Desus Oneshots - Discessio - The Walking Dead (TV) [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

Chapter 1: Quit ya' gay-sh*t I

Chapter Text

"What happened to you?" Michonne asked, tilting her face to peer into Daryl's. The latter flinching instinctively at the caring hand that reached for his swollen eye.

Jesus snigg*red and continued hauling bags off the truck bed with Rick who frowned momentarily, staring at his brother, who just shrugged and mumbled before heading to the store room.

Michonne spun to glance at Jesus who's lips quirked as he supressed a smile, his composure shifting back into his usual demeanor as he continued to work. Curious brown eyes flicked to her partner, an eyebrow raised, but Rick just made a small gesture with his hands and shrugged too.

The Alexandrians were pleased with the take, all communities had been putting in large requests for clothing, an ever increasing need, especially after the war. Daryl had blushed furiously like a teenager when Rosita and Maggie and a few other women had asked for underwear. Something about being poked to death by their own bras, but he wasn't quite sure what that meant.

When they arrived at Hilltop after leaving the Kingdom's consignment with Rick, Daryl and Jesus began pulling boxes out the truck and placing them on tables in the market for the community to dig into. Enid peered into the bags of knickers and frowned, brows knotted before she turned her glare to the two men.

"So when we asked for practical clothing you bring these?!" She held a dainty lace thong on the end of her finger.

Daryl snapped round to his fellow scavenger so fast he was sure he pulled a muscle, "Wh-...I didn't, why did you-...?"

"Relax, I just swiped loads off a shelf, they must've fallen in," The younger man replied coolly, not looking up as he sorted the other clothing into piles. Watching him shake out and fold clothes seemed so out of place that Daryl couldn't help but wonder for a moment what domestic normalcy was like for Jesus Before.

"Ew, well don't expect me to take anything gross like this." The teenager snorted and chucked them back into the pile.

Maggie scoffed, baby Herschel snoozing happily in a sling, "One man's trash..." She winked up at the two men. Daryl fumbled awkwardly at the box and Jesus beamed at her.

"Glenn's on a promise tonight?"

She rolled her eyes and gazed softly at the sleeping child on her chest, her voice gentle and without sarcasm, "Not unless he wishes to find himself stranded out in the middle of nowhere, buck naked with only a spoon to protect himself." Her eyes twinkled wickedly as she smirked toward Jesus before sauntering off with her new clothes.

The two men continued silently as Hilltoppers came and claimed the remaining items.

Tara strolled over and browsed some of the flannel shirts, "Ooh, ouchy. Run into trouble out there?" She gave a low whistle upon noticing the darkening bruise around Daryl's eye.

"He got distracted." Jesus grinned before brushing past them both with his own bag of clothes.

Jesus bent over with his hands braced on his thighs, panting slightly as he wiped the walker blood off his knife on a nearby mannequin. The department store had been fairly easy to clear with only a few stragglers meandering about.

Daryl pushed a trolley toward him and then pulled his crossbow back up to aim.

It hit Jesus's side with a thunk and he gave an affronted look at the archer as he turned at the sound.

"So much fer' your ninja skills" He mumbled, his bow raised as they continued through the building. The clothing floor was dark and he could hear the familiar shuffling of dead ones up ahead.

The younger man just scoffed and pulled his torch out, they moved slowly, putting the odd pile of clothing into the cart.

"Aha, lin-ger-ie." Jesus humourously mispronounced the word as he beelined for the shelves of bras and underwear.

A small smile tugged at Daryl's lip as he continued to scan the space, moving forward as the other man set his torch upright and began pulling stuff off of hangers.

The archer was just about to pass through into the next section of the floor when he glanced back. What the-?!

A sudden thud and dull pain brought him back. His crossbow had caught the edge of the wall and in his moment of distraction, he'd walked into it, the handle of the bow jutting hard into the space between his eye and nose.

Lowering the weapon, he rubbed at the area and groaned, part anguish and part pain.

Jesus's sarcastically slick voice teased at him from a distance, "And you were making comments about MY skills?"

Daryl looked up and saw the other man, hands on his hips and a large flowery brazier strapped over his clothing, a companion pair of panties over his jeans, facial expression drawn with all sincerity, as though he wasn't looking like something out of a comedy sketch.

Trying hard to frown, Daryl just huffed, "f*ckin' prick."

Tara looked between them, eager eyes and waiting for some kind of explanation before just throwing her arms up and walking away, mumbling to herself, "Guess I'll just go and f*ck myself then."

Jesus turned to the older man, "Don't worry, the bra was far too big for me," His innocent features twisted into a sly grin, "But the panties still might fit?"

Daryl stared in horror as his friend walked backwards, still staring up at him before turning back and heading into his trailer.

Chapter 2: f*ck You Prick I

Chapter Text

Daryl let out a large huff, despite being asleep, his face was still scrunched in mild concern.

Jesus stared groggily as he watched the other man's chest rise and fall with each breath. He'd tried to pull himself back to sleep but couldn't, his mind racing with all the possibilities of the next morning. Would Daryl stay? Would they talk about what happened? Was it, just a one night type of thing?...

The older man's sigh staccatoed for a moment, eyes darting about under thin lids, dark lashes leading to even darker circles. Jesus considered that perhaps this was the first time in a while Daryl had slept for more then four hours. Always alert and ready.

Shuffling closer, nervous to close the gap between their bodies, despite the nights earlier activities. Swallowing back the nervous lump in his throat, he reached out slowly, fingers tentatively aiming to brush at the greasy strands that rested upon Daryl's brow. The dark hairs tickling at his nose.

Just before his fingertips found their destination, Daryl jolted awake and grabbed Jesus's wrist. The younger man gasped and tried to retreat but the grip was tight.

"Daryl!"

He all but yelped, startling him into full wakefulness.

"Paul." Voice thick with sleep, "S'you?"

"Mmhmm."

"Oh..."

Daryl placed the smaller hand onto his chest and rolled onto his side, pulling Jesus against his back. The latter beamed secretly into his lover's shoulders and stroked lazily at the hairs on his chest.

"Quit starin' n' get some sleep."

The thought elicited a wide yawn before Jesus nuzzled in and drifted off.

Chapter 3: Quit ya' gay-sh*t II

Chapter Text

"Just relax."

"I am relaxin'!"

"Just- No, move your-, no like, just move this her-"

"My leg don't go that way!"

"It will if you just let me- Unnghhh- How's that now?"

"S'fine."

"You're mumbling."

"Yer' interferin'."

"You're welcome."

Daryl flushed as the younger man tugged at the stirrup straps, feeling his strong hands from underneath the saddle flap. His face combusted instantaneously when those hands wrapped around his thigh and tried to manhandle him into a better position on top of the horse.

The beast in question idly chewed the bit as the two men bickered.

"Don't see why I need this anyway." Daryl grumbled looking down at the scout.

"Because, Oh miserable one, we're running tight on fuel and the bike isn't a necessary vehicle. You want to come outside with me then you need Blue." Jesus peered up at the frustrated face, he'd known the older man could ride, but after hearing Maggie retell the story about Nelly and the snake, he wanted to make sure Daryl was confident.

"What kinda dumb name is that for'n'animal anyway?" Snorted the archer.

"Tell that to Judith." Jesus sneered back.

Mounting his own horse and clicking them both into action.

Maggie lifted her hat playfully as both man passed through the corrall and headed toward the gate.

A Hilltopper quickly stopped in front of them, last minute request in case Jesus might see whatever it is they'd need. Daryl huffed, they hadn't even bothered to check that neither man was going out for stuff.

Blue shifted on her hooves, the lull in her movement caught him off guard and he pulled at the reign subconsciously, a light sweat warming over his back.

Responding as requested, the mare turned and made to the right, away from Jesus and his conversation.

"Oh, woah no..." Daryl panicked. He pulled the other side, the clear memory of the ravine and the painful events that followed flashed in his mind. He shifted about in the seat, despite the slow movement of the horse, his leg smacked the side of her belly.

Blue gave a short sound of annoyance as her rider began fumbling about with the reigns, desperately whispering instructions at her as the leather in his hand felt slippy against clammy palms.

He felt as though there was cotton in his ears and the only focus he had was between the beasts ears. To anyone else, Daryl and moved the reigns an inch to one side and the animal had shifted but a pace or two in that direction. To him, she was out of control, chest heaving and nostrils flared, all foam and knashing teeth fighting against the bridal.

He was about to call for help when a casual voice and gentle tug of his shirtsleeve (winter was the only exception to his rule.) Pulled him from his nightmare.

"Let's go then, I was thinking we cut across the fields, we could always "open it up", if you're feeling sad about your bike?"

Jesus leant over the neck of his mare, his leather jacket hanging off the back of the saddle.

"Sure...yeah, if ya' want."

Once they got out the gates, Blue followed happily without much prompt, her stablemate leading the way underneath much calmer direction.

As the hill dipped into a vast expanse of grassland, Daryl's stomach dropped. He'd ridden horses sure, was even pretty comfortable, but that was before. It seemed silly really, letting a hang up like that fall get in the way, but here it was. Fear. Rearing it's ugly head.

"-then about a mile or two west... Daryl, are you even listening?" Jesus chuckled to himself.

"Can't."

Jesus had been expecting this, he knew the man to be stubborn, not really proud but so easy to feel ashamed. He'd wondered how long it would take. The moment he'd watch Daryl mount the horse back at Hilltop, he knew there was something going on.

"Would it help if I held your hand?" He teased playfully, trying to lighten the mood. Bunching the reigns in one hand and brushing some stray wisps of chestnut behind his ear.

"Would help if ya' f*cked off." A scoff from the other man replied. Daryl felt stuck. Everything the younger man did seemed so fluid, like his body was water, even when it wasn't his body moving him, everything was liquid.

"Well. These are the options. Now I could give you the whole speech thing, y'know, the one where I'm super empathetic and it's touching, an Oscar moment. Or, we could just head back, say there was a herd or whatever. Or, you could hop up on Keats and we could check out that truck stop?" Gesturing down at his own mare. "Maybe then we take it slow back and you could try again? Either way, doesn't bother me Daryl."

Scratching his chin, he scowled at the other man. Berating himself at his own stubbornness. Wouldn't be here otherwise.

"Alright, but this don't mean ya' can start up with that gay sh*t again." He swung his leg and tried to style out the falter in his dismount.

Jesus either didn't notice or wasn't going to tease him further, "Oh Daryl, my "gay sh*t" never stops."

Daryl handed him Blues' reigns before letting himself be helped up into the black horse. He was in effect, straddling the other man, the cold sweat from before began to creep back. The archer considered hopping back on his horse, if this was going to make him feel worse.

"Is that a gun on your belt or are-"

"You f*ckin' know it is, quit yer' sh*t and get goin'." Tanned, calloused fingers gripped the back of the saddle.

Jesus sat expectantly for a moment before turning his head back and sighing, the eyeroll all but audible, "You're going to want to hold on."

Daryl slowly wrapped his arms around Jesus's waist, ready to huff at the innuendo that never came, what did happen did take him for surprise.

The scout hollered loudly and spurred the creature into action, Blue following in sync, as long dark legs pulled and pushed into a sprint.

Their bodies crashed awkwardly at the initial leap, Daryl gripping harder until they found a pace with the animal. Jesus radiated joy and the older man couldn't help but let the adrenaline fuel his own need for speed.

It was no empty high way, the large metal frame of his bike vibrating under his thighs, but it was visceral, real in every physical way as he felt them race across the expanse.

They soared blissfully until the land transform into a tree littered pocket, pulling through it slowly, Daryl still pressed into the younger man's back. The truck stop begin to emerge through the knotted trunks.

Nothing special, but not necessarily unworthwhile either. The request from the Hilltopper yet unmet.

"So," Jesus started. His wicked grin already drawing an exasperated expression from Daryl. "You riding shotgun or are you putting on your big boy boots? Don't get me wrong, I am very ready to live out my brokeback mountain fantasy and pull us up into hills-"

"I don't know what that sh*t is, but I'm sure it's not somethin' I wanna either." Daryl grunted, getting the general gist.

He decided in the end to take a chance on Blue and they rode quietly back to Hilltop. Jesus taking it upon himself to compare him to some cowboy called 'Ennis'.

Daryl just let him ramble on, the man could sure talk for the both of them and we wasn't about to switch that up. He liked Paul, the way he didn't bullsh*t or pander, he could be forgiven for being such a prick, maybe.

Chapter 4: Quit ya' gay-sh*t III

Chapter Text

Boots

"S'Paul's." Daryl grunted, brushing leaves aside and picking up the ruined boot. An old, small, metal trap clutched onto the leather.

The teeth had cut through the top and were wedged solidly in the sole. The archer grimaced as sticky blood congealed around it.

Tara stood nearby, gun held low, but eyes scanning the wild area around them.

"Why'd he leave his boot?" She craned down for a second.

Daryl's fingers brushed over the earthy debris on the ground. Deep grooves in the mud around where the boot was, showed him the frantic struggle. The single booted trail illustrated a picture for the hunter. Large strides with heavy indentation on the shoed side, he was running, despite the injury.

"Looks like he needed to get outta doge real quick." His voice cracked despite his sound demeanor, ripples of stress crept through as he followed the trail up with his eyes.

"Well, that's good right? He could get away?" Tara fell in quickly as Daryl hurried along the blood spotted path. It took them about half a mile before they came to small cider farm. The distillery long since fallen into disrepair, the large barn however seemed to be a popular attraction, a decent crowd of dead ones groaned at the rotten doors. The wood sagged with each thrum of the walkers.

A small look passed between the two and a curt nod from Tara before they pulled their knifes and began to dispatch them. Turning their attention from the knackered building, Daryl whipped his crossbow off his shoulder and shot a bolt at the walker that managed to break through the dusty old panels of termite ridden wood.

They entered the barn, the light from the open doors showered gently over unused machinery and crates of what used to be rotten fruit. A creak overhead in the loft got their attention and a rather meek Jesus poked his head over the edge.

"Well if it isn't Watson and Holmes!"

Tara co*cked her head lips pursed before nodding and accepting the analogy.

"The f*ck you think you were gonna do up there Rapunzel?" Daryl sneered, glancing at the ladder that had been pushed away and lay haphazardly on the floor.

"Hey I could only dream of having princess level locks like those." The voice chuckled from above.

Daryl replaced the ladder and climbed up, his steps were heavy and loud.

"Well, Cinderella, got yer' boot here." He dangled the tattered thing by dirty laces.

Jesus had wound strips of his top around his socked foot, the material a deep brown. He lay back against old grain sacks, a sheen of sweat across his brow and baby hairs sticking in small swirls around his forehead and face. A damp stain on his chest, the material sticking to his pecs.

Daryl swallowed, he had all the grace and elegance of one of those Disney princesses, maybe even the hair and eyes too, but all was outweighed by the raw and masculine energy that oozed out of him. The older man had considered, during one of his own self-deprecating inner monologues, the ones that replaced his Pa's or Merle's, that perhaps this was why Jesus was now Paul and why he had to maintain self control like it was the heavy door in a room flooding with water.

That maybe the long hair, slighter figure and big, bright eyes were what caused this. Just some crossed wires that's all. But Jesus wasn't feminine. No. It doesn't work as an excuse. When the man in question saunters through the trailer in light grey sweats, the outline to his body leaving no question in Daryl's mind that he's no princess. The beard that encapsulates his face. The downy hair on his forearms that pales through the summer...

"If I'm Cinders then that makes you my prince charming." Jesus broke the moments silence and teased the older man.

Below them Tara mimicked making herself throw up.

"What 'ave I told you 'bout that gay sh*t?"

Jesus snorted, he pushed to get up but winced. Daryl started for him but faltered, knowing he didn't like the extra hand himself, but the scout waved his hand and ushered him over. Catching him awkwardly under the armpit, Daryl helped pull him upright.

"You alright down the ladder?"

Their faces were close and the archer was very aware of the heat he radiated, hoping it wasn't obvious as to why.

"I could always let down my hair?" Those big eyes tried to suck him in, but he grounded himself when he saw the raised brows and unamused face of the woman below.

"C'mon just get."

With minor complaint, the injured man and his two companions left the barn. Jesus hobbled quietly and Tara helped to support him.

"Car's 'bout a small ways over there." Daryl called ahead of the others, peering back to see they'd not made much distance.

He sighed, heading back to help walk with Jesus, a small gaggle of walkers slowly began to creep in from the surrounding fields.

"Yer' gonna have ta' move quicker 'en that." Daryl urged, slinging his crossbow over his back, he already knew his next move before he'd suggested it.

"Well I left my magic carpet back with Aladdin so unless you've got-Oh!" Jesus stopped as Daryl scooped him up into a bridal carry. Tara suddenly taking point on defense.

He was heavy, but they moved quicker then they were before and quicker the decomposed.

When they got nearer to the car, Daryl set him down.

"Yep, definitely a prince charming."

Chapter 5: Quit ya' gay-sh*t IV

Chapter Text

Michonne wiped at the sweat on her brow, Rick stared unfocused at the floor of the RV. Carol and Morgan talked to the other Alexandrians outside.

The trade was going as planned, minus one small detail. The Hilltop weren't there, neither, subsequently, was their portion of the trade.

Ten minutes late was a given, though Tara and Kal were normally pretty prompt.

"We could always head up there?" Michonne offered.

Rick rubbed at his face before clearing his throat and headed out. The sweltering heat of the vehicle not to far off the raging sun baring down on them outside. Ezekiel nodded toward him and broke away from his conversation with Eugene and Rosita.

"Could it be, perchance, they have come across trouble?"

"Surely they would of radioed in?" Carol joined them as they stood between the vehicles in an empty road.

Rick rolled his lip between his teeth, hands on his hip and walkie in a holster beside his knife, "Nah, it's on receive, set to their channel and nothin' yet. Not even static."

"Out of range maybe?" Michonne looked up at Rick who shrugged.

"Definitely got the right frequency?" Morgan added, leaning on his pole staff.

Rick pulled out the walkie and stared at it a moment, "yeah, 205.7, that's Hilltop."

"Maybe they're using a different walkie, hang on, I've got the list of running handhelds in the RV" Aaron left his watch post and disappeared into the small doorway. Rustling ensued and he returned with a crumpled piece of paper. "Here..ah du-du-du-du-duuuu-Yeah! Hilltop has three registered long rangers. Check 203.7, if not 202.1" He looked up slightly triumphantly as Rick rolled the dial and the sound of static filled the quiet air.

Eugene and Rosita stood nearby, eyes on the treeline.

The first frequency turned out nothing but the second beeped momentarily.

"It's in range" Michonne noted, shifting on her hip and straining to hear something.

They all sat quietly, the odd walker breeching and making it's way to them before being dispatched. Ezekiel hummed peacefully, Jerry also taking point.

"I can see you bein' a prick from 'ere."

The crackly southern drawl jolted them all out of their sullen waiting. Carol stood, hand hovering over her gun, Rick pulled the walkie closer, about to speak when it sounded again.

"You should be keeping watch Mr Dixon, you keep staring at me like that and I might just have to come down there."

The group relaxed and Rosita snorted as Jesus's deadpan voice resonated through the speaker.

"Jus' f*ckin' get on with it."

Rick pulled the handheld away and beamed at Michonne, "Guess they're on a run nearby."

"Shouldn't we just ask them where the traders are? How long's it been Jerry?" Ezekiel turned and regarded his large friend.

"Well, about 45 minutes going off my watch?"

"Perhaps they have yet to implicate my recommendation to integrate DST into their energy usage regime." Eugene added casually, flattening a dark clump of fringe back to the side of his face with his palm.

"Come again?" Rick pinched his nose, eyes shut as he could see where this was going.

"Well as per Benjamin Franklin's recommendation to conserve energy, a tradition that started during WW1-"

"Eugene!" The others chorused.

The man in question fiddled idly with his shirttails before mumbling to his feet, "I may have taken the liberty to synchronise ourselves with the kingdom, following daylight savings. I did in fact also notify Ms Chambler of my proposed changes and recommendations, but it would seem she forgot."

Or just didn't listen in the first place.

"So what they're an hour behind?" Rick sighed, eyes still drawn tight.

"That would be an affirmative. Yes."

The others all groaned and slumped further into the positions.

"I guess we just sit tight an' wait then." The leader shrugged and slapped his hands on his thighs, taking a bottle of water Michonne offered to him.

They all resumed waiting, Eugene awkwardly humming old jazz tunes while Rosita gave him a death stare.

"Paul."

The walkie crackled into life again.

"Paul."

"Jesus Christ, Paul!"

"Actually it's Paul 'Jesus' Rovia, but not to worry. What's up? Nearly finished here."

"Jus' couldn't see ya' thas' all. Oughta rap this up, geeks a' gatherin'."

"Hang on, I'm pretty sure there's some alcohol in here, if I could just lift..."

There was a moment silence while the walkie paused, Jesus still holding onto the unit while he manoeuvred something. A large thud audible through the receiver.

"f*cking Christ!"

"If you're about ta' make some dumb joke about jerkin' off I swear to-"

"No Daryl. Don't worry, I think a drink's in order first or dinner before we start mutual masturbation. Which-aha! We can have, if you drink-let's see...O'Creagh's Irish Whiskey?"

There was a snort and then a pause.

"Yer' such a pain in my ass."

"Oh don't tease me, Daryl. But seriously...I could be?"

Rick blanched and Michonne smirked at him. He knew things were already tense between the Scout and the Archer, despite his clear acceptance of Aaron and Eric, Rick wasn't so sure how tolerable he would be having it waved in his face like that.

What nobody saw was all the blood rush to Daryl's face. "You f*ckin' wish." He managed to smoothly reply.

Aaron huffed and Rosita just rolled her eyes.

"That isn't a no..." Jesus's smug tone played through the walkie.

There was a long pause where the people listening also considered the lack of refusal and it's possible implications.

"Daryl?"

Just then a small convoy of vehicles appeared in the distance. Rosita looked down her scope as the others gathered together.

"It's the Hilltop. An hour late, almost exactly."

She turned and glared at Eugene.

"You owe us all."

He shrugged awkwardly as Tara appeared sticking her head out the car window, shades on, "Whaddup bitches?"

Chapter 6

Chapter Text

Fire

Harsh fingers gripped into strong flesh. The hairs that downed Paul's thighs tickled the space between Daryl'sfingers, his hand slipping round the back of the muscle and up to the soft flesh of his ass.

Paul let out an open mouthed moan, soft against Daryl's lips. His eyes were closed, lids resting and face relaxed. His own hands tangled in the older man's hair. He licked into the Archer's mouth who returned the motion. His cheeks flushed with warmth as Daryl slowly pulled his hand up over his ass and up to his waist, holding him slightly closer.

The move was confident but Paul could sense the trepidation, slipping his thigh between Daryl's legs. Flesh moving softly against flesh.

The older man gasped, the new pressure against his balls made the room feel hotter suddenly. Their co*cks were crushed between them, a detail Daryl kept trying to block out as they kissed.

Paul rolled his hips in time with the movement of his tongue. Utterly lost in the sensation of tasting the man he'd chased for so long. His precum smeared against the curly hair on Daryl's stomach. His belly swooped as the older man's fingers tentatively slipped from his side to his front. Eliciting a gasp from him as the Archer took him in his hand. The angle was awkward as they were writhing so close together, but Paul keened at the slow pull.

Daryl moaned as he opened his eyes and caught the sight of the younger man, mouth agape and the corners of his eyes just a little damp. Closing his own eyes too and rejoining the moment.

Shifting his hips back slightly, he pulled himself into the hand he had Paul in. Holding them together and tugging at the org*sm that sat beneath both men's skin.

Paul let one hand slide away from the older man's neck, caressing the perfectly-imperfect skin of his back. Bracing himself by hooking his arm around the Archer's waist, bucking his hips unabashedly. Gasping and panting.

Daryl grunted in unison to the Scout's soft sounds of pleasure. The kiss lessened until both men were breathing harshly and groaning into each others mouths. Bodies jerking reflexively.

Pulling at them both faster, Daryl's movements becoming less rythemic. His grunts pitching higher and louder. His co*ck sliding against Paul's as he came with a loud whine, whimpering as it pulsed.

Right behind and completely lost, the younger man let his org*sm take him, his breathing loud and peaking into a strained "Ahh", his mouth open and brow slightly furrowed as his cum spilled between them. Biting his top lip and humming through it till they both just lead, gasping and chests heaving.

Daryl turned to lay flat on his back, Paul leaning over him, leg over his, arm against his chest.

The Scout's head resting on the older man's shoulder.

Closing his eyes and letting the warm honey sensation fill his body, Daryl exhaled deeply, sinking slightly deeper into the mattress. Cum cooling on his stomach.

Lifting one heavy eyelid to peer at the younger man, his face was lax and his breath shallowing. He nudged him back into wakefulness just to sit up and wipe himself and Paul with his t-shirt before falling back into bed and each others arms, sleep coming quickly after.

Chapter 7

Chapter Text

Conspiracy

An arrow whizzed through the air and embedded itself into the skull of a wandering walker. It had posed no threat, ambling through the trees at least 10ft away.

The rain was torrential, little rivers racing through the twists and turns on the ground, wet leaves and mud gathering into a thick but slippy sludge. The sky was dark and the moonlight held captive by heavy grey clouds.

Daryl, no stranger to the outdoors in all her seasons, skidded as he stormed through the copse to retrieve his bolt. Yanking it from it's purchase, he kicked into what was left of a face again and again.

Sobbing loudly as brain matter and rotten ichor flung about wildly and splattered across his front and marring his face.

Another walker was drawn by the commotion, stumbling toward the man, hissing and gurgling in anticipation, arm outstretched eagerly. Clumsily, Daryl tore at the arm, the ligaments worn and ripping the limb straight from the socket. Not deterred, the dead one continued on.

Daryl screamed at it, bashing it with its own bones, before pulling his knife and stabbing it in the head repeatedly. Choking on a gargled swallow, tears pouring down his cheeks.

His inner turmoil bubbling into the atmosphere as the rain pelted down onto him. Hair soaked through and stuck to his face, strands curling amongst the blood and dirt.

Why. Why now? He punched the trunk of a tree, the ache from the impact hitting him like the first drag of a cigarette. Yelling and crying he attacked the tree again and again.

So many years, self control so well practiced it felt like breathing. Training himself not to stare too long. Don't smile back. Certainly don't touch. So f*cking weak.

His punches weakened as he leaned against both arms, braced against the bark. Head nudging the thick wood. He wanted to just disappear.

When he returned to Hilltop, he just shrugged off Maggie's concern about his disappearance when he thundered through the gate and headed back to that stupid f*cking trailer. The sooner Negan's got a bullet in his head, the sooner he can get back to Alexandria and away from this. This. This thing.

Jesus simply nodded at him as he entered, otherwise engaged in a book on the couch. Frowning slightly as Daryl dripped all over the floor, the rivulets of rain pulling the dirt with them. Brownish puddles forming where the Archer stood.

The younger man carefully folded the corner of his page and set the book down, Daryl still stood by the door, peeling off layers slowly and shirking his sodden boots.

The water had swollen the inner material and he had to wriggle it off with force, pouring a small ocean out with it. A soft towel appearing under his face, he looked up to see Jesus give him a kind nod. Taking it, he grunted in thanks as the other man simply returned to his reading.

Daryl clenched his fist as he reminded himself, he's not like that. There's no reason to look at him any longer then he already is. He needs to put some space between them so the Archer heads into the small bathroom and decides to wash his misery away in the shower. Tomorrow is another day.

Chapter 8

Chapter Text

f*ckin' prick. Daryl huffed to himself. It had been a quiet yet busy few weeks after the war and all it's consequences had settled. Everything was okay, fine in fact. People were recovering and moving on. More importantly, they had more resources now. Less need to go out. He'd been hunting, but not a proper trip out, not for a while.

He shook his head and scoffed. A note left on his crossbow this morning.

Interested in a road trip? Please circle your answer.

Y'aint. N'aint.

Thought he was f*ckin' funny or somethin'.

But here he was, bored. Itching to get out, skin crawling with delayed claustrophobia, all hitting him at once.

He circled in the affirmative and left the note back on the younger man's pillow. Fleeing from the small bedroom as quickly as he could, feeling extremely out of place in there. Resisting the sudden and bizarre urge that took hold of him to climb under the cover and breathe in Paul's scent.

Chapter 9

Chapter Text

...

...

A sudden jab at Jesus's side pulled him from his daydream. Maggie snorted as she pulled her elbow away.

"Look who's here." She smirked, eyebrows waggling. As Aaron and Michonne entered through the gates of Hilltop.

He smiled. He liked Aaron. The man was good, kind and full to the brim of light humour. Battle hardened face, softened into warm butter as he looked upon his family and friends. Maggie kept trying and failing to play cupid. Jesus loved her, but the scout wasn't so sure about her proposed matchmaking. Sure, Aaron was pretty hot and a nice guy but, maybe he was too nice?

Maggie wasn't the only one who tried to hint at him that he looked well with Aaron.

They'd scouted together, got on like a house on fire, made Jesus laugh like he hadn't for a long time. He was ruggedly handsome with his curly hair and thick beard, although Tara had told him about the baby faced, clean cut version she had first met.

When they trained together, with the children, he looked on him fondly as he interacted with the little colonists. When they trained alone, sure it was exciting. But, well that's it, there always feels like a but...

The next time they bumped into each other at the kingdom, Jesus pretended not to acknowledge the whispers and lingering states as he and Aaron took a walk, catching up after weeks of being busy in their respective communities.

A few weeks later at Alexandria, Eugene had successfully managed to wire up radio transmitters in three vehicles, one for each location. It had been a long wait and everyone was thrilled.

The added blanket of security was worth the rejoicing and the ever eager Family decided to raise a few glasses in the genius's honour.

Which took him to now, sitting cross legged on Aaron's sofa, facing him.

Aaron was sat with a leg folded under him and the other resting over the edge of the couch. Arms waving animatedly as he regaled the younger man with stories of his adventures from Before.

Jesus rested an elbow on the back of the sofa, wine glass swirling in the other, eyes glassy as the tipsiness fizzed through his body.

Aaron had wanted to show him the music collection he'd managed to gather, knowing the Scout was also amassing his own. They drank and settled into the living room, the alcohol loosening both their tongues as they chatted in depth over a couple of hours.

After two, maybe even three more glasses, Jesus felt like he was dropping out of the conversation. They'd been laughing and had fallen in closer, both smiling and happily drunk.

He definitely is attractive, that's for sure, Jesus pondered. Taking in the gentle eyes. Aaron also seemed to be staring and both men were drawn to each other in one slow, smooth movement. A soft kiss pressed between them. Jesus deepened the kiss for a second before pulling back. Not suddenly, but enough to somewhat sober them both a bit.

He held his hand over his eyes and shook his head.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't, that shouldn't. I'm so sorry Aaron-"

"No, I am too, I, well I've had too much to drink." He paused for a moment and Jesus peered up to see him flushed. "I'm sorry if you, if you wanted something. It's too... I'm not...Eric-"

"God no! I know, I'm so sorry, that was so inappropriate, i don't know what happened, its it's just everyone has been riding me about this and I just, had too much to drink. I mean you're great, it's just not...?"

"-not meant to be? Please don't apologise. Swept under the rug!" Aaron chuckled awkwardly, plucking Jesus's glass from his hand and taking his fingers into his own. "Please let us still be friends?"

"Yes! Yes." Jesus squeezed the older man's palm, the desperate pitch in his voice catching in his throat, "I was worried for a minute there we might of lost it."

Aaron let go and leaning backwards against the arm of the sofa, Jesus mirrored him and their calves slotted together.

"Plus," The scout began slowly, a hint of mischief in his eye, "I think I like someone, like like like someone."

Aaron grinned wickedly, "I was wondering when we'd have this conversation."

"Wha-what?!" Jesus frowned the quirked an eyebrow, head tilted and mouth open.

"Don't play dumb Rovia", Aaron playfully nudged at the other man's knee, "I've seen you, c'mon you can tell me about your crush on Daryl."

Jesus flushed then mumbled into his shirt, "It's not a crush..."

"Oh...oohhhhh. You really like him don't you?" Aaron folded his arms over his chest and stared fondly at his friend his voice losing it's playful edge.

"Yeah," Jesus sat forward and nodded, a small smile on his face, "I do, I wasn't sure, but after..." He gestured between them, "I'm even more sure."

"Good. He's great. I think it'd work well you know. You two."

Jesus beamed, "I'm just not sure about him, y'know. I mean I flirt, boy do I flirt! He doesn't say much, well, you know Daryl!"

He ran his hand back through his long hair and scratched his bearded chin, "He could just be being civil, y'know, around the others, but he could-"

"I think there's something, he's interested in you, I've known him a while, long enough I can tell. Eric used to swear he was gay, kept trying to invite him round just to harass him with questions." Aaron smiled at the memory of spaghetti dinners, Eric on a mission and a speechless Dixon.

"Different could just be that I piss him off?"

"No, I don't think so, give him a chance, you'll have to be patient though."

"Yeah, I know," Jesus rubbed his eyes, stretching his arms up and yawning, "I can wait, all I got is time now."

