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Private In My Hour Of Need

Discussion in 'Misty Hollow' started by Jesus, Apr 17, 2018.

  1. Jesus

    Jesus The Walking Dead
    Misty Hollow's Official Agony Uncle

    Posts:
    318
    Gender:
    Male
    Race:
    Human
    Age:
    32
    Alignment:
    Lawful Good
    APRIL 11TH | YEAR 7​
    TAG: @Daryl Dixon
    [​IMG]
    The general consensus was that he’d been incredibly lucky that nothing serious had been nicked and he’d not bled to death. The wound was deep but it was clean and the surgeons had fixed him up, dosed him up on painkillers and left him to sleep it off in one of the private rooms at the Misty Hollow medical centre. He really had been lucky it wasn’t so much worse. If you considered taking four inches of a very sharp knife into your side lucky. Then again his option at the time had been to let someone take a shot at Aaron or risk taking a knife to stop the gun, it had been calculated and the result was the best possible outcome it could have been. Aaron was (presumably) alive, he was sore but alive and nobody had died, at least none of their family had died. Jesus wasn’t sure about their attackers, after he’d been knifed and put the two attackers out cold, his main priority had been getting first aid and then he must have passed out because it all went fuzzy.

    Everything else came in fits and spurts, familiar faces overhead and then unfamiliar ones, pain and then a drifting sensation of no pain at all and then more darkness. Until now. He could see light from behind his eyelids and as he stirred and finally came round he squinted at the overhead light and decided he wasn’t ready to open his eyes just yet. He wasn’t necessarily comfortable, he felt stiff and tired and achy and his right hand side felt sore. He was propped up on soft pillows beneath his head, which was nice and he could feel something soft against the back of his knuckles on his left hand. It felt like a weight on the side of the bed too. In his slightly drug-addled state he wondered how they managed to let a dog into the room, wondered if it was Bailey or if it was one of those therapy dogs that travelled around sometimes.

    Eventually he realised he couldn’t just lay here with his eyes shut forever, so he slowly blinked them open and took in the ceiling and far wall of the private hospital room. It was all clean and tidy, the kind of impersonal blandness he’d expect from something like this. His head throbbed a little from the brightness of the light but his eyes quickly adjusted and thanks to the pain-killers he didn’t feel too much discomfort as he shifted a little. The movement allowed him to look down to his hand where he could see a mess of hair on the left side of the bed and a bit of an elbow. It was unmistakably Daryl Dixon’s scruffy mop of hair. He looked like he’d pulled a chair up close and sprawled out on the side of the bed where there was some space to stick his head onto his arm and had fallen asleep there. That was what he’d felt against his hand. Not Bailey or some therapy dog, it was Daryl…fast asleep.

    Jesus found himself smiling before he drew his gaze away and looked to the right hand bedside with a parched mouth. Trying not to disturb Daryl from his obviously much needed slumber, Paul reached over to try and get the glass of water someone had left on the bedside cabinet, but it was just a little out of reach…he was going to have to move to reach it. He thought he could do it but the moment he twisted pain shot through his side and he choked back a strangled sound of discomfort.

     
  2. Daryl Dixon

    Daryl Dixon The Walking Dead

    Posts:
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    Gender:
    male
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    Human
    Age:
    46
    Alignment:
    Chaotic Good
    Daryl rarely slept. It was a habit leftover from childhood, when most days he’d try to get out of the house before his dad or Merle were up – and then later the most sleep he ever got was sleep brought on by drinking moonshine and beers and passing out face down on the nearest couch. Then, the world went to shit – and who the fuck could sleep when there could be a walker ready to tear into ya the second y’closed your eyes? Daryl didn’t mind taking watch so everyone else could get their rest. He slept when his eyes started to get gritty and that was that, and it sure as hell wasn’t ever no restful sleep.

    But the past day had been – shit. Just, shit. The attack on their house had been brutal and not everyone had come out unscathed. Daryl’d come away from it with blood soaking his hands, only it wasn’t his hands. He’d done all he could at the house, but then he’d had to let the Misty Hollow doctors do their thing and there was nothin’ harder than standin’ back not able to do shit. Couldn’t even go after the bastards that had done it t’them in the first place.

