Part Five
Jesse must have hit the ground without realizing it, because the next thing he knew, he was staring up at the pitch black sky. He could see the stars, could see constellations. They didn't seem to form any kind of patterns, though. Not unless someone drew lines through them and pointed out the obvious for Jesse. He was always missing the obvious, it seemed.
"You're up," said a voice. Jesse rolled over and found himself looking at Daryl, who was crouched on his knees in front of him and looking down, concerned.
"Where was I?" Jesse mumbled. He raised his hand to his head, rubbing it. He was aching all over, like he'd hit something hard. He probably had – the ground couldn't have been too soft.
"Think we've been working you too hard. Need to take a rest," Daryl said, and Jesse sensed some disappointment in the voice, but also something he didn't expect. There was something like… worry. Care. Could it be that this man actually cared for him, beyond using him as manpower to get back what was important to him?
"I can work," Jesse whispered, "I'll work hard."
"Don't work too hard," Daryl told him, offering his hand to help him up. "You seem to go in and out of it."
Jesse pursed his lips. He didn't know how much he could tell the other man about what had happened – how much could he even admit to himself? He lived in two worlds, one that was the present, which was blurry and out of focus and hard to get a grip on, and the crystal-clear past that was tinged with red. So much red, every time their fists had rained down on him because they had been bored and he had been there. Sometimes, by the end, by the time they had sold him, he almost looked forward to it. Because the long nights when they didn't come were so, so much worse. The nights when he would try desperately to scramble up to the top of the grate, not because he thought he could escape but because then, maybe, he could hear something other than silence and the screaming that was always going on inside his head.
Sometimes he had heard Jane's voice, and he had been sure that she was there somehow, looking at him and judging him. Telling him that he should have known all along what Mr. White had done, but that he'd been blind to it; that he'd been looking at the man as some kind of father figure and had excused every awful thing he'd done. Even Jane, even Brock… even though the latter he had suspected at first. Why hadn't he listened to his instincts on that one?
Because if he had, he would have had no one. He would have been alone in the world.
Jesse slowly took Daryl's hand, but he kept staring at it as he stood up. He kept wondering when Daryl would turn on him, too. It wasn't like he would want to get into some kind of battle with Jack. No matter what he had initially wanted Jesse for, Jesse figured that Daryl would decide it just wasn't worth it.
And once he was locked back in the grate, he would never ever get out again. His life would be in the lab, cooking, and laying on that mattress until death came up and took him. He just needed to accept that.
Jesse spoke up quietly, against all his own instincts. '
"Please don't let them take me back."
Daryl stared at him.
"Of course I won't let them take you back! You're mine now. You're my responsibility, and I'm going to protect you. Merle will, too, whether he likes it or not, okay?" He put a hand on Jesse's shoulder and squeezed it, then let go a moment later after he started looking uncomfortable. "We're a team. And a team… that's not how a team operates, that's it. Don't worry about anything except getting your strength up, because we're going to need it, and you might need it sooner rather than later if this is true."
"I don't want to go back."
Daryl sighed and put his arms out.
"Do I need to get all kinds of sappy with you? 'Cause let's face it, I don't really know how to do that, okay? But I promise I won't let those bastards take you back. I'll fight them first, and I don't know if you've noticed or not, but I'm pretty damn tough when I put my mind to it."
Jesse's head was swimming as he tried to figure out if he could trust Daryl or not. Was this genuine affection or was another person playing a mind game with him?
He tossed it around in his head before coming to the conclusion that he could only assume it was genuine. He needed, well, what he had always needed maybe, and that was a friend. An ally.
"Okay," Jesse whispered, "I… I'm going to try to trust you." Daryl smiled.
"I know trust doesn't come easily most places. Especially these days. The number of people I can trust is few and far between. Right now, it's just Merle. But you… I can see something in you. Maybe one day that number can be two people."
"Well, listen, you two lovebirds better shape up," snarled a voice. It was Merle, and he was holding a shotgun, nearly caressing it. "'Cause dear old Jack and his crew are here and they ain't takin' no for an answer. I tried to tell 'em finders keepers but someone ain't never taught any of them any manners." He narrowed his eyes at Jesse. "You better fight. I didn't take you on to make you any dead weight. If you're gonna be dead weight, I might as well give you back to Jack, anyhow."
"He's not going back," Daryl spoke up firmly, raising the crossbow. "If it's a fight they want… well, I have manners. And I'm not gonna disappoint."