Chapter 10: Quit ya' gay-sh*t V

Chapter Text

Paul's mouth hung open as he watched Daryl unravel around a sandwich.

Each bite solicited a groan, at one point he could swear those baby blues rolled to the back if his skull.

Daryl's eyes were closed as he savoured every morsel, sucking his fingers and wiping up the last blobs of sauce that oozed from the bread onto the wax wrap.

"Swear ta' God," The older man said, mouth crammed with food, "Carol's cookin', better 'n any sex you ever had."

He folded the paper back up and wiped the loose crumbs round his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Could'a' done with ten more of those."

Jesus was still in slight shock. His face arrested in a mixture of awe and mild disgust.

"Well if you shag half as heartedly as you eat, then I'd say that's pretty debatable." He finally replied.

The Archer flushed under his bangs and made himself busy looking for his Morley's. Eyes low as he tapped the box against his knee, a cigarette popped up and he took it with his mouth before lighting it.

Jesus's gaze still trained on him, watching every movement he made as though it overloaded all his senses at once.

Realising he wasn't going to get a response nor garner any hint of a reaction he continued, "So does Carol always cook you something special?" Wondering if the tiniest sliver of jealousy was obvious.

"Yeah. Known her from th'beginning. Been through some sh*t." Staring off as he exhaled a plume of smoke.

Wrinkling his nose, Paul wrapped his arms around his knees where they were sat on the ground. Hiding from the sun in a shady spot somewhere near the open community space in the Kingdom. "It's funny, I've known most of Hilltop from the beginning and I haven't made that kind of connection."

"S'cause ya' don't let yourself get close. I get it, easier that way when they go." Daryl frowned, he could almost hear Beth in the background.

The other man tuned his head in surprise, surprise that Daryl has not only spoken a full sentence, but by it's profound and empathetic message.

"I guess, I guess so. Maybe it's because they never make me sandwiches that look practically org*smic when eaten." He chuckled, picking at a fraying hole where his knee poked through the jeans.

"Ain't that what they say? Some dumb sh*t like, "food's tha' way to a man's heart or somethin'"?" Daryl pushed himself up and dusted the sand and stone off his ass, reaching down with a hand and yanking Paul up when he grasped it.

"Haha, yeah. So does Carol have your heart?" He teased playfully but crossed his fingers in spirit.

"Yeah, but nah, she's ma' best friend."

Jesus beamed and tried not to scream. "That's special, it's nice to have that."

Daryl co*cked his head and looked over the scout. He nodded at him and nudged his shoulder with his fist before sauntering off.

Later that day, Jesus had searched some of the buildings looking for Carol, when he found her by the herb garden.

"Oh it's you, 'the Messiah'" She brushed the compost from her thighs as she stood, pulling off her thick gloves.

"Oh yeah, right." He gave a coy smile, the joke long having worn off a good few years ago.

"Is there something you need sweetie?" Her doe eyes blinked up at him. The group told stories, he'd heard a few about Carol. The doting housewife act was just a skin. Understandable, what they'd been through, what she herself had been through. Each person wore masks and this was just hers.

"Word on the apocalypse grapevine, is you can cook?"

Pink cheeks filled as her face creased into a dark smile. "Join the queue sunshine." She turned back to the coriander.

"No, I wasn't asking you to-" Jesus reached a hand out but retracted it quickly when she spin back, crocodile grin back on. "I just... nevermind, it's fine, sorry to bother you."

She freaked him out. Maybe Daryl saw her differently, but then weren't they all someone different Before?

He kicked about the so-called Town Square, a large space currently home to lots of tables lined in rows, decorations adorning most, Ezekiel insistent on having a routine gathering similar to the Hilltop's own communal meals. Except this space was more lavish, a large outdoor kitchen sat to the far left, a large fire and several cauldrons and sat round it, a long row of counter tables and a large, makeshift island made of a menagerie of kitchen cabinets and thick concrete slabs across the top.

Jerry sat at a table near to the kitchen, fellow guardsmen sat round him as he chuckled into a dessert.

Turning on his foot, Jesus headed over, Jerry brightened when he saw him, waving his hand and urging the others to budge up the bench. "Jesus, my dude, what brings you and your elegant mane to the Kingdom?"

Resisting the urge to flick his hair like a shampoo model, he sat down beside the large man. Turning to see the others who all nodded politely. Jesus looked between Jerry and his comrades and stuttered a moment.

Sensing the need for privacy, Jerry kindly dismissed the others, letting them know he'd catch up in a bit.

"Hey you didn't have to-"

Jerry rolled his eyes and dramatically wiggled his head before turning onto the scout. His big arm resting against the table as he leant against it and peered matter-of-factly at him. "No worries my fellow, anything for another long-hair-dude-bro."

He slapped Jesus playfully on the back. Paul felt as though he'd been winded. If this was being straight, can he get the first red-eye outta here?!

"You can cook right?"

"Can I cook? CAN I COOK?!" He boomed. The king's guard laughed at the stunned expression on his friend's face. "Yeah sure my guy, you need some tips? Looking to," he sang, "woo a lady tonight?"

Jesus chuckled. He smiled close-mouthed at the table. "Not a lady as such..."

"Oh dude!" Jerry tilted his head, a big tooth smile radiated back at the Hilltopper, "Are you a dude-loving dude? Duuuude," he said when the other man nodded shyly. Just as quickly as he became larger and more animated, Jerry wiggled down in his seat, head bent toward Jesus. "Anyone I know? What does he like? You doing the works? Full three course with dessert?!"

Paul tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. "Just something small," He flicked his eyes up at the large man and drew his face in a serious expression before following sternly, "Must seem casual though, I don't know if he is also a dude-loving-dude..."

"Right right," Jerry put on a faux James bond style accent and mimicked throwing something on the table, "Oh this? This seven course meal? I just whipped that up in the kitchen there, no biggy. You don't have to eat it, hell, don't eat it, throw it in the bin."

Jesus let out a belly laugh and he slapped Jerry on the back. The two talked some more and the guard talked him through some basics.

The next morning, Jesus rose early, heading to the communal kitchen to try and rustle something up. There was the odd person sat at the long tables, eating cereal or toast, but otherwise distracted.

Jesus clapped his hands together and rubbed them eagerly, locating different things he needed. Slicing the homemade bread and grabbing eggs from a round basket.

A moment later, in a flurry of stress, Jesus didn't notice the new arrivals at the communal area. Having stayed over night after the trade out, the Alexandrian cohort were now sat in conversation. Tara and Aaron listening as Rick chatted mindlessly.

Tara began to frown and then her face creased into a wide grin. "What is he doing? Trying to feed the five thousand?" She snorted.

The others followed her stare and Aaron chuckled as they watched the Scout messily break an egg into a pan. The shell disintegrating in his fingers and raw egg oozed across the back of his hand and dripped onto the floor and worktop. Catching the rest of the globs with the other hand.

Jesus's eyes were wide with frustration as he hurried to the bin, a large plastic barrel with a handled lid. The least messy hand reached for the handle before withdrawing, then using his little finger he lifted the lid and placed it, balanced around the rim.

He dropped the egg shell in and then turned to check the stove, smoke coming from the pan, his hips nudged the lid which then fell. He went to grab the lid but hesitated, flinching toward the pan but then holding his eggy hands up.

He stared up the pergola that covered the kitchen and growled deep in his throat before quickly dunking his hands into the sink and spritzing them. Then turning back to the now well-burnt food, he resigned himself and threw the pan in the sink. Steam and smoke billowing out in front of him in a large cloud.

"I know they call you Jesus but you don't have ta' clean up after everybody." Daryls southern drawl drifted through the fog.

Confused the younger man just frowned as Daryl stepped into the space, looking over the explosion of cooking debris. A dozen eggs burnt, odd shaped slices of bread that looked like they'd been cut by a child. Oil splattered and a coffee that had spilled over what looked to be the only edible attempt at breakfast.

"Jus' cuz' some asshole came and did all this, don't mean we gotta fix it."

Jesus turned and gazed at his mess, "yeah," he started slowly, "I mean who does this?"

Daryl plucked at a smashed shell from the side and dropped it into the bin, wiping his fingers down his jeans, "S'a dumb c*nt whoever did, used up 'nough sh*t for a group."

"Right, right. Total waste of resources, I mean hello, it's the apocalypse?!" The younger man put his hands on his hips and shook his head, cheeks still tinged read as his stomach dropped.

Daryl peered into the sink, Jesus still in front of it, eyes never leaving the other man as his head passed dangerously close. To make it worse, the Archer then turned and smirked at him, "Can't even cook from tha' looks'a' this."

Yep, he was definitely red now. "Yeah," he choked out in a strangled tone. "What an idiot..."

Daryl nudged his shoulder, Jesus faltered backwards for a moment, the older man then turned to the large fridge. The Kingdom running off of solar panels now.

"S'good job we don't gotta clean this sh*t up to make our own." He pulled a brown papered package out. "I already ate, but thought you'd 'preciate this."

Mouth open, Jesus took the small parcel, unsurprised when he found one of Carol's sandwiches nestled inside. That bitch. He snarled inwardly.

"Um, thanks?"

"Seein' as you were droolin' over mine yesterday."

"It looked, delicious." He swallowed the lump in his throat as he remembered Daryl's tongue swirling around his tanned fingers.

"Sure," Daryl nodded curtly, "Hurry yer' ass up, we gotta place I wanna hit before we get back." With that he headed off the vehicle depot.

Taking the sandwich, he sat down with Tara and Aaron, Rick had headed off to chat with Daryl before they went separate ways.

"He feel sorry for you?" Tara sneered.

"Just because you're bitter over your stale ass Weetabix."

She snorted and Aaron looked at him with sympathy. "I was never much of a cook myself, not until Eric. You should come round sometime, when you're next in Alexandria, I can show you some stuff."

Jesus nodded bashfully and took a bite into the sandwich. Damn it. Carol was good.

Daryl lit a second cigarette as he waited for the Scout to get his sh*t together.

"Thought you were headin' out?" Rick called to him as he approached, "Thought I missed you. Gotta note here for Maggie, s'from 'Chonne. Somethin' 'bout the birth."

Nodding, the Archer took the delicate envelope and crammed it into his vest pocket, puffing round the Morley as he spoke, "Jus'waitin' on that hippie prick. Pr'olly brushin' his hair or somethin'."

"Probably got food poisonin' if he ate any of what he was makin' back there." Rick chuckled.

Daryl just stood still and blinked.

"Anyway, give the others ma' best. I'll see you at the next drop. Carl'll be over for some fightin' lessons." He finger quoted, "could ya' jus' keep an eye out? I had words with him, but I've said you're under orders too."

A small smile crept across the Archer's face. Uncle Daryl. "Sure Rick."

"Here he is," Rick nodded toward Jesus's figure heading their way, he slapped his hand in a half hug across Daryl's back before heading the way the Scout came, giving him a kind arm pat as they passed.

When he got to their truck, Jesus turned and watched Rick walk away, "People always joke about my nickname, but I swear, he's the people's Messiah."

Daryl snorted and they both did their final checks before strapping in and heading out the gates, an overt thumbs up from Jerry as they disappeared down the road.

Daryl had one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the gear stick. Silent but comfortable, they normally rode like this, except for when Jesus got off on a tangent and talked round in circles for the duration. Or when he sang along to his CD's.

"What's your favourite food?" Jesus blurted out suddenly.

The Archer flicked his eyes across and then back to the road, "Dunno, food's food."

"Not really though, because if you could choose between Carol's sandwiches and stale crackers you know what you'd choose. You've got a preference. What is it?"

Fingers tapped on the steering wheel and the other hand came up to scratch his chin, "Um, I guess...Pizza? I dunno. Only eat to stay alive."

"Well that's not as exciting as I thought it would be. Thought you'd say something like 'Cajun crocodile steak' or something else...-"

"Somethin' else backwater?"

"No," Jesus closed his eyes for a second, "Something else a bit more, rustic."

Paul wasn't sure if he saw Daryl's brows jump in humour or if it was a shadow.

"Can you cook?"

"Better 'en you can apparently." Then he laughed. Daryl laughed. Jesus's face transformed into a wide grin. The smile reaching from ear to ear.

"Hey you laughed!"

Daryl shrugged. "So?"

"Just never heard it before that's all."

They glanced at each other and the older man let a small smile tug at his lips and Jesus bashfully shied away, staring out at the trees racing past the window.

So yeah, he hadn't one upped Carol in the cooking department, but it was all worth it just for that.

Chapter 11

Chapter Text

"...-Then we rotate farming groups to be weapons trained. Another cohort will travel to the Kingdom-..." Maggie stood on the steps of Barrington, addressing the Hilltop.

She kept them in line, routine, scheduling and strategic management is what maintened the colony's agricultural prowess, whilst keeping it's people knowledgeable in gun handling and hand-to-hand combat.

Daryl strayed from her conference and gazed over the moderate crowd. They were growing. His eyes found their target.

Tucking a strand of hair behind his ear and then folding his arms across his chest, Jesus leant against the fence post at the bottom of the stairs that led up to the porch. Captivated by Maggie, a hint of pride in his eyes.

"...-So that's it. Oh, before you all go. Harlan, didn't you wanna say somethin'?"

Daryl looked up, while the Doctor nodded and stood in her place. Looking slightly nervous as he cleared his throat .

"Hi, hello. I would just like to mention that," He peered back at Maggie who smiled with encouragement, "That, the medical trailer is not a place for...uh, for activities. Which is, I mean, for physical activities."

***

"In here, we ran out." Jesus breathed against Daryl's mouth, kicking the door of the medical FEMA trailer shut behind him before jumping into the older man's arms.

***

Maggie frowned and a few other confused faces whispered amongst the group.

***

Daryl carried him and put him onto his back on the patient chair. Soft paper getting torn underneath as Jesus squirmed to pull his trousers off.

***

"The trailer needs to be kept sterile and sexual activity is not appropriate in such an environment." The doctor garbled out quickly, ducking his head shyly.

***

The lubricant was in a large bottle and was sat at the bottom. Desperately, Daryl shook it and slapped it, all the while squeezing it while Jesus panted open mouthed and red faced below him. A large dollop shot out and both men chuckled. Taking what he needed and smearing the rest on the paper, Daryl slicked himself.

***

Rolling her lips together and trying to remain composed, Maggie took a step toward him, but he continued.

***

Daryl grunted into his org*sm and Jesus had barely just shot his load onto his own stomach when they heard voices approaching. The Archer quickly pulled out, the seat suddenly untidied with lube and cum. They scrambled at their clothes and Jesus panicked as he looked at the mess and then to Daryl and then back at the mess.

"Leave it c'mon, no time!"

***

"I would also like to add that if whoever it is, needs anything, that I might have in supply...just come and ask. There's more then enough. It would save you coming to the trailer to...well, anyway and it would save me from this rather awkward speech. Thank you, that's all."

Daryls eyes snapped to Jesus who had already turned to him.

Later, as the afternoon lazily drifted into a light summer evening, the two sat on the steps of Jesus's trailer. Daryl still keeping himself at an unsuspicious distance.

"What the hell's he need all that stuff for anyway?"

Jesus dropped his head and snickered, his elbows resting on his knees. "Well, you do know he was an ob-gyn right? They need it sometimes to stick the-"

"Okay, yep."

Daryl shuddered inwardly. He turned to smile at the other man, "So you did nab a bottle right?"

The Scout winked before nudging him gently on the shoulder, leaving Daryl for the evening who lit a cigarette and snorted to himself.

Chapter 12: Quit ya' gay-sh*t VI

Chapter Text

It was cool out, judging by the stars and moon phases and the weather, Daryl put them at the tail end of summer.

Jesus sat on the back steps of Barrington, leather jacket and beanie on. Daryl looked up, clear sky, the sunset on the verge of dusk and yet here the scavenger is dressed in his gear.

He knew there wasn't a run, they don't go at night and there hasn't been one today or he'd of been there.

Daryl debated just hiding, waiting, watching. But then that's just weird and Jesus is, well a friend? They weren't mortal enemies anymore and he'd grown on the older man, like a rash.

No really, like a rash. He tried to stop his friendship with the man, tried to keep him at a distance. No, of course why would things happen the way he wanted.

Instead, the two got on. Daryl found the incessant blabbermouthing to be, interesting? Which confused him, given they didn't have much in common...but no, they did?

Daryl decided to stop monologing. Jesus had probably noticed him, taking up space in the dark shadows, looming with no clear intent.

He casually tried to wander over, but forgot what his hands used to do when he walked and he ended up looking like he was trying to signal an emergency extraction team, which if he thought about it, would come in handy right about now.

"Hey" Jesus nodded at him.

"Hay's for horses."

Jesus co*cked his head and grinned, "Oh, you got jokes now?"

The older man let a smirk tug at his lips before training his face back to stoic and surly.

He looked up from his bangs, squinting as the last pale light was leaving the sky, "Where y'goin'?"

"Who says I'm going anywhere?" Jesus teased back.

The service entrance behind the scout kicked open suddenly and Tara appeared beside him, dropping a duffell bag, "Yo, hey, what's doom and gloom doing? Thought this was just the dynamic duo?"

Daryl tried to think when they were ever considered that but remembered that Paul had a life outside of being roommates in that frosty trailer.

"Well it was, but now we'll of no doubt peaked his interest."

The hand grasping the strap of his crossbow opened slightly and he held the other up, palm out, "Nah, ain't intrudin' on whatever this," He jerked his head from Tara to Jesus, "is. Some weird sh*t I bet. Ain't want to be part of some dumb dance routine or whatever the f*ck the dynamic duo is."

Tara mocked offense, hand on her hip and finger pointed out, "I'll have you know, my line-dancing is beyond compare. The only rival I have is Ricketts Grimes and his bandy ass legs."

They all snorted. "You can laugh all you want Dixon, me and Lord Jee here know the sitch on where the goods are at."

Jesus stood and cast a warning eye at her, "Only," He lowered his voice and Daryl couldn't help but lean in, "It's nothing, necessary, hence why we're sneaking out. If the others get wind of us going out for random stuff then we'll never catch a break."

Understandable, Daryl shrugged.

"So you gonna snitch on us or what?" Tara glared at him warily.

The older man shifted on his feet, the sky now blue with early night. He looked at Jesus, his features barely lit by the light creeping through the blurry pane of the service door. A wicked glint in his eye.

"S'not safe out. I'll come wi' ya'."

Huffing, Tara rolled her eyes and grabbed her duffel, slinging it over her back. Then storming ahead.

Jesus chuckled then skipped down the steps, giving Daryl a light elbow as they followed their friend. "She just wanted me alone that's all."

"Oh." sh*t, why didn't he think that was a possibility? Wait no, ain't Tara?...but ain't I and look at me...

"Oh no," Jesus laughed, clutching Daryl's bicep when he threw his head back, "Not like that. She wanted to talk about her new lady-love."

"Ooh." Daryl said again. Relief flooding him.

"Don't worry, we can still talk, you just gotta be hush-hush about it." Jesus slapped him gently on the back.

They moved quietly, all three of them sneaking up and over a shorter portion of the wall using Enid's climbing pegs. Daryl's knees were stiff from the landing, not as sprightly as the other two who walked it off easily.

Treading through the forest brush, the nightime fauna chirruped, scurrying and hooting around them.

About a mile out from the colony was a black Chevy, half-heartedly covered with branches and foliage.

"Shotgun!" Tara whisper shouted. Not waiting for either's response before hopping into the passenger side.

Daryl grunted as Jesus flicked the front chair back to let the older man squeeze into the worn leather seats behind.

It was odd to see Jesus driving. Normally atop a horse, looking as ever, in his element. A natural expert in all things, but he'd never seen him drive. Obviously he could and he had decent enough knowledge about vehicles else he wouldn't of been able to fix up the truck tyre back when they'd first met.

One hand on the wheel, Jesus braced against Tara's headrest and looked out the back window, reversing out the snug pocket of trees.

The car swung round quickly, casting a wink at Daryl before turning back and spinning the wheel as he pushed the vehicle forward.

He nearly missed it if he hadn't been staring so intently.

They drove mostly quietly, no music or lights due to the late hour. Tara mumbling about Gregory and his views on the women at the Hilltop. Jesus nodding, short responses as he squinted out the window.

Driving blind and in the dark put the Archer on edge. It wasn't like there'd be a sign saying, 'walker herd 15 miles' or 'caution, whackadoodle survivors'. He sighed loudly, trusting that the scout knew what he was doing.

They pulled up not too far from a small town. If he had to guess, they'd driven about an hour. Jesus parked and they grabbed their things and stepped into cool air.

Daryl recognised the small place, a garage and small shopping strip surrounded by suburbs. They'd raided the shops and made multiple trips to rinse the garage.

"We done this place over already," He spoke quietly.

"We know," Tara hissed from in front of him. They crept along the side of a house, Jesus's gloved fingers brushing along the sliding.

Tara turned and whispered to the other man. The two engaging in a hurried and inaudible conversation before they carefully snuck round the back. Walkers ambled about the front of the street, a few strays getting lost around the back alleys.

Quietly and adeptly put down by knives and swift kicks, they passed along garden to garden until they stopped by a high fence. The gate marked with a white crucifix.

Jesus reached up and pulled the bolt he seemingly knew was at the top, then unlocked it, ushering them into the garden quickly as the noise was unavoidable. They all held their breath in the confines of the backyard as a shuffling entity garbled close to where they'd just been.

Groaning, the walker paused before stumbling off back to the others.

"Right," Jesus grinned playfully, "Let's go see what we've got!"

Tara let herself in through the back as Daryl met the younger man's smile, "Ya' know this place 'en?"

"Who do you think put the symbol on the gate?" He chuckled, moving close to Daryl through the hallway, following the sound of Tara in another room.

"Don't know what I thought ta' be honest. Some dumb place fer' you ta' play ya' CD's and braid yer' hair. I dunno." Daryl teased.

Jesus stopped, snickering. His face close to Daryl's in the dark hallway. Only the tiniest glint of light coming from the torchlight where Tara was.

"Sounds like my own private Idaho."

"Sounds like hell ta' me."

There was something wily in the younger man's eye tonight, his warm breath barely reaching to caress Daryl's face.

He felt his heart thrum wildly.

"Oh contrare, my pessimistic friend. You never know what's around the corner, quite literally. Carpe Diem as they say."

"You keep carping those diems, I'll be carping these vinums." Tara called quietly.

Daryl frowned. They entered the living room, the older man was surprised by what he saw. Boxes of bottles and clothes and piles of artwork leant against the wall. Odd knick knacks and quirky ornaments gathered on the window sill. The glass covered by boards and black fabric. A small library sat in piles, beside of which, another consortium of cd's and even records.

"You guys did this?"

The two shared a grin and nodded. Tara yanked a giant rainbow flag on a pole and stood triumphantly on the sofa. "Welcome to the lair."

Jesus snorted before turning to Daryl. "It's just where we keep stuff we find when we're out scouting. Ended up growing into," He gestured at the managerie of things, "well, this."

Daryl nodded, setting his crossbow down on one of the two sofas that sat parallel to each other between the treasure horde. "How comes you ain't told Maggie?"

Tara dropped onto the couch at the other end to Daryl, dust hitting the air in a shimmering cloud around her, she choked a second before turning on the older man, eyes squinting in a glare, "woah, calm down raiders of the lost nark. This is our sh*t."

She swung her legs onto the floor and slouched down, reaching to the side over the armrest and plucking a dusty brown bottle from a crate nearby. Pulling the cork with her teeth, giving it a cursory sniff before taking a long swig. The harsh taste pulling her features into a grimace, gently punching her chest before taking another pull, sipping this time.

"Don't get me wrong, Maggie's a babe, love her. But you know how she is, she can be so annoying with the "sharing" and the "could have more practical uses"" She air quoted and spoke in a nasally, southern tone.

Jesus had cleared off a space on the other couch and chuckled across from them.

He had a bottle of wine and took a hearty swig. "Mostly we come here to get away and chill."

Daryl flicked a smile at him, the Scout's eyes still twinkling at him.

"Yeah, we shoot-the-sh*t, gossip and put the world to rights. This is why I didn't want you getting in on my 'Jesus time.'"

Still staring Jesus replied, "Daryl's okay, what happens at fight club stays in fight club right?"

"Don't know what tha' f*ck that is, but whatever."

Happy with his answer, Tara reached beside her and pulled another bottle, looking at the label and shaking her head before switching for another. Checking it, her pursed lips turned to a smile and she handed it over, "Whiskey?"

"...I know I know. But seriously. Eugh. What am I going to do. I am a disaster gay with no hope." Tara whined, her body sinking deeper into the couch.

They'd been talking for hours and Daryl was now well-versed in all of Rosita's finest qualities, both inside and out.

Jesus sat glassy-eyed on the other sofa, also relaxed into the cushions. About a third of the dark liquid sloshed side to side as he gestured with the bottle. "You just need to be brave Tara. I mean, look at what you go through day-to-day, why aren't you together already?!"

"Because!" Tara leant forward, clutching her drink. "It's not fair." She pulled a blanket from the back of her seat and draped it across her legs.

"Hey, chuck us one?" Jesus perked up. The early hours were cold in the house, despite their clothes.

Reaching behind her she pulled another throw, "No, wait there's only two, it's not fair on Daryl. I'm not sharing either. No Maggie here, this is my house!" She joked with some level of drunken sincerity. "Also, boy cooties."

Jesus scoffed and scurried over, as if he'd suddenly freeze to death in the space between couches. Taking the blanket and chucking half over Daryl before wriggling in between Tara and the older man.

"Gosh you're warm." Jesus fidgeted closer. Tara closed in and pressed against his other side.

"So, tell me, oh wise one. What should I do? How do you tell the straight chick you're into her? I swear sometimes she gives me these signals and other days I'm like, yeah "no deal"."

An arm linked with the woman beside him, Jesus turned and looked at Daryl.

The older man had been ogling him this whole time. Enjoying all the expressions no longer guarded by sobriety, that played out on the scouts face as he spoke and thought.

They got caught in a stare again. Like looking away could potentially cause some disastrous results.

Maintaining eye contact, Jesus spoke, looking through Daryl's bangs into his baby blues, "Have you tried just talking to her? Maybe she feels the same way. Maybe wait to see if she makes a move or drops a hint?"

Tara grumbled, her head resting on Jesus's shoulder as she stared at the boarded window. "Maybe, I guess, leave the ball in her court?"

"What if she's b'in showin' ya' signs you just b'in too blind ta' notice?" Daryl's face flushed and Jesus felt his belly swoop.

"Nah, I don't think she has." Tara slurred.

Jesus spoke again, his tone somewhat indignant. "Well if she was giving signs and she obviously wasn't reading them, then why didn't she say anything?" Frowning at Daryl.

Tara shifted her head slightly, brow furrowed, "She-"

"Maybe she has no idea how ta' start that conversation. Maybe she don't even know if she's inta' girls, hell, she probably doesn't even know if she's inta' guys!"

"Girls." Tara interjected. Taking a swig and thinking nothing of the Freudian slip. "Y'know, it's so good to have you guys to talk to." She pushed herself up, hand digging into Jesus's chest. He grunted and then scoffed, Tara's hair was bushed up on one side.

She turned to the scout, "I love you dude. N'you, lone ranger, you're alright too."

Plucking the bottle from her hand, Jesus pushed her gently down on the couch. Pulling the blanket over her. "And, that's enough drink for you tonight."

She continued to mumble incoherently as Daryl stood up and wandered into another room, finding the kitchen. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

Jesus wandered in with the blanket around his shoulders, seeing Daryl smoking, he climbed up onto the kitchen island and pulled the fire alarm from the wall, plucking the battery out.

"These things last a lifetime, don't want to set it off."

His shirt rode up as he pointlessly pushed it back up onto the ceiling. Sitting back on the countertop and pulling the blanket around himself.

Jesus flicked his eyes to the packet of Morley's beside Daryl, gaze lingering.

"Y'smoke?"

"When I drink, used to a lot more, Before. Could take it or leave it now."

"Didn't know that."

Taking the cigarette Daryl offered Jesus leant forward for him to light it, "Well, you never asked." He exhaled and plucked it from his lips, examining it before taking another drag."

Daryl felt groggy as the warm tipsy drunk feeling was abating. His head still felt cottony and he was sure Jesus's hands trembled with the chill.

"Don't usually ask questions." The older man spoke after a moment, "S'not my business, what goes on 'n people's lives."

Jesus considered that a moment, head tilting, "I suppose, but then, that's how we connect isn't it? People?"

Daryl grunted something inaudible to himself before putting the stub out on the floor with his boot, "Ain't never tried to 'connect' wit' no one before."

He slowly went back to the living room, Tara's soft snores coming from the couch. Stopping just in the dark doorway. Jesus in his blanket shawl right behind him, then face-to-face.

"That's a shame," He whispered, so softly. Daryl felt their noses brush for a fraction of a second.

He felt want, creep from his belly, up to his neck. The moment broke when Tara snuffled and snorted in her sleep.

"Should get some rest." Daryl managed. His breath felt as though it was being stolen from his lungs.

"Yeah." The scout continued to stand in front of Daryl, breathing heavily.

Fear crept in and Daryl grunted before entering the room quickly. Plonking down onto the other couch. Jesus sitting beside him.

"Wha-?"

"Only one blanket. It's too chilly, even for Daryl Dixon."

Jesus delicately spread the material over them both, the warmth covering Daryl instantly.

The whisky and added heat, the perfect combination as he allowed himself to close his eyes. The house was secure and the morning was creeping up on them in the distance.

"Rise and shine sleeping beauties!"

Daryl felt movement shuffling around him. He blinked almost painfully awake. He'd repositioned himself to lean mostly on his front on a pile of cushions wedged against the armrest.

The shifting weight against his back confirmed the sudden awkward worry that Jesus was asleep on him.

Curled over the older man, his cheek resting in the middle of Daryl's back and his arm lazily hanging against his side.

Jesus pulled himself off when he stirred into wakefulness.

They shared a moderately confused and shy glance before standing and shaking off the night's sleepy spell.

All three of them had moved about in relative silence. Eating stale snacks and relishing the homemade goods Tara had squirreled away from the Hilltop kitchen.

They pulled the car round after clearing more walkers and filled it with books, music and more booze. A funky cat statue was chucked in too, supposedly for Michonne, but the fact it was riding on Tara's lap, gave Daryl doubts it would reach it's destination.

They weren't far out from Hilltop when the woman demanded Daryl's sworn secrecy about the house and the conversation. He chuckled and promised her to stay shtum.

"Y'know," She glanced into the wing mirror, "I kinda liked being a trio. They say two's a crowd and three's a party, I kinda got that vibe last night."

Jesus turned and smiled to her, music playing quietly in the background.

"Carl and Enid called me 'Tara-tagalong.' I mean, rude right? Accusing me of being a gooseberry. Said I don't know when to make an exit. Even Eugene said I'm oblivious, they're all wrong. I can spot sexual tension a mile off."

"Yeah?" Jesus snickered.

She punched him in the arm, "Yeah I can actually. My own love life not included. Haven't seen a lot round Hilltop though. The colony's about as sexy as that four year old cracker I ate for breakfast."

Daryl pulled her ponytail from the backseat, "Well I guess if you ain't seen it, then there definitely ain't none."

She turned and gave him the finger.

A very confused Kal opened the gate for them and Tara immediately popped the trunk and took a crate of mostly booze and headed to present it to Rosita.

"She's funny." Daryl admitted. Helping Jesus carry a box to the trailer.

"Yeah she is," setting his own down by the door. "She's also totally wrong." He then mumbled to himself as he headed back to the car to fetch another crate.

"Mm." Daryl stood stuck, looking at the decking. "Wait what?"

Chapter 13: f*ck You Prick II

Chapter Text

It was late when Daryl stepped into the Alexandrian Armoury. Deanna's large house had been converted into their main headquarters. The large pantry and kitchen with cellar held the bulk of the food storage. The dining, living and drawing room were used for communal events or tactics meetings. The right wing of the house modified to suit the more aggressive side of survival, with a moderately sized downstairs library, currently home to the weapons and ammo.

Wire gun racks that had been looted from a desolate sheriff's office currently held an assortment of different guns. The walls that didn't have guns on, held bows, blades and other obscure weapons. When they scavenged the museum, they'd stocked up.

Gunpowder and polish left a faint aftertaste as he stepped toward the man in the centre. Worktables created a large space in the middle, covered in a soft fine cloth. On it were rows of sharp knives, a tub full of empty guns that needed cleaning and various sharpening tools, including a small wheel for the swords.

Jesus stood frowning at a small handgun, sat clean but in pieces before him. The bright light from the ceiling light poured down onto his head.

"S'up?"

The younger man jolted, clutching his hand to his heart for a moment before turning his head and giving Daryl a small smile.

"Just thought I'd help, I always leave my gun to be cleaned but I thought maybe I could clean all those up too, only I have no clue how to put them back together", he indicated the tub.

Daryl glanced at the back of the door where the rota was pinned, "Not your turn?"

"No, I know, but beats sitting and listening to Eugene whine about his busted radio. Keeps asking me for advice," Jesus mimicked the large man, "with the female species."