    The people workin’ seemed t’expect him to go home and wait for a call, but they’d never dealt with a stubborn Dixon before. It’d only taken twenty minutes before they realized they weren’t gonna get the dirty redneck out of the facility without some serious manpower, and it was all they could do to convince him to use one of the washrooms to get the blood off of him. He’d spent the night checkin’ up on anyone who needed checkin’ up on, but he’d find himself lingerin’ near the doorway to Jesus’ room the most, worryin’ his lower lip as he stared at the pale, still figure beneath the blankets. It made something in his gut twist, a curl of panic at a lower simmer in the back of his mind. They said he was gonna be alright. He’d make it.

    But all Daryl could see was all that blood. See him passin’ out and thinkin’ that that was it. Yet another person torn away – and it’d rocked him how much it’d hurt, how terrified and angry it’d made him before he’d realized that Jesus wasn’t dyin’, at least not if he got his ass into gear and did something about it. So, he paced around the medical center, eyeing the dark shadows in the hallways and the waiting room suspiciously like he expected someone t’be hiding in them.

    Sometime during the night, or maybe when dawn was just breakin’, he’d let his feet carry him to Jesus’ door once again. Instead of staring intently for a few solid minutes, he’d found himself moving toward his bed. And then pulling an uncomfortable hospital chair closer, and it was like he wasn’t able to stop himself. Staring at him from this close was worse, and better at the same time. He was still pale, but not as much as when they’d brought him in. He was jus’ sleeping.

    It’d taken everything Daryl had not to reach out and touch him, half afraid of facing some realization he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to face, half fear of hurting him, and he’d stared and he’d stared until the grit in his eyes started to hurt.

    And then he’d stared some more.

    Somehow, he fell asleep.

    Everything was still and quiet and dark – no dreams, no nothin’, and then there was a sound and Daryl was scrambling to his feet, hand closing around the knife shoved into his belt loop as his gaze jerked wildly around the room, looking for the threat he’d subconsciously picked up on.

    Only there wasn’t nothin’, and he managed to look down at the bed as his heart started to beat a little steadier, to find Jesus sitting there. Eyes open.

    “Yer awake,”
    he managed to say, voice rusty with disuse, looking a little wary, as if he was expecting it to be a trick, though there was relief hiding at the edges. ​
     
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  3. Jesus

    Jesus The Walking Dead
    Misty Hollow's Official Agony Uncle

    Posts:
    318
    Gender:
    Male
    Race:
    Human
    Age:
    32
    Alignment:
    Lawful Good
    [​IMG]
    Twisting had been a bad idea, he felt the twinge and pull of stitches in his side and immediately stopped moving, frozen in an awkward half-twist to his left with one arm up. The sound, or the movement, or perhaps both, startled Daryl awake so quickly he was scrambling out of the chair and to his feet, grasping for his knife handle. Jesus winced partly because of the still lingering sensation of pain but also because he’d not meant to wake Daryl up. He slowly untwisted and dropped his hand back down to his side, settling back uncomfortably on the pillow. His expression on eased once he’d stilled and even then it went with a resigned sigh.

    ”I’m awake.” he confirmed, voice sounding dry and rough, ”Sorry I woke you, I was going to let you sleep but I needed some water…” He smiled a little apologetically and winced again as he tried to sit up a little further.

    He didn’t like the idea of being injured or having worried anyone, or likewise having people fuss over him. He wanted to be out of the bed and home as soon as possible but sensibly he also knew he couldn’t just climb out the bed and stubbornly work his way through this through the power of determination. He hurt and he ached and he was sore and drowsy from the cocktail of painkillers in his system. He was not in a fit state to be going anywhere. That didn’t mean he didn’t feel hugely awkward being stuck in the hospital bed with Daryl looking like he’d jump at a shadow looming nearby.

    Unsure what to say because he was still pretty groggy and the whole thing was still a little blurred and unclear in his mind, and the dry disgusting taste of hospital was lingering on his tongue, he flicked his gaze towards the glass of water and gestured carefully with his hand, ”Would you mind passing me the glass? I can’t reach it-” And admitting he was anything but perfectly capable was not something he enjoyed, ”Mouth feels like the Sahara desert pitched up in there.” he added in the weak hope of keeping things light.

