Current Timeframe: Post S2 finale
Don't Cross the Road if You Can't Get Out of the Kitchen
By: Syntyche
Whipping Boy
They moved in rough formation, gaps here and there as a back turned unwittingly and revealed a weakness in their defense, or gaze slung left instead of right and a blind spot was created. The group was learning, but they had a long way to go before Daryl could feel even remotely safe traveling immediately within the ranks instead of at the front or rear, and especially on foot. The added limitations of the downpour clogging their vision made Daryl even more anxious as he drew in a step to cover a gap big Greene had accidentally created by turning more toward Glenn protectively.
The rain soaked their hair and clothes and did its part to crush their already flagging spirits: undoubtedly there were colds and headaches to be had just around the corner, and Hershel could only do so much. Lori was especially susceptible right now, and there were other, half-healed injuries among the group that little to nothing could be done for as it was. Daryl hissed as his foot turned sideways on a slick stone and the pain seemed to travel all the way to his teeth as his knee wrenched, his burning side twisting as he shifted to compensate.
Push it down, push it down, he chanted to himself harshly; his crossbow seemed twice its normal weight in his tired arms and the strain of keeping it aloft wasn't doing him any favors, either. Push it down, you worthless little fuck, his daddy demanded, and Merle added, be a man and stop embarrassing me, Darlina! and Daryl gritted his teeth and pushed the pain into a tiny little ball that was almost manageable even though it radiated outward from his ragged bolt scar in hot waves. It was bad enough that he'd fallen down a ravine and impaled himself a few months back to begin with, but he certainly hadn't done the wound any favors by climbing back out of said ravine a time and a half and staggering back to the farm, after he'd yanked the fletched end of his bolt forward through his side. Good times.
At the front of the group Rick made a practiced gesture and T-Dog slid in with the wire cutters, quickly snipping a large enough section of fencing they could slip through into the enclosed lot and Glenn wound a bit of cable through the gap to close them in once the last of their group - Carl, peering out from under his hat as he covered the rear - had clambered through.
Rick paused again, a little uncertain as he surveyed the rows and rows of storage units, but they didn't have a lot of time to stand there blinking stupidly in the rain and Daryl pushed forward impatiently, heading past the smaller 10x10 units for something larger. Another wave to T brought the bolt cutters forward once more and the larger man snapped the padlocks off easily. The storage units, at least, were dry, which after weeks of relentless rain was a meager blessing in itself. The herd would probably find them soon enough, but for now they could pull down the aluminum door, leaving it open just enough for their lookout on the roof to scramble inside if necessary.
Daryl had immediately started to scale the roof to adopt his usual position as lookout, but a curt nod from Hershel to Rick put an end to that; T-Dog prowled the roof now, and Daryl was left with a relieved but sick heaviness in his stomach that somehow Hershel knew and it wouldn't be long before he found himself the subject of one of Hershel's brisk examinations.
Dust clogged their noses as they shifted and hauled plastic-wrapped furniture to make their new space a little more comfortable: a musty couch and a few battered chairs that would likely never be used again once their group abandoned this place were arranged close together, and long-forgotten boxes holding things that people hadn't even had a use for before the world went to hell were shoved aside. The plus side of this entire shitty situation was that the sealed boxes could keep Carl occupied for hours digging and looking … he tended to wander off a lot less after the farm, but it was still enough to turn Rick's hair even greyer.
Rick and Daryl pushed a couch against the far wall and Hershel helped Lori sit while her husband turned his back coldly. The Grimes seemed to be locked in one long fight, always about something or another, and the latest bout was whether to go with Glenn's suggestion of checking out the storage units, or trying to find and clear a house to hole up in with at least an equal measure of defense. They had a decent amount of food at least, from the last development they'd been through, so the fenced-in safety of the storage unit lot had swayed Rick's mind and that had been that.
Lori was swiftly bookended on the couch by Carol and little Greene and the three of them huddled and shivered while big Greene and Glenn determinedly rifled through hastily opened boxes for dry clothing and blankets. Lori's stomach had just started to swell, and Daryl knew it wouldn't be much longer before her already grotesquely skinny frame was pushed to its limits by the baby growing inside her. She was already wan and pale; some kind of shit had gone down between the Grimes that all of them were aware of but none of them talked about. Daryl personally didn't give a fuck and made himself scarce whenever a personal dispute between the two brewed on the horizon, nudged against the rough edges of his memories and reminded him of dear old home. He had enough memories of how fucked up his life had been without adding in the damned soap opera the two of 'em and Shane had created at the farm - Daryl's biggest regret was that he hadn't moved his tent away from them all sooner.