The Scout huffed to himself as he turned the pieces over in his hand.

Daryl stepped closer, glancing at him through his bangs. Bright eyes flicked up at him and then away again. The Archer took the gun frame, slowly slotting bits together, making a point of demonstrating each movement.

"So what'd'ya' tell 'im anyway?" Voice pitching just a snip.

The younger man rolled his bottom lip between his teeth. Unnerved, his hand fisting a bunch of cloth from the table before smoothing it back out. He didn't look at Daryl and croaked when he spoke, "I don't really have much experience, in that area."

Jesus's face flushed. Daryl's hands still working, fixing the spring in place, "That's some bullsh*t. Ya' tellin' me y'aint getting laid left right an' cennar'? People gettin' on their knees for the good Lord."

Daryl scoffed, clicking the last bit in place, pulling the hammer then locking it. Pressing it into Jesus's hand.

The younger man swallowed before looking up. Jaw clenched for a second. Gripping the gun tightly, his voice trembled cautiously.

"No...I don't have much experience with women. Also, there's not a long list of men at my door either, even if there were, I wouldn't be interested." He felt heat creep up the back of his neck. "In them."

Jesus's breath was coming fast, he glanced away from Daryl's face and saw the Hunter's chest rising and falling at a quick pace also.

The Scout squeezed his eyes shut, then pressed his forehead up against Daryl, who's head was lowered as he'd listened.

They both panted, Jesus unaware of Daryl's potential reaction. All the goading and long stares, the peaco*cking and unnecessary shoulder brushes. The company. He could be wrong, but he was sure Daryl's heart was thumping just as loud as his was.

A small whimper passed the older man's lips and he grabbed hold of Jesus, the younger man yelped for a second as Daryl spun him and pushed him against the wall, knocking the shelf and tipping a pile of arrows, clattering onto the floor.

Bracing himself with his arms, the Scout's head dipped. The sound of harsh breaths echoed around the room. Jesus felt Daryl press firmly into his back, feeling the pressure of hardness against his ass.

He turned and reached for Daryl's neck, the older man shoved his hand away and pushed him back round. His own lips ghosting the Scout's ear.

Jesus heard the fiddling of a belt and hastily undid his own pants, unzipping his fly as Daryl yanked at the back if his cargos, trying to pull them down at the same time as Jesus did.

Firm hands moved to grip his waist and he could feel Daryl behind him, jeans round his ankles, pressing against him in his boxers.

Jesus was gasping, erection throbbing, trapped awkwardly in his underwear, which was pulled halfway down his ass.

Daryl fingered the hem of his own shorts, butterflies in a hurricane in his belly. Here he was, a breadth away from potentially f*cking a man.

What would people think?

What would Merle think?

sh*t. No.

Darylina.

Too f*cking late.

"I ain't like this. I ain't..."

f*ck. He growled, stepping backwards, Jesus noticing the hesitation and pulling himself upright, Daryl suddenly felt afraid, despite what the younger man could clearly garner from the past few minutes, he couldn't be seen like this. He pushed him back into the wall.

Storming out and zipping himself back up, fixing his belt. A muffled string of curses sounded in the distance.

Daryl flung open a door and was outside. The sky dark with late night. Small solar powered lights kept the streets reasonably lit as the Hunter marched towards the Grimes residence. Decidedly not staying in the spare house he and Jesus had been offered whilst they had business in the community.

"Daryl?!"

f*ck, of course he'd chase him.

"Keep tha' f*ck away Rovia!" He shouted, not loudly but enough to try and ward off the approaching man.

Running to catch up, Jesus caught his bicep.

"Hey?! What the f*ck was that?" His face all screwed up with concern.

Pity.

Yep, Merle was definitely back.

Daryl grabbed the front of the Scout's shirt, yanking him up slightly but not close, "I said," He growled low, "Keep. The. f*ck. Away!"

Jesus pulled his arm up underneath Daryl's and undid his grasp in a quick upward swing. Instinctively, the older man swung his arm around to try and catch him again, but Jesus was faster. Grabbing his dominant hand and twisting it, turning Daryl with the pain it began to introduce.

Holding his arm tightly behind his back, Jesus leant forward. "You need to calm down."

"Let go of me you fa*g-"

And just like that Jesus dropped him. Shock and incredulity washed over his face as his brow furrowed.

Head shaking, he stepped back. Mouth open as though to speak, but he just shook the words away.

Daryl blanched. It was fear. He knew it, knew Jesus knew it too. Tonight had been the first realisation for both of them that there was attraction. Hell, Daryl cursed inwardly. He didn't even know if Paul was gay and here he was, calling him...

The Scout had turned and was walking away.

"Yeah, f*ck you, prick!" He yelled childishly. The hurt and regret welled in him. He longed to lash out more. Maybe chase the hippie prick and scream at him until he felt Merle and Pa would be satisfied and would leave him alone.

The sound of a door clicking had his head spin as Rick stood in the faint glow of his house. In sweats and a t-shirt, eyes squinting and voice gruff with sleep, "What's going on?" He croaked softly.

Daryl headed up the steps to his brother, who stepped aside rubbing his dark circles.

"S'nothin'."

Rick stood at the base of the stairs as Daryl began to climb them. He blinked up at the Hunter, knowing if he was going to give him answers, he would of and that it must be nothing outside of personal.

"Alright, well, g'night." The leader then flicked the light and followed him up, heading to his own room.

The next day Jesus and Daryl accompanied a group of Alexandrians as they set out to work on the new settlement. They knew members of the Hilltop and remaining Saviours would be there and would just follow the other colonists back home.

Though Daryl was unsure of what 'home' would be now. He had no right nor desire to stay with Paul any longer.

Neither spoke as Aaron drove the RV and Eugene rambled about the importance of land assignation and uses.

"Awful quiet back there?" A voice called from the drivers seat.

Eugene looked up from the table he was sat at, across from Jesus who was spaced out and gazing at nothing. Daryl sat on the couch, rolling flimsy cigarettes with a bag of assorted tobaccos he'd scavenged, placed carefully on his knee. Confused and unaware that his captive audience hadn't spoken, Eugene continued.

When they arrived, they found the others already busy at work. Rosita and Tara were coordinating volunteers from the Kingdom.

Eugene began talking over blueprints and tried to organise the Saviours, what remained of them. They were all present, led by Dwight who was helping set the tall fence some ways away. Alden heading the others.

"Now, it would be of detriment to not include the irrigation on the south side. The position of the hill in relation to the generous terrain devolution that nature has so kindly provided, will create a mostly self-sufficient watering system. The agricultural team will only benefit moreso if you-"

There was snickering from the small crowd.

Eugene could read people up to a point, unsure of the issue but aware there was one. His face quirked in apprehension. Flicking his eyes to Jesus who nodded at him.

"Yes, to continue to benefit if-"

"We just need to know what sh*t we need to build and where man." Alden swaggered forward, both hands either side of his belt buckle and leaning heavily on one leg.

"Well, as you so eloquently put it-"

"Ooooh", The co*cksure Saviour looked to his peers, riling them up, "You gotta stop using them fancy words of yours."

Eugene frowned. Chubby fingers twitching nervously around the papers on the table in front of him. "My vocabulary is all present in the standard edition of the English Dictionary, revised and republished-"

The Saviours hooted at the nervous rambling. "The lady doth protest!" A voice teased and another round of snigg*ring bubbled through the group.

"Alright, that's enough, we'll divide you up. You four can start-" Jesus stepped forward.

"Woah woah woah, I was talking to Eugene here. Who the f*ck, do you think you are telling us what to do?" Alden cut forward. He knew what the Hilltop Scout had done for them, but bravado and ego were ruling this side of the conversation.

Yet again, Eugene frowned, confused and unaware of the sarcasm and double meaning. "He's the one who vouched for you."

The dark haired man nodded toward the Scout. Jesus gave him a slight smile back. Daryl, who'd been stood back, scowled.

In his opinion, Eugene deserved some of what was given, the man had betrayed them, but only to a point. He didn't like the tone of Alden. In fact he didn't like any of them, but that wasn't his choice.

"You should at least have the courtesy to address him by his name," The Scout turned to Eugene and flashed him a warning look, eyes wide and brows raised. Lips parted but the words didn't come quick enough. "Jesus."

The Saviours tittered and Alden scoffed, "Yes, that's right." He turned to the others. "Y'all better kneel before the Lord." Teasing, gesturing with a bow.

Jesus folded his arms across his chest, jaw set. This is exactly why he didn't want to lead. "Alright, you've had your fun, there's work that needs doing, preferably while we've still got the daylight."

Alden who was grinning smugly at his peers spun on his foot and squared up to the young man. Daryl felt his body step involuntarily closer. Eugene doing the opposite.

"You gotta smart mouth. Which, is pretty brave. Rumour is, you're the type who likes to bend over for guys like me. So, you wanna watch how you talk to your betters, else I'll show you where you can take that mouth. Don't let no bitches like you-"

He was cut off by a quick punch to the side of his jaw. The Scout moving so quickly nobody saw it coming.

Tara yelled in the background and a few others hurried over as Alden, recovered.

Clicking his neck, anger steaming from him. He lunged at Jesus, who curved to the side, spinning around and planting an elbow into his attacker's back.

Alden groaned, arching, head snapping round and snarling.

Jesus looked pissed, his posture was calm but ready.

Daryl heard familiar voices making demands in his peripheral. Excitement coiling in his stomach like a whip, cracking every time Paul lashed out in a defence-turned-attack.

Rushing in again, despite his failing ministrations, Alden swung punch after punch. Jesus ducking and swerving.

Completely and utterly enraged, the Saviour pulled his knife, fist raised upwards. Undeterred, the Scout rushed to him, a vicious glint in his own eye as he spun, jumping as his body turned in the air. His legs forming a kick.

But he didn't land it. Yanked from the air, Rosita pulled Jesus backward into the ground by his jumper. Landing hard he snapped his head round to her, eyes full of quiet fury.

Alden, not missing the chance, dashed forward. Dwight cutting him off, as if suddenly changing their tune, a few other Saviours helped their new leader detain him.

"f*cking piece of sh*t!" He screamed. Scrabbling and spitting, foam round his mouth and eyes red like a rabid animal.

Jesus struggled against Rosita, managing to get away and get closer to Alden, Aaron grabbing him by the arm. Trying to hold the squirming man.

Daryl had never seen him lose it, from the other expressions of those who knew the Hilltop scavenger, they too had never witnessed such unchecked emotion from him either.

"Get off!" Jesus nearly elbowed Aaron. Tara and Rosita struggled to hold him down.

"Yeah?!" Alden continued to scream, "You want some more?! Come and f*cking get it you fa*ggot!"

"Don't ya' f*ckin' dare!" Daryl joined the fray. Arms wide as he yelled at the Saviour. "Ya' puss* ass couldn't handle the f*ckin' beatin' y'all'd get if 'e got ya'. Quit f*ckin' tryin'!"

"Oh thanks so f*cking much Daryl!" Jesus spat, finally shrugging Aaron and the others off. "Sort your own sh*t before you get involved with mine!"

He stormed off back to the RV, Tara running after him. Dwight shouted the rest of the Saviours away, giving a pained expression by way of apology back to the others.

Aaron panted, "Damn he's a strong son-of-a..." He trailed off, noticing his attempt to patch over the tense mood wasn't going to work.

After helping fix most of the new wall, Daryl and Aaron returned to the RV. Rosita and Eugene following not far behind.

They all crammed into the vehicle to rest and chat before they headed their separate ways, not keen on taking a break with the other groups. Tara looked cautiously at Jesus who was sat at the table, his back to Daryl and Eugene.

"You should hear that Saviour prick out there." Rosita brushed past the Scout, finger tips stroking over his shoulder before she sat on the couch parallel. "Damn puta's lucky he didn't get his neck snapped."

Tara huffed and smiled tentatively at her.

"I think he said quite enough," Aaron said in a matter-of-fact tone. Perched on the arm beside Rosita, a bottle of tepid water crinkling in his hands.

The others hummed in agreement.

"Shouldn't a' said it in tha' first place." Daryl growled low.

Jesus scoffed, turning in his seat, the fiery rage still bubbling visibly under his eyelashes. "That's a bit rich coming from you. Or is that your roundabout way of apologising?!"

The rest of the group shared looks of confusion before Daryl stood, "You know I ain't never meant it like that! I would never-"

"But you did Daryl!" Jesus stood and they glared into each others faces, the others simply watching awkwardly in surprise.

"I didn't mean-!"

"Huh?!" The Scout open his arms in question, a sarcastic look of questioning on his face, "What? Please, tell me. What did you mean when you called me a fa*ggot?!"

Tara gasped and Aaron looked stunned. Eugene stared at Rosita in the hope she might start holding up signs with the appropriate responses for such situations, or a translation would do instead.

"Y'know what, f*ck you Paul." Daryl threw a hand up, letting it slap back down on his leg. Desperately trying not to notice Aaron's look of utter devastation and disappointment.

He stormed out the RV, trembling hands ripping at the cigarette box that had the audacity to get trapped in his pocket. Growling angrily, the carton lid tearing as he pulled them free. Clicking the lighter desperately as he heard bootsteps approaching in the dirt.

Finally, he inhaled.

"So," Aaron spoke softly. "You want to tell me what that was about?"

No, he certainly did not. But the alternative was his friend thinking he was something he wasn't.

"I don't..." He took another drag, flicking ash by his shoe, staring at it intently. "Y'know, I don't think you an', you..." The knot growing in his stomach twisted. sh*t this whole thing was giving him a hernia. "I would never...it just came out."

"Then why? I saw you both when you arrived to Alexandria. What happened last night? Did he, did he say something? I know he has his way of speaking. It can be quite, cheeky I guess, I'm sure whatever it was, was meant harmlessly." Aaron reached for his shoulder.

The hand felt like stone. The weight burning into him. "I don't wanna talk 'bout it.

"Okay, Daryl." The hand retreated and the air returned to the Hunter's lungs. Forgiveness came so easily with his friends, it always was a shock, like dunking his head in ice water.

"But," He called as he walked back to the RV. "You need to explain yourself to him."

When Jesus finally came and sat in the truck, the afternoon sun was lazily hanging in the sky. Daryl was surprised by how grateful he was that the man plonked down in the passenger seat.

In silence, Daryl shifted the car backwards on the lumpy ground. Heading one way as the RV turned back the way they'd came.

The trees blurring as they drove, the bright blue of day mellowing into soft orange. Daryl couldn't help but to keep glancing at the younger man.

Jesus sat with one leg bent up on the seat and the other stretched into the footwell. One arm across his chest, his chin balancing on the other hand. Staring mindlessly out the windshield. His features drawn into a slight frown, wisps of hair dancing around the edges of his face where it had gone frizzy in the sun.

"Sometimes," Daryl croaked in his thick accent, "I hear ma' folks. Not like in a crazy kinda' way. Or maybe it is..." He glanced at Paul who hadn't moved. "N'they say sh*t. To me. 'Bout me. When 'am scared..."

He saw Jesus's head twitch in the corner of his eye. Green orbs darting to the side then back again.

"I got scared."

Daryl looked over but Paul wasn't moving, just listening and waiting.

"Said ta' you, what I was sayin' to myself. I ain't never b'in like that, never done that b'fore. Don't really know why I tried ta'..."

"f*ck me?" Jesus spoke up. Finally facing him. He was still pissed off and hurt, Daryl could tell as much from the scowl on his face. If it weren't directed at him, he'd take this moment to revel in the raw and exposed version of the man.

The words hit him and he flushed deeply. Shame and embarrassment prickled under the surface of his reddened skin. "Yeah, that."

"So you're arguing plausible deniability on the grounds of childhood trauma? Yeah sure. Go ahead and be an asshole because you had a sh*t childhood. Grow up Daryl."

Jesus folded both arms and turned his body toward the door window.

"No, that ain't, jus' tryin' ta' explain!" Daryl argued. "Tryna' f*ckin' apologise! Good Lord. Y'know, it ain't f*ckin' easy tryin'ta work out what the f*ck is goin' on wi' me. Don't exactly got Tara n' Maggie holdin' my hand. Sorry I called ya' a fa*g. I was angry, I learnt maybe I was one n' maybe you is one, all in tha' space a' five minutes and I nearly f*cked ya' an' I ain't never...'s f*cked man. I'm f*ckin' sorry!"

He exploded. The word vomit coating the tense air around them. "Sorry Paul."

Still staring at the window, but wide eyed and surprised by the admission, Jesus chewed on his knuckle. "I shouldn't of said that about your childhood. I know it was horrific."

A conversation they'd never had, but he'd gleaned as much living in such close quarters.

"You don't need ta' apolo-"

"No Daryl, I do for that comment." He sat properly in his seat and looked at Daryl. "Why didn't you just ask me if I was gay?"

"Would you jus' ask me?"

"No, good point."

"You gonna forgive me or what?' Daryl flicked his gaze over again, Paul's face relenting into its usual demeanor.

"No. I'm going to simmer for about a week. Though you can appease me in this time with gifts and if you're interested, I can pencil you in for grovelling?" The molasses-thick sarcasm, dripped through the Scouts voice.

"Y'know I f*ckin' take it back. Least ya' weren't chattin' sh*t when you were pissed."

Daryl rolled his eyes but chanced a small smile at Paul who winked back.

Chapter 14: Quit ya' gay-sh*t VII

Chapter Text

The group bounced stories and jokes merrily off each other as trade was shared. Crops, tinned goods and homemade preserves divided equally between communities and medication, clothing as well as any luxury items that were surplus.

They had met at a small outpost the respective groups were using for the drop offs. A well raided hamlet with a large, empty hardware garage that they would often leave stuff inside should the meet up fall through on one side.

The sun was setting slowly and daylight was still trying to fight the purpling sky. Their vehicles sat at the bottom of the main street. A long strip of boutique shops, living quarters above and the odd house squeezed between. The horizon spanned out to rolling hills. The hamlet itself sitting on one.

There was talk of fencing it off and creating another colony, but the place sat essentially in the middle of nowhere. A sitting target for any potential other survivors.

Daryl and Rick were pulled together in some kind of serious conversation. Jesus glanced back toward them, then back at the sun, sitting at the end of the strip of tarmac, casting an orange glow on the trucks and RV.

Michonne and a Kingdom member, no one he knew, also seemed to be enjoying the social break, Morgan quietly waiting for their departure.

Then he saw it. Something, something blurry but moving between the sun and the road. No not something, lots of something. A bleary line wobbling in the heat of summers eve.

"Guys," The Scout squinted, the long shape was growing taller.

"sh*t! Guys!" Realisation dawned. The shapes turned to figures as a herd breached the hill, casting long shadows up to the group.

The others cursed as the stumbling, groaning crowd bumped between the vehicles which sat so agonisingly far away.

"Split and hole up, don't move till it's over!" Rick called. Face tight and sweat shining just under his curls, jerking his head at Michonne as they all scrambled to the buildings, trying to get in.

They had a good distance on the walkers but time and stealth were of importance, Daryl and Jesus skittered to the right, heading parallel to the Alexandrians. Slipping into a side door of an old charity shop. Not even stopping to check for inhabitants before throwing whatever was in reach at the door.

Wheezing as they both pushed a heavy till desk toward it, the metal base scraping loudly and marking the lino.

A muffled garble sounded nearby and soon enough a couple of rotten walkers ambled unsteadily across the mess to the two men.

Put down easily, Jesus and Daryl bust through the locked door that led to the stairs, again, barricading it and scurrying to check the rooms. Luckily the locked door had provided them a safe space.

Daryl peered carefully through a moth eaten voile, the large herd widespread through the town, their determined path now less focused as they knocked between alleyways, somehow sensing the earlier presence of the group.

"Gonna be a while."

He flicked back to look at Jesus who rubbed his gloved hand under his bearded chin.

"Mm."

Daryl frowned, looking again at the dead ones. "Y'aint scared?"

The younger man scoffed, "Please, no, I'm just thinking about the Hilltop. Herd this size could put enough force on the wall..."

Turning again, Daryl nodded at the Scout, "That's why ya' got lookouts. By tha' time this party gets even close, s' gone be dark. Pro'lly knock 'bout tha' fence like a dumb fish inna' bowl, then f*ck back off 'gain."

Jesus pursed his lips before biting his lower one for a second. "Hm...Sure. You see the others?"

Peeking back through the window, Daryl eyed the other buildings, too light to see any shapes or shadows looking back.

"Nah." He moved away and picked up a cushion from the couch, shaking years of dust toward the door before chucking it onto the floor, another cloud billowed up and he paused before settling on it. Legs crossed, he unslung his crossbow and placed it beside his thigh.

"Wish I'd brought my panpipes." Jesus sighed. Looking at Daryl who snapped his head round at him, a wary expression that superceded his reaction to the herd.

"I'm kidding!" He chuckled, "You should of seen your face."

"Thank f*ck fa' that. Last thing tha' end of tha' world needs. Some prick flutin' 'bout the place." Daryl snarked back, through he couldn't help but let his cheeks twitch at the idea.

"For that, I'm going to keep an eye out for some. Just for you Dixon." Jesus grabbed a cushion and dropped it close to the older man, not taking care to mind the dust and nearly choking up a lung when he landed enthusiastically on it.

"Jeez", He wheezed, "Hey, you ever play anything?"

Daryl peered up from under his brow, his baby blues hiding between greasy strands of dark hair, "Whadda yu' think?" He asked coolly.

Jesus stretched his legs out in front of him, arms braced behind him, flat palms on the worn wooden floor.

He lolled his head before considering the other man, flicking his gaze over him before looking up in thought, "I don't know, I can see you, sitting on a porch somewhere. An old woman rocking in a chair while she knits, someone leaning in the doorway smoking..."

He grinned wickedly, "You barefoot in worn dungarees and a straw hat, strumming away on a banjo- Ow!"

The Scout yelped playfully as Daryl smacked his stomach with the back of his hand. A smile finally winning against his consent and tugging his lips up at the corners.

"Ya' really are a f*ckin' prick."

"You say that every time I do something funny, so really it's a giveaway and a compliment. You need to work better on your tells Daryl. Bet you're terrible at poker."

The older man scoffed, yeah, he was pretty sh*t at poker, but he had years of practice at bluffing.

"Ya'd be surprised."

Jesus beamed, nudging their shoulders together. "We'll have to play, get Tara and the others in the trailer one night."

"Maybe."

Rolling his eyes, the Scout sighed exasperatedly, "I'll make sure there's beer."

"Throw in some cigs' an' ya' got yersel' a game."

"Deal." Jesus nodded. "Anyway, you didn't answer my question. Did you ever play anything?"

Daryl fiddled with the fraying hole in the knee of his jeans, "Nah, ain't that way kinda' minded. N' the f*ck am I findin' a trumpet or some sh*t in backwoods Georgia?" He snickered.

"Maybe your brother liked to blow a good tune in his hay-day?" It was precarious making assumptive jokes about Daryl's family but he risked it anyway.

The image of Merle twirling on a stage in a fedora suddenly jumped into the Hunter's head. He snorted loudly, guffawing as jazz Merle doffed his hat before animatedly hitting a brass solo.

"Tha' only th'ang ma' brother liked to blow was drugs n' money, money ta' get more drugs." The humour on his face dipped into a grimace but he pulled it back. Poker face still had game.

"That sucks. What about you? What did you spend your time and money on Before?"

Daryl looked up at Jesus, face regular and not the sly grin he wore before taking the royal piss. "Never had real money, caught sh*t for a taxidermist, gotta quick buck. Got fa*gs, booze. Emptied traps some'tams' as a kid. S'how a' learnt to find sh*t out there."

Jesus blinked, face relaxed as Daryl seemed comfortable to share.

"Had ta' fine' the traps. Started settin' ma own. Was sh*t at first. Caught nothin'. Took sh*t to the taxi-fellar', he laughed me out tha' shop."

Jesus leant forward and rested his chin on his hand, "How old were you?"

"Bout twelve. Guy said "come back when ye' getta' clean kill", so I started tryin', really tryin'. Took ma' daddy's gun out and got a fox."

The memory seemed to trickle warmth into Daryl's face and Jesus felt a small explosion set off inside his chest, seeing the older man recall a fond moment from his past, feeling priveleged that he'd shared with him.

"Tha' guy said it were betta'. But tha' shot spoilt the catch. "Needs ta' be cleana'" that som'ova'bitch then heads out back n' comes back in with'a' crossbow. Says ta' try that."

Daryl grinned shyly under his hair, head low. "Course I f*cked all tha' bolts off inta' nothin'. Didn't set foot back n' that shop till I had somethin' worth bringin'. He slapped me on tha' back, pulls out'a' beer n' says "here kid" then shoves a fifty in ma' hand. Never seen that much cash in ma' life at that point."

Hanging on to every word, Jesus fidgeted eagerly. "What did you get?"

"Gotta' lift inta' town by ma' neighbour, got me some bolts n' a sh*t tonne of candy. Sat roun' tha' back n' stuffed the f*ckin' lot so quick inta' ma' face. Could'a' ran home." He chuckled to himself.

Jesus chuckled too at the image of pre-pubescent Daryl scurrying behind the Outdoor Supply shop, carrier bag swinging on his skinny arm. Other hand cramming fistfuls of brightly coloured sweets into his mouth. Sugar granules and food dye surrounding his lips.

"So, I guess afta' that, I spen' whatever cash I had on bolts, strings, sh*t like that n' whatever was left, on dumb sh*t like fa*gs."

Jesus pulled a knee up and rested his head against it, head tilted as his looked at Daryl. "That was a good story."

The Hunter shrugged, "Gotta' few. Most of 'em sound tha' same."

"Still, I bet they wouldn't be as droll as listening to Gregory whinge all day."

"Then why do ya'?" Daryl co*cked his head.

"Just to keep the peace I guess."

"Y'know Maggie n' tha' others think ya' should be n' charge. Yer' a leader as much as she is."

Still leaning on his knee, Jesus sighed slowly, staring across at Daryl. "I know, sometimes I feel like I could. Then other days I just can't cope with the idea. I'm to all-over-the-place." He gestured with his hand. "And it gets annoying, I have everyone coming to me all the time for stupid stuff. Wanting me to be in control over everything."

The younger man sighed deeply. Daryl nibbled his lip as he watched a frown pull Jesus's brow.

"It's stupid really, just, sick of people being so needy." Turning to Daryl he pulled his gloves off, tucked some hair behind his ear, then pulled the cuff of his top from under his coat sleeve and over his hand. Grasping his knee as he pulled the other leg in, crossing them underneath himself.

"That's why things haven't worked out with people in the past. Everybody's got an expectation of me."

"I don't?"

"Well no, you don't." Jesus reached over and put a hand on Daryl's leg, bare fingers barely gripping the Hunter's lower thigh. "I think that's why we get on so well."

"You think we get on well?" Daryl meant to tease, but his voice faltered and it came out softer then he'd planned.

"You don't?" Jesus served him back. Removing his hand.

"We have stuff." Daryl choked out. He was sure there was a casual way of answering, how friends normally would, but he felt incapable of tapping into what social resources he had for such situations.

The younger man laughed, rocking backwards slightly, his hair following. "You make it sound like we're a 'thing'." He turned his grin to Daryl.

Grunting, Daryl shifted in his seat, deciding to playfully deflect as he'd seen Jesus do, "You'd be so f*ckin' lucky."

The Scout wiggled his head in mock consideration, "Well, if you know anyone who's into guys that are 5" nothing and weigh a buck 50 soaking wet, have unresolved abandonment issues and a Jekyll and Hyde approach to love and attachment, then I'm your guy. Oh, bonus features, I am also bendy."

Blush creeped up Daryl's skin, "Well if ya' know anyone who's lookin' for a hillbilly prick, old and pro'lly smokes too much. sh*t tonne a' baggage, no real experience wi' relationships n' that crap. Thinks toques n' long hair r' dumb. I'm ya' man. Ain't got no 'bonus features', but I can cook'n'catch a mean skunk."

The giggle that took over Jesus was delightful, enough so that Daryl allowed himself to indulge too.

"You're unreal," Jesus rubbed at his eyes, "what a pair we'd make. Can you imagine?" He chuckled.

"Rick would f*ckin' sh*t himself." Daryl snorted.

Jesus hooted again, lurching forward as he clutched at his tummy. Then leaning into Daryl's side, looking out across the room he smiled, "Imagine, Eugene would be the last to find out, he'd just wander into the trailer and find us snogging, he'd never be able to look either of us in the eye again."

Jesus felt Daryl still beside him. Leaning against him, he turned and looked up into his face, "sh*t, sorry," Eyes widening slightly in worry, "Took the hypothetical a bit far."

The younger man could feel the deep breaths Daryl was taking, gaze unbroken down on him. "You're wondering how weird our hypothetical snog would be aren't you?"

Daryl leant his head forward slightly, unsure of his own next moves.

"We can, test it? You know, for science purposes?"

Jesus paused, the older man looked mildly concerned, but he took the lack of "no thanks" as a welcome to initiate. Tilting his head up and turning round more to face Daryl.

He grazed their noses together, eyes low and focused on the older man's lips. Jesus tilted his jaw and pressed his own against them.

Hearing his own breath catch and stutter, he kissed Daryl again. The other man still and unmoving.

Nerves coiling in his stomach, Jesus spoke between their mouths, "Y'know, for hypothetical snog practice, I feel this is a bit one-sided."

Jesus felt the huff of warm air as Daryl relaxed into his teasing. Lips parting ever so slightly, inviting the kiss to continue.

Letting himself be lulled into Paul's tender embrace, Daryl deepened the kiss. It was slow, wet and made his belly swoop.

The Scout reached a soft hand to stroke the Hunter's bristled cheek. Eyes closed in blissful reverie. Their tongues brushed and he whimpered, Daryl grunting in response.

Jesus sat back gently, pulling them apart. Daryl half frowning at him in anticipation, "Well," he touched his own lips, "f*ck science, that should definitely be happening more often." Jokingly putting up his wall in case the other man was upset.

"I guess...," Daryl started off in a whisper, "Ya' hats still dumb though. I ain't takin' that back."

Beaming in the way only Daryl seemed to be able to induce, Jesus swooned. "Well, if that's the case, then buckle yourself in for a wild ride of internal angst, amazing hair and as mentioned in the original ad, bendyness." He gestured widely with his hands.

"No f*ckin' panpipes though, or it's'a' no deal."

Jesus pouted, Daryl looking serious as he co*cked his head. "Hmm, not sure I can make such a big promise this early on."

"f*ckin' prick," The Hunter shoved him.

A clatter from downstairs straightened them both up. Sharing a glance before they stood slowly, as to not creak the floorboards. Daryl carefully picking up the crossbow as they took either side of the doorway.

"Two dead walkers, must be this one." Michonne's voice echoed down the stairwell.

Relaxing and stepping away, Jesus and Daryl smiled between themselves before Rick popped through the door, gun held down by his leg. Morgan and the other guy following in and Michonne stepping in last.

"You both okay?" She questioned, looking about the room.

"Yeah." Jesus nodded.

"What happened? The herd passed through about 20 minutes ago?" Rick frowned, hands on his hips.

Daryl glanced at the window and saw the sky was darker then before, the last slivers of daylight on their way out. sh*t, he hadn't even noticed.

"Just trading war stories and frenching." Jesus quipped.

Rick scoffed, Morgan and the other guy shook their heads as they all thought he was just being smart.

They headed out, Rick, the other two, then Jesus. Daryl nodded shyly at Michonne who stared him down as he passed her and skipped down the stairs.

Chapter 15: Quit ya' gay-sh*t VIII

Chapter Text

The cars jiggled over the lumpy field, suspension bracing as the small convoy continued over knotted ground.

Jesus braced a hand up against the metal roof, sliding about in the leather seat.

"What do you think about this?" He asked Daryl, who was leaning half out the window, other arm on the wheel.

"Dunno, guess we'll see. Makes sense, spreadin' out. Jus' not sure 'bout tha' folks who's goin'."

"Mm." Jesus nodded. He glanced over at the other man who was chewing his lip.

"Still don't trust them do you?"

Daryl turned and saw Jesus's knowing face. Soft smiled and slightly lidded eyes.

"Nah. Not as far as I could throw 'em. Rick thinks it's'a' good idea, so I jus'trust he's right." He peered up at the wing mirror, Rick and Michonne sitting at the front of the RV behind them. Tara and Aaron sat at the back of the truck in front.

Sandwiched between the two, Daryl and Jesus had mostly rode in comfortable silence. Just simply enjoying the other's company.

"See, I've seen you argue with Rick, I know that if you didn't have at least some faith in his plan, you two would of fought." The Scout said somewhat smugly.

"Think ya' can read me now do ya'?" Daryl sneered. Raising his brows and nodding his head up.

"Well," Jesus moved to face him, body rocking side to side with the turbulent force of the vehicle. "I would say over the last few weeks of, getting to know each other, one could assume in my observations that I would of come to a general understanding of your behaviours and traits?"

"Ya' spend to much time wi' that smart ass." Daryl scoffed. Placing his hand over Jesus's knee. Giving him a tease of a smile before flicking his eyes back out the window.