     
  4. Daryl Dixon

    Daryl Dixon The Walking Dead

    Posts:
    532
    Gender:
    male
    Race:
    Human
    Age:
    46
    Alignment:
    Chaotic Good
    He blinked a few times, adrenaline still thrumming through his veins as he slowly returned his knife to its sheath, his eyes scannin’ over Jesus like there were more wounds that they mighta missed or somethin’. He stared, and then stared a little more, and then Jesus asked for water.

    He flinched, like he shoulda been able to predict him wantin’ water before he’d even opened his eyes, although it was muted some by his immediately movement toward the glass on the bedside table. He didn’t say anything, just picked up the glass with faintly trembling fingers and held it out to him, nearly holding his breath like a wrong move might cause Jesus to go into cardiac arrest or something.

    He wasn’t no good in these situations, in the after. The durin’ he was alright, cos he had something t’do, but here? He had no fuckin’ clue what he was supposed to do, and he felt like all his nerves were stretched so tight even the slightest twinge would have them snapping. Or maybe it wasn’t nerves, maybe it was the realization that he’d be fuckin’ devastated if Jesus ever disappeared from Pandora. And not in the way he’d been when Glenn, or Rick had gone – similar but distinct. Maybe it was that making him clumsy, his fingers nearly fumbling with the water as soon as Jesus had gotten a hold of it.

    Shit, he needed to get a hold of himself.

    At least outwardly he looked calm enough. Guarded, though there were tells – the way he kept on chewin’ his lip, the way he couldn’t manage to look Jesus straight on, peering at him through his hair with his head tilted downward, the little shifts and fidgets that were abnormal for someone who could sit so still waitin’ for a damn animal to pass by when he was hunting.

    “Should I go get a doctor or somethin’?” he asked, tryin’ for normal, like he wasn’t about t’jump outta his skin, trying to remember if anyone had told him what to do if Jesus woke up. ​
     
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  5. Jesus

    Jesus The Walking Dead
    Misty Hollow's Official Agony Uncle

    Posts:
    318
    Gender:
    Male
    Race:
    Human
    Age:
    32
    Alignment:
    Lawful Good
    [​IMG]
    Daryl started towards the glass like someone had shot the pistol at the beginning of a race. Like there was a prize if he got to the water first and maybe if he’d felt a little better and his head wasn’t swimming and he wasn’t parched he might have joked about Daryl’s skittish reaction to a simple request, but he as tired and he just wanted the water. So when Daryl handed it over and he noticed his hand was trembling and he’d seemingly forgotten to breath Jesus didn’t say anything, he just took the class, feeling the cool moisture against his fingers and took two long, deep gulps from it. Immediately he felt better. The refreshing liquid brought his senses back a little and it stopped his mouth feeling like an animal had curled up and died in there. He swallowed, took another small sip and then reached out to put the glass back on the table beside the bed, although this time it was where he could reach without moving or twisting.

    ”No…I feel okay.” He assured Daryl, lifting his gaze up from the sheets towards him, ”Just a little fuzzy around the edges. I think they had me on some pretty good pain killers-” He managed a weak smile, and then his gaze drifted down a little towards his side. He couldn’t see his injury but he knew it was there still. He could feel it. Like a tender spot on his body he was suddenly hyperaware existed.

    Despite having survived the apocalypse and hoards of the undead, he had surprisingly managed to get through pretty much all of it unscathed. Oh, he had bruises and cuts and scrapes and close calls but he’d never properly been hurt. He supposed that was because he’d mostly been out by himself all the time, there was nobody else there he needed to take into consideration when he fought, it had always been his choice, his actions and if it got too much he got out of there and he'd only ever had to be responsible for himself. it was easy to avoid danger when you were the only person to be concerned about. You couldn’t do that when there were people you loved at risk, you had to make a choice and he’d chosen.

    ”Is everyone else alright?” He asked with concern, ”Are you alright? I don’t really remember much of the end of the fight.”