Well, maybe that wasn't his biggest regret - he twisted uncomfortably at the memory of the hurt on Carol's face; she'd pushed him, backed him into a corner, but he'd still been horrible to her and that was unforgivable - but it was pretty high on his list of regrets from last summer, hours of time wasted not giving a single fuck if Lori ended up with Rick, or Lori ended up with Shane, or Rick ended up with Shane …
The thought trailed away as a quiet, keening groan slipped from his lips and Daryl immediately shoved a ragged thumbnail in his mouth and put on his best pissed off face: no fucking way that sound came from him. His free arm wrapped around his ribs as one of his other regrets from the summer came back to greet him in a way that had his breath clawing at his throat as he slowly slid down the wall he was braced against, legs splaying in front of him carelessly.
"Are you all right?" Rick demanded, catching sight of the winded hunter and Daryl nodded tightly.
"Jus' need a minute," he gasped, and Rick nodded because they'd been here before; they were all tired, all on their last legs. Rick waited one more beat for a follow-up I'm really okay nod from Daryl before slipping out into the rain to prowl the lot perimeter. Despite himself, Daryl's eyes were starting to slide closed, he was so damn tired, he really did need just a minute and then he'd go out and help Rick or spell T, at least be some kind of useful.
Someone settled next to him and Daryl's eyes snapped open, blurry gaze struggling to focus as his hand closed around the hilt of his knife at his belt and a muffled curse sprang to his lips. Hershel's warm grip circled his wrist in a gesture meant to calm but only succeeded in aggravating his drifting mind further and Daryl struggled while Hershel called his name quietly until the hunter forced himself to breathe, to pull his shaking shoulders in tighter as he curled defensively around his bolt scar.
"I know it's bothering you," Hershel said without preamble, as if the vet hadn't just witnessed Daryl's completely pathetic display of nerves and Daryl's cheeks colored in embarrassment.
Hershel carefully moved his hands to Daryl's injured flank and Daryl flinched hard despite himself, and damn it this shit was humiliating and why he couldn't just get over it was something he'd struggled with for years, a weakness that needed culled, one he couldn't seem to control and his father and Merle and, hell, even Shane had used against him.
Daryl bit his lip, chewed his abused thumbnail, and squirmed relentlessly while Hershel poked and prodded and did his best to be discreet but everyone else was right there and of course they were pretending not to notice but of course the Daryl Dixon Show was best thing on right now - watch as the stupid jumpy redneck tries to get past his childhood issues and falls down a ravine, impaling himself on his own bolt in a freak accident that would trouble him for months if not the rest of his undoubtedly short, unremarkable life!
Hershel prodded his scar hard and Daryl tried not to yelp as he wondered if the Daryl Dixon Show made for better watching than Days of Our Grimes.
"It's just a little aggravated," the vet pronounced, satisfied as he leaned back on his heels, and Daryl mustered up a smile that was more frightening than anything, all gritted teeth and feral animal eyes.
Hershel winced.
"Okay, then," Daryl said after a moment, when it appeared Hershel was more than content to just stare at him thoughtfully without making any move to go do something else. "All set then. Off you get." He made a little shooing motion with his hands that Hershel ignored completely.
"Lori sure looks uncomfortable," Daryl tried again, even though this was a blatant lie because it appeared she - and everyone else but him, actually - had found dry clothing to change into and even a few blankets to wrap up in. "Might want to check on her," he suggested anyway.
"I want you to think about something, son," Hershel finally said quietly; he moved his hand to clamp onto Daryl's shoulder and Daryl winced, which only seemed to encourage Hershel. "Think about trying something for me."
Daryl immediately flipped his hand upward into a halting gesture. "I'ma stop you right there, doc," he began, not even wanting to know what the vet wanted Daryl to try for him, but Hershel, predictably, ignored him because for whatever reason - Daryl had his suspicions it was because he was used to working with animals - Hershel was completely comfortable dealing with all of Daryl's fidgety, finicky weirdness and just continued on like Daryl's inability to sit still unless he was completely exhausted beyond his reserves didn't bother him in the slightest.