"Not by choice Daryl." The Scout huffed, glancing out the front then down at his knee. The Hunter's rough fingers scratching idly at the material of his pants. "Y'know, this whole week of being stuck in those meetings has me realising something..."

Skin prickling at the silky tone of Paul's voice, Daryl grunted and stared more intently at the vehicle in front, "Yeah? Whas'sat' then?"

A gloved hand reached and squeezed the older man's thigh, "That this is the first time we've been properly alone since you ruined our budding friendship."

Peeking down at the grip on his leg, Daryl swallowed. Anticipation danced in his belly and he dared a look at the wicked grin beside him. "We're 'bout a minute out? The f*ck you plannin' ta' do, bottle-necked 'tween ev'ryone?"

Frowning as he gave Jesus's knee a pat before removing his hand and tweaking the wing mirror. He could see Michonne's boots on the dash, a large smile on her face as she looked at Rick. Feeling slightly exposed despite the tinted windows.

"Well, then maybe we detour?"

"Tha' hell ya mean det- Paul!"

Yanking down hard on the wheel, Jesus lunged forward, body awkwardly knocking the gear stick. The truck groaned in complaint as it swerved sharply out of the line, ambling freely over the mottled field.

Lips crashing into Daryl's, who's arms flew up defensively. The exhilarating thrum of of his pulse filled his head, hands reaching to grasp at the Scouts leather jacket.

"Paul!"

Messily clambering over the other man as the truck continued off path. Jesus elbowed the horn and bumped his head as he shifted into the older man's lap. Pulling at Daryl's neck hungrily as they kissed.

Jesus pressed against the horn again with his ass, suddenly steadying himself on Daryl's chair, the truck lurching hard on one side.

Desperately grinding down hard into Daryl, the two gasped. Suspended in pleasure, the Hunter momentarily let himself ignore the dynamic chaos of the vehicle's trajectory. Trying to lift his boot from the clutch, the weight of Jesus trapping his leg.

Large hands dragged up slight thighs, the lack of control in the situation had extended to Paul's body as it fought against it's restraints.

Nipping against the Scouts neck, Daryl hastily went for the younger man's zipper. The truck suddenly veered up at the front. The two men holding onto each other tightly as it slammed back down.

"f*ck!" They both shouted.

Jesus climbed off Daryl and attempted to open the door, the heavy frame wedging into a small knoll outside.

"Looks like we crashed." He giggled.

Figures ran towards them, Rick looking confused and visibly on edge, Michonne, Tara, Aaron and a few others slightly behind. Stopping as the leader raised a hand.

"Jesus?!" He yelled, striding toward their truck. Daryl weaseled through the gap he managed to muster with his door, glancing at the front bumper, a large chunk of turf stuck underneath it. He scoffed.

"Daryl?!" His brother called again, closer this time as he inspected the Hunter, side-eyeing the Scout.

"M'Fine. Wheel jammed 'n' brakes got caught." Mumbling into his chest, trying to ignore the smug wink shot his way.

"sh*t, y'all okay?" Rick's frown quirked questioningly. "Thought we serviced this lot?"

Michonne caught up. "Thought one of you had..."

"We're fine, Daryl's just not as hot at mechanics these days," He teased, slapping the older man on the back before sauntering off.

Daryl chewed his thumb idly as he glanced at the retreating man. "S'a'f*ckin' prick." He scoffed.

A sly smile spread over Michonne's dark lips.

"Damn, ya' think we're gonna need ta' radio 'zekiel for the pickup?" Rick's hands on each hip, one coming up to scratch the back of his head.

"Pr'olly pull it out, jus' lift n' reverse. Should be fine after 'at." Pointing at the front of the truck, grass stuck in each crevice, the grill at the front full of mud.

"What about the brakes?"

"I'll take another look." Daryl tried to keep his face stoic as he reassured his brother.

The Saviours new domicile was a halfway point between the Hilltop and Alexandria. Half built, the wall enclosing the new development, buildings sat windowless and roofless.

A few tents were put up as the group had worked hard into the evening. Erecting the wall and protecting the workers had been exhausting. Thankfully, their hard work had paid off and they could stay safely inside.

The vehicles all within the enclosed space, the tents were divided between the Saviours. Aaron and one of Dwight's guys, Luke, started a slow patrol round the perimeter. High guard towers yet to be built.

"f*ck am I beddin' down wi' these pricks." Daryl had growled before storming back into the truck. It was dark and quiet inside and he led down in the back seat.

An hour or two passed and he still couldn't settle. The bubbling conversation by the tents had wound down and he'd heard the RV shut a while ago.

Jolting upright suddenly, bumping his head as the backseat door opened. Jesus grinned above Daryl's boots, finger to his lips.

"So much for being subtle." He chuckled. Carefully pulling the door shut and pulling Daryl's legs over his.

"Says tha' one who ram-rails tha' truck, in front of tha' whole lot back there."

Jesus co*cked his head, crawling up over Daryl, resting between his chest and the backrest. "Touché."

"Too stupid."

Jesus snorted. Hand stroking the skin visible at the open neck of Daryl's shirt.

"Pretty sexy though, right?" Stretching his neck up to brush his nose against Daryl's chin.

"If whiplash n' rumours gets ya' goin' then sure." Voice a low growl as he tried to lift his head to see Jesus's eyes.

"Sounds kinky."

Daryl huffed as the younger man giggled coyly. Pulling himself further up the Hunter, elbow pressing hard into his chest.

"Christ, yer' f*ckin' heavy ya' know?!" Groaning as the younger man settled himself.

"These compliments are really doing it for me Daryl", He snarked, snaking a hand down and teasing the older man's waistband. "Please, flatter me some more."

Yanking the smaller man up by the armpits, huffing as he closed the small space left between them.

"Jus' f*ckin' be quiet ya' prick."

Pressing his lips against Jesus's. The younger man sighed into him, moving his leg over the side of Daryl, foot bracing him in the footwell. Using the resistance to push back, his body sliding against the Hunter's.

Belts dug uncomfortably into their bellies. Daryl slipped his fingers into the soft hair of his lover's head, the beanie he wore dislodged. Falling haphazardly to the side.

Jesus gasped quietly into the kiss, letting the older man's hands caress him as he rolled his hips.

"We doin' this here?" Daryl whispered. Pitch strained as he licked into Paul's mouth.

Melting into the embrace, Jesus ignored his question for a pause.

"Well," He panted between breaths, "I did think we could ask Rick and Michonne for the temporary use of their bed, but," Moaning as Daryl dipped his hands under the back of his cargo pants. "I thought you might not be down with that."

Catching Paul's lip between his teeth, eyeing him hungrily with his baby blues, "Ain't it gotta be somewhere," Groaning as their erections rubbed between them, "Romantic n' sh*t?"

Jesus pushed himself up on his arms, looking into Daryl's face. The slightest shade of trepidation creeping into the other man's expression. "And stealing each other's breath in the light of the moon, in our fake broken down truck isn't the height of romance for the apocalypse?" His eyebrows waggled playfully.

"S'pose-"

"It's the perfect setting for the first time you ravish me." Jesus grinned eagerly, Daryl's mouth hanging open, his chest heaving in short, sharp movements. "Or...for me to ravish you?"

"Long as ya' leave some fer' the walkers." The older man scoffed, dodging the shy drop of his stomach. Face flushing violently.

"Ooh?" Jesus wiggled on Daryl's lap, "If we're talking eating out, this probably isn't the best setting."

Stuttering, pushing the mental image back for a quieter moment later, Daryl reached up and brushed his rough fingers against Jesus's lips.

"Alright 'en, get on with it, before tha' sun comes up already."

The Scout laughed, hair messily framing his face as he bent back down to Daryl's, "I hear you." Pressing a soft kiss on his lips. Travelling down the Hunter's body.

Jesus nosed under the hem of Daryl's shirt, tickling the hairs that curled around the waist of his jeans.

Underneath him, Daryl swooned, the emotional build up to letting his guard down floored him all at once. Clenching his fist, grasping the material of Jesus's shirt, pulling it up the younger man's back.

Jesus popped his trousers and the zipper quickly, fingers deftly undoing Daryl's. Still new territory and plenty left to be explored, eyes flicking to the wrecked face in front of him, brow scrunched and a lip caught between his teeth.

Belly swooping, the Scout tugged at Daryl's boxers and jeans, shifting them to his ankles with help.

Keeping his eyes shut. Taking a breath and repeating one last time to himself not to overthink things, The Hunter let his muscles relax, legs sinking further to the side.

Jesus planted chaste kisses up quivering thighs, arm hooking under the knee resting against the back seat.

The sensation, as new as it was to Daryl, felt like his body was remembering something it had felt before, when Jesus took him into his mouth.

Like every time he revved his bike into a long stretch of road, hair whipping wildy in the wind. Suddenly reminding him of why he loved it. Bodily craving something it had pushed away.

The cool night outside the car had no effect on the warm heat that crept up his legs, bubbling in his lower back.

Jesus made a wet sound as he pulled his head up, candidly catching his own saliva with a knuckle brushing his chin.

Pulling his leather coat off and squishing it into a round shape, whispering at Daryl to lift his hips and sliding it under him.

"Gonna feel different," He panted, lips puckered and eyes glossy in the lowlight of the moon.

"Nothin' folks ant' got by on b'fore." Daryl gasped, head lolled back. "'nough spit an' determination can take ya' far."

Sucking on his own fingers Jesus smiled to himself, fond eyes cast over Daryl. "Well said."

Wet fingers pressed cautiously at Daryl, pushing against his cheeks, waiting for the reflexive flinch.

Daryl's legs tightened around Jesus's shoulders. Continuing, circling his finger slowly between the Hunter's legs, licking the tip of Daryl's co*ck, coaxing him to relax.

Dick twitching against Paul's cheek, the older man breathed into the new feeling.

Tenderly, Jesus wet his finger again before pushing it in slowly, in and out in small motions.

Encouraging his body to allow it, Daryl trained his exhale, long and slow. Lashes softly resting toward his cheekbones.

Shouldering his other leg, the Scout pooled spit against his finger, withholding the urge to explore the possibility he'd teased Daryl with earlier. Pushing in again with two fingers, the older man squirmed slightly.

Pitching a low whine as Jesus's moved more easily into him.

The younger man pulled lazily at Daryl's erection, glancing up to watch his reactions.

Moaning gently, bucking his hips lightly into the Scouts palm.

"You sure?" Paul whispered, his own dick hard and ready.

Daryl grunted in the affirmative, gooseflesh prickling his skin as he felt the other man suddenly spring against the inside of his leg. Precum smudging into the soft flesh.

Tugging at himself, Jesus shifted closer, letting go to pull the Hunter's legs up over his.

Pressing against him and cursing under his breath as he pushed in slowly. Repeating his earlier ministrations, edging out and in.

Daryl's pants were a roll of moans and grunts as the man began to find a rythm. Peeking through heavy eyelids to see Jesus's face contorted in pleasure, bottom lip bitten between his teeth, green orbs hidden under thick lashes.

They f*cked eagerly, pace quickening, the inside of the truck a cacophony of groans, whimpers and mumbled cursing. Skin slapping hard, the vehicle rocking in time with the two men. Battered suspension squeaking tensely, unheard by the lovers. Utterly lost in time and each other as the world went to sleep around them.

Daryl felt a hot jolt of pleasure, shooting up his spine repeatedly as Paul thrust into him. co*ck dribbling against his stomach as the sensation coiled tightly, pulling at his muscles. Reaching down he took himself in his hand, tugging frantically.

Jesus's thrusts began to stutter, eyes now pinned on Daryl, staring as he desperately chased the pleasure.

The slow coiling in Daryl's belly suddenly unspooled, electric waves of unadulterated bliss shot through his legs. Boiling over in his stomach as he came hard with a stifled shout.

Following closely behind, hanging on to every sound the older man released, Jesus let his org*sm flood his body, like a tidal wave. Drowning in honeyed warmth. Jerking as he pulsed inside him.

"f*ck." The Scout gasped, carefully sliding out.

Daryl growled low. Legs apart, spent co*ck half-hard on his navel. Reaching blindly beside him and grabbing Paul's beanie, moving to wipe up the mess.

"No!" Jesus snatched it, reaching down to Daryl's ankles where his jeans were bunched. Yanking the red rag from the back pocket. "What kind of animal..."

He shook his head teasingly, a few damp strands of hair danced in front of his face as he playfully whipped Daryl's shoulder with the kerchief.

They pulled themselves back into shape, sitting on the backseat, Jesus sleepily sighing to himself. "Y'know, I don't know if it's a concussion coming on where I've bumped my head against the roof a few times, but I'm pretty sure, you and I just had some crazy car sex."

"Need'a' brain fer' concussion." Daryl quipped, leaning into the other man's shoulder.

"Oh Daryl," Jesus kissed him, "Your bedside manner is almost as poetic as your flattery."

"Yer' f*ckin' welcome." He scoffed. "Gotta piss, if ya' not f*cked off by tha' time I get back, ya' best not have that dumb coat 'nywher' near me when I'm sleepin."

"Ooh and I get to stay the night." Jesus teased, "Best be bringing me breakfast in bed tomorrow!"

"Think it's s'posed ta' be tha' other way round." He Daryl snorted before dropping out the backseat door.

The heat of Jesus's body and post-sex atmosphere felt suddenly juxtaposed by the sharp outside air. The ground was damp and slippy as he stepped the short distance away to the wall. Glancing back to the truck, windows slightly steamy.

There was a low reverberation from the tents as the group snored. The RV dark and still. He could see torchlight at the other side of the new encampment as a figure moved slowly around the edge.

He pissed, sighing as the sensitivity coaxed a quiet groan.

Zipping up, he turned, Seeing suddenly a shape in the dark.

"Hey, sorry didn't mean to sneak up on you. Battery died." Aaron's voice reassured him, lifting his unlit torch.

"Oh. 'kay." Daryl went to head back to the truck.

"You two get some sleep, long day tomorrow." The other man spoke coolly.

Daryl nearly choked as he hurried back inside.

Chapter 16: Quit ya' gay-sh*t VIII - Part 2

Chapter Text

"Then Carl starts shoutin' that he needs to go to the potty, voice all strangly," Rick chuckled. "Tha' priest is tryin' to keep goin' but Carl keeps gettin' louder "I need ta' fart!". Everyone can hear him tryin' ta' push. Lori's lookin' like a tomato. Then it goes, quiet."

Rick turns to Michonne, sat with her feet on the dash as she listened with a wide smile. "Priest then asks if anyone had any reason they couldn't be married, y'know, everyone sorta shuffles about. It's silent in there, but echoey too, then Carl goes," He giggles again, ""All done now mummy and Daddy!"

Michonne slapped her leg as she laughed. Rick grinning as he watched her.

"That's great, reminds me of when Judith-"

The truck in front of them suddenly veered off to the side.

"What the?!-" Rick started, turning to follow it but stopping, the RV too low for the terrain.

The truck skipped over lumps in the ground, rocking on its suspension, the horn beeping suddenly.

When the horn tooted a second time he began to run toward it. Rosita had pulled over and the others poured out confused, following Rick.

Speeding up as the vehicle caught a large mound, tipping onto one side before slamming back down again. Still heading in a curved direction. The front of the truck suddenly catching on a knoll, digging through the mud under the grass, ditches raised by the doors.

Jesus forced his open and hopped out unperturbed. Face slightly flushed and hair wispy. Smiling at Rick who shouted over to him.

Then Daryl, looking more flustered, pulling himself out of the tight gap.

Mumbling and grunting about the inner workings of the car before following the Scout.

"The heck was that all about?" Rick turned to Michonne who looked smug.

"I think they had a scuffle." Eyeing her partner.

"They scrap worse 'en brothers!"

Lips pursing and eyebrows twitching down in an incredulous gaze at the older man, Michonne quirked a smile, "I'm sure you'll get to the bottom of it, Officer Grimes."

"Exactly ma' problem!" He slapped his hands down by his sides, "Officer, not detective. You th'ank it's serious? Don't want t'uh have to scrape either one of 'em off thuh' ground if it gets too carried away."

Staring away at the two men, Daryl shoving Jesus to the side as he got too close. "Could be serious, think they're keeping it between themselves though. Both could kick each other's asses if need be."

"Hmm, c'mon then, let's get a hand liftin' this truck."

"S'quite a big place." Luke, one of the Saviours, spoke into the cold, evening air.

Aaron ambled beside him, they took the perimeter slowly, checking for breaches and making sure everything was secure.

"Well," He glanced across at the younger man's face, the shape barely visible in the moonlight and glow off their torches, trained on the ground and the wall. "Once the buildings are complete, the livestock are in and your people are settled, really settled, it won't seem so."

Luke nodded, "You think we can get animals?"

"Sure, horses, if everything goes well with Hilltop and the Kingdom, should have a bunch of cows and chickens too."

"That's cool, I came from upstate New York before this, going to college just outside DC, never really lived out like this."

Aaron reached and patted his shoulder, his prosthetic clanked against the kid. "We'll be helping you all, Dwight's getting shown how to sort it all out, we wouldn't leave you all to struggle."

"Good, good. Thanks man."

They continued on, listening as walkers occasionally gathered in spots by the wall. Luke's torch flickered before cutting out.

"Damn it."

"Here, take mine," Aaron passed his over, "Got some batteries in the RV, best I go in not you."

"Sure, I'll keep walking."

Cutting across the middle of the encampment, the land stretching wide over long grass, dew gathering and soaking the ankles of his jeans.

Eyes adjusting to the lack of light, the moon casting helpfully over the tents, minding the ropes and pegs as he got closer to the RV.

A noise caught his attention, one of the trucks squeaked and swayed. He took a step closer, not seeing anyone inside. Then a figure sat up, back to him, long hair over their shoulders.

Blushing as he heard a muffled moan. Hurrying over to the RV and quietly shutting the door behind him. Rick snored above in the bed, arm around Michonne who rested her face on her hand.

Trying not to disturb the two, he rifled through one of the small utensil drawers, filled with pocket knifes, zip ties and other useful knick knacks. The batteries loose along the bottom, rolling as he shoved things to the side. Sliding them into the torch, a sudden beam shot out and upwards. Cursing in what was barely a whisper, he clicked it off quickly.

Stepping outside again. The truck now rocking quite obviously. Windows steamed and audible sounds of pleasure meeting the silent night.

He could tell enough that the sounds were of male origin. Fire creeping through his face as he realised the long haired person must of been his own close friend, Jesus. Turning on his heel and trying not to figure out who the second person was, he decided to walk the wall and meet Luke along the way.

Flicking the torch on and speedily walking, making reasonable headway, putting a distance between Jesus and the squeaking vehicle. Still closer to the RV then Luke, the torch flickered again. Ignoring it as best he could until the sporadic light show irked him enough to turn back.

The truck was really rocking and he could just about see Jesus's head lolled back. A muffled shout and then a long, staccatoed groan sounded between the time he managed to go back on himself along the wall. About to stride up to the RV again, he heard the back passenger door slam.

f*ck, scurrying back to the wall. Whoever had left was not far behind him and he blanched in fear, not wanting to of seemed like he'd been a voyeur. But he needed those batteries, he could play off just walking by.

He heard a small grunt and the sound of piss hitting the already damp ground. A sigh and then a zipper. Not noticing how close he was to the person until the moonlight hit just right.

He nearly choked when it was Daryl who startled.

"Hey, sorry didn't mean to sneak up on you. Battery died." He tried to reassure him, wiggling the defunct torch.

"Oh. 'kay." Daryl went to head back to the truck. Ducking his head shyly.

"You two get some sleep, long day tomorrow." Aaron couldn't help himself. Fist pumping internally for his best friend.

Daryl seemed alarmed, hurrying back inside. Grinning, Aaron sorted out the torch and hummed happily all the way back to Luke.

Chapter 17: f*ck You Prick III

Chapter Text

"It's got to be placed well or-Son of a-!"

"Jesus!"

"Bicycle. Ow."

"It's okay, I know swear words anyway," Judith commented, legs swinging as she perched on Daryl's bike. Michonne fiddling with her hair.

"Personally, I would be more concerned with a child taking the sentence literally and thusly assuming the female anatomy has to pass through objects that are not fetuses. The damage of such notions on a young mind-"

"I get it Eugene." Jesus groaned, rubbing his forehead where a stray rock had flown through the air and hit him, a small cut had torn the skin and blood trickled out slowly.

Eugene just raised his brows to himself.

"Oh, you're bleeding?" Judith co*cked her head. Michonne glanced but continued the braid tying it off.

At that Daryl stood up from where he was crouched by a tyre. Spanner in hand. "Need somethin'?"

Jesus dabbed at the blood with the cuff of his sleeve, shaking his head. Looking around for where the rock came from.

"Still bleedin'" The older man noted, reaching for the oily rag in his backpocket.

"Should I get someone?" Judith hopped off the seat.

"Head's always bleed more, plus, nothin'in there ta' damage."

Jesus rolled his eyes and glared at Daryl.

"We can get 'im a plaster if 'e wants though." The Hunter sneered.

"Actually you can. Thank you Daryl." Biting back Jesus indicated to him to lead the way.

Throwing the rag over the bike, Daryl scoffed, "f*ckin' Jessie." Following the younger man to the infirmary.

Judith shrugged and ran her hand along the bike's framework. Michonne casting an eye over the two walking away.

"There is absolutely no reason a plaster should be necessary for such an abrasion. Antiseptic wipe and flush, perhaps, but I do believe Jesus is practicing what I have heard to be known as 'milking it'."

Michonne glanced to Eugene, "They both know that, best let them keep their strange dance to themselves." She wandered off.

Judith turning and passing a smile to the large man.

"Why do people continue to talk in metaphors and idioms when there is a perfectly usable, nay, colourful and dynamic language at hand?"

Judith's eyes widened as she looked across to him, "I don't know what you just asked me, but you're asking the wrong kid."

In the infirmary, Jesus dramatically flopped backwards onto the patient bed, groaning in mock agony before sitting and grinning.

Daryl rooted around the rolling units, plastic drawers full of bandages, tapes and dressings all being disorganised by the rough hands that searched them.

Jesus swung his legs, kicking the back of Daryl's calf with his boots, the dirty sole leaving sandy scuffs on his jeans.

"Quit it, tryin' ta' find a plaster for ya' dumb face."

"I take the simple fact you have an opinion of my face to be a compliment. Oh, if there's a colourful one I'll take it." Eyes flicking over the back of Daryl's body, freely as the opportunity seldom presented itself.

"Yes yer' majesty."

Plucking a small plastic box, he grunted and smirked. Turning and waggling a pink plaster with blue flowers on.

"Here ya' are." He peeled the back, coming to stand between Jesus's knees.

"I'm very secure with my masculinity so I refuse to be bothered by your childish teasing." He snorted.

Stepping closer between Jesus's knees, Daryl pressed the bandaid over the small gash on the younger man's forehead.

Looking up cheekily at the blue eyes hiding behind dark bangs, the Scout co*cked his head, "Hey, you didn't even clean it! Won't be putting you up for the role of nurse ratched any time soon."

"S'just'a' scratch, whadd'ya' want, kiss it better for ya'?" Daryl huffed before turning to bin the backing plastic.

"Go on then."

Head snapping round suddenly, Daryl's eyes pierced the younger man's daring gaze.

Paul's belly jumped even as he said the words, he fought to keep his cool and playful demeanor, but clenched his fist by his side.

The Hunter shifted on his feet, nibbling on his lip as he squinted at the other man. Jerking his head up in a nod, he deciding on a rebuff, "Nah, 'ready have ta' put up enough'uh' that gay sh*t. I ain't kissin' ya' an' makin' it worse."

Letting his smile falter, Jesus pushed himself up from the chair, bodies close together as he looked up into Daryl's face, "Are you saying, that you wouldn't be able to control yourself Daryl?" Voice smooth and whisper soft.

Jesus tilted his head up, eyes soft and lids heavy.

"S'that'a' challenge little man?"

A wide grin spread on Paul's lips just as the infirmary door shuddered inwardly, a small head poking in before smiling up at the two men. Daryl moved subtly away and nodded at Judith.

"It was R.J., he's sling-shotting rocks." She said matter-of-factly.

Jesus smiled before turning away and tugged her braid as he passed her toward the door, "Little rascal." He gave Daryl a brief nod before stepping back out into the sun.

"Sh'unt' grass J, you 'an Juniour's a' team." The older man gently knocked her cheek with his knuckle, holding the heavy door open for her as she ducked out.

Following her he continued, "You gotta' take care of yer' lil' brother. Be good to 'im. Teach 'im, protect 'im. One day, could be jus' you two on tha' road."

He eyed her seriously, her bubbliness dwindled momentarily as she listened. Knowing all to well the uncertainty of the world they lived in, despite her young age, but hearing it in words was always a harsh reminder.

"Yes Uncle Daryl."

"Still on yer' bullsh*t?" Daryl snickered as he sauntered over to the picnic bench by Paul's trailer.

Frowning up at him, hands pausing where they were previously brushing dirt from his boots, "My?-"

"Yer' head, or did'ja' get concussion too?"

Jesus raised his head in acknowledgement and softly reached up and ghosted over the plaster, getting his nail under the edge and pulling it off slowly, cursing as a long strand of hair got stuck in the adhesive.

"Almost sounds like you care Daryl."

Setting a homemade cider down beside the Scout, Daryl perched onto the bench, the weathered wood creaking as his muscles relaxed.

"Don't need Hilltop's only go-man gettin' laid up." Cider sloshed in his own bottle as her threw his head back for a large swig.

"He does care!" Jesus slapped a hand to his own chest and looked pleadingly to the sky, letting out a deep exhale before turning and smirking back at the Hunter. "Looks like I'm not the only one with "gay-sh*t.""

"Pfft." Daryl shook his head, "I'm only teasin', jus' cuz' we're good friends an' your all long-haired an' touchy-feely ain't make ya' gay, di'nt' mean no offense."

Jesus paused, the mirth slipping from his smile as he considered what Daryl had just said. Was he just friend-zoned, wait, what the f*ck does his hair have to do with this? WAIT. Daryl doesn't know...

"Uh," He opened his mouth to speak but wasn't quite sure where to start.

"Not that havin' long hair makes ya'... y'know," Daryl stumbled over his words, jerking his head after the last one to try and physically articulate his meaning. "S'cause ya' look-"

Daryl gestured again and Jesus's eyes widened, eyebrows raised. Shrugging with open palms as he looked down and then back up at Daryl, "I look?..."

"S'all flowy an' sh*t."

"Daryl, are you saying I'm pretty?" He teased, but a brush crept up his neck and bloomed in his cheeks nonetheless.

Picking up the cloth Jesus had been using, the Hunter whipped the Scout across the arm, leaning forward and sloshing cider onto the bench. "Prick. Tryin' ta' be all heartfelt and sh*t here."

"What, by telling me that our friendship isn't hom*oerotic, and that I'm pretty but not in a way that makes me gay? The irony." He rolled his eyes and took a draw from his own bottle before picking his boot back into his lap.

"Well ya ain't." Daryl shrugged pulling a cigarette from his pocket. "And we're not- it ain't hom*o-whatever-the-f*ck-that-means."

"Well I am and the jury's still out on the rest." A nervous fireball tore through his stomach as he tried to remain nonchalant, giving Daryl a terse smile before heading into his trailer.

The older man sat and nodded as he heard the door click, then jolted upright as the previous sentence settled. "Wha-?!"

It was late into the evening and Jesus sat on his bed, the headboard broken on one side lay slanted between the wall the mattress. It's wonky edge dug uncomfortably into his back as he turned another page.

An old lamp flickered weakly in the corner, the heat of the bulb burning the dust on top of it filled the small room with an odd smell.

Jesus sighed, rereading the same paragraph for the third time, eyes dropping but insomnia chasing away any chance of sleep if he settled down properly.

A creak from the decking of the porch caught his attention before a soft rap sounded on the flimsy door.

Tucking the corner on his page, he settled the book down and padded in his worn socks to answer.

We wasn't completely surprised to see Daryl. Knowing that conversations with any vague hint of emotion were preferred in the dark of night, lest he be privy to any facial reactions. A giveaway of Daryl's and also an oversight on his part, as the very nature of his behaviour was an outward show of his feelings.

"Saw tha' light. Know ya' don't sleep anyways."

"For a second there, I thought you were making a Jesus joke." The Scout yawned, smothering it with the back of his hand, he jerked his head to invite the Hunter in, but Daryl just shifted on his feet.

"M'okay out here. Jus' wanted ta' say we're still cool. Cuz'a' earlier. Aaron, Tara, n'you. All good man."

Jesus frowned incredulously, "Good?"

"Cool." Daryl nodded, looking at his boots.

"Yep." The younger man folded his arms, moving to lean against the door frame, there was a long pause before he opened his mouth to speak, "So?-"

"-I ain't gay though." Daryl murmured hurriedly.

"I didn't presume-"

"-you said us bein' friends?-"

"I was just joking, being playful." Jesus rubbed his face, pinching his nose. "I can stop, we can just keep things 'professional', I'll leave my "gay-sh*t" at the door."

"Nah." Daryl said too quickly. The Scout's head snapped back up, "Don't need ta' change. I know it ain't bein' serious, jus' you bein' a prick as usual."

He spoke not unkindly and chanced a peek through his bangs at Jesus.

"Right," The younger man felt a pang as he caught the exposed glimpse of low self-esteem creep through. "Uh, so, what now?"

"Nothing, I guess."

"Alright."

Another long pause stretched between them as Daryl shifted nervously, hand gripped and squeezing his crossbow strap.

"See ya' tomorrow then. Prick."

"Yeah, night."

Jesus watched for a moment as the Hunter speedily, stomped back over to the house where he'd been crashing on a floor somewhere. Daryl and the others yet to accept his invitation to stay.

He closed the door and rested his back against it, heart thumping loudly. A smile spread across his face and he felt ridiculous.

Deciding he no longer had the focus to read his book, he made some tea and sat grinning like an idiot till the early morning.

Chapter 18: f*ck You Prick IV

Chapter Text

The groups convened en masse at the Hive, the new land offered to the remaining Saviours. Discussions were afoot about moving a large water tank from a local desolate farm and setting it up somewhere on the new land, but not a week or so before, other survivors had been spotted on the nearby roads.

The scouts had mentioned seeing heavy weaponry and a decent number of 6-10.

The Kingdom said it was happy to offer help in whatever actions were made, the Alexandrian's had drawn up the initial plan, but now the decision was being stopped by Hilltop, who's illegitimate leader decided it wasn't safe to risk the numbers.

The groups stood sweating in the summer heat as they all tried to settle the argument.

"-They been checkin' out that place as long as we have, heck, they could'a been tha' ones what ransacked it tha' first place?! Could be makin' there own lil' farm somewhere. We need that tank, 'fore it's gone."

Daryl was close to yelling. They were getting close to the dryer seasons and whilst their colony was doing well, if the Saviours had a chance this summer, it would only be with the tank. The underground irrigation system set up was invaluable, but the large quantities of water it used, needed a place to stay.

"Did we not learn from the Outpost?! We barely got out of that. Then, we found out there were a lot more people! We can't take the risk without all the facts Daryl!" Jesus pleaded, Gregory had briefed him and sent him in his stead, but "whatever they want to do" didn't sit right with him.

The other folks watched quietly, waiting for Hilltop to make a decision, not wanting to interrupt the process.

Daryl's voice shifted to a snarl, "Only you," Jesus's brows knotted in confusion, "Only you nearly didn't make it, 'cos you were too busy bein' stubborn."

"That's because I think it's wrong to go in, shoot first and ask questions later. If we do this, without provocation, are we not the bad guys? We've lost so much of our humanity as it is?!" The Scout turned and addressed the other's as he spoke. Eyes desperately wide and arms open and gesturing.

"You talk about not takin' risks, what do think it is lettin' 'em be?" Talking down to the floor, anger spooling inside of him as he thought of every instance they'd ignored potential threats and every time it bit them hard.

"Maybe we send them a message?" Ezekiel's representative offered. "We've found them in the same location, often enough."

Jesus thrust his arm out to the speaker, "See? There's a rational idea. No one gets hurt, maybe set up a rendezvous, see who shows. We hang back check out the area, get a better idea of the numbers they're willing to risk, watch them."

"What good's watchin' 'em when we don't know what they're willing to lose?" Daryl threw back, pacing slightly, a murmur of agreement tickled the small crowd.

"Because," Aaron stepped into the fray, "as you well know, Daryl, observation can tell you a hell'of'a'lot about a group and their dynamic. On first glance, you guys," He gestured to Rick and the others spread amongst the audience, "Well, I wouldn't of touched you with a barge pole, but, even against Eric's wishes, we continued to watch. And wait. I'm sure Jesus knows what I'm talking about?"

Putting his hands on his hips, Jesus nodded, his hair falling forward and framing the mildly menacing look in his eyes. "Sure. You and Rick looked like trouble, but here we are."

Rick swallowed, grinding gravel under the toe of his boot before squinting back at Daryl. The Virginia sun baring down. Predicting correctly what his brother would say next.