     
  6. Daryl Dixon

    Daryl Dixon The Walking Dead

    Posts:
    532
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    male
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    Human
    Age:
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    Alignment:
    Chaotic Good
    Daryl watched him like a hawk, ready to swoop in should he show the first signs of needin’ help, but he managed to put the glass back alright. So, he stood there instead, awkward and shifting, feeling like he probably shouldn’t be here anymore but not able to convince himself t’leave. He gave a short little nod – no doctor, that was fine – chewing on his lower lip as Jesus mentioned the pain meds. Daryl didn’t follow his gaze toward where his injury was hidden by the blankets – he’d spent more than enough time lookin’ at the wound when it was fresh and uncovered by bandages, and his eyes wanted t’skip right over it anyway.

    He looked away for a moment after Jesus asked if everyone was okay, feelin’ the weight of the past day fallin’ down on him all at once. He’d been so preoccupied with checkin’ up on everyone and keepin’ movin’ that he hadn’t let his thoughts settle, t’think about what had gone down and all that had happened. All he’d seen. Someone was gonna have t’go back to the house and clean up all that blood, or maybe they should just torch the damn place.

    Might be easier.

    “Everyone’s alive but...” he chewed his lip a little harder, having difficulty with the words, more the thought of what could have happened then what had. “Beth was shot.” He’d already seen her shot once before, only that time it’d been permanent, t’the head, no gettin’ back up from it. She’d be okay here, but – shit.

    He sat down abruptly in the chair, resisting the urge to shove the edge of his thumb in his mouth and gnaw at the skin. It wouldn’t calm him, but it might make it easier. “She’ll be alright." He said, not sure what he'd have done if she wasn't. Watching her die a second time would have been too much.

    He was quiet for a few long moments, before he stopped chewing on his lip and looked at Jesus for the first time since sitting down. A muscle jumped in his jaw. “Those fuckin’ assholes, comin’ into our home? For no reason?” He hadn’t even been able to go after them to make sure every last shithead was dead, too busy dealing with the injuries. He’d got a few scrapes and bruises, but nothin’ visible, and nothin’ that would put him in no hospital bed. He was pretty sure he could still feel blood beneath his fingernails, wasn’t sure if it were Beth’s, or Jesus’, or both.

    “What they did t’you?” There was fire in his eyes, muted by exhaustion but there nonetheless. “I ever see any of ‘em again, if any are left, I’ll kill ‘em.” He said, like some sort of twisted promise, like it might make Jesus feel better or something. ​
     
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  7. Jesus

    Jesus The Walking Dead
    Misty Hollow's Official Agony Uncle

    Posts:
    318
    Gender:
    Male
    Race:
    Human
    Age:
    32
    Alignment:
    Lawful Good
    [​IMG]
    But. That was never a good thing to hear when something bad had happened. But usually meant something had happened to someone. But wasn’t a good word. Then Daryl said it, Beth had been shot. Jesus had heard shots being fired downstairs but he’d been preoccupied with the two raiders upstairs who had been clearly trying to find valuables or something else, whatever the purpose of their invasion had been. He was dismayed to hear Beth had been caught up in the crossfire and his expression dropped to horror and concern and worry all in one go. He got as far as opening his mouth to ask how she was but Daryl reassured him pre-emptively that she was okay and he pressed his lips closed. Wasn’t much he could say or do now to fix that.

    ”She’s here in the hospital still?” Jesus asked, ”I’ll visit her later if she is.”

    He probably shouldn’t be getting up and walking around but he’d be damned if he didn’t wheel himself down a corridor to check on Beth if they were both going to be stuck in here for a while. Then again it looked like Beth wasn’t the only one who might need checking on, Daryl looked exhausted in the way he slumped abruptly into the chair like all the air had just been deflated out of him. He looked like he’d not slept much, aside from perhaps whatever exhaustion had forced when he’d fallen asleep on the edge of the bed, had he eaten? Had he drunk anything? Why was he even in this room and not Beth’s? He felt a flutter of hope alight in his chest that this might mean something and tried to ignore it.

