It was like watching a rubber band break after being pulled too taut. A train flying effortlessly before the inevitable crash and then Jesus couldn't look away, the horror of it shocking him into place.
He heard the scuffle before he rounded the corner and his heart plummeted, dreading whatever he may find as he came into the lot, but he still held his knives in front of him and kept his eyes wide open. He refused to drop his guard for even the slightest moment – especially when the alternative was getting himself and Daryl Dixon killed inside enemy territory.
But then he heard something metal ring out and a heavy body falling. He heard a sharp inhale with every swing, a wheezing exhale with every dull thud.
He finally made it into the lot, not sure what he would expect to find. Not sure what he would prefer to find: the Savior beating Daryl's skull in, taking a leaf out of his leader's book, or Daryl murdering the Savior, turning into something Jesus had yet to witness, a side of him coming out no one this side of Alexandria had seen before.
And that was the thing: Jesus knew Rick and his group were capable. He knew they could protect themselves and their own. He knew, by sheer virtue of the way the people of Alexandria looked up to them, that they were able to survive no matter the costs or consequences.
He'd heard the people of Alexandria mention – not necessarily to Jesus, but in passing – of the stories: of Rick coming in, guns at the ready, with a group of fifteen or so, all of them gnarled and broken in some way or another; of Rick murdering one of the native Alexandrians within a few nights of their being there; of more of their people dying because of his actions and his choices, children and women and anyone who "got in their way".
But Jesus knew they had to be ruthless if they wanted to survive. He knew they had to do unimaginable things. He knew they had to sacrifice, and that they had sacrificed to get to the point they were at. He knew it, and so he overlooked it, because they were never on any side but the same side, the living side, the side that wanted to continue living.
When he turned and saw Daryl in clothes that didn't fit properly, skin black and blue and bloody, smelling like shit and piss and wet dog, crying out every time he swung his arms down and what was left of the guard's brain spattering over everything in a five-foot radius – when he saw Daryl doing what it took to survive, it made something inside Jesus want to stop and hesitate.
He looked at Daryl and thought for a split second, before his mind truly caught up with the reality of the situation, yeah, I see where Alexandria comes from when they say they're scared of Rick. He looked at the scene in front of him and he could understand where someone who didn't know better would say that that was unforgivable.
Jesus looked at the scene before him and saw what the Alexandrians saw, but he also saw the frustration in every swing, the way Daryl's arms shook with every heaving blow, the way his face was swollen not just with bruises but also with emotion. He saw the toll it was already taking on Daryl as his body sagged with each blow.
"Daryl," Jesus ushered, attempting to breach the haze of whatever must be flying through Daryl's mind. His eyes scanned the area, and when he spotted a pair of keys sitting out he launched for them.
He turned back up to Daryl.
Daryl was the rubber band finally snapping. He was one train and the savior was another, and they were the crash Jesus couldn't look away from.
He always wondered, in the back of his mind, what Daryl would do if pushed hard enough. It was hard not to when Daryl, on a good day, was so quick to fight for any one of his people and let his explosive temper get the better of him. He never gave it much thought, though; it hurt Jesus to even consider what it would take to break him, too painful to want to know what would have to happen to see him so broken.
Seeing him now, Jesus felt ashamed for ever entertaining the thought of this moment.
"Daryl."