"Yeah, an' we were trouble. Was gonna leave ya' dead. Left ya' tied up in tha' road. If you weren't..." he waved his hand toward Jesus, "then you'd'a' been walker scraps!

"You could of killed me in Rick's house?"

"...it ain't the point!" Daryl broke, yelling into the Scout's face.

Jesus faltered back a step, not the first time they'd come to blows. Since the incident in the armoury, the two had been polarising between snapping at each other or being comrades.

Squaring up into the Hunter's face, hair flicking wildly as he jerked his head, Jesus shouted, "Well I speak for the Hilltop on Gregory's word, we do recon. Decide what or who we're dealing with before running into unknown territory with our pants down!"

Daryl clenched his fist, arm twitching as though to raise it before controlling himself, "If we don't get that tank, that sh*t's on you! You're the crazy bastard who insisted on sparing these assholes," Turning a scornful look at the Saviours. "Least you could do was take some goddamn responsibility!"

"ENOUGH!" Michonne interceded, stepping between the two and pushing them both to make room for herself. "Both plans end with us getting the tank, I think we should listen to Jesus."

Face almost smug for a second, Daryl spun to glare at his friend, Michonne simply flicked her brows at him before looking to Rick.

He was scratching the back of his head, peeking up and around at the people present. They had deeply underestimated Negan, "Alright, I second that-"

"Rick?-"

"-It's safer, better havin' to look elsewhere for a tank then losin' a dozen men, startin' another war."

It seemed everyone had accepted the answer. There was more conversation about trade and Daryl zoned out. Fury and impatience boiled inside him. There'd been far too many near misses during raids where they'd bookmarked stuff they couldn't carry, only for it to be gone the next day.

Jesus stepped into the car, he'd been roped into long chats with nearly every person there, he sighed deeply and gently dropped his head on the steering wheel.

In the passenger, Daryl still brooded. He cast a quick, squinted glance to his left before glaring hard out the window. Feeling relief as Jesus pulled them out of the gate.

They drove tensely for a while before Jesus stared hard at him.

"Whatever the f*ck you gotta say, say it now."

The Scout snorted, "I just wanted to make sure you're alright. I know you can't come to terms with the Saviours, my decision, but you can't let it spill onto-"

"-I ain't spillin' nothin'! Not everythin' that's said is said for some reason. 'been livin' in ya' stupid hippy psychology world for too long." Daryl kicked a foot up onto the dash, elbow resting on his thigh, chewing at the skin round his thumbnail.

"I know you Daryl, you're the quiet type until something bothers you."

"Yeah, that f*ckin' tank fallin' ta' someone else. Quit tryin' to f*ckin' therapize me wi' your bullsh*t."

Jesus was used to the infamous Dixon wall of emotion, sometimes his words slipped through the cracks, sometimes he was gunned down before he could even reach the bricks.

"Suit your f*cking self then. Just trying to be a friend." The younger man soured.

They pulled up to the Hilltop, Kal giving them a reproachful nod.

Jesus slammed the car door shut, surprising Daryl. He watched the Scout storm toward the trailer before catching up quickly.

"What so now you got yer' panties inna' twist or somethin'?!" Barely shouting but loud enough that a few heads turned.

Maggie walked quietly along the allotment, watching subtly as Jesus spun, the two men glaring at each other at arms length.

"Daryl." Jesus clenched his fists and took a deep breath then exhaled, "just, I'm tired and I need to lie down."

Scoffing, the Hunter wiggled his head in mock astonishment, hand's opening in false surprise, "Oh ma' bad. So yer' gonna go an' waste time makin' this new plan, an' now you gonna waste even more time an' have yourself a nap?"

Teeth gritted, Jesus scowled before heading up the stairs to the door. Daryl quick on his heels grabbed him by the arm, "No smartass comeback?! You really jus' gonna get some beauty sleep while those son's'a' bitches take our tank?!"

Maggie tensed at the confrontation, turning to Tara who'd also straightened up.

Jesus stared directly into Daryl's eyes before glancing down at the tight grip on his bicep, flicking back up with a calm temper, "Get your hand off me. Now."

Daryl let go, Jesus turned and opened the door, squeezing through and pushing it shut. Daryl's foot breaching the small gap before it closed, using his weight to barge into the trailer. Chucking his stuff onto the small table by the couch.

"The hell are you doing?!" Jesus stepped back.

"I f*ckin' live here too, s'alright you can f*ck off to your bed, I'll be here preparin' for the new plan."

Jesus stood, mouth agape, stuttering sounds. Momentarily thrown-off by the brazen actions of the other man.

"No. Actually, get the f*ck out now." Jaw snapping shut tightly and arms crossing over his chest.

"You serious?!" Daryl scoffed, laughing vindictively as he swung his crossbow back onto his shoulder.

"It's my trailer." The Scout snapped coolly.

"Whatta' ya' five?!" Snorting again, the Hunter nudged his shoulder hard as he got closer to the door, opening it before Jesus appeared next to him, arm pushing the door shut again with a slam.

"If you want to touch me Daryl, there are less violent ways of doing it. I get that you're scared or whatever the f*ck this is, but you push me again and I will kick your ass."

Jesus's chest was heaving as he stared challengly up at Daryl.

Daryl stepped closer, nearly nose-to-nose, hand on the door handle. He yanked it again but Jesus slammed it, breathing heavily and eyes bright.

"Let me out." Voice cracking and barely a whisper, Daryl murmured. Heat radiating off his face, looking down at his determined hand.

"You want to touch me, don't you?" It was less of a question and more of a statement to the obvious, a flashback of hands frantically pulling at clothes and fingers digging into soft flesh was testament to the burning truth.

"Let me out."

Jesus stepped closer, "I don't know why you're so afraid. There's no one here but us-"

Daryl grabbed the back of Paul's head, a fistful of his long hair tangling in his fingers, every intention of hurtling him into a wall, but instead crashing their foreheads together.

Flinching from the small crack, Jesus's blood swelled in waves inside him. Heart tearing a thunderous beat.

"Why is it like this?!" Daryl spat, jaw clenched and squeezing harder at the younger mans hair, causing sharp prickles to pepper his scalp.

"It doesn't have to be." Jesus keened, the desperation pouring in spades from Daryl, he let his eyes fall as he pressed a kiss to his lips.

All this time, all the crazed moments of sexual tension, unleashed in spurts, stowed away in private places, unfinished. Never leading anywhere and never with so much as a word or eye contact. Least of all, a kiss.

Daryl whimpered, gasping as he pressed his lips against Paul's, relaxing the grip on his head.

Jesus moaned in response, pushing Daryl toward the door, tongue sliding over the other man's.

Hands fumbled over the clothes, impatience bringing them to sneak under and tease at warm skin.

Rough, scarred hands gripped Paul's ass through his jeans, pulling him closer and rutting hard and slow against his front.

"f*ck..." Jesus breathed, head lolling. Daryl mouthing against the exposed neck.

"We could..."

The Scout pulled away for a second to regard the Hunter's face, making it a quick assesment, save he change his mind.

Hurrying to the bedroom, hoping he was being followed. Giddiness bloomed in his chest as he heard the door kicked behind him, rattling in the frame as it bounced back. Then, the all too familiar sound of Daryl's belt loosening. Often, this was where it ended. No one had been exposed, nothing had been touched.

In a bid not to halt the whole thing by suggesting otherwise, Jesus dropped onto his stomach on the bed. Still clothed, but buttons and belt discarded. Reaching to the side table for lube.

Sure enough, the bed bowed as Daryl kneeled over him.

Withholding the urge to turn and see what he could only imagine to be a glorious show of animalistic passion, Jesus pulled his pants down over his ass, arms then buried under his pillow as he pressed it against his face.

Daryl lubed up, unsure of what the correct way of doing it was, but had enough sexual experiences to grasp the general idea. He pressed the head of his co*ck between Jesus's cheeks,

"Fingers!" Paul whimpered. After no response he muttered, "fingers first."

"Oh." The lube clicked again, the cold jelly made the younger man's breath hitch as inexperienced fingers rubbed around his hole.

Jesus clenched tightly at the pillow as one pushed in slowly. Cheeks flushing fully and his own co*ck dribbling wantonly against the bedspread.

Daryl had never felt so explicit, this thing he was sucked into, here with Jesus. It felt perverse, but in a secret and exciting way.

Seeing another man redden because of, what he was doing. His finger inside...

He bit his lip, staring at the contented expression pulling Jesus's face tight. Watching the younger man grind down as he moved in and out.

They continued, until Paul slapped his thigh gently, moaning softly.

Hazarding a guess, Daryl pressed in another. co*ck twitching as Jesus's mouth fell open.

When he felt the Scout pushing back against him, he pulled out, teasing his co*ck in small circles. Paul's jeans were still round his knees and his t-shirt had ridden up his back. "Take yer' clothes off."

It took Jesus a second to register, kneeling up and pulling his top off and then turning to kick his pants down over his feet.

Daryl swallowed thickly as Paul's arousel bobbed as he moved.

Grinning, the Scout felt his confidence returning, that perhaps today really was the day. "What about you?"

Daryl had stood to give him room, erect and hanging out the open top of his jeans. Not breaking the look between them, he shucked his pants and grabbed the back of his tee, pulling it in one slick movement over his head. The brush of fabric fluffing his hair.

He felt his esteem wane as bright green eyes raked over him, but they were both exposed now.

Jesus turned back onto his front, perking his ass up just a little. Daryl's hand touched his thigh gently, sliding up to the younger man's waist where he steadied him.

Pressing again at Paul, Daryl's breath caught as the head of his co*ck slipped into Jesus.

The Scout's back dipped, quickly grabbing a cushion and stuffing it under himself. Pulling his hair over his shoulder and turning his face to the side.

Now the Hunter could see him, see his reactions. He moved slowly, the apocalypse had put a serious dent in his romantic life. This however was new. Not sex, but sex with Paul. With a man.

It felt just as good as before, if not better because f*ck, it was the hippy-prick who pissed him off all day and night. Frolicking around with his dumb face and shiny mane.

He was good though, the best if them.

Daryl groaned as he moved faster, setting a steady pace. Both hands now on the bed, Paul in-between as he thrust into him. The worn mattress making a dull creak and the headboard threatening to be a problem should they yet quicken.

Jesus panted and sighed, eyes squinched shut, savouring every second should it be their first and last time. His side brushed against Daryl's arm as the bed rocked, the sensitive area sending a zing of pleasure through his body.

Regaining his composure somewhat after the initial thrill, Daryl bent forward, pressing more of his lower half against the younger man. Resting down onto his elbows, pulling one arm off the bed and gently caressing down Jesus's back.

"f*ck, Daryl." The Scout gasped.

All feelings of embarrassment on hold, the Hunter hooked his arms under Paul's, holding them close together as he f*cked him, the room a cacaphony of skin slapping and the complaints of an old bed, intermittent gasps and moans sprinkled in the gaps.

Jesus fluttered his eyes, seeing Daryl's blue staring straight at his face. He whined as he saw the sheer hunger of his expression, burying himself back into the pillow.

The older man planted a kiss against the back of Paul's neck, carefully brushing the long hair aside. Teasing lips leading to behind his ear and then returning to nape, where he playfully bit.

The Scout's body jolted reflexively but he let out a muffled snicker.

This version of Jesus, bashful and coy, blushing and melting under the Hunter's ministrations, sent tendrils of something tender and warm through Daryl.

He felt more exposed now then the introduction of nudity. Like he was intruding on a private show, the younger man lay before him, under him. Emotionally open and welcoming.

The fondness he shared for him pained his heart. Spurring on his lust, he fastened.

Their audible sounds went from soft and quiet to loud and sharp. Daryl pounded into Jesus, leaning half on the bed as his other hand palmed at Paul's ass-cheek. Grabbing at all the exposed parts of him to get as much of the Scout as he could.

Jesus simply yelped in pleasure, each thrust pulling a small cry from him, snaking a hand down between his own body and the bedspread. Sweat slicked, his fingers slid over dampened hair and gripped tightly round his erection. Unable to get a good position, he f*cked into his palm desperately in unison with the Hunter.

"f*ck. f*ck. f*ck..." Jesus cried again and again.

Chest tense, Daryl felt his composure slipping. Not wanting it to end so soon, he pulled out and held the base of his co*ck firmly. Panting harshly through his nose, lip between his teeth, he stared down at the veins throbbing under his fingers. "Ride me."

"You- uh yeah." Dazed, Jesus sat up. His locks frizzed on the left of his head where he'd been pushed into the bed, eyes dewy and skin glowing.

Stomach glistening, Daryl flopped back onto the bed, feeling the damp from where the younger man had been. He stroked himself absently as Paul crawled over him, pausing to watch for a second, face lit with intrigue.

"You're so...ugh, there aren't the right words for you Daryl." Collapsing gently against the older man, caressing his cheek before pressing a kiss to his lips.

Rough hands found purchase on his back and pulled him closer, their noses brushing and strands of hair getting trapped between their faces. It was a passionate kiss, deepened with tongues as they writhed body-to-body.

The Scout broke the kiss, sitting up in a straddle over Daryl's groin. Shifting further back and reaching underneath himself. Manoeuvring the older man's erection to line up.

Steadily sinking onto him he groaned deep and low.

The feeling, the sound and sight of it all made Daryl throw his head back onto the pillow. "Holy sh*t." He murmured as he rested his palms against Jesus's thighs, thumbs circling the sensitive flesh near to the younger man's balls.

Paul rocked over him, hands pressed firmly against the Hunter's chest, the weight of him a new and exciting experience.

With each slide forward, Jesus's co*ck rubbed against Daryl's stomach, catching ever so slightly and teasing him ever closer to climax.

Daryl stared open mouthed at the erection sliding against him, smearing precome through his pubic hair and up to his navel. Tentatively, he reached and curled his finger and thumb round the head, checking up to see Paul's eyes tight shut, groaning. Closing his fist around him, Daryl pumped his hand slowly, as he would himself.

Eliciting a shudder from the younger man, has hand pawing at Daryl's chest.

Encouraged, the Hunter jerked him in tandem with their rhythm. Paul continued to ride him, feeling the blunt pressure graze temptingly within him, Daryl's hand slickened with sweat and precum, tugging him gloriously to nirvana.

Daryl had other ideas, releasing his grip on Jesus's erection, he snaked a hand up his back, urging him down into a kiss. His other arm wrapped around the younger man's back, pushing off the mattress with his leg, flipping them around.

The Hunter slipped out of the Scout as they switched positions, Paul seductively disheveled, legs wide to make room. Daryl grabbed his hips and yanked him down the bed closer. Shoving the flat pillow under the small of Jesus's back.

Paul stared eagerly up at him. Ears tipped with red, lips puckered, pupils blown-black in dilation. Nipples puckered and pink, tantalising.

Daryl leant over him and licked wetly over one, salty with sweat, his light covering of chest hair tickling his lip. Sucking it in and rolling his tongue over the nub, inducing a loud moan from the man underneath him.

Jesus keened under Daryl's mouth, hips twisting and pushing as the Hunter's co*ck pushed hard and heavy into the flesh of his cheek. He murmured his needs in a hurried blush.

Daryl smirked up at him, lips meeting again as he reached under to push back into Paul.

The thrusts now thundering down with fervour. The headboard collapsing complete, dropping to the floor and crashing repeatedly against the metal as the weakened bedframe leaned to-and-fro. The mattress practically shrieking at the sheer force of momentum. Nearly drowned out by the cussing and yelling of the two responsible.

Neither heard the trailer door open. Nor did the opener hear them. Headphones giving a tinny reverberation of the cheerful music they played, Maggie headed into the spare room she shared with Sasha. Stretching, she lay down onto her cot, curling in on herself. Head against the pillow, the earbud digging in uncomfortably, she unhooked it and closed her eyes.

Then pinged them back open. The sound from the next room suddenly loud and obvious. Sitting up, she couldn't help but freeze as she heard the furious crashing of the bed and the cries and grunts of both men, made clearer as she paused the MP3. Embarrassment creeped through her, the door had been slightly ajar as she'd passed and she thanked the good Lord she hadn't noticed. Assuming that jesus has either asleep or they both were out and about.

Her stomach churned again and reminded her why she'd come to bed during the day. Popping the one earbud back in, she clicked her music back on and tried hard to convince herself that she was alone. Nodding off quickly with fatigue.

***

"I'm close!" Daryl warned, muscles tight and hips stuttering against Jesus.

"Touch me!" He cried back, hands scrunched around the bedsheet, pulling it off at the corners, duvet thrown half-off the bed out the way.

Daryl hurriedly pulled at Paul's co*ck, messily and without care, but frantic and with the right amount of pressure.

Jesus lifted his head to watch and dropped back down groaning and mumbling incoherently, repeating the action a few times.

Control was beginning to slip out of Daryl's grasp, co*ck swelling in anticipation. Paul's legs quivering at his sides, pressing firmly against him.

"Oh f*ck." It took over, the pleasure bloomed and exploded inside of Daryl, the most delightful poison coursing through his veins as he shuddered, voice pitching into a high whine as his cum spilled in rapid spurts into the younger man. Falling forward and catching himself on his hands on the bedspread, Jesus's face below his. Spent co*ck slipping messily from his body.

Paul quickly took himself in hand, his other palm cupping his balls close as he pulled fast in stuttered motions. Face scrunched tight as he held back the whimper, the peak of it escaping as a tempered squeak. Shooting his load up onto Daryl's chest and over his own. Groaning loudly as he slowly squeezed up his pulsing co*ck, the last of his cum dribbling out and down over his fingers.

"f*cking hell." The younger man gasped.

Daryl picked a t-shirt off the floor by a laundry basket and wiped at the sweat on his head, the back of his neck and then over his front. Tossing it over to Paul who just lay panting, staring at the ceiling.

Daryl flopped down onto his front, naked ass bare to the world, his damp back cooling. Muscles aching deliciously. Nuzzling his face into the clean pillow left untouched at the head of the bed. Head turned just-so to see Jesus still lost in a post-org*smic chill.

Lips parted, chest rising and falling exaggeratedly. Fingers twitching slightly over the dirty t-shirt on his stomach. Feeling the stare from beside him he looked over at Daryl. A soft smile tugged his lips as he saw the Hunter's eyes droop for a second.

Wiping up, Paul threw the shirt haphazardly across the room, landing on his dresser and pulling something fairly noisy off the side.

"Smooth." A low rumble came from the older man.

"Hey," The Scout yanked the blanket back up onto the bed, covering himself and flicking a corner over Daryl's leg. Recovering his pillow and flipping it over before dropping his head onto it. "I used up all my physical talents just now."

"Mmph." Eyes shutting again. The afternoon sun blocked by the ugly curtains of the single pane window, cast an orangey hue about the room. It felt cosy. Body spent and relaxed.

Paul continued chatting quietly, but Daryl didn't hear as he drifted off.

Maggie startled, head pricking up in the dim room. It was quiet and the sun wasn't up in the sky out the window. Her music had stopped and she sighed at the need for a new battery.

A rap at the trailer door sounded and she hopped up, passing the other dark room carefully before opening the front door.

"Jessica, what's up?"

"Hey, dinner's out, thought you might not want to miss it."

"Thanks."

"If Jesus is home tell him too, chilli night's his favourite."

"Sure thing."

She closed the door quietly, attending to the gaslamp in the living space, light washing down the little corridor to the rooms. The open doorway looking more menacing.

As she got closer she heard heavy snoring, two different patterns making the room sound as though a stalling 4x4 was parked in the centre.

Pushing the door carefully, she poked her head round. The lamplight casting over the bed and the figures upon it. She flinched immediately as the glow highlighted the contours of Daryl's exposed backside. Jesus was curled toward him with the blanket at his waist.

Maggie pulled the door shut, mindful of the click before knocking gently.

Then again slightly harder.

"f*ck." A voice gasped from inside. She could hear whispered urgencies as something stumbled about. A bump and a crash and more whispered shouting sounded before the door opened and there stood Jesus.

Shirt on backwards and inside out, label poking from under his beard. Jeans quickly pulled on and hair scraggly, he blinked at the light. "Maggie? Wha- what time is it?"

"Dinner time. Chilli. You ain't seen Daryl about have ya'?" She peered over his shoulder at the room that the Hunter had been staying in, on the floor, but she was now having doubts.

The bed was unmade, but no Daryl in site.

"Uh, no. Maybe try the back of the house?"

Maggie quirked an eyebrow as Jesus yawned, "You okay? Not like Hilltop's busy body to catnap?"

"Yeah, just long day in the heat. You go ahead, be there in a minute."

A few moments after Maggie sat down at the communal table with Sasha and Tara and the few residents she knew the most, Jesus appeared. Nodding to the approachful smiles.

Settling down opposite his new friends, he groaned as he caught the eye of Alex at the end. Politely giving him a shrugged smile before taking a mouthful.

"Surprised you weren't first in line!" Teased his closest neighbour, Agatha. She was a kooky middle aged woman who poked her nose into everything.

"I know, Chilli night is definitely the highlight of Hilltop for me." Defensively picking up his glass to deter further conversation.

"I was talking about your appetite. I was worried for my laundry, thought you and Alex were gonna crash through the wall any second!"

Jesus choked, trying not to spray water over at the women across from him. Alex scowled at him just as another tray settled on the table one person along from him.

Cringing, wondering if the whole Alex saga would have to be a topic he and Daryl go over. A glance gave nothing away.

The Hunter's face stoic as ever. They all ate and chatted. Tara telling an animated story about life Before. Eventually the colonists drifted away, until it was just Daryl and Jesus, still a person's space between them.

Still staring ahead at his food, Paul spoke quietly, "So, you still sleeping in the trailer tonight?"

The clink of cutlery against crockery sounded as Daryl paused, spoon resting on the lip of his bowl, "was that- should I?"

"I think you should. You were sleeping on the floor anyway, no one needs to know you've upgraded to the bed." Jesus turned and winked before looking at his food.

"You call that thing a bed?"

"Hey, she held out pretty good!" Insisted the Scout, chuckling.

"...Sure, but s'between us."

"Absolutely."

Chapter 19: Quit ya' gay-sh*t IX

Chapter Text

"S'jus through here." Daryl whispered. Moving low in tall grass, wildflower bent and snapped quietly as he disturbed the overgrowth.

Close behind, Jesus ignored the urge to wave off a buzzing nuisance at his ear. Knowing all too well that making large movements or unnecessary sounds resulted in a tantrum with hefty side of telling off. Undone only by sincere grovelling.

'Huntmode' Daryl was one of his favourites. The sheer concentration, the depth of his knowledge and the skill of his bow was worthy of pride, but to Daryl, it was just what he did.

Hands made small signals out of habit that went over Jesus's head. They did go out for little jaunts, but Maggie and Carol were his preferred partners. Too many SWAT jokes and apparently he smelled too good for the woods, whatever the f*ck that meant.

He was pulled out of his reverie by a hand on his knee as he squatted amongst the burring insects. He smiled. Daryl intent on something up ahead. He leant forward and placed a hand just under the bottom of the winged vest. Peering past the Hunter at the copse ahead.

About to question the stall, he zeroed in on a coolbox in the centre of the tree-littered clearing. The foliage blocking most of the sun, letting down golden rays that shimmered with mayfly and pollen dust, light dappling the ground where it escaped through the gently shifting leaves.

A shallow stream trickled gleefully over rocks beside the sun-trap, the sound a pleasant solo over the chorus of wildlife.

Daryl still stared ahead.

Jesus squinted to see if there was a sneaky critter hiding in the shadows of the surrounding trees that had caused the stillness in the older man.

"So, who's gonna have to open the box?" He tested, voice low just in case.

"I think you should." Daryl sounded terse.

Moving closer to Daryl, Jesus glanced at his face. A few years ago he would of considered him unreadable, but there was something more held in the tightness of his jaw, a secret perhaps.

"Daryl, if that thing f*cking explodes-"

"Just, just go will ya'?"

Jesus narrowed his eyes. "Alright, but if this ends up with me having to cut another chunk of hair out, I will get sole rights to the heater settings for the winter."

He stood slowly and brushed seeds and sticks off his knees. Entering the clearing and soaking in the pleasant warmth. Sighing, he bent to unlatch the lid, carefully leaning away as he suddenly flipped it open.

Nothing happened. He peered in and saw two bottles of homebrew and the makings of a sandwich nestled between icepacks. The blue plastic dripping as they melted slowly.

"Wait, did you?-"

He spun and Daryl was behind him.

"So, I know ya' 'sposed ta' do it a certain way, but I just twisted ma' knee back there. So I guess I'm standin'" He murmured quietly.

"Daryl what-"

"Just shut yer' trap one minute would'ja?"

Jesus nodded, staring quizzically toward him.

"Here." Daryl pulled out a a set of keys, picking up the Scouts gloved hand and pressing them into it, closing his fingers and holding the younger man's fist in his own.

"Oh, uh...is this, are they car keys?" Opening his fingers to peek at the object.

"Yeah. Didn't wanna give you one off some geek, 'n' jus' thought this seemed more, y'know."

Jesus co*cked his head, glancing behind him at the coolbox and then at the keys. Rerunning the conversation before smiling, brows still knotted in confusion. "Daryl...is this, a proposal?"

"Mm." The Hunter shifted, looked shyly through his bangs. "If you wannit'. Don't have ta'-"

"Of course," Jesus pressed his forehead against Daryl's, brushing the back of his neck fondly. "But just so we're clear, you mean like marriage, a commitment, whatever...not going in on a new rustbucket together?"

Daryl scoffed and playfully pinched his side. "No asshole. These, are from the truck."

"Why would I want Aspen's rundown little- oh...you mean...the truck? No way! Are they?!"

His eyes lit up in awe as he stared again at the glinting metal. "Wha- how?!"

"Chonne had an idea ta' pull it out. Stuff in plastic's gotta' be alright. Rick mentioned it in passin' I asked him to save 'em for me." A small bashful smile played on Daryl's lips.

Jesus pulled his head up and shook it, "Oh you old romantic. Who knew? Wait, so Rick knew? So, does that mean you told him or...?"

"Yeah I did." Remembering the conversation all to well.

"Was that...okay? I mean I know you haven't wanted to this whole time." Placing a soft hand on Daryl's back and rubbing gently.

"Was jus' talkin', anyhow, quit blabberin' an' eat yer' sandwiches 'fore somethin' comes an' eats us." The Hunter manoeuvred slowly down.

"You really did bust your knee huh?" Dropping down beside him, Jesus snickered.

"f*ck me, not even a ring'll shut ya' up." Daryl jibed, reaching for one of the bottles.

Swinging the keys on the metal circle round his fingers, the Scout considered them. "Well, technically a ring. So what do I get on the day? The handle from shutter? Oh, no, don't tell me, it's the wheel right? Go big or go home."

"Prick."

"Big time, now you're buying shares." Jesus waggled his brows. "So when is the big day dearest?"

"I dunno. Thought you'd," The Hunter gestured wavily with his hand, "y'know."

Throwing his head back and laughing, the younger man nudged his boot against Daryl's thigh. "If you're insinuating that I spent my childhood, collaging bridal magazines into a journal, you're way out the park. I did collage though, but men's health just isn't the same."

Daryl scoffed, "Nah, but figured all your gay-sh*t, you'd'a' fixed up some fantasy in yer' head."

Scooting closer and leaning against him, Jesus poked his chest, "Ooh, way to stereotype. Nope. I guess just something small, personal. We're only just coming out, hitting everyone with a double whammy that we're getting hitched too, we'd be the buzz of the apocalypse. They'd say, "Jesus, it's all so sudden, is it a shotgun wedding?" And I'd be like yeah, "Come within five feet and he'll blow your head off!"" He cackled at his own joke, then turned his head to kiss Daryl's jaw.

Daryl smiled, but blanched inwardly at the idea of everyone tittering and gossiping about them. "S'no-ones business but ours."

"So marry me now." Jesus kissed him again.

"Now?"

"Sure, why not? I've got a ring and-" The younger man hopped up and scanned the ground, exclaiming happily before clumsily dropping back down, bumping Daryl whose beer sloshed.

Jesus fiddled with a long dandelion stem, "There you are, now we have the rings. Oh look, a witness." He pointed at the walker ambling like a drunkard through the trees. "May I?" Eyeing the crossbow.

"You can try."

The bolt shot through its shoulder and embedded in the trunk behind it. Loading it and handing it back to it's owner, Jesus sat and watched Daryl dispatch it effortlessly whilst munching on his food.

"God I love you." He beamed.

"Y'aint so bad yerself." Daryl flicked his gaze to Paul, rolling his eyes at the pout he got. "Love ya' too ya' wet fish. Who's wearin' the white dress?" He indulged the Scout.

"Oh, Daryl." Jesus's tone dropped seductively, "I think we've moved well past virginal white don't you? So then what we're wearing now is fine."

Daryl chuckled, "So what now? Anyone present have any reason we can't get hitched?" He called out to the birds.

A gurgle came from another part of the copse, a walker stumbling eagerly into the fray. Jesus standing up, knife brandished. "No, it's not true! He's mine!" Running dramatically before spinning and stabbing it straight through the skull. "Excuse me, where were we?"

Shaking his head Daryl washed down his sandwich with the remainder of his beer. "Do you, Paul-'jesus'-prick-Rovia take me as ya' husband, in sickness and health, till I pro'lly' murder ya' etcetera etcetera?"

"I certainly do." Jesus warmed, giving Daryl a sweet peck. "And do you, Daryl-gay-sh*t-Dixon, take me to be your unlawfully wedded husband, no matter how many snickers bars I have to my name, for all the better you make the worse etcetera etcetera?"

"f*ck, why not."

"Daryl." Jesus snarked, slapping him playfully.

"Yeah, I do. I know I don't do the sappy crap, know you'd like it if I did it more. But I want everything Paul."

"Well then, by the power invested in me, with a name like Jesus, I guess that's gotta mean something right? I now pronounce us two dudes in love. Husbands, if you will. So, how does it feel to be married?" Paul chuckled as he leaned over Daryl's lap, hands bracing either side of the older man.

"S'good, though I hear tha' honeymoon is where it's at." Rubbing his nose against the Scout's.

"With that knee, Mr Rovia, I don't think so." Jesus delicately kissed Daryl's lips, the gentle press but a second.

"I dunno, Mr Dixon, I remember you sayin' that yer' bendiness was part of tha' package. I'm sure you could get creative for tha' both of us?"

"Hmm", Pressing another chaste kiss, Jesus winked, "Maybe when we get back, could try a few things I've just thought of."

"S'what I thought, now c'mere an' kiss tha' bride."

Daryl pulled Jesus backwards onto the grass as they snogged passionately, Paul giggling as the Hunter tickled him.

The sun rays dancing over them as they embraced.

Chapter 20: f*ck You Prick V

Chapter Text

A delighted gasp sounded out as Jesus's foot thumped hard into Kirk's ribs. He bounced eagerly to the side, throwing his head back, hair whipping in an arc before rippling over his shoulders. Daryl chewed his thumb eagerly, sitting on top of a table at the back of the space made. The teasing between both proficient fighters had caused Ezekiel to be encouraged to have a day of 'games', asking both men if they'd be willing.

Kirk, a new Kingdom resident, faked a punch. Jesus flinched backwards in a lean, but the other man quickly threw a jab and made contact with his jaw. The gossip surrounding the showboating was widespread and even small trinkets, confectionery and batteries were being gambled as they fought.

Shaking it off, the Scout looked up hungrily from his brow, beads of sweat dripped down his face. Side stepping, bare chest shining and pecs twitching as he circled his arms. Kicking out under Kirk's legs to floor him, but only managing to unstable the man twice his size. Dust from the mat stuck to the calf of his sweatpants.

The stranger thrust forward to wrap his arms around Jesus, but Paul was quicker, jumping into a spin, rolling across Kirk's back. Hopping to the outer rim of the space, catching his hair and hastily tying it up with a band from his wrist. Tara wolf-whistled and he dropped his head bashfully for a second

Lurching backward suddenly to duck a flying kick that nearly took him off his guard.

"That your girlfriend?" Kirk teased.

Catching the foot mid-air and using the momentum to flip Kirk to the ground Jesus straddled him, but got thrown hard to the ground, one arm braced behind his back.

"She won't be, when we're done." Kirk winked up to Tara.

Face shoved hard on the battered mats making the fight space. The Scout Grinned maniacally as Kirk leant hard against him.

"You askin' if I'm single?" Paul let out a strained mumble.

Jesus crossed his legs over one of Kirk's and surged hard to the side with all of his weight, setting himself free, in the struggle, jumping onto the larger man.

Holding his legs between his own, catching him on his side. Arms held firmly at his back.

"Because, if you are. I am." The Scout whispered into his ear. Kirk wriggled hard against him. Jesus's muscles tight as he grappled the larger man.

"f*ck you, Hilltop." Kirk choked as Jesus braced a foot on the ground, pushing harder onto him. Limbs trapped.

"Only if you're lucky, I go first." Trying to keep his balance, grip waning.

Daryl ignored the whoops of his friends and the yells from the other side, frowning as Paul pressed against the other man, whispering something inaudible to him and the others.