    ”No…” Jesus shook his head slightly and winced a little because it made him feel light headed, ”You’re not going to kill anyone else.” He said gently, ”This isn’t like it was, this isn’t an eye for an eye, we don’t have to do this anymore.” This world might be brutal at times, merciless and unkind but it was still more civilised than the one they left behind. Jesus wasn’t about to watch that change now. Wasn’t going to lose the people he cared about to a system stacked against their old way of life. ”You kill them and none of us will see you again because you’ll be in a prison cell in a dungeon somewhere.” He sighed, ”We’ll report them, we’ll hand over descriptions to the authorities and that’s where it ends for us.” He frowned because he knew how ineffective it all sounded, knew that none of them were used to that kind of thing anymore, but nevertheless he fixed a determined look at Daryl, ”Hey..." He didn't know why (and he'd blame it on the pain killers and being a bit loopy if asked), but Jesus reached out a hand towards Daryl, "Promise me you’re not going to go and hunt them down, okay?”

     
  8. Daryl Dixon

    Daryl Dixon The Walking Dead

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    Chaotic Good
    A furrow appeared between his brows when Jesus told him no, a mulish set to his mouth like he was about t’argue. Wasn’t no other way he knew how to protect the group – and after what those assholes did, they all deserved what was comin’ to ‘em and worse. If any of ‘em were left, how was Daryl supposed to do anything knowin’ they were still out there and could come right on back if they wanted to, if they wanted to finish the job? Daryl wasn’t gonna lose Jesus – wasn’t gonna lose anyone t’them assholes if he could help it. If he could stomp ‘em out before they could try. He swallowed, averting his gaze for a moment. Sometimes he forgot they weren’t back home no more, back in that world.

    Things had been hard but it’d been simpler. Someone came after them, they came after them back. He’d hadn’t lost no sleep at all, putting that bullet through the bitch who’d killed Beth. It seemed wrong that here it’d be the kinda thing that would have ended up with him behind bars. He chewed on his lower lip, looking more and more unhappy the more Jesus spoke. What use was reporting ‘em? They weren’t gonna pay for their crimes, they’d be caught up in some cell until they disappeared outta Pandora and where was the justice in that? A few more minutes, if Carol and Aaron hadn’t got Beth out when they did, if Daryl’d been too slow to get to Jesus? Both of ‘em would be dead.

    And for what?

    He clenched his jaw, bringing his gaze back up to Jesus, not especially interested in hearing any more of his ‘the law will take care of it’ bullshit. That’s what it all was; bullshit.

    Then Jesus was reaching toward him, asking him to promise not to go after ‘em. He felt something shift in his chest, the anger and relief and lingering terror from getting to the top of those stairs and seein’ all that blood - all crashing around together and collapsing in on itself until he wanted to do the same. He stared at Jesus’ hand for a long moment, the words swimming somewhere in the background, and it was like he was watching someone else reach out and take it, his other hand sliding over top, until Jesus’ fine, thin hand was sandwiched tightly between his. He didn’t look up, didn’t look at him, just stared their hands, on how he wasn’t sure he’d be able to let go now. “It’d be worth it,” he said, voice low and rough, like it was bein’ dragged over glass. “But I won’t,’ he promised him, even if it cost him somethin’ to make that promise. ​
     
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  9. Jesus

    Jesus The Walking Dead
    Misty Hollow's Official Agony Uncle

    Posts:
    318
    Gender:
    Male
    Race:
    Human
    Age:
    32
    Alignment:
    Lawful Good
    [​IMG]
    He knew Daryl wouldn’t like the request for inaction over brute force, he knew how Daryl handled things, how all of them handled things back in their world. It was an eye for an eye, if someone hurt your family, you struck back or worse…you struck first like a pre-emptive attack just in case. Jesus had never liked that way of living, it had never come naturally or comfortably to him. He could understand fighting back against oppression, but never pre-emptively and never unless it was absolutely necessary. He often opted not to use his own gun in a fight, preferring to take someone out by rendering them unconscious for a little time out over the permanence of death. Here in Pandora there was law and order, there was a justice system no matter how flawed it was; they had to respect that or fall foul of it and he did not want the only time he got to see Daryl to become a sterile prison visiting room.

