Shane for that matter. Much as he didn't trust the latter, he certainly couldn't deny that Shane had been an integral part of the group. He'd protected them from the beginning, when most of them were nothing more than useless city slickers and even if it hadn't been an entirely selfless action on his part, it was still more than Daryl had ever had the desire to do. And even if he hadn't been around as long as Shane, there was no doubt that Rick was somehow the glue holding them all together. Daryl didn't quite know how the former deputy was managing to do it, but it was the truth.
What was he compared to that? He'd never wanted to be a leader, never wanted to be at the front of a crowd. That had always been all Merle's game and even now with his brother gone (or at least banished to a figment of his imagination), he felt no desire to step up to that role. He just brought them food and did his best to find a lost little girl and at the end of the day, that really wasn't anything too impressive.
Nonetheless, the other part of him, the tiny part that spent most of its time buried, could acknowledge that Carol had no reason to lie to him. He knew that she really believed what she'd said but if she'd been trying to get him to believe it, she'd failed. That was going to take a little more than one statement, no matter how well-meaning it was; fuck, Daryl wasn't even sure if it was possible at all and truthfully, he didn't really want to spend too much time pondering it, especially not when he still had food to devour.
Once he'd completely cleaned off the plate, the full extent of his exhaustion came rushing back. But he'd just barely gotten his head back down onto the pillows, plate on the floor beside the bed, lamp still on, when the door creaked open again. He flicked his eyes open, ready to growl out a curse word but once his vision focused, he could see that it was Glenn standing in the doorway, nervously drumming his fingers off the door frame.
"You just gonna stand there and look at me?" he grumbled, shoving his arm underneath the too-soft pillow. Taking a quick look behind him, Glenn stepped into the room, closing the door behind himself.
"I thought you'd be asleep again," he said quietly, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. "I just wanted to make sure that you were doing okay."
"Feel fucking peachy." After another moment of standing there staring down at the ground, Glenn sat down on the very edge of the bed, his hands in his lap, fingers twitching slightly like he was trying to will them not to move. Watching their constant flitting was actually making Daryl kind of nauseous so he moved over until he could grab Glenn's wrist with his hand.
"Quit your movin' and come here," he muttered, tugging harder so that the kid would get the message. With another glance at the door, Glenn finally rearranged himself so that he was lying on top of the blankets, on his back with his face turned towards Daryl. He slowly reached one hand out and ran his nail along the line of the bandage on Daryl's forehead and even though it was a featherlight touch, the contact still made his temple throb and he winced away reflexively.
"Who shot me?" he asked, sitting up and leaning against the headboard again. Now that he had a full stomach, the room had (thankfully) stopped spinning. Glenn copied his position, bringing one of his knees up to his chest while extending his other leg. The kid looked tired; the bags under his eyes were even more startling in the dim light thrown by the lamp. There was a dark smudge of dirt on his neck and there were a few stains on his pale shirt but regardless, Daryl was pretty sure he'd never been more happy to see someone; hell, if it hadn't been for the pain and the exhaustion seeping further and further into his brain, he would have rolled over and pinned Glenn to the bed, no matter who might walk in at any moment.
"Andrea. She thought you were a walker." Glenn's eyes drifted down to the bandages that were wrapped tightly around Daryl's ribs. His hand moved slowly until it was resting against the bandages, fingers splayed so that his nails were just barely scraping Daryl's skin.
"Christ, knew I looked bad, didn't think it was that bad though," he muttered, staring down at Glenn's hand and the sheet beyond it. The light pressure did make the wound twinge slightly but the contact was actually rather nice. He felt like it was Glenn's way of apologizing to him and even if the kid really hadn't done fuck all, he was still going to accept the apology. When the pressure started to hurt, he reached down and pulled Glenn's wrist away but rather than removing his hand, he trailed his fingers down until he could loosely thread them through Glenn's. Glenn looked like he was thinking hard about something but the gesture seemed to stop his brain for a little bit. Daryl didn't really know if that was the best idea but quite frankly, he was exhausted and most of his body was throbbing with pain; having a damn conversation wasn't really at the top of his to-do list at the moment, especially when it was undoubtedly going to involve some serious shit.
"I'll leave you alone soon so you can get some more sleep," Glenn said quietly, squeezing Daryl's fingers once as he turned his head and kissed Daryl's shoulder. When he lingered there for a few seconds, Daryl turned his head as well so that he could press his face into Glenn's hair. It was a simple thing, really, but it served to further prove what he'd realized earlier in the day. He was pretty sure that he still couldn't spit the words out, probably wouldn't ever be able to but being able to admit it to himself without any doubt still felt pretty goddamn good.
"It's gonna be hard to sleep by myself," Glenn murmured, his forehead resting against Daryl's shoulder. "It'll be too quiet."
"Be nice to have some damn room though." Glenn pulled away and when he looked up, he rolled his eyes before settling into a small smile. Daryl smirked back at him and squeezed the kid's hand again. If there was one thing he was truly glad for, it was that Glenn knew how to read between the lines, knew how to figure out what he was actually saying. Sure as hell saved him from trying to spit out gonna miss you too 'cause he was pretty sure that was just bound for embarrassment for everyone involved and his day had already been shitty enough without that.
"Night Daryl," Glenn said, letting go of Daryl's hand and sliding off the bed.
"Night." Glenn flicked the lamp off before he shut the door and Daryl gingerly eased himself back down. Whatever Hershel (he assumed) had given him for the pain was slowly starting to wear off and even though he certainly felt a lot better now that there wasn't a goddamn bolt stuck through his side, getting comfortable was nearly impossible. He was generally pretty good at sleeping through pain; hell, it'd basically been necessary to learn that skill when he was a kid. But between the tendrils of pain snaking through his skull and the dull throb near his ribs and the various other bruises, he could barely fucking shift an inch without wincing.
"Fucking horse," he muttered, hissing between his teeth as he tried to find an acceptable position for his arm. That failed and he ended up rolling onto his back, staring up at the ceiling in the dark. He really wanted a goddamn cigarette but he was pretty sure that he was all out. He could hear everyone streaming out of the house, heading back out to their camp and once they were gone, the house was much quieter. He'd never minded the quiet but between the near-silence and the fact he could barely fucking move, he could just feel himself getting antsy. He was perfectly fine with self-imposed stillness but having it forced upon him was absolute torture. He raised his hand to scratch the side of his neck and ended up prodding a bruise hard enough to make him curse into the darkness.
It was going to be a long fucking night.