Refraining from growling as he recognised his old enemy, jealousy.

Woefully, Kirk slapped his palm against the gritty plastic. Jesus launching up ecstatically, having won two of the three rounds and thus settling the debate.

Not that he cared.

He reached a hand out and helped pull up Kirk, slapping a hand against his damp back.

"You put me off with your damn mouth." He snarled, but returned the gesture with a heavy slap that threatened to wind the Scout.

Jesus co*cked his head and smirked, eyeing him hard before winking and walking over to an empty chair with his towel on.

As much as he would of loved to of pursued that, potentially disappointing frisson, he was only allowing himself to get chucked around like a toy because it interested Daryl.

Once it had gotten to the Hunter that there was 'another Jesus', he'd heard nothing but.

Upon meeting Kirk, Daryl immediately snorted, turning to Paul and poking him hard, "He'd f*ckin' flatten ya' princess."

It was at that point that the Scout realised his generally chill attitude and particularity delicate disposition when it came to approaching his new roommate, had inadvertently diminished his reputation for being a badass.

Feeling sour, the next time Kirk was brought up at the dinner table, Jesus settled the excited giggling by telling tittering voices that he could take him any time, any day. Well, the apocalypse wasn't going to stop people being people and within the week, the new Kingdomman had returned the sentiment.

Queue six weeks of taunts and teasing, most definitely getting Chinese whispered en route.

It had been hard not to flick his eyes up at Daryl each time he'd landed a kick. Slowly running his hand through his hair and flexing his bicep subtly. Pulling off his shirt after claiming the first bout, tossing it on a seat near where he knew the Hunter was perched.

Losing the second had been a close call, fifteen minutes of fast sparring, energy wasted in the first match on unnecessary spins and flourishes, his muscles taught as Kirk worked him hard. He was a vicious fighter, but Jesus had speed. So wrapped up in Daryl's reactions, he zipped about the mats, hubris in his own skills. Not concentrating on the telltale footwork of the series of kicks and throws that caught him in a crushing choke hold after a sharp teep to his stomach buckled him.

"Guess you was right." Daryl appeared next to him as the crowd dispersed amongst the other attractions of the day. Tara openly teasing Kirk in the background.

Swigging some tepid water, Jesus glanced at the Hunter, who was nonchalant, nudging one of the mats with his foot absently.

"What did you lose?" Wide grin returning to his face, considering the t-shirt in his hands, but thinking better of it.

"Huh?" The older man frowned, bright eyes trained on him. Running a tongue over his lips as he ignored the proximity of Paul's bare flesh. "Oh right, nah, I don't gamble."

"Ah." Jesus chuckled, hand grasping Daryl's shoulder and staying there as he began to walk, the Hunter following, "I forgot, St Dixon doesn't partake in the sins of inequity. Y'know Tara put a whole box of Reece's cups on me winning."

Daryl scoffed, "gives new meanin' to puttin' her faith in Jesus."

Paul laughed aloud, gently shaking the other man's shoulder as he headed to the food, slipping his t-shirt back on.

Clearing his throat, Daryl scratched his chin before grabbing a bite.

"What'd you say to 'im anyway. For 'e lost?" Speaking round his food, the Hunter pointedly avoided eye contact.

Studying him, Jesus huffed to himself, perching on one of the long benches that ran beside the trestle tables. "Just flirting, nothing bad, epitome of sportsmanship me."

It was daring, they'd moved past the discovery of Paul's sexuality, but hearing about it from the horse's mouth, in real-time was another arena.

Daryl's nostrils flared for a second. He'd assumed as much. Ripping off a bigger chunk of bread that he'd taken, stuffing it into his mouth and chewing awkwardly to avoid answering. "Mm."

Jesus moved a fork round a mugful of pasta salad. The entire atmosphere of the Kingdom's event had been soaked up well, that and the thrill of the fight.

"Been ages since I got laid." He said coyly, gazing around the sky at nothing. Peeking down just-so out the corner of his eye as Daryl nearly suffocated.

Swallowing his mouthful, Daryl reddened, tanned skin buffering the worst of it. "Mm."

Still staring up, Jesus brought the fork up and took the piece of pasta on the end, his lips slowly moving over the metal.

Daryl didn't know what to say, in fact, even when he had heard others make a similar remark, he'd simply scoffed and ignored it. But this was Paul, his friend and...didn't friends talk about this sh*t?

"Ain't nobody stoppin' yuh'." What the f*ck was that?! Crushing the next morsel in his fist and watching as the soft fibers moulded to the creases of his palm.

"Your mama should've named you Frank." Jesus snorted, "I think I'll leave it. It would probably only get so far. Probably would have an argument about who gets to put their-"

"Right." Daryl cut him off. Reaching his limit for this topic and over the limit he had for chit-chat. He stepped up from the bench. "Y'now S'good, sharin' ya' stuff, teachin' the kids ya' Kung-Fu sh*t. S'useful."

"...My pleasure. Though for the record, I've never done Kung-Fu." Jesus had been waiting for the cutoff and was delighted by how much he'd been able to get out.

"Y'know what I mean prick."

"Sure." Jesus smiled up at him, squinting slightly in the light, "maybe I teach you sometime?"

"f*ck off." Daryl snickered, flipping the bird before sauntering off.

A wobbly grin flickering as he enjoyed the rest of the day.

Chapter 21: Quit ya' gay-sh*t X

Chapter Text

"-Kinda expectin' tha' grains to be mush, but maybe somethin' might'a' survived. Least the cans, so she says " Rick said, leaning against the hood of his car, Daryl beside him.

Pulling out a cigarette, Daryl smiled fondly at the memory. How they met Jesus, how all their lives changed forever because of it. It was bittersweet, but that's how it was.

"Could ya' grab somethin' for me?" Daryl grumbled round his smoke, puffing and hiding in the plume.

Rick perked up, not expecting input on his rambling, "Uh, sure. What do you need?"

"Keys."

A hand ghosted over his pocket as Rick frowned.

"For tha' truck." The Hunter added.

Mouth open in a pause, the Leader hesitated, co*cking his head and shifting slightly, "It's junk, you need a van, we got one back at-"

"-Need tha' keys, s'for somethin'."

"Oh, 'kay?" Rick turned fully to face Daryl. "This one 'a' these pranks I've heard about 'tween you an' Jesus?"

Daryl snorted, dragging heavily on his smoke and exhaling slowly, glimpse of a smile on his lips as he stared up, "Nah."

"Right, I ain't gonna push ya'."

There was an elapsed silence between them as the thickets hummed with life and long grasses swished idly on the verge by the gravel road.

"We're...we ain't friends. Me and Paul." Shifting his gaze to the ground Daryl stared hard and intently as a beetle traversed his scuffed boot.

Rick knew better then most not to speak, just listened quietly, scanning slowly around for trouble.

"We just- f*ck. No! It's not, we do-...I guess, that too- but it's different it's..."

The younger man's brows shot up despite his stoic expression. Swallowing hard and training himself to be still. Having never looked past the two men's friendship.

"Don't want no one else."

Considering his move, Rick turned and faced him, Daryl still glaring at the road. "You love him?" He said slowly.

"Yeah."

Rick patted him on the back. Sighing roughly and hooking a thumb in his belt, "I'll get'cha' those keys."

"Thanks man."

"What's with the face?" Tara sneered. Leaning dangerously against her rifle and chewing heartily on stale gum.

"It's called hard work, you should try it sometime." Jesus panted, stripped down to his vest, shirt tied round his waist as he swung the mallet to continue knocking the fence post in.

"No can do buddy boy. Gotta keep my eyes and ears on the land. Protect your ass. And anyway, I meant the gooey look I saw just now when you thought I couldn't see." She snapped a bubble smugly.

Jesus paused, wiping his forehead with the back of his arm, the last of the light dimming the sky to a warm orange. "So, you're not keeping your eyes on the land?" He scoffed, "I'm just happy, is that a crime?"

Tara narrowed her eyes, "It is if you don't share. C'mon what is it. It's Daryl right?"

"Tara!"

"What?!" She threw her hands up defensively. "Don't pull that crap with me, everytime I ask you, you give me that look. I can tell, also, you basically told me that one time in our safehouse." She looked at him matter-of-factly, brows raised and lips pursed.

Jesus rolled his eyes and slapped his arms down at his sides, "I know, but I also said we were keeping our thing private. So nosey lesbians don't go telling other people."

"I haven't-"

Jesus shot her a look.

"Ugh! Rosita is basically an extension of me okay?"

"That's unhealthy," The Scout moved to the bed of the truck and chucked the mallet and wire in. "If I tell you, if. You have to, and I mean it T, keep this shtum. I haven't even said anything to Maggie."

Tara beamed, skipping to the driver's side, passing the rifle to her friend. Pushing the keys in and resting a hand on the wheel before turning to Jesus excitedly. "Okay, but I may have to tell Rosita, or I might actually die of self restraint."

"If I said no, would it stop you?" He smiled, face bright as he popped the nose of the gun in the footwell.

She co*cked her head up in amusem*nt before snapping back down and stirring the ignition, "No."

The tyres crunched through the sandy stone as they followed the perimeter they'd half built back past the Hive, then back onto the main road.

"So, we were out 'hunting' the other day-"

Tara stared at him open mouthed, "Oh like, hunting hunting right? Wink wink?" She stuck her tongue into the side of her cheek.

"No!" Jesus blushed, tucking his hair behind his ear, "The real thing, when he'd actually set up this picnic type thing, he'd picked out a spot. Was, yeah," He grinned down at his knees, "Was new."

"...that's it?" Tara voiced her disappointment, swerving carefully around a small group of walkers.

"No, he proposed."

The truck jolted hard as she slammed on the brake. Jesus sliding forward in his seat and catching himself on the dashboard. "Hey?"

"You what?!" Her mouth was a big 'O', the walkers at the other end of the road slowly turned and staggered toward them. "He what?!"

"Yeah."

"What like, down on one knee, roses? Champagne? 'Thiiiiis is the niiiiight'?" She sang.

Jesus snorted, wiggling slightly to look at her, "He was gonna do the whole knee thing but he said he was so nervous, he sprained it on the way there. We had sandwiches. And he gave me the keys from the truck I stole, way back."

Tara pulled a soppy face, brows drawn up and blinking pointedly, "That is so...un-Daryl?"

Fumbling absently with the keys in his pocket, Jesus smirked, "Not to me it's not."

A walker bumped clumsily on the tail of the truck, Tara grunted looking out the wing mirror before setting off again.

"Then we got married."

The Scout chuckled as he got slapped repeatedly wherever Tara could reach him.

"Shut the f*ck up. Shut. The. f*ck. Up." She yelled excitedly. "Hold up, where was my invite?" She turned on him.

"We just decided then and there that it was done. I liked it that way." He smiled out the window leaning on his elbow as he watched the sunset colour the blur as the drove on.

"Ugh, you're so in love. Well, we're having your batchelor party at some point. Could get Alex to strip!" She teased him.

He shot her a dark look, smirking after, sensing the bad joke.

"Well, congrats my dude. It's about time we had some good sh*t to celebrate."

"There's no 'we' involved, remember?"

"Yeah yeah, sure."

Daryl shifted through the papers on top of Maggie's desk, flicking through the inventories until he found what he was looking for.

Sighing gruffly as he tried to rearrange the mess he'd made.

"Hey, what'cha' got there?" The young woman's southern drawl larked from the doorway.

"S'just a list of tools. Need somethin' for tha' van, w'n't sure who had it." Back to her, he held up the stock page for specialist equipment.

"Sorry, haven't organised in here, Hershie's been' a little tyrant."

Daryl snorted. "Soon as they're on they're feet ya' f*cked."

Maggie smiled softly to herself. Then studied the faded wings of Daryl's vest. "I forgot to say before, I think it's sweet, you an' Paul makin' vows. Happer for ya' both."

Daryl blanched. He knew people had figured them out, it's hard to keep a relationship like their's secret, let alone for the span of a few years. But they were never brave enough to bring it up with him.

"...Right."

"He's really great." She continued, "Never set a foot wrong, ever I've known 'im."

"S'never cooked for you I guess." He mumbled.

Maggie laughed coyly, "You'll have to tell me that story." He still remained facing the desk, so she took the message for what it was, "Another time, but I would appreciate the fuel. Lord knows he bullies me enough about my kitchen skills."

Later that evening, the Hilltop were all joined for dinner, sharing hot baked potatoes straight from the firepit in the centre of the new communal area.

The folk babbled happily and a handful had even brought guitars and were quietly singing and plucking cheerfully.

Daryl found Jesus sat by Maggie and the others, Tara and Rosita facing them and Sasha beside the Hilltop president. Enid was guiding Herschel junior with her hands as he toddled past his mum.

"Hey," Jesus spoke to him directly under the noise.

They sat close, arm-to-arm. The Scout's round eyes reflecting the flickering light of the flames. The sky was inkwashed, navy and black with a heavy sprinkling of stars to view.

"Hey." Daryl pressed tightly against him by way of greeting. His plate resting over his crossed legs.

Jesus returned the pressure, beaming down at his own food.

"So, um...Maggie, uh, did you say somethin' ta' her...'bout the other day?" The Hunter broached the subject slowly. He knew Paul had every right to share with his friends, but some warning would of been appreciated.

"No..." Jesus said gradually, knife and fork pausing as he looked quizzically at Daryl. "Why?"

"She said congrats." The older man spoke round his mouthful.

Jesus co*cked his head, then slowly turned to look at Tara who was flirting with Rosita.

Feeling his gaze, they both stopped and looked back at Daryl and Jesus, a slight look of alarm on their faces before they simultaneously pointed the finger at each other.

"Hm." Daryl hummed, cutting off another chunk of buttery potato and swirling it in the beans.

"Sorry, Tara, she guessed. Didn't realise she wouldn't keep her mouth shut!" Jesus peaked the volume on the last part, enough for the offender to hear.

A giggle was all he got in return.

"S'alright. People knowin'. Just was a surprise." Heart thundering, Daryl repeated the sentence over and over in his head after saying it.

"I'm happy as we are Daryl. No need for big performances of adoration, serenades from the bleachers." He winked.

The Hunter scoffed. "You'd f*ckin' love that."

Jesus wobbled his head side-to-side, "I f*cking love you, that's all that matters." He said contentedly, watching as Tara rested her head on Rosita's shoulder.

His arm bracing him as he leant backwards on the plaid blanket they were sat on.

Nearly jolting in shock as he felt his hand covered by Daryl's. It was subtle, in the shadowy light of the fire.

Jesus shifted and moved his arm to hold his hand properly, Daryl scooting closer.

Resting half against Daryl's chest, hands interwoven on his leg, Jesus felt a sense of bliss. Ignoring the sickening crooning of the women around them.

"Love you too." Daryl mumbled into his hair.

Chapter 22

Chapter Text

sh*t.

sh*t. sh*t.

f*ck.

Jesus flitted about the metal homes. Eyes peeled for the dark figure he'd caught a glimpse of a moment ago.

Running, darting between the residential trailers, he eventually caught a whiff of smoke.

Pulling himself up on one of the roofs, offering an apology to Pammy who sat felting on her homemade porch. He spied the looming man-shape, leant against the end trailer.

Hopping down with a thud, he speedily passed the remaining few and spun on the corner to see Daryl.

The Hunter looked up as Jesus bent over to catch his breath.

"I thought I was quick." The Scout gave a weak chuckle.

Daryl just grunted and fiddled with some tobacco and papers.

"That wasn't," He straightened up. "Nothing happened Daryl." Jesus spoke sincerely, stepping forward with a hand out, brows drawn into a pleading look.

"Ain't nonna' ma' business." The older man grumbled, eyes low.

"Don't be like that. I'm not an idiot Daryl, I know-"

"Don't!" Daryl spat, shoving his stuff back into his pockets and pointing harshly at the younger man. Stepping forward and snarling. "Don't tell me you 'know me', cos ya' don't!"

Affronted, Jesus ran a hand through his hair. "Look, just, it wasn't what it looked like."

Daryl scoffed, tilting his head and laughing sarcastically, "I ain't dumb eitha'. Know what I saw. Do what tha' f*ck ya' want. Prick."

"Listen to me!" Paul shouted.

"Hey, Jesus!"

The Scout groaned inwardly at the unwanted, familiar voice behind him. "Alex."

He turned, face pinching briefly in a false smile. "What do you need? Lemme guess, more hairgel? On it, still got your list from last time."

He turned to walk away, trapped between two trailers as he headed home. A solar powered streetlamp from Alexandria lit the alley with intensity against the night.

Alex skipped up to him and pulled his shoulder, "No, that's not, I was wondering what you were up to tonight?" Hands in his pockets, the Nurse rocked on his heels as he gave Jesus a shy, flirtatious smile.

Paul huffed, looking longingly at the corner of his home just visible behind the next row of trailers. "No, Alex, I don't think that's, I've moved on. You should too."

Alex pursed his lips and nodded, stepping closer to the Scout, he stood taller, but Jesus was unbothered. "No strings, promise " He held his hands up.

"Alex," Jesus cast him a stern look, "You are not a no strings man. Just, y'know, take matters into your own hands. Find someone else, just, I am not an option anymore okay?"

"But," The taller man stepped even closer, into Jesus's personal space. He ran his hand down the Scout's arm, cupping the back of his hand before shoving it against his crotch. "I want your hands."

The sound of boots scuffing interrupted them as Daryl rounded the corner and paused in alarm. Looking at the scene, Paul cupping Alex who leant over the smaller man.

He spat on the ground and spun, storming off.

"You see?!" Jesus bleated desperately.

Daryl stilled, shuffling as he picked at the tails of his frayed shirt. "Need me ta' sort 'im out?" He murmured.

Brows shooting up, The Scout put his hands on his hips, "He's an asshole, but I'm not sending you out as some scorned hitman." He rubbed his nose, sighing, "Anyway, I can look after myself."

"Sure?" Daryl looked at him, trying to be soft but coming across like sandpaper on glass, "Then why didn't ya' tell 'im to piss off?"

Jesus turned his back to him and pinched the bridge of his nose, half turning back, "He's just sensitive, that's all. There'd be a bigger mess to clean up if I straight up rejected him."

Daryl scoffed, "Sounds like a puss* to me."

Jesus faced him fully, a determined look on his face, "At least he's honest about how he feels."

"Not this sh*t again-" Daryl went to push past him, bit Jesus moved and blocked him, the Hunter not putting up much resistance.

"-if you feel nothing Daryl, then why don't you walk away?" Paul's eyes were wide and hair frantic about his face.

They stared at each other, Jesus sniffing as the cold air tickled his nose. Daryl's breaths reverberating inside his chest with each exhale.

"I feel sh*t." He mumbled, Jesus's face relaxed slightly, "Just not for you."

Then he barged past him heavily, causing Jesus to stagger as he felt winded by the words.

Stood in the cold, dark alone Jesus stayed, stunned and wounded, before relenting and heading home to bed.

Chapter 23

Chapter Text

Sickening. Was what he considered this to be. In all this time, there'd been a handful, if that, of things he could count on one hand, that he had covered so badly.

The first, his old man's bike. Festering away under the rusty lean-to by the house, a poor excuse for a tarpaulin barely covering it. That summer he'd gone door to door in town looking for a job, the only work he could kind was hunting and that wasn't much.

Then there was all that time around it. Merle was serving a stint and most of the guys he'd grown up around had all f*cked off. Onto drugs or better things. Neither of interest.

He sat smoking on the porch, glimpsed a flat tyre poking out from the blue sheet. He ripped it off and examined it. Didn't know f*ck all about it, but the frame seemed alright. Dixon senior hung up his M.C. wings way back, the neighborhood gentrification seeing to the end of his days, riding about with the other white supremacist dickbags.

Police presence changed a lot about their tiny town.

More rooting about led to the discovery of tools, maybe enough to fix her up.

Determination set in and Daryl spent the summer working on the bike. Hitting snags and dead ends, borrowing books from the library. His old man preaching about "books never learned me nothin'. All life's knowledge comes from here!" Tapping his balding head, cigarette between two fingers.

Soon enough Merle was back. The prodigal son. The two older Dixon's set to drinking day-in-day-out, Daryl would step over splayed legs as he passed the narrow gap by the couch to the kitchen.

The motorcycle was beautiful. When he'd done. He'd learnt that he was a perfectionist, lacking better equipment, to polish her up he'd needed to use his inginuity and a hell of a lot of elbow grease.

One afternoon Pa Dixon staggered to the leant to, never before having displayed an interest.

"She move?" Marlborough-coated roughness chased his growling question.

"Ain't tried. Can't ride." Daryl was blunt, not paying credence to the drunkard when he was a mountain's peak away from sober.

"You get 'er on tha' road 'n' gallopin', ya' can keep 'er."

Daryl nodded. Watching as his Dad stared forlornly at the bike.

The next day he rolled her out to the street, early morning creeping into the sky, light enough so he could see but quiet enough he had the tarmac to himself.

Kicking her into a stuttering cough that smoothed into a low purr, the bike came to life. He had reasonable understanding of the basics and pushed her forward, stopping bracing his foot back down on the ground as she took over from under him a moment.

Trying again, he nearly lifted the front up, pushing too hard on the accelerator and not letting go of the handle.

Third try saw him going at a steady speed, he'd siphoned gas from station a while back but didn't have enough to go too far, manoeuvring round the nearby streets as he got to grips with how she went.

An urge took hold of him and he took her to the edge of town. A Long, wide empty backroad stretched before him. Not a soul in sight. He did what anyone would do in his position, kicking her furiously into a roar and tearing up the road, tail end swinging as the sheer power of the vehicle overflowed.

The speed, the thundering vibration underneath him. Daryl had never felt a relapse from his own existence until now. No drug, drink or f*ck would ever compare. He had to have her.

Merle and Pa were still passed out from the previous day when he returned, so Daryl grabbed his crossbow to catch breakfast. The large prints of a buck taking him deeper into the woods as he closed in on the beast. The hours of stalking paid off, he'd bagged a big one and struggled to carry him home, stopping frequently to adjust the branch he'd tied it's legs to.

When he got back he was exhausted, grime coating his arms as he heaved the animal up the last hill to the house.

Merle and Pa were now outside by the lean-to, Merle sat on top of the bike, his bike. Pa grinning like a fool, his shirt billowing in the cool morning breeze, revealing the sweat and bile-stained, white vest underneath.

"Say Daryl, what'chu' think 'bout Merle takin'over tha' family bus'ness." He cackled, unlaced boots squelching around the mud and weeds, circling his eldest son. "Get tha' Dixon name back out there! Take the ol' girl an' do me proud. Bring some Franklin's in."

"You too baby brother." Merle husked, steering the front wheel, pretending to rev her.

"Thought you said it was mine." Daryl bit cautiously.

More sober then pissed, his Dad turned on him, "That'd teach ya' boy. All them books, them hours, wasted. Ain't nothin' you can put yourself into in this world that someone ain't gonna come along an' take." Dixon senior snarled.

Scowling at his youngest, Will Dixon swaggered lazily to Daryl. "Now, workin' honest n' hard, fer' tha' cause. That's worth it."

Will turned around and pulled a mouldering box off a collapsed shelf in the lean-to, lifting the lid which fell apart in his hand. He tossed it's remains to the side on the ground and pulled out a musty leather jacket. Embellished with two wings and a swastika patch.

"If you play ya' cards right, you'll get one'a' ya' own. Get yoursel' another bike." Dixon senior handed the jacket to Merle who shrugged it on straight away.

Will picked another jacket out the box. "Well sh*t." He turned it in his fingers. It was half the size of the other one, the wings embroidered then sewn on.

"Was yer' mother's...Needs burnin' with tha' rest of her sh*t." He spat, face scrunched in disgust. The pain of her loss residing in anger, as Will Dixon remained eternally in grief.

Nobody noticed that night when Daryl pulled the burning jacket from the oil drum. The wings barely salvageable. He cut them off and sewed new layers over the top. Trying to ingore the knowledge that the last piece of his Mother had stunk of ash.

Nobody said anything when he fixed them to the leather vest.

Things progressed and Merle swapped the bike out for a newer model he'd won at poker, once again back in his possession, like the vest and the crossbow, he kept it with him whenever possible.

He felt naked without these things he'd prescribed so much attachment to. Taking the edge off of the lack of familial love, he knew his dependency on these things made sense. They were his freedom, his survival, his comfort. The next thing was the rag.

Daryl thought hard to remember her name, the girl who gave it to him. When this all started. Helping some chick get to her family, in search of his own. Her kid carrying a large teddy, dragging it through the woods, mudsoaked and torn, it's red neckerchief coming off as they scurried over knotted roots rising up through the ground, walkers fresh on their scent and sound.

Holding up the rear, he grabbed it quickly, shoving it into his pocket, swinging his crossbow about to check their periphery.

Days later when he said goodbye to them, the girl handed it over, telling him it was for luck. Her mum thanking him over and over, telling him what a good man he was. Words he'd never ascribed to himself. The rag now a symbol to remind him. As he used it to wipe Rick's face, let Beth collect berries with it, carrying it's inherent good with him, as though the very thing it represents is within the fibres and not from within him.

These things. His bike, his bow, his vest and rag. The sacraments of Daryl Dixon. His possessions. Though all had been replaced over and over, he continued to keep them. Effigies their originals.

There was nothing else Daryl Dixon needed. Nothing else he wanted or compulsively obsessed over. Until now.

Until Paul 'Jesus' Rovia. The man unattainable, yet contradictingly, the giver, the sharer. The diplomat and humanitarian, relentless and stubborn. Not unlike others he knew, but the purity of his drive, his unwavering ethos, even in the face of death, shook Daryl deeply.

True, the man had power, both assumed, in leadership and trust and rapport, but real physical skill. Athleticism and ability incomparable to the other survivors, but what Daryl found the most unnerving was the intense value he placed on human life.

Scary, was the untamable love for mankind that shone so freely from the young man. He'd looked the Hunter in the eye and that was it.

As time wore on, his new home in the trailer of this stranger, he recognised that the moral code the man clung to was also his resolve. Should that go out the window, it would be the Paul Rovia's version of Pandora's Box.

Daryl studied him, like one of the books on engine mechanisms, focused hard, like the first year he trained with the bow. Found himself drawn closer to him, his very nearness akin to the comfort of his mother's wings on his back. Felt lost without him, like when he finds the rag has been snatched by some wayward twig miles away on a hunt.

The last self-realisation was the hardest. What is it to want to fear the loss of something you've never had? It was one thing to crave someone, never having felt this way before, but another to be so harshly reintroduced to the lesson his Daddy had passed on.

"...Ain't nothin' you can put yourself into in this world that someone ain't gonna come along an' take."

Not that Jesus was his to take, but seeing him belong to another stung so bitterly.

The Scout had kindly opened his home to the Alexandrian's, Daryl even crashing on his floor, despite his insisting on taking the bed. Not once making demands and bending every which way to accommodate them.

So it was a shock to be reminded that Jesus had his own personal life, secrets and pleasures.

Sitting on the porch decking, Daryl stitched along the rip on his spare pair of pants, one of many make-do-and-mend repair jobs. When Jesus climbed up the steps, the nurse from the medical trailer behind him.

"Oh Daryl, thought you all were tasked on the chore list today?" He looked mildly disappointed, Daryl assumed the man probably just wanted space away from the new, untamed residents of Hilltop.

"Huntin's done. Good game out there." He pulled the string taught and snapped it with his teeth.

"Well, uh, if it's okay, could I commandeer the trailer for a couple of hours?" Daryl frowned, the younger man's voice sounded strained

"One hour should do." The Nurse nudged Jesus playfully.

Daryl flushed, "Uh, course." Getting only a small glimpse of the Scout's irritated face before staring at the bench he was sat on.

"Thanks." He said brusquely before entering and clicking the door behind the both of them.

Daryl considered moving elsewhere, but all his sh*t was here and he couldn't hear anything.

So he had believed, up until a while later when a soft whine sounded from the far window. Open a crack, the metal hinge bent, preventing it from shutting, a tatty old towel nailed to the wall either side of the frame to try and stop the cold air getting in, but not stopping the sound from getting out.

Never thinking much on what drives him, in general or sexually, Daryl found he was surprised by his inability to simply pack up and move on.

Ears pricking with each sound as he actively tried to discern the whimpers as Jesus's.

Turmoil brewed chaotically in his belly. He was suddenly plagued with want, jealousy and sadness. Trying to ensure his resolve that it was purely a lack of anything interesting in his own sex-life that was the cause.

But over the next weeks, the bizarre fascination had gotten worse. They spent more time together, working well whenever placed together till it became such a common occurrence, it was rare when they weren't.

He had a deadpan sense of humour that reminded him of Michonne. Maggie and Sasha adored him, he was even sure he'd caught Enid staring at Jesus once or twice. It was only reasonable that others enjoyed him and that he would, want to be enjoyed too.

Daryl woke, it seemed almost sudden, but he didn't startle or gasp. Led still as he heard rustling on the bed. He could hear the younger man slide out off the mattress and pad slowly past his head. Opening their bedroom door, then his footfalls disappeared as he went past the kitchen. Opening the main door and having a hushed conversation with someone outside.

That someone had come in, the door clicking gently, but still reverberating the trailer walls.

A sudden light glowed in through the gap in the door where he'd left. Daryl's eyes immediately worked to adjust to his surroundings. He could see through the gap between the hinge of the door, the tiniest sliver of the kitchen as Jesus placed the large lamp on the counter by the sink.

Perching himself up on the side. Daryl felt wicked as he spied him, unable to draw his gaze away. Stomach jumping slightly as the 'someone', turned out to be the Nurse again.

"I can't, Daryl's in there." Jesus spoke quietly, the silence of it being the dead of night lended itself perfectly to the Hunter.

"So, he's asleep right?" The Nurse stepped onto view, coming up face-to-face with the Scout.

"Yeah, no. That's not my thing. Also, he doesn't strike me as the type to appreciate two people, two men, f*cking around a foot away from him."

"Trying not to get caught's the sexiest part though." Mouthing sloppily at his neck, the tall blond teased.

Daryl could still see the younger man's face, looking unimpressed before shutting his eyes. "Catholic boarding school really did a number on you."

"Hey, I had better luck in my dorm room then I ever have in a club. I learnt a lot there."

"Alex." Jesus warned as he let himself be pulled off the counter onto his feet.

"Like how to get on our knees before Jesus." Alex slowly lowered himself, only the back of his head visible to Daryl who felt nauseous and aroused.

"To give yourself to him," The Nurse slowly pulled at the string bow at the top of Jesus's pyjama pants.

"Alex." Protesting weakly, the Scout pressed a hand either side of himself against the edge of the counter.

Daryl's heart rate jumped as he saw from the side of the stranger, Jesus's leg suddenly bare.

The blond's head bent slowly forward.

"Amen to that. f*ck."

Daryl tightened his arm round his pillow. Barely blinking as he watched with unravelling horror, the Nurse lavish attention onto the Scout.

Not taking his eyes off the scene, not even when the younger man's face tightened into a strained expression, one hand reaching down and holding Alex's hair firmly as he came with a whispered moan, holding the Nurse's head over him.

Hopping up quickly onto his feet, Alex returned to the sloppy kisses he'd placed before by Jesus's jaw. Pulling his pants up, the Scout made for the other man's buckle.

Daryl coughed. Surprising himself at his immediate attempt to shut down the obvious next step.

"sh*t." Jesus pushed himself away from Alex. "You need to go home."

"I could still stay-"

"Go. Alex." Cutting him off sharply. The Scout ushured him out hastily and blew out the lamp, treading quickly and quietly back into the room.

A soft, "Daryl?" Broke the tense silence.

Daryl mimicked a low snore, satisfying the younger man as he climbed back into bed.

"-I shouldn't have to settle?! I'm sorry, Alex, we aren't coming from the same place here!"

Daryl stepped slowly into the trailer, muffled shouting sounded from Paul's bedroom.

The room next door was open and he walked in, Maggie on her cot flicking through an old lifestyle magazine and Sasha winding strings of shiny plastic back into a cassette.

"S'going on?" He sat gently at the foot of Maggie's bed.

"Domestic. Creep's refusing to take the hint and now it's..." Sasha continued feeding the tangle into the tape.

"Why won't you just let yourself be happy?!" Alex's shouted cry sounded through the thin walls.

"Right." Daryl nodded. Looking back at Sasha, "Why ya' waistin' yer' time with that crap?"

She smirked, holding up a portable cassette deck with headphones. "Takes batteries!"

He scoffed. "Chuck us one."

They all sat quietly, hands busy as the muffled conversation shifted between inaudible and shouting.

"I'm sorry Alex, but the fact is, I know it sucks, but I don't love you. This was just sex for me. I made it clear-"

"Then why do you smile when I'm around? What was that night you stroked my hair as I fell asleep?!"

The three exchanged glanced but said nothing, carrying on.

"I smile, because it's just a thing I do?! That night was a mistake. I was trying to be that person, but I'm not. Please just go, you're too upset to listen to me and I just can't deal with it right now!"

"Right. Well f*ck you. For making me fall in love with you. That's what this is, you're just too blind to see! We don't just mess about, we make love, why would you throw away real passion?!" Alex's voice was pleading now.

"Get out Alex! Get out now!" Jesus yelling so loudly that all three went stiff as they listened out for the door.

Sure enough, the flimsy bedroom door swung and slammed, bouncing back on its hinge, the frame, like the window, busted long ago.

The Nurse stormed though, raging as he then slammed the main door and was gone.

A large sigh came from Paul's room before he appeared in the entrance of the women's. Arms folded across his chest and hair pulled up onto a knot as he leant against the frame.

"Everything alright?" Maggie asked calmly.

Jesus's jaw clenched visible, "Yeah just crossed wires."

"Think you'll work it out?" Sasha looked up from her tapes.

"Nothing to work out. We were in it for different things, he wanted more, I don't do more."

Maggie sat herself up properly and smiled reminiscently, "Oh honey, we all say that. Then some day a tribe of crazy people takeover your home an' you find yourself madly in love 'fore you can blink."

The three Alexandrian's paused as they remembered Glenn. Jesus nodded and sighed, "No, I don't do madly in love. Too much to lose as it is." He chuckled.

Maggie glanced at him with a sad expression, but didn't say anything.

Then just like that, Jesus was no longer snatching time away in the trailer alone with anyone. He was around, Daryl took the opportunity to increase the time they spent together. Despite his availability, he was still unattainable.

The drive, the force, the unshakable magneticism of Paul Rovia was a curse, Daryl considered. He agreed with the younger man's sentiment about loss and how much more those who placed deep attachment to those around them, suffered more as the new world took it's share of life.

Weeks soon turned to months. Then Maggie and Sasha relocated to the house as the pregnancy took it's toll.

Getting the spare room, Daryl pined privately for Paul. He'd long moved past the internal guilt and shame, it was still underlying, but who really gave a f*ck anymore anyway.

Every meal was shared, they washed dishes together and sat and taught each other the card games they knew, Jesus seemed to have a wider knowledge of such things and had an array of tricks and diversions that intrigued Daryl further into wanting to know more about Paul's Before life.

They did laundry and Daryl would watch in the early hours of the morning as the Scout ran through drills with the Hilltop's eager new fighters. Finding excuses to park on a nearby table and glare under his bangs at Jesus's body as he twisted slowly, demonstrating how to punch correctly.

As it got colder, Daryl would wake when their world was still dark, hearing the whistle of the kettle on the propane ring, assuring Paul that it hadn't woke him. A white lie, but these moments were sacred to him. The younger man, pouring out the hot water over the nettle brew that the shared communities herbalists had created.

Swathed in layers, he'd huddle on one of the rickety chairs by the table, the crappy windows doing nothing to fight the seasons chills.

Daryl would sit opposite him, his drink of choice was a black coffee, if they had it and they would then sit in complete silence.

Their eyes however, told stories, long and dramatic, passionate and frightening. This ritual, their compatible bubble. Odyssey in Paul's eyes.

Soon, the craving, the wanting, began to feel like a slow death.

His heart ached and he knew the problem was unfixable by rushed hits of pleasure, chased in the shadows of his room.

His things still brought him great joy, but they could be destroyed easily, lost, stolen even. They had on plenty of occasions, but Paul, irreplaceable.

The pain of that realisation bruised into resentment. Resentment changed into dormant anger.

He soon refused to acknowledge the other man with no forewarning. Throwing up his wall, cold and hard. Becoming bitter and grumpy, retreating further into himself.

Waning only slightly when Herschel Jr. was born. Stepping into the large stately room and seeing Maggie, exhausted and pale, newborn close to her chest.

At only a few days old, he was the most innocent and pure thing he'd ever seen. Jesus sat on the end of her bed folding babygros, catching Daryl's eye and despite the unpleasant attitude he'd received from the Hunter, cast him a warm smile.

Daryl's lips tugged at the encouragement, he allowed it, given the circ*mstances. The younger man then headed out leaving Daryl to chat with Maggie. He didn't stay more then a minute and quietly pulled the door close on their little bubble.

Seeing Jesus in the cupboard room, shelfing up bedlinen and towels. Unaware of why his feet were redirecting him away from the stairs, Daryl found himself a foot away from the Scout.

"She doin' alright?" He gruffed.

Jesus turned his head momentarily to acknowledge him, "Yeah, why didn't you ask her?"

"I did, I just-" Pausing Daryl didn't really know why he'd asked that question.

"Okay Daryl." Sighing, the younger man stepped toward the back end of the cupboard bending to pick up another basket of sheets. When he straightened, Daryl had crossed the room and stood, wavering on the precipice of decision, hand outstretched as though to touch him.

Sensing his immediate presence, Jesus turned. Face casual but gripping tightly on the laundry. "What?"

Unbidden by self-control, Daryl fell recklessly into his emotions, launching forward and pushing Paul into the backshelves.

The younger man's shirt fisted in his hands as he panted desperately an inch from his face. The cupboard door still open, Daryl's heart raced as wide eyes bore into him with anticipation.

"Paul-" The Hunter all but mouthed, a gathered whisper running away from him.

The Scout's eyes shut in escaped reverie, the sound of his name on Daryl's lips like a cascade of freshwater in the desert.

"Kiss me." Was all he could muster.

So Daryl did. Daryl kissed Paul with every hope, every regret, everything he ever felt.

Their embrace was messy and impatient, as Daryl pressed himself harder against the younger man.

Shelves digging into his back, Jesus threw his arms backwards to brace himself. Responsively hooking his knee up around Daryl's hip, the older man grabbed the middle of Paul's thigh and pulled him closer.

Jesus pushed on the shelf to levee himself further up onto Daryl, urging him to hold him, the old wood bowing suddenly at the force. The mite-ridden plank snapping off it's joinings and sending boxes and baskets clunking and thudding onto the floor.

Unbalancing the pair, they shifted to the side of the room. Lips crashing and tongues dancing over one another. Clothes mussed and hair grabbed and pulled. Panting and gasping into each other's mouths.

The sound of the stairs creaking from beyond the open door stilled them instantly. Daryl's heart thumping so loudly, Jesus swore he could hear it. Holding his own breath as Enid sang under her breath as she swanned into Maggie's room.

"Gotta be another room somewhere." Daryl exhaled deeply as he heard the door click lightly.

"I know one, c'mon" Jesus rushed eagerly, peering out the gap of the ajar door, checking side to side before rushing further down the long hallway into a room at the very end, opening it and letting Daryl hurry in first before he did one last scan and shut the door.

"C'mere", The younger man commanded, pouncing onto the Hunter as he kissed him toward the bed, throwing the large dustcover off before crashing down on top of Daryl. "I thought you-"

"Stop," The older man gasped between their lips, "Talk after. Just gotta-"

"Yeah." Jesus whined in understanding, keening as Daryl's hands ran up his thighs, sliding tantalisingly over his waistband and just under the untucked linen shirt, fingers dragging tenderly over the skin.

Carefully sitting up on top of Daryl, he slowly unfastened the black shirt, hands investigating under the fabric. Exploring over his chest, thumb rubbing gently over Daryl's hard nipples.

This enticed a moan from the older man. Pulling himself further up the bed to lean against the pillows, Jesus still on his lap, hands now free to unshoulder the other man's clothing. Divesting himself too, then dropping his head back as nimble fingers plucked his belt loose, tugging slowly as the needle of the buckle popped out the leather hole.

Taking it from round his waist and dropping it pointedly on the floor, Jesus looked at him with a wry smile, features bright with lust, strands of his hair falling from the knot atop his head.

Every move he made was timely and delicate, undoing Daryl's jeans and ushering them down. Fingers slipping menacingly underneath the elastic of the Hunter's boxers. Changing path and redirecting his attention to lave at the older man's neck. Trailing his tongue sinfully up to his earlobe.

Lost in the sheer brilliance of the moment and the sensations, Daryl's hands ghosted over Paul's back. Muscles dipping into a fine groove parallel of his spine. Feeling each one work as Jesus writhed like a snake over him.

The younger man smoothed his hands over Daryl's chest, licking cautiously at the darkened nubs resting in a smattering of fine hair. Then, sensing the satisfaction, adored them each with revised fervour.

When Daryl's gasps sounded deeper, he moved downward, worshipping each part of him he could with the caress of his lips.

Jesus pulled down Daryl's boxers and studied the fine form of the naked man before him. Nosing at his erection, taking Daryl in hand with a light touch, tongue licking up to the tip.

Daryl moaned louder, his obsessive need to love the younger man had temporarily culminated into the resolute desire to conssumate their lust-fueled endeavour.

Jesus took him fully into his mouth, stroking in tandem idly. The heft of his co*ck, thick and heavy, a heady intoxication urging him to go further, but withholding. This was enough, anything would be enough, if it was with Daryl. It had been pointless to let stubborn will, get in the way of this. Jesus knew undoubtedly, there was no returning from here.

The sensitivity with which Paul approached pleasuring Daryl was effervescent of his feelings. Surely, they would talk at some point, but now, in this moment, unrequited passions needed to be met. But theirs wasn't always a meeting of words.

Tender touches and slow licks and kisses were shadows of the inner dialogue of the conversation yet to come.

Returned in synchronicity as Daryl sunk his fingers deep into Paul's hair, bending to caress his jaw and pull him back up, meeting in a kiss, slow and gentle. The tides of their emotions heading out to see and leaving everything bare.

The older man pulled the tie from Jesus's hair and cupped the back of his neck in his hand, thumb brushing over the younger man's ear.

Heavy lidded, Jesus stared unabashedly at his lips.

"Can I touch you?" Daryl croaked. No shame or cowardice in the presence of his own raw happiness. Perhaps in a previous life he'd of berated himself endlessly over such an exposure of self.

Unspeaking, Jesus took off his trousers, letting Daryl brush his hand up his leg.

The older man glanced down between them as the backs of his fingers traced softly over the curve of Jesus's erection behind the cloth.

Eyes greeting the younger man's as his gaze returned. The usual placid green, now overun with black, as though ink had spilled and had spread across the paper.

Stretching out his hand, Daryl ran his palm over Jesus, curling the tips of his fingers as he dipped under the waistband. Watching Paul's face as his lips parted when flesh met flesh.

Closing into a soft grip, he jerked tentatively, Jesus kissed his lips as he whimpered low at the feeling.

The younger man reached an arm under Daryl's, dragging his eager touch down to take the Hunter in hand.

Each at the whim of the other man, they tugged rhythmically, arms clashing as hips thrust wantonly.

The kisses weakened to lips brushing together, sliding tongues and teasing teeth exchanged for breathy gasps and staggered pants.

Jesus pushed up against Daryl's arm, manipulating it up onto his shoulder.

Following blindly, Daryl gathered the loose locks of hair into his grip, arm curving around Jesus's head.

Paul took them both in his hand. Jerking them together at a hungry pace.

Grunting and moaning, the two lost themselves to the pure, wild drive of chasing their org*sms. Jesus tensing, hips thrusting forward in harsh jolts as he came with a low hum. The sound breaking the last of Daryl's restraint as he cried out into the younger man's neck, voice pitching at the peak.

Then it was calm. Paul giggled as his chest swelled slower, getting his breath back.

"There are probably words for what I feel right now, words I know, but that was just..."

"Overdue is what it was." Daryl smirked.

Their legs entangled, each trailed a hand slowly over the other's body.

"Let's wait to talk later, just. Let's just be like this for a minute."

Daryl smiled, arm wrapping round Jesus's shoulders as he shifted onto him, head resting on the older man's chest.

Chapter 24

Chapter Text

Jesus gasped, it was late afternoon, chores all done, the two men were in the trailer. Making the most of an uninterrupted moment, falling into bed, hands and mouths hastily setting to work.

"Daryl." The younger man whimpered.

"Mm." The other man hummed, lavishing kisses against the Scout's neck.

Daryl's knee slid against Paul's thighs before he rolled against him, the teasing sensation of firm flesh caught him in an open-mouthed sigh.

Jesus turned his head, urging the older man to return with his wet kisses. Eyes flickering as the Hunter obliged.

"Daryl."

"Daryl!" Paul voiced with more urgency, pushing at the older man's shoulders, making him look up. "We're being watched."

"Jus' close ya' eyes."

Jesus shut them tight, willing himself to relax. Snapping them back open, he nudged Daryl, "I can't, it's putting me off. This can't keep happening." Jesus raised his eyebrows, an urgent expression on his face. "I cannot live like this!" He warned.

"Just ignore it." Daryl returned to pressing against Paul, writhing his hips and trailing his mouth along the younger man's jaw.

Jesus closed his eyes, pushing his groin up against Daryl's. A small moan escaping his mouth before the Hunter muffled it with his tongue.

Peeking just a second, the Scout dropped his head back on the pillow, sighing dramatically.

"Daryl! Do something."

"Jus' tell 'im ta' gettout'." Daryl groaned, rolling off of Paul, onto his back on the mattress of their rickity bed.

"Can't you do it?" He looked pleadingly through Daryl's bangs but got the impatient Dixon face instead. Brows raised and lips slightly pursed.

"Fine." Jesus glared at Dog, sat patiently by the bed, eyes fixed on Daryl. Slipping off onto his feet and standing beside the animal.

"Go on, out!" One hand on his hip, Paul pointed to the door. Repeating himself before spinning and frowning at Daryl.

"See?! He doesn't listen to me." He whined.

The older man had a hand under his waistband, working himself slowly, the other arm slung behind his head to lean against. "Jus' grab 'is collar and chuck im' in the spare room. Or outside."

"We need to fix this door." Jesus glowered at the offending rectangle of useless wood.

Stepping warily toward Dog, he reached slowly toward his neck.

Dog bumped his wet nose against the Scout's forearm, making him jolt and fling his hand up high.

Daryl chuckled from the bed, snorting and propping himself up on his elbows. "'E won't bite ya'. You gotta show 'im it's your home."

Jesus sneered at him, face twisting into a childish pout. "What next, bite him on the ear and then he'll respect me?" Daryl co*cked his head confused. "It's from a film- can't you just do it?"

The older man shook his head in amusem*nt, easing up and snapping his fingers as Dog followed him out the room at his heel.

A door clicked and then he was back.

"Only you could go out into the wilderness for a week and come back with that beast." Jesus flopped backwards onto the bed.

"It weren't no snow white bullsh*t or whatever you're thinkin', 'ad ta' keep leavin' 'im food." Daryl rejoined him, their noses brushing.

"Wait, you've seen snow white?" Paul's brows perked wickedly as a sly grin broke free.

The Hunter rolled his eyes. "For f*ck-," he buried his face in the hair loose at the younger man's shoulders. "-I jus' know tha' story a'right?"

Paul giggled, tickling Daryl in the ribs to reposition him, looking into his eyes, lips touching, "Okay, but, let the record show, this isn't the first princess reference you've made."

"You're such a prick." Daryl bit Paul's lip between his own and pulled playfully.

"You wouldn't have me any other way."

"Right now, I know how I'd have you." The older man growled, hooking his arms around the Scout before switching them, Jesus now on top.

Paul bent his head low, hair tickling Daryl's face, about to say something devastatingly sexy when a low whine sounded from within the trailer.

"Wha-?" He sat up suddenly, taking a second to recognise the noise. "You're kidding right?"

Another low howl came from the spare room.

"Great." Jesus climbed off Daryl, "We'll never have sex again."

"Shh." Daryl pinched his cheek, "He'll get use' ta' this place eventually."

Wiggling down against his worn pillow, book plucked from the bedside table, Jesus flicked to his page and continued to read. Muttering under his breath, "Better do."

"Lemme take 'im round tha' place, maybe leave 'im wi' Tara or someone, then I come back, an' do whatever the f*ck you want?" He gestured wide with his arms.

One eyebrow quirked above the top of the book, "Whatever, I want?"

"Yes yer' highness." Daryl stooped into a bow.

Jesus beamed, setting his book down again and heading toward the kitchen. "Alright. Off you go then. Hurry back." He winked and kissed the Hunter's cheek, setting his mug on the side as Daryl got Dog and skipped down the porch steps.

Chapter 25

Chapter Text

"Hey stranger." Aaron greeted Jesus as the small Hilltop cohort brought the wagon through the gates of Alexandria.

"Hey." They met in a hug, Aaron slapping the smaller man's back.

"Hey, you and Eric got room for one more? I'm being crammed in with Eugene and Alison." He jerked his head to behind him where a slight blonde woman clumsily dropped off the back of the wagon, gun strapped across her chest.

Reaching open armed to Eugene who stood awkwardly as she crashed against him, pulling back suddenly and unshouldering the weapon, shrugging comically before wrapping her thin arms around him again.

"Yeah..." Paul grimaced, turning back to Aaron, "please?"

The other man nodded, walking alongside the Hilltop Scout to the community trade building, "But fair warning, he's been waiting to see you."

"How bad can it be?" Paul laughed nervously.

"-then that was it. True love." Eric wriggled in his seat and peered adoringly at Aaron.

Aaron dabbed at his mouth with his napkin, returning the fond smile. "Now that you've told Jesus our life story, maybe eat some of this food you spent so long stressing about?"

Indicating the lukewarm and untouched food on his plate, the others nearly finished theirs.

Eric rolled his eyes, "Yes sir. Can I help it if I get a teensy bit flustered at an impromptu dinner with the esteemed leader of our fellow survivors?" He explained with a flair.

Paul swallowed and looked down for a second, "Sorry, Eric...If it's trouble-"

"No, honestly." He jibes sarcastically, "Just invite yourself round, eat our food, sleep under our roof-"

"Eric." Aaron stopped him, grinning.

"I'm only kidding," Eric elbowed his partner, "Apparently, I can be sassy when he have dinner guests...Anyway, you can repay us with the latest gossip from the colony."

Eric picked up his wine glass and swilled the homemade drink, "specifically, your relationship with our dear friend Daryl." His playful face dropped into a scrutinising study.

Jesus reached his arm over the table, twiddling the stem of his own drink, remembering that it was unacceptable to just neck it and ask for a refill. "I don't know what he's already said to you guys..."

"I recall a conversation," Eric looked up performatively, "Albeit brief."

Aaron chuckled, hand coming to rest over Eric's, "You asked him about the rumours and he just 'yeah' and 'mind your business.'"

"Not very forthcoming our Daryl." Eric sighed.

Already a glass down, Jesus's brows flicked up momentarily as he considered how forthcoming Daryl was with him. A small smile creeping on his lips.

That was the last straw for the eager host.

"Oh please tell me something! It's the end of the bloody world, I need to hear about two star-crossed gay lovers. C'mon! We have more wine?" He winked.

"That's adorable," Eric slapped Aaron's arm, tipsy and giddy, "isn't it adorable?"

Jesus blushed, recalling their first kiss and how they eventually learnt of the other's feelings.

"So what's the sex like?" Bending forward toward the younger man, chin resting on his palms as he perched his elbows on his knees.

Aaron laughed, rocking backwards against the sofa cushions, "Eric, you don't have to answer that, we respect your privacy."

Eric scoffed and threw a disgusted look at his partner, "Speak for yourself! C'mon, you know you want to! How many old gays do you get to boast about your Boe to? And I'm not talking about the abundance of lesbians we seem to have acquired!"

Jesus just reddened further, the fourth glass shy of disappearing.

Aaron sunk lazily into the couch, an arm resting over the cushions where Eric would be, were he not on the edge of his seat and peering at the Scout with intense interest.

Jesus revisited memories in his head, of passionate embraces stolen in the woods. Tongues sliding as lips crashed in the dark corners of Hilltop. Of bodies, undulating slow as treacle, fingers grasping hard at flesh.

"It's..." He croaked, Eric audibly sucked in a breath. Paul nodded to himself and chuckled slightly, "It's very good."

Eric sat up and crossed his legs over. Satisfaction smeared across his face, picking up his wine glass and taking a sip, winking at Paul, setting it down and then clasping his hands together. Resting them gently over his knees.

"Do go on."

Chapter 26

Chapter Text

"Daryl!" Tara cried before another attacker flew past her on a bike.

A small task force had been set to raid an old bunker, discovered by the Alexandrian's. Daryl, Jesus, Tara, Michonne and Eugene had headed out in the R.V. to gather whatever resources they could, Eugene's knowledge had been requested, save their be any materials or other tech or goods they would otherwise ignore.

They hadn't prepared for it to be occupied. No vehicles out front, no obvious signs to Daryl of disturbance. When they'd gotten close enough to the secret door, a large and obscure looking 'sewage pipe cover', a gun had clicked and a scrawny, buck-tooth man swaggered toward them, seemingly from nowhere.

Threatening them to get off the property, then passing comment at Tara and Michonne, inviting then to stay, in more graphic detail. Tara retorted by pointing her gun back at him. A warning shot sounded at the edge of the land, far from them. Birds swarmed up into the air. The sudden bang surprising the young woman, who reflexively winced, pulling the trigger of her own weapon and sending a bullet into the man's foot.

He screamed in pain, then a rumble thundered across from them, a group of riders, bandanas up to their eyes, tore through the grass toward them. Sending them sprinting to the trees for cover.

In the thick of it, Daryl pulled his gun, firing rapidly and hitting the bike of a rider who was gunning back at him, two bullets zinged off the bodywork before he got a clear aim and hit the guy in the head, dead weight dropping backwards as the bike reared upward, tail end crashing down with the body.

The symphony of chaos had attracted an audience of walkers, flocking toward the corpse. Daryl yanked the bike hard, quickly freeing it as gnashing teeth careened toward him.

Swinging a leg over and kicking the motor, Daryl zipped over the crater-terrain of knotted tree roots and dirt mounds.

He skidded the vehicle to a halt as he caught Tara shooting wildly at an approaching attacker. Eyes wide with panic as she turned and thrust her bowie knife into the skull of a dead one that had crept up behind her. Daryl dropped his shoulder, unstrapping his crossbow and steadying it as he followed the man down the steep incline toward Tara, firing a bolt just as she whipped round with her gun.

Head whipping round, she nodded curtly before hitting her knees and scrabbling over the body, taking his weapons. More walkers snarled and swiped at them both, Daryl clutched a hand around her arm and pulled her up to the bike, she clung onto him as he sped further along tthe forest strip.

The tyre caught a hidden root, sticking out from under a thick rise of weeds, the front axle jerking harshly out of Daryl's control as they were flung hard onto the ground. Dead swarming eagerly, a sound echoed through the trees, blood draining from Tara's face completely.

Dogs barked viciously from different areas around them, Tara turned her head in sharp motions, legs bent and gun pointing in tremoring hands. Daryl bit his lip nervously as a large mongrel leapt over a dirt mound toward them, growling with a ferocity he didn't even see in the wild animals he hunted.

It's face blew clean open and both Daryl and Tara spun to see Michonne pointing her pistol. Three more riders crashed through the undergrowth, the group jumping apart as more dogs followed.

"Fall back!" Michonne shrieked at him, "wait at the RV!"

Tara ran to follow him before another bike lurched past her. "Daryl!"

Unable to leave them, Daryl shot the last rounds in his chamber at the driver. Turning his attention to the Hunter, the attacker revved toward him, calling the dogs with him.

Daryl broke into a sprint, knowing full well that he couldn't outrun the hounds. Trying to clumsily feel along his belt for an extra clip, the reverb of the bike's engine rang in his ear as the rider broke free of the bushes. Hastily shoving the now found clip into the chamber, Daryl stumbled and fell backwards.

The jaws of a mastiff widened as it pounced, instincts quicker then the adrenaline shock, he shot, round after round at each beast that launched toward him.

Pointing at the attacker who had paused on his bike to watch the dogs attack. The man flinched as the empty gun clicked. Daryl cursed and rolled to the side immediately as the attacker caught on, shooting messily at the dirt where the Hunter had been. Three shots sounded. Daryl figured his odds, looking for his crossbow, abandoned when he fell across the small clearing.

Jumping up from the thicket, the man pulled the trigger, bullet tearing past his shoulder and cutting across the top of it. He flung his knife blindly, there was a sick thwack sound as the metal landed in flesh, before another loud bang defeated his ears. The attacker tried to get him again but missed, the bullet sang as it whistled past his ear, another laceration searing with the pain of skin ripping off.

Daryl yelped as he threw himself across the remaining breadth of distance to his bow, writhing on the dirt and swinging it around, loosing a bolt and getting the gunman dead between the eyes.

Pausing for a brief second, muscles screaming in want of release. He dragged himself back onto his feet and took the bandolier across the man's front and his pistol. Crossbow still in his hand, a walker garbled and bit at him. Daryl waved his arm round and beat the dead thing's skull with the butt of the bow, the weight of the weapon and momentum of his arm sent the blunt end wrecking through the bone and rotten brains.

Blood splattered and panting, he heard the trees still, the monotonous soundtrack of the eternally damned mumbled low, but gunfire and engine roar had ceased.

The trees were becoming overun with walkers, so Daryl hurried back, following his intuition to guide himself back to the RV. Still ignoring the first thought that had passed through his mind when they saw the man at the bunker.

Paul. He hadn't seen him, but he hadn't seen Eugene either. It wouldn't be the first time that both men had made it out despite the odds.

After having to detour yet again, avoiding a sub-herd that had been following the first breakout walkers, Daryl finally saw the back of the RV. The greenish tinge of stained grime sticking out from under the foliage of trees shadowing a lay-by. He clutched his crossbow strap as he got closer to the dirty winnebago, eyes low, but snapping up suddenly when he saw another vehicle nose-to-nose with theirs.

Dropping into a crouched stance, gun poised he stuck tight to the side of the RV, listening for trouble, when the door opened and Rick poked his head out.

"f*ck man." Daryl blew out harshly, bending over and clutching his knees.

"Jesus with ya'?" Rick asked, scanning the surroundings over Daryl's head.

"Ain't 'e here?" Exhaustion be damned, the Hunter checked his clip and loaded another bolt ready on his bow, about to set back into the trees.

"He'll come, get in, there's a herd broken up out there." Rick held the door as Daryl brushed past him.

Michonne, Eugene and Tara sat at the table. Tara gasped as she saw him, face brightened but dropped as she realised he was alone. Paul would of fired back something witty to cheer her up, but he couldn't, he wasn't him and he returned her sentiment.

"He might still be lookin' for us..." Daryl posited, not wanting to waste time.

"He told me to come back to the RV." Eugene said, rubbing his temple, "Pointed the right direction too."

"Then why are you here an' he ain't?" Daryl spat, trying not to come across as standoffish, but failing.

"He climbed a tree and said he'd take them out, the dogs, give me a head start." Usually blasé, blunt. Eugene's eyes dropped solomnly.

Daryl's scowl twisted into something furious, but Michonne's warning eyebrows stopped him. Unspoken, he knew she was right. Eugene hadn't asked to be saved, to be put first, that was just what Paul did, screw the consequences.

He relented, nose twitching in disapproval, glancing at Rick. "What you doin' out here anyway? Thought you were fencin' wi' Carl."

Rick huffed, "You try doin' heavy labour with yer' son n' the girl he likes. You'd run away too."

Daryl forgoed his smirk, twitching a corner of his mouth.

"Saw herds goin' up your ways. Knew ya'd leave the 'bago a ways back, didn't want none 'uh' ya' gettin' cut off."

The older man nodded.

They waited for an hour, Michonne hopping out to clear the small, undead roadblock that ambled toward them.

Daryl sat in the drivers seat as the others chatted idly behind him and Eugene practiced chords on air guitar on the back bench, humming under his breath.

Foot pushed against the dash, Daryl frayed the denim around the hole, where his knee was exposed through his jeans.

A blurry figure swayed up the road in the large wing mirror. Followed by two other wobbly, blurred shapes. Daryl wound down the window, reaching a hand out and rubbing the spiderwebs and dirt from the panel.

Jolting out of his seat and past the others, barging through the door and pelting up the road, Daryl recognised the figure just as Jesus dropped onto the tarmac. The two walkers behind ambling steadily before Daryl took them out.

Rick pounded up the road behind him, sliding to a stop to help shoulder the Scout.

Head lolling between his rescuers, he groggily peeked up at Daryl.

"....bit..."

Shock crashed through the older man, heaviness and weightlessness charged toward one another in a battle as he nearly dropped Jesus.

Fearfully, he glanced at Rick, who grimaced and bore more of the Scout's weight, nodding sharply at Daryl as they dragged him quickly back to safety.

There was a commotion as Rick heaved the top half of the younger man up onto the small table, hand under his head carefully, feeling it become heavier as Jesus passed out again.

They were all talking, frantic and hurrying. Daryl stared at Paul's blood soaked trousers, Michonne and Rick buzzing around them. Eugene tying a tourniquet just below the knee.

He felt Tara's hands grasp his shirt as she buried her face into his chest. They were all unaware of the relationship between the two men. Rick looking concerned beyond the state of events, worry casting over him as he eyed his brother.

Michonne ripped at the shredded fabric where the blood had soaked through, Daryl, never squeamish, felt nauseous and dizzy as Rick unhooked the machete from his belt.

Thankful for Paul's lack of consciousness, he glanced once more at his lover, face pale and sweat-sheened, jaw slack.

Rick lifted the machete, checking his space before-

"-NO!" Daryl lurched forward, grabbing Rick's wrist as hard as he could, pushing upwards.

The blade cut his shoulder along the same route the bullet had passed over. He swore, turning back to Paul as the tension left Rick's arm.

"Daryl, we have to-" Michonne started.

"Ain't walkers." Shakily, Daryl dropped into the booth beside the table, opposite Eugene and Tara. "S'dog bite."

Hands clasped together on the table beside Paul, he bowed his head and rested against them. Breathing steadily in and out, dragging out the exhale.

They sat quietly for a moment, the gravity of the near miss sunk in.

"I do believe however, this is still an emergency situation. Mr Christ, I'm unaware of the presumed surname, is still unconscious. Likely due to bloodloss and most definitely, I am no gambling man, but would wager, a rather nasty bacterial infection."

"Who's got antibiotics?" Tara worriedly looked between the others.

Rick paused for a second, "Hilltop. He's gonna need a proper doctor." He got up and made for the driver's seat.

Eugene opted to follow in Rick's car.

Daryl remained where he was, Michonne slipping into the opposite booth next to Tara.

It was silent as they headed into the country roads, Tara rested her head against Michonne's shoulder. The older women had her arm around her, stroking her hair comfortingly, glancing up at Rick now-and-then in the large rear-mirrow.

"Hope you're not praying to me." A weak voice croaked.

Daryl sat up at the sound, scooting along the seat, closer to Paul's head.

The Scout groaned, trying to sit up, leg arching, dropping it back down as he yelped in agony.

Daryl shrugged off his vest and rolled it up to support the younger man's head, hand pressing against his chest to stop him sitting up again.

"I know, I know..." Paul protested, voice a pathetic wobble , "I, I had to check. Thought you'd taken my leg."

Eyes wide, colour drawn from his cheeks. He was pale and languid. Pure terror screaming from him. Weak fingers came to life, snatching up at the sleeve of Daryl's shirt. Their grip frightening the older man as Paul stared with abject horror.

"Did, did you, did you? Oh God." Head thudding back onto Daryl's vest, Paul fainted.

"Check that tourniquet." Michonne nudged Tara, "make sure it's still tight."

Daryl still rested a hand over Paul's chest. Feeling the slow pitch and fall, the movement stuttering slightly as he came to again.

"What? I, Wha-"

"You're whole." Daryl reassured him.

Jesus closed his eyes, relief washing over his features. "I'm sorry." Eyelids fluttering, he gazed at the older man. "You must of thought-"

"I did." Schooling the whirlwind of emotions inside him, Daryl softened his voice, his abrasive, stoicism wavering only for Paul.

Tara stared directly across at the conversation. Wet eyes blinking as she felt better about her friend's prospects of recovery.

Michonne looked at the floor, politely disengaging from what she'd picked up on to be a private conversation. Glancing at Rick who turned back in the seat to send her a quizzical look. She flicked her brows at him.

Peeking at the road, he swiveled back and jerked his head in the two men's direction, frowning and co*cking his head. Michonne repeated her gesture, but nodded sloe and pointedly too.

Rick looked away, lip between his teeth and nodding to himself. Turning back to face the windscreen, he reached up and tweaked the mirror.

"Next time, don't be a f*ckin' hero...prick." Daryl mumbled.

Paul shakily reached up and placed his hand over Daryl's. "-'won't. Scout's honour." He wheezed.

"Paul."

"Sorry, sorry Daryl."

"Just shut up, rest, gettin' ya' back now."

Chapter 27

Chapter Text

Daryl opened the back, service entrance of Barrington House, a low hum came from the kitchen, heading up the hall to the open doorway, he saw Jesus.

Lost in his own world, wiping down plates with a teatowel, singing under his breath.

Further up the hall, Daryl could hear voices discussing communal business, Maggie and Rick loudly debating.

"Oh hey." Paul grinned, noticing the older man leaning in the doorframe.

"Hays fer' horses." Daryl snorted, coming up beside the Scout and resuming the washing up as Jesus dried.

"Very funny." He rolled his eyes and glared sarcastically. "Where've you been anyway? Other then chore-dodging."