    Daryl hand slotted comfortably into his own and then in an unbidden movement, his other hand closed over the top and Jesus smiled at him. The flutter of hope in his chest excitedly ignited itself once more, as it seemed wont to do on the rare occasions they had contact like this. He knew it was silly and childish but he was too pumped up on painkillers to want the pleasantly warm feeling to go away just yet so he didn’t fight it off. Instead he Jesus smiled approvingly at the assurance. He trusted Daryl would be a man of his word, that he wouldn’t hare off at the first sign of vengeance, as much as he might want to.

    ”Thankyou.” He murmured softly, eyes flicking tiredly over Daryl’s face. The other man wasn’t looking at him, he seemed fixated on their joined hands and there was something innocent and sweet in that. ”Daryl?” He began, hoping to get him to look up and make eye contact, ”You never answered me before.” He raised his eyebrows, expression openly caring, ”Are you okay?”

     
  10. Daryl Dixon

    Daryl Dixon The Walking Dead

    Posts:
    532
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    male
    Race:
    Human
    Age:
    46
    Alignment:
    Chaotic Good
    The reflexive ‘I’m fine’ was on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it back, staring for a moment or two longer at their joined hands before giving his head a slow shake. “No,” he rasped, the word catching in his throat – it was a struggle for him to admit to it, to acknowledge that he wasn’t as stoic as he tried to be. “I thought – “ he swallowed again, looking up and finally meeting his gaze, though only for a second, as he chewed on his lower lip, like he was trying to keep a whole lot back. “I came up those stairs ‘n I thought – I thought that was it.” It’d only been a few seconds before his brain had kicked back into gear and he’d gotten his ass moving, but those few seconds had felt like a lifetime.

    A lifetime of terror and regret and pure, incandescent fury because Pandora was tryin’ to take Jesus away. “Thought you were dead, or gonna be.” He adjusted his grip on Jesus’ hand, tightening a little. He swallowed against a lump in his throat, at the idea that one day Pandora might tear him away anyway, might decide he’d had enough time, or maybe one day Jesus would get shot up in the grocery store again but this time there wouldn’t be no Greek God around t’save him. It filled him with a cold, terrible dread, and he had to duck his head for a moment, bent over their clasped hands, mouth resting on his own skin, but so, so close to Jesus’. Another breath, and he might just slip.

    He hated bein’ like this, feelin’ like he was all scraped raw and vulnerable, without even the heavy, freeing weight of liquor to hide beneath. He wanted t’get ahold of himself, but he didn’t know how. The idea of something happening to Jesus made him feel all shaky, and he wasn’t sure how he managed to raise his head again. “I can’t lose you,” he said, voice low and rough the admission settling like lead in his gut. ​
     
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  11. Jesus

    Jesus The Walking Dead
    Misty Hollow's Official Agony Uncle

    Posts:
    318
    Gender:
    Male
    Race:
    Human
    Age:
    32
    Alignment:
    Lawful Good
    [​IMG]
    He expected Daryl to do what he always did, which was close up, hide his pain and pretend everything was absolutely fine even though Jesus could see otherwise. Just because he was the one in the hospital bed didn’t mean he stopped caring if other people were okay or not and Daryl was clearly not alright. If he needed to talk, well, he had a captive audience, not that Jesus would have gone anywhere if he wanted to talk anyway but there it was. He didn’t expect him to though because he never did, which was why the little headshake and honest to go truthful reply completely caught him off guard.

    Reflexively his hand squeezed at Daryl’s and his expression shifted to deeper concern, eyebrows knitting together a little as he watched him intently. For a moment Daryl even met his gaze before it skittered away again like a nervous animal caught in the headlights. He hoped Daryl wasn’t blaming himself for Jesus stupidly taking on two people with guns by himself, it wasn’t his fault, but he could see just how worried the thought of having been too late was and he knew why. Rick had disappeared, Glenn was gone, that had been enough to cause Daryl to break down. But that would mean he considered Jesus in the same vein… that he wasn’t just the outsider anymore.