Hershel was talking so Daryl tuned back in to listen despite his initial protest; he actually sort of liked the vet because he didn't take any of Daryl's shit - or anyone else's, for that matter. "I understand it's hard for you when people touch you, and make loud noises. You can't completely control those things."
This wasn't what Daryl had been expecting and it sort of freaked him out a little that Hershel was bringing this up now. The fact that his back was literally to the wall wasn't helping. His fingers twitched and he clenched his fists to keep them still. His right leg began bouncing. Fuck, he really hoped no one was listening to Hershel - now would be a really good time for little Greene to start singing or Carl to get lost.
"What you can do is control how you touch people," Hershel said.
Daryl squinted up at him, looking comically annoyed despite the lines of pain deepening around his eyes as the burning in his side refused to diminish. "I don't like touchin' people," he pointed out.
"I've noticed," Hershel chuckled a little and Daryl frowned. "You should smile more, too," Hershel added.
"Stop watching me, old man," Daryl muttered, to which the vet just smiled and patted his knee, his eyebrow lifting when Daryl glared at him and forced his leg to remain still in a very I don't need your advice kind of way, but then something clattered over in the corner and Daryl started and then he sighed because he knew he was basically a lost cause.
"Just try it," Hershel advised, and Daryl studiously looked away in an attempt to appear extremely focused on anything other than this conversation until Hershel moved away and went off to help look for Carl.
It wasn't a terrible idea, Daryl knew. It was just … he just didn't want to. He'd already gotten in too deep with the group when he'd gone looking for Sophia, when he'd gone back for Carol, when he'd refused to abandon them after the herd had taken the farm. But … he supposed … if he wasn't planning on leaving - which he wasn't, no way in hell could any of them make it alone - he could … probably … maybe give it a try.
The first time he reached out to Carol awkwardly, it scared the shit out of them both. It wasn't much, just a gentle and hesitant pat to the back of her shoulder like he'd seen Hershel do with Lori, but the blinding smile Carol shot him once she'd recovered from the shock had him immediately scuttling away in embarrassment. Carol smiled at him a lot more after that though, and Daryl found a little of the uncomfortable awkwardness between them lessened each time she did.
A few weeks later, he was brave enough to try a manly forearm grab to Rick - that was a tough one because it meant he had to let Rick clasp his fingers around Daryl's arm and Daryl's breath hitched wildly at the contact, but he knew Rick wouldn't hurt him, wouldn't leave bruises, wasn't pulling him in to crack a fist against his jaw. It was a simple gesture but it seemed to help Rick as much as it helped Daryl; the sheriff was in his own private hell these days: estranged from his wife, betrayed by his best friend, trying to lead a group that was barely beyond mutiny half the time.
The third time wasn't his doing, really; he'd waded into a mess of walkers and saved T-Dog and T had been so relieved he'd pulled Daryl into the burliest hug the hunter had ever experienced and it was too much, way way too much and Daryl froze and cursed Hershel's advice and his heart stuttered a few times but he could fucking do this so he pulled in a few quick breaths and made the fist that was about to land in T-Dog's kidneys wrap carefully around T's shoulder instead and he even thumped it against T's meaty back a few times half-heartedly. At that point it was T-Dog that nearly crumpled in shock, so they were even and Daryl gave the other man a weird sort of half-grin he hoped completed the manly moment so he could extricate himself from the fleshy embrace.
Daryl caught Hershel's eye as he backed away and the vet was looking on approvingly; Daryl sighed and rolled his eyes, because of course Hershel would be one of those I told you so, what did I tell you, didn't I tell you? types. Spitefully, Daryl shot Hershel the same stunted smile he'd used on T, the smile of a man who didn't really know how to make the gesture, and Daryl was nastily pleased by the look of vague horror that crossed the vet's face. Yeah, he was an ugly fucker and he knew it, and half-feral to boot, but damn it, he'd patted Carol's shoulder and returned T-Dog's hug and even exchanged an arm-clasping gesture of mutual manliness with Rick, so in all, he guessed, it wasn't too bad for a month of trying.
Damned if they thought they could get him to smile more, though.
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Thanks for reading! Please leave a review if you have a minute - even though I'm writing these for my own whump-loving heart, it's just nice to know what you think. This one wasn't very h/c, but I think if I do another one it'll be something whumpy from season 1 or season 4 … any ideas?