The younger man swayed to the side to bump his arm against Daryl's.

"Been sortin' out somethin' back in tha' trailer...so quit yer' sh*t." The Hunter teased back, head wiggling as he rubbed his nose against Paul's.

"Oh, like a surprise?" Jesus beamed, eyes widening with delight, hand coming up to Daryl's bicep.

"If ya' deserve it, after what you jus' said." Daryl pouted playfully, his rambunctious side always eased out of his skin when he was alone with his lover.

"In my defense," Paul raised his hands, wry smile on his lips, "The only 'suprises' I've come to expect in the trailer, usually involve some kind of carcass and a mess on the table."

Daryl huffed, swatting the dirty sink water at him, smirking as he splattered Paul's shirt.

Jesus flinched back, the splash getting up his chest and neck, arms outstretched and mouth agape, he turned on Daryl. Whipping at his legs with the teatowel.

The older man stared challengly at him, legs bent slightly and arms outstretched, faking a lurch, causing Jesus to jump backwards.

Snatching another towel off the side, the Hunter swiped it across the kitchen to just miss Paul's leg.

The younger man snapped his towel again, zipping just above Daryl's knee.

"That's it." The older man warned, throwing himself forward, arms grappling around Jesus's waist from behind. Holding him in one arm as he tried to ready the towel to beat him relentlessly with it.

The Scout wriggled and pushed, freeing himself and stumbling fast up the hall, laughing and bleating as Daryl chased him.

Yelping as the tail of the weapon finally caught the back of his calf.

Daryl laughed and cheered, continuing with zeal, Paul, all but shrieking as he launched an attack only for the older man to lock his head into a half-nelson, messing his hair up with his fist.

Bringing out the big guns, Jesus reached a hand up, jabbing his fingers into the side of Daryl's neck, fingers now trapped as the Hunter squashed them between his head and shoulder. Giggling as he wheezed from the nerve sensitivity.

Returning fire, Daryl took advantage of Paul's exposed weak spot, tickling him in the armpit, quickly switching to the ribs as the Scout pulled his arms down tight. Both men hollering as they wrestled.

Jumping a few feet apart suddenly as the office up the way opened and Maggie stepped into the hall, Rick right behind her and then a few others.

Maggie looked surprised, Rick however seemed confused, looking up the other end of the corridor before looking back at the two, his features pulled into a discerning frown.

Jesus still had the ghost of a laugh on his face as he subtly tried to flatten his wild hair back into place.

Daryl blushed, unaware of what to say, but relieved of his indecision as Maggie and Rick just shrugged it off and went back inside.

Jesus stared at the spot they stood before looking at Daryl with a wide grin. Daryl reflecting the wicked glint in his eye.

"I think I won." Paul flicked his brows up.

"It ain't over yet." Daryl thrust off his foot, propelling forward, just as Jesus launched into a sprint for the door.

Maggie and Rick paused their conversation as they heard rubber squeaking against tiles, whoops and giggles following the galloping thumps as two booted men chased each other out the door.

Rick blinked bemusedly as Maggie shook her head, "Uh...anyway, so, cattle-"

Chapter 28

Chapter Text

"-Just past that ridge." Dwight sighed.

"No, no, I think it was back past that boulder we passed." Kal argued.

"Alright, we're just gonna have ta' wait it out. Fine' somewhere safe to hole up." Maggie held her hand out steadily to diffuse the simmering row.

"Hey!" Rick called out, hurrying toward them, walkie-talkie up to his ear. "You still hear me?" He spoke into the receiver. Winking at Maggie who stepped closer, head co*cked.

"Yeah, we gotcha." A rough southern voice sounded. "Y'all are lucky we were in range. Light's dyin'.

Dwight peered up at the darkening sky. Never before had he been so happy to know Daryl was alive and well.

"Just don't move from your spot, you need water? We're passing some now?" Another, softer voice crackled through.

"We're good Jesus." Maggie pressed the speak button around Rick's fingers.

"How'd you know it was him?" The older man turned his head, brows quirked.

"Two peas in a pod, ain't get one without tha' other." She grinned at Kal who rolled his eyes bemusedly.

Dwight felt more reassured, knowing the man who's decision saved his people, would be arriving with the man who hated him.

The last glimpses of daylight were ebbing away, a cold, blue settling over the clearing they all loitered in. Rick's legs were stiffened as the wild grass dampened, dew settling on the blades and gently soaking his ankles.

Maggie fidgeted, eager to get home to her baby, Kal studying her at every sigh and shift of her hips.

A torch shone into the space, shadows of the trees soaring up, across the ground toward them, wavering as two figures approached.

"Help has arrived!" Jesus exclaimed cheerfully, Maggie met him in a hug.

"We should go now. Can't see tha' geeks in the fog." Daryl wasted no time. Refusing to acknowledge Dwight, wanting to spend as minimal time near him as necessary.

"You gotta spare torch?" Rick asked.

Jesus flipped the light in his hand, before holding it out to the Leader. "Here, we've gotta spare."

Rick pointed the beam at Jesus, as he stepped behind Daryl, unzipping and rooting through the backpack and plucking another one out.

Clicking the button several times before banging the butt against his palm. "New batteries." Daryl commented, fiddling with his bow in his hands.

Jesus nodded, hand reaching casually into Daryl's back pocket and plucking out two small cylinders.

Another beam lit out across the space, conveniently revealing the gathering of walkers attracted to the commotion, likes moths.

The group of survivors ignored the mild threat, setting off at a brisk pace as Daryl led them back the correct way. Jesus strode in tandem beside him, the two gibbering away.

Rick was startled by the out-of-character behaviour of his friend. Noting that Maggie seemed nonplussed, assuming this was a regular occurrence at the Hilltop. The familiarity with which the Scout mosied around the Hunter was definitely something.

As they got closer to the road, he considered also, the crossing of physical boundaries. A distinct allowance Daryl only usually bestowed upon the family and even then, only on occasions that needed it. Never, just so, blasé, so randomly.

Rick figured he'd ask Michonne, perhaps she, with her much more expansive knowledge of the inner workings of the family, would know.

"So once you've stretched, I want you to pick a partner, practice the moves we just ran through. Using the dummy, if you feel confident, incorporate the knife." Jesus instructed, walking slowly along a line of people at the kingdom, a large group of several rows stood by training dummies, listening intently. "Being mindful of your distance."

On a raised platform, the Scout felt exposed. His minor combat training at the Hilltop had not gone unnoticed and now here he was, roped into something that felt more important. Members of Alexandria and the Hive were also in attendance. Rick and Michonne eyeing him from the sidelines.

"So remember, check your wrist position before thrusting. You make contact without it in check, you could injure yourself. It takes good aim to puncture the chest, or those ribs are gonna get you back and then you could be killed." Steadily pacing the platform.

He checked the dummy beside him, unsheathing his knife, a slip of paper falling to his feet. The wind lifted it briefly so he bent to retrieve it. The audience waiting patiently. Noticing a messy scrawl on the scrap, Jesus held it between both hands, knife in the grip of his right.

Brows jumping up, he blushed furiously. Clearing his throat suddenly. "Right, so, pick partners, let's go!" Struggling to keep the grin at bay as he forced the words out as normally as possible.

Once the air was filled with the clumsy sound of his students getting to work, Paul subtly opened the slip again, shaking his head and looking around.

"I wanna know what it says." Michonne purred beside Rick, gaze glinting mischievously.

"It was pretty obvious." He gave her a cautionary side-eye.

"That's not the point. Y'know, word on the grapevine supports your theory. The thing from the other day."

Rick turned to face her fully. "You sure? Who's tha' grapevine? You think Daryl's gonna let anyone know enough to gossip?"

"He doesn't have to," she lowered her head and looked up at her partner through her lashes, "Pretty boy gives it all away. Plus, Maggie says she's 'seen things.'"

"Sure I don't wanna know what that means."

"Hey," She slapped the back of her hand against his stomach, "We can't be the only ones monopolising on end-of-the-world, Hollywood-movie-sex." She ran her lip under her teeth, glancing up seductively.

"I guess, maybe you're right." Rick leaned in, mouth parting and eyes closing.

"I always am," She muttered, there lips brushed just as she bolted upright. "Look!"

She slapped his chest urgently, Rick threw his hands down at his sides, looking up and rolling his eyes.

Daryl was sauntering past the lesson, Jesus, who was talking to a pairing, held up his finger apologetically before skipping over to the Hunter. Grabbing his arm and craning their heads together.

Daryl chewed his thumb, looking down and nodding as Jesus peered up to his face, gesturing and grinning. Pulling the paper out and holding it under the older man's nose.

Daryl rocked on his feet, looking back at him and laughing. Looking at the paper and then to the Scout, shrugging with a smirk. Stepping backwards, holding his hands up defensively.

The students still worked busily, the two men unaware of Michonne and Rick staring.

Jesus pointed at Daryl, brows raised and head tilted, as through scolding a child.

The Hunter simply grabbed his own crotch, making a lurid face before turning away.

Jesus laughed, bending forward and flicking his head, before calling out inaudibly.

Daryl held up his finger rudely without looking back.

"So, when they come back to ours, are we going to change them to just the one room or?..." Michonne snarked cheekily.

They decided in the end, or Rick did, to mind their own business and offer both rooms. Being vague about how there's, "A couple' a' spare rooms, take whichever you need."

The two men followed them into the safezone, Jesus driving their truck as Daryl snoozed against the window of the passenger. Parking steadily by the Grime's residence.

"I think that's enough beauty sleep." Paul nudged him awake, the glow from the solar powered streetlamps shone into the car. Autumn chasing away the sun before the day was through.

"Nnh?" Daryl stirred, his mouth felt dry.

"Anymore and I'll have to say you're my trophy-wife." Gloved hand resting on the wheel, Jesus turned and smiled.

Daryl's face stained orange in the light, shadows casting darkly over him. Yet he seemed soft.

"Pfft. We all know tha's' you." The Hunter croaked, "Was I snorin'?" Mouth open in question.

Jesus scoffed, "Were you! Thought the continents were shifting."

Shaking his head, Daryl huffed. Stretching, his arms taking up the space in the front seat, poking Jesus absently in the face.

"Don't you f*cking start. We're about to go and be civilised with The Grime's." The younger man batted away Daryl's hand as he poked more deliberately.

"Civilised? Better not be servin' wine, else tha's' you out." The older man snorted.

"Wine drunk me is a ball!" Jesus grinned, stepping out of the car and glancing at the dusting of stars.

Slapping his hand on the roof of the vehicle to irritate Daryl.

"Alright, keep yer' tit* on."

They eased each other up to the front door. Daryl stopped, brushing a thumb across Paul's cheek, before turning the handle and stepping into the well-lit home.

"Daryl!" Judith called gleefully, she ran up to him, brandishing a plastic horse with a fuzzy mane and tail. "Look at my horse! Look, you can come and play with this one." She ordered, skipping back toward the living-room. Looking exasperated when he hadn't immediately followed.

"Jude'," Michonne strode through past the sofas, toward the entryway, casting her a look before smiling at the two men. "Crazy hour before bed." She explained.

"Judith," Rick called from the kitchen. "Manners."

The little girl looked at Paul warily, as the two came and sat down on one of the large sofas. "That's my dad."

"I know. I'm Jesus by the way." Unsure if she recognised him, not having seen the young daughter very often.

"I remember you. We have the same hair, look." She swished her head about wildly, strands getting stuck across her face, she grinned gap-toothily through it.

Paul smiled, "Yes we do, this means we're twins now." He winked.

Daryl scoffed, mussing Judith's hair as he sought out Rick.

"Judith," Michonne passed the Hunter and sat beside Paul. "Jammies, go tell your brother to help you with your teeth."

Judith sighed dramatically, head lolled back as she dragged her feet, heading to the stairs.

Paul smiled after her, as she stuck her face through a gap in the bannister, tongue sticking out before crawling up the rest of the steps.

"Thanks for putting us up. Well me, Daryl's family." He turned to Michonne.

She was lounging closely, elbow on the backrest, one leg stretched down to the floor.

"You've been around long enough, you're family too. Did you want a drink?" Michonne proffered a bottle on the coffee table, face candid but motive not so much.

Jesus chewed his lip, "Go on then."

After setting up the table, Judith bombing through the kitchen in her pyjamas, kissing her parents with a toothpaste smile, kissing Daryl too and stopping by Paul, pressing a ladybird hair clip into his hand. So they can "Be matching always."

The four tucked into homemade chilli. Talking shop and trading anecdotes from life in their respective communities. Daryl turned down the offer of wine, feeling the knee brush beside him as Paul accepted.

Rick hopped out his chair and returned with a bourbon, pouring out a glass for both guests.

The Hunter bit back the grin as he noticed the tips of Paul's ears already a blush tint.

Cutlery haphazard across their plates, bellies sated, they chin-wagged happily as they picked at the fruit Rick had plated up afterwards.

"So...Jesus." Michonne started, a hint of something sly in her otherwise coy expression. Voice lilting playfully.

Rick elbowed her softly under the table, then smiled awkwardly across at Daryl and Paul.

"What's the secret about Daryl's love life back in Hilltop?"

Rick rolled his eyes, damn, she's straight out tha' gate.

The Scout hadn't prepared for her question, not schooling his facial expression as he panicked with a suitable answer. "Uh," he paused, regaining himself and slapping on his trademark charm, "We have suitors calling at the gates at all hours. As a community, we actually find it really exhausting."

Satisfied with his comeback, he snorted into his bourbon, glancing across at Daryl.

Daryl huffed, turning to Michonne and trying not to understand the constipated look on Rick's face. "I ain't lookin', you an' Maggie both...Busy 'nough as it is."

"There ya' go," Rick perked up, "So, tell us about-"

"Worth thinking about Daryl," Michonne tilted her head, trying to read his body language, "Plus, one day your wingman here might marry off and then you'll be solo."

Warm with the dark spirits in his belly, Paul smirked into his glass, "Not to worry, I'm strictly a 'bros-before-hoes' kinda guy." He tipped the rest back, crunching on the remainder of an ice-cube before looking around at the others.

They talked on, Daryl and Rick both purposefully ignoring subjects that would lead to further unwanted conversations.

Rick and Michonne refusing to let them clean up, they headed to the third floor, having the whole part to themselves. Feeling happy and comfortable to be back in their bubble, they decided not to part ways.

Nuzzling and cuddling. Daryl relayed the conversation, pointing out the things Paul had said or done that had made him laugh in his head. He spoke until he felt the younger man relax deeper against him. Chest heaving slowly.

Reaching over to the bedside lamp, he turned it off and went to sleep.

Next morning was another social call. Aaron and Eric were on the list of neglected friends and family that they hadn't had time for.

Daryl stirred first, Jesus snoring softly at his side. A gentle thumping sounded from outside the room.

His skin pricked with heat as his belly jumped, listening as the thump sounded again, the beat irregular. It took him a moment before he realised it was Judith skipping up and down the landing.

"Morning." Paul's voice was husky, his hair frizzed up the side that leant against the pillow.

"Hey, gotta get up, Eric pro'lly' didn't sleep fer' waitin'. Daryl brushed wayward strands off Paul's forehead.

They dressed quickly, opening the door to find Judith sat playing nearby, her little horse jumping over the door jamb.

"Good morning! We're having eggs!" She followed them down the steps, pushing past them both to jump the last two, looking back for their reactions. They both smiled and she skipped into the kitchen.

Michonne scraped the scramble onto two plates, ushering Judith into her seat, "Did she wake you? I did tell her not to go up there."

"Just Daryl I think." Jesus took the coffee Rick offered.

"Carl!" Rick yelled out, "I've seen walkers move quicker 'en 'at boy."

"Teenagers. Only way to get them out of bed is with food." Paul grinned, slurping and burning the tip of his tongue.

"You can talk." The Hunter scoffed. Michonne shot a knowing look at Rick.

The stairs thumped and Daryl slapped the lanky boy on the back as he shuffled into the kitchen, grunting at the two guests.

"S'up."

"Where's tha' dorky lil' kid gone?" Daryl chuckled, looking at Rick fondly then back at Carl.

"Waistin' his life away in his room. No doubt with tha' contraband he got from you." Rick glared accusingly at Daryl."

"What's this?" Intrigued, Paul's eyes darted from his lover to Rick.

"p*rn." The leader grimaced.

"What's p*rn?" Judith called out from her seat.

"Okay, c'mon you lot, out!" Michonne shooed them into the living room, Carl followed with his plate.

"You can have some back." The teenager mumbled into his plate.

"Uh, you don't, it's not the kinda' thing you return." Rick swallowed, looking to the others for help.

"Ew, Dad. Stuff I haven't looked at. S'not- I don't get it."

"I'm really interested now." Paul gulped more coffee.

Daryl frowned, "I dunno, jus' picked up a whole bunch, saw you 'fore I looked through it."

"I already gave some to Tara, she said she's- if I ever get any-"

"Alright." Rick choked.

"-it's just pictures Dad, jeez. Got all this guy stuff I don't need. I don't get it, the sex, does it not hurt?"

Jesus spat coffee suddenly, spraying the beige rug with brown flecks.

"Sorry."

"I think we'll leave you with that one." Paul nodded curtly, setting down his cup by Rick.

"Wha-? But you-"

Both men turned as Rick gestured, stopping himself midway through. "See ya' before you go through."

"Late!" Eric stood, one hand on his waist, hip co*cked as he looked unapologetically peeved, in the doorway.

"It's his fault." Paul jerked his head at Daryl.

They stepped into the house, Aaron poking his head round the corner, calling a greeting from the kitchen.

"How is it-? I was ready ta' go first thing. You would'a drooled ya' way int'a' tha' afternoon if it weren't fer' me."

They let Eric fuss them to the table as Aaron came in with plates of pancakes.

"You drool in your sleep?" Eric feigned disgust, sitting beside his partner, opposite the two.

"Like a bulldog." Daryl scoffed, cutting off a huge chunk of syrupy goodness.

Aaron and Eric froze, Paul too, staring at them with wide eyes as Daryl didn't notice the slip.

Eric's jaw continued to drop. Aaron saw the tension tightening in Paul's face and turned to his partner, "You're one to talk. I could mention a few things that go on in our bed at night."

Eric mocked affrontation, "I think that was a poorly worded comeback, but let's move on, we can't sit here and share stories of our love life with nothing for poor Daryl and Jesus to add." He didn't bother to hide his sarcasm.

Neither Aaron nor Eric mistook the pointed look the two guests shared.

After breakfast, Aaron got more coffee. Passing one to Daryl and then Paul.

Daryl took a sip, ignoring the sugary taste of honey in his cup. Preferring his without.

Beside him, the Scout visibly cringed at his mouthful. Plucking Daryl's mug out his hand and switching it with his. Sipping the new drink, nodding before setting it down.

Eric fizzed beside Aaron, watching the interaction with critical gaze, diagnosing the seemingly platonic behaviour for the subtle hints of intimacy it really was.

Paul misread his focused stare, "Daryl was too polite to say you got us switched up."

"Nah, more like Paul has tha' tastebuds of a child an' can't drink tha' proper stuff." The Hunter sneered.

"Oh my God!" Eric slammed his hand down on the coffee table. "Months and months of this," He gestured between them both. "Please, for the love of whatever omnipotence that guides us, tell me you've at least held hands?!"

Aaron rubbed his face in his hands, "Its all coming out now." He warned.

"No, Aaron, we've suffered long enough. We won't say anything. Just please tell me, that you have feelings for each other." Eric demanded, sitting forward on crossed legs, like a teacher asking what happened in the playground.

Daryl looked shocked. Paul sat open mouthed.

"We, might 'of." The older man said slowly, looking anxiously at the inquisitor, save he go into another rant.

"Of what Daryl?" Eric sighed deeply, his facial expression pained. Aaron mouthed a 'sorry' across to the others.

"We're seein' each other." The Hunter flushed, besides Paul, he hadn't been so visibly outward in a group setting since he was a child.

"So like just something to take this tension out or something more?"

Paul was still stunned speechless.

Daryl glanced to him and then frowned at Eric, Aaron grimaced but didn't divert the line of questioning.

"Ugh." Eric sighed, "Are you two just shagging or do you lo-?"

"Eric! You're so nosey, it's none of our business guys-" Aaron nudged Eric.

Jesus turned and looked to Daryl, they both stared at each other, unsure of the chosen answer.

"Wait...have you two been sleeping together this whole time?" Aaron suddenly spun to eye them suspiciously.

Paul flushed brighter then the previous night.

Eric's mouth fell open wide, flicking his gaze from the pair to Aaron.

"Its, uh, still just a private thing" Paul said cautiously.

Chapter 29

Chapter Text

Jesus spurred Keats' into a hard gallop. Thundering hard through the trees, distant sound of hooves, hot on his heels.

Reins gripped tight in one hand, he reached backwards, shooting blindly, turning to watch as he missed the closest attacker, spinning back round and ducking suddenly as his head nearly smacked into a low branch.

Catching the rider behind him.

The others in the group didn't stop to help their comrade, whipping their animals to close the gap between them.

A delapidated fence ran along side the trail they were speeding down. Thorny bushes entangled round the wood nearly, covering it. Prickly weeds twisting around and up, reaching towards the trees, making a wall of leaves.

Paul gritted his teeth, making the decision and promising to make it up to the horse when they got out of this. He Dug his knee in hard into it's side, yanking the reins, Keats' head jerking hard as the bit pulled at his mouth.

At full pelt, directing the horse through the thorns, over the fence. Rear hooves dragging over the top bar, panic ridden and ears back, Keats' brayed in pain. Legs getting caught in the bracken as he crashed through.

Paul didn't look back, pushing on more insistently then he knew was tolerable, jaw clenched as he heard the protests of his animal.

Whinnying sounded as the other horses of the chase decidedly reared up at the jump. Shouts of redirection reached the Scout, he knew if he was quick enough now, he'd make it out.

Soaring through the overgrown land, once perhaps somewhere nice, now a haven for the wild, a death trap for the living. The brush cleared out enough that he could see a way out. A bridge crossing over a small ravine would put some good distance between his chasers.

Without a second thought, only one, freedom and getting out alive, Paul rode Keats, still frightened, blood trickling down his hocks, in a canter over the bridge.

Getting half way across, the seemingly sturdy structure crumbled away suddenly at the centre, Keats threw himself onto his hind legs, the isolated point of pressure being the last nudge the bridge needed to completely collapse underneath them.

Keats screamed as he fell, Paul yelling in frantic terror, trying to pull his boots from the stirrups as they tumbled, freeing one and cracking his head hard on the jutting rocks that shaped the walls of the fall. Knocking him out momentarily.

Hitting the water unconscious, Paul half floated, still attached at the foot to the horse. Keats, battered and bruised, flailed injured legs, kicking out and head stiff upwards, nostrils sucking in quick, deep breaths as he broke through the water.

A wayward hoof caught the Scout in the chest, kick-starting his body back into motion, sucking in water as his eyes flung open. Choking silently, his hands scrabbled at his throat in abject terror. Tendrils of Keats' mane swirled in front of his fading vision. Gripping tightly onto a thick chunk, he pulled hard, muscles weak with the lack of oxygen, the last ebb of strength, enough to pull him up, breaching the surface.

Still unable to breath, he punched himself forcefully in the chest, spewing water and bile out over the horse's neck. Finally, gasping harshly, each breath burning his lungs as he sucked in every last bit of air he could, eager to never be without it again.

He wrapped his arms around the horse's neck, glad at least, we're he to of died, he wouldn't of been alone. A distant sound of thundering hooves passed, refusing to hold his breath and return to the moment he'd been before, Jesus willed them away, thankful when the sounds disappeared.

Keeping them both afloat, Keats' panted hard, muscles tiring as legs worked. The water followed a thin stream, he could just about see if he squinted. The narrow pass widened out a few feet ahead of them, but currently they were wedged tightly between rock walls, encompassing the section of river into a small lake. The water deep and Paul's foot still trapped in the stirrup. Awareness took over, biting at the adrenaline, the dull ache in his ankle transpired into an agonising throb.

Bending down to reach his trapped boot, the pressure on his leg sent jolts of pain as he tried to reach it. Still stuck treading water with Keats. Both tired, he held tightly to the saddle, apologetically muttering as he rested his weight against the struggling animal.

Eyes wide, he took deep breaths, schooling himself to just do this one thing, be brave. Pulling his knife from his hip, ducking regrettably back under the water, bubbles flurrying from his mouth as he screamed silently, hastily cutting at the strap tethering him to the beast.

Pushing back up hard with his arms and paddling to Keats, holding his neck in comfort, once safely back above the suffocating darkness.

He swam to the edge of the pool they were in, the river thinning out over rocks and disappearing through the narrow gap of the ravine edge, essentially trapping the horse and Paul. Injured and exhausted, knowing that without a full idea of the length of river ahead, it would be a fools game to swim.

Scrabbling at the rock, wet hands and heavy clothes giving struggle to his effort to find purchase, arms searing as he pushed his muscles Paul heaved himself up, doubled over as he was finally out.

Hair sodden and dripping over his face and back, he stared hopelessly at Keats, the horse craning it's head to track his owner.

They were both stuck. The only way out a potential drowning, but Paul couldn't sit and watch his friend die like this.

Growling into a yell, he pulled the tight stirrup off his foot, the rest of the strap still attached to Keats.

"C'mon!" He cried, trying to encourage the horse toward him. "Come here boy!" Unsure of his next step, his foot slipped against the wet rocks, river sludge coating the surface.

Regaining himself, panicked heat prickled down his back in a cold sweat.

The horse's ears twitched but remained flattened to his neck, facing away from the Scout as he tread wearily against the depth.

"You're going to drown!" Paul screamed. "f*cking come on!" Bent over, face reddened as he pleaded.

Shaking his head, Jesus clawed at his hair. Face pulled tight as he swallowed, knowing that he had to move if his horse was to survive.

Pulling his boots and socks off, shucking his coat and vest, he dove back into the water. His limbs felt heavy as he made for the horse, unlooping the reins from round his neck. Looking hard into Keats' eyes. The iris surrounded by an alarmed shield of white.

The water rippled and licked at their faces, Paul's close to the stallions', eyelashes wet and skin pale, a palm caressing the Keat's cheek. "C'mon, you can't stay here. We have to go."

Turning away he pulled hard on the reins, one hand tight on the bridle.

Keats tried to flick his head in fear, but the motion wilted as his strength continued to wane.

Paul managed to lead the horse to swim to the edge of the pool. The mess of rocks that cut the river off we're uneven and slippy. The Scout resigned himself to accepting that there was simply no other choice.

Dragging himself onto the rocks, sharp edges grazing his stomach through the thin, soaked layer of his shirt. He pulled at the reigns, gripping the bridle in each hand.

"You gotta out of here." He sobbed.

Heaving backwards, his whole weight careening toward freedom.

Keats' front hooves made contact with the rocks, skidding dangerously, the horse pushed back, pulling Paul back into pool.

Fatigued beyond anything he'd felt before, Jesus got back out, "Just do it! Just- I'm not, c'mon!"

He tried, again and again. Each time eating more of their energy. Each time taking Paul further into hopelessness. The only blessing was the daylight.

Jesus grabbed onto a branch, grown into the ravine wall, using it as leverage to attempt to haul the animal over the rocks. It gave away and Paul fell hard onto the sharp surface, crying out in pain, the branch in his hand.

Desperate with rage and sadness, he whipped Keats' hind, using his resurgence of adrenaline to yank as hard as could with the bridal.

Keats' front legs flew up and onto the rocks, immediately slipping, Paul, fistfuls of reins, leaped backwards into the river.

The momentum enough to cause the beast to topple in his direction. Nearly crushing the man, legs mangling frantically over the rocks, Keats' fell with a resounding splash. Legs immediately kicking out to keep afloat.

Catching the Scout yet again, the thigh of his yet already injured leg now searing.

He swam, leading the beast upward through the river. Anticipation bubbling in his stomach as they passed through the slight gap in the walls, the horse's flanks grazing the rocks.

Yelling in sheer relief as the river shallowed out to a mere brook. Eyes closed, Paul rested on his knees as the water licked against his hips. Keats stood, legs trembling and blood still leaking slowly from the numerous wounds.

The shallow run led up to a anothersection of river, as the ravine widened into open land, heading to a lake.

Paul heard a thud and felt the water ripple in waves over his legs, turning to see the horse led down. He sighed, knowing it wasn't good, but content enough that they weren't going to drown together.

Keats whinnied and as a gurgled shuffle sounded. The Scout looked up and saw walkers rising through the water of the river, making better pace as they broached the shallow stream. Exhausted, Paul whipped out his pistol, firing it, the shot didn't take as the hammer clicked.

He swore, the waterlogged weapon tossed aside, unsheathing a knife, he limped over and stabbed the first walker cleanly in the head. With the next he faltered, having to repeat the action. Staggering back and grunting thickly.

They came, one after the other, Jesus defended himself and the beast he'd fought so hard to save. No other way out but to keep fighting.

After the last, he dropped forward, resting in the shallows, mouth open but breathing exaggeratedly through his nose.

The horse knickered as his eyes flickered shut.

"He would'da' been back by now." Daryl growled.

"You think he ran into trouble?" Carol offered, knowing all to well, the man's instincts were seldom wrong.

"You said yourself that there were others nearby." Victor, a saviour, considered.

Rosita shifted, palm resting on the hilt of her knife. "We'll go, look for him."

The two Kingdom members, Amanda and Robin looked uneasy.

"Fine," Daryl snarled. "You take tha' sh*t back." He kicked a bag over and headed off in the direction he'd watched the Scout ride off in.

"I'll call it in," Rosita plucked the walkie-talkie from her belt, not missing the sidewards glance of concern the Hunter shot in her direction. "In case we need back up." She shrugged. Unshouldering her rifle as they stomped into the woods.

The small strip of country shops had held a haven of animal feed and nuts, mostly unspoiled. Gardening equipment and even weaponry, surplus clothing and horse tack were their's for the taking.

Only, as with most of the remaining pockets of scavengable goods, it was already under the watchful eye of another eager set of survivors. Paul and Amanda had ridden the perimeter to check for herds and enemies, but only the woman had returned. Unbeknownst to them, that the Scout had driven off the incoming attack.

A flurry of hoofprints scattered the open path they followed. Continuing down the path, the prints seemed to cluster to one side. Blood on the ground led Daryl to consider a walker attack, or Keats bolting and throwing the Scout, knowing the younger man not to ride so recklessly. Angrily Daryl followed the crowd of deep grooves up the path.

They followed the tracks around the overgrown woodland, passing a collapsed bridge. Daryl stopped, something unsettled him, staring hard across the drop for a sign of prints.

Deciding to ignore the uncomfortable twinge in his stomach, carrying on with the trail they had.

They read the path as the sun shifted in the sky. Eventually the tracks seemed to spread out, the horse's slowing in Daryl's mind as he pictured them. Frowning, the chase had ended, but they hadn't stopped.

Voices laughing broke through the trees and the group spied the riders taking a break, sat in a circle and passing food around.

A quick nod amongst Carol, Rosita, Victor and Daryl issued the charge into the clearing, weapons pointed directly at their heads.

The usual back and forth of guarded questions flitted between the people. Guns digging into the backs of skulls as they demanded answers. Then, after no viable explanation, Daryl began to aggressively interrogate the assumed leader over Paul's whereabouts.

"Som'ova'bitch, the f*ck is he?!" He kicked the man in the side, causing him to double over.

Bending down and grabbing him by the hair, pulling up hard, exposing his throat. Snatching his bowie knife and thrusting it against the stubbled flesh.

"We don't know! Lost 'im over a fence."

"He's long gone!" Another cried.

Rosita kicked the speaker down to the ground. "You're lying." She looked hard at Daryl, "He would've circled back."

"Please!" Another of the riders cried.

Unable to leave the risk, they shot the small group, hitching the horse's to their own and looting the makeshift camp.

Daryl knew Jesus would be against it, especially in his name, but the Hunter couldn't take the chance. Getting no pleasure from the cold blooded murder. Leaving no possibilities of further ambush.

Double-backing on themselves, they returned to the ravine pass. Daryl studied the fence running around the overgrown copse, noticing what he'd been to hurried and distracted before to see.

A horse had come at speed over the bracken, a single horse, the tracks offset to the group's. Upon further study, he could see they were pointing a different direction. Daryl was crouched low, fingers brushing along the curved indent in the dirt. Looking up slowly at the drop over the ravine. Coming up to stand, needing to look, but not wanting to.

Rosita and the others noticed, the woman turned her head to follow the older man's gaze. She grimaced. Silently volunteering herself and peering down. Carol looked over at the Hunter, warily nibbling her lip.

Daryl read Rosita's body language, assured that Paul's body wasn't mangled in the rocks below, decided to see for himself. Sure enough, large clumps of land and old mortar sat in the water, a small pool that steadily lapped over a wall of rocks before becoming a stream, disappearing under the large canopy of rock towering over the narrow, earthy crevasse.

Something caught Daryl's eye as he leaned dangerously over the edge.

"His coat. 'N' boots. S'him." He stood up shakily. Blinking away