    He was so surprised by the sudden outburst of vulnerability and honesty that he didn’t want to speak and break the spell even if it was already over and done with. He wanted to say it was okay, he’d gotten there in time and here he was, he wanted to reassure him but before he could find the words, Daryl’s head dropped to their hands and he could feel his breath, warm over the skin of his wrist and it sent lightning shivers along his arm and spine. He looked so sad, so defeated…

    I can’t lose you.

    Jesus swallowed hard at the words as something thick formed in his throat. It was a level of honesty he’d never for a moment expected to hear from Daryl Dixon and what was more, it was never something he’d ever thought Daryl would say to him. He’d been an outsider for so long, outside before…outside The Hilltop…outside Rick’s group…outside even here in Pandora for so long. The acceptance of his place, of his importance to someone made his breath catch and his pulse spike sharply. His heart felt like it was threatening to either explode or break open his chest. He’d never been important to someone.

    ”It’s okay, I’m right here.” He reassured him when he found the ability to speak, ”I’m not planning on going anywhere, its going to take more than two guys with guns to stop me. Remember, I have a literal God on my side here, we're practically best friends.” Paul managed a real genuine smile before he reached with his other hand to gently brush the curtain of hair from Daryl’s face, his touch lingered against his temple and down to his cheek. ”I’m sorry I scared you like that.” He admitted softly, ”I shouldn’t have gone up there by myself, I knew it was a risk.”

     
  12. Daryl Dixon

    Daryl Dixon The Walking Dead

    Posts:
    532
    Gender:
    male
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    Human
    Age:
    46
    Alignment:
    Chaotic Good
    The words left his mouth and he felt like he couldn’t breathe, the silence wrapping around his chest and constricting until Jesus finally spoke, the words enough so that he could inhale, a little hitch to his breath. He wanted t’believe it was okay. That Jesus not planning on goin’ anywhere meant jack shit – he could wake up tomorrow and Jesus could disappear into thin air and there wasn’t a damn thing Daryl could hope t’do about it. No amount of raging and anger had brought Rick or Glenn back, and it sure as hell wouldn’t work for the man lying on the hospital bed, but he couldn’t let his thoughts turn in that direction. He scoffed – wasn’t sure there was no Greek god hanging around for Jesus no more but went abruptly quiet when Paul was reached out and moved the hair from his face – and Daryl stilled, like he did when he was out hunting, and he didn’t want to spook somethin’, except this time the only thing liable to get spooked was himself.

    He swallowed, eyes wide, his heart thrumming like a rabbit’s in his chest – and there was that itch, whenever the other man got too close, something whispering at the back of his mind to run ‘n keep on runnin’. But he didn’t. He was still grippin’ Paul’s other hand like it was a lifeline, not quite leaning into the touch, but not leaning away either. It was like he could feel Paul’s fingertips to the tips of his toes, a shiver curling down his spine, his stomach in knots.

    “Paul, I –“ he started, a little desperate, but the words got all tangled up on his tongue and he couldn’t figure out how to get ‘em out. He wanted t’tell him that it wasn’t like every single one of ‘em hadn’t taken risks the day before, wanted t’tell him that he couldn’t ever do somethin’ like that again, wanted t’tell him that he couldn’t fathom bein’ in Pandora without his annoying ass just down the street. But he didn’t say nothin’, just sat there with a stone in his throat, his heart doing double time.

    There was something he’d been wanting t’do since he’d gotten back from that weirdass trip to Hogsmeade. Whatever had gone on with that woman had been some sick fuckin’ joke from Pandora or somethin’, but the feelings surroundin’ Jesus he’d thought had just been lingering after that trip hadn’t gone nowhere. They were there, tucked up tight in his chest, fluttering nervously as he stared at the other man.

    He couldn’t though – he couldn’t just.....- his eyes squeezed closed, face titling slightly against Paul’s touch as he swallowed once, and then again, his breathing quickening. He managed to steel himself, opening his eyes again, gaze immediately drifting toward Paul’s mouth, lingering for a solid handful of seconds before it jackrabbited away.

    Shit – he just – he didn’t know – he couldn’t.

    But he thought about what would happen if he didn’t do it – if a week or a month or a year down the line the next person that took a stab at Jesus was lucky, or he wasn’t fast enough - and he inched forward, hopin’ Jesus would take a hint before he chickened out or passed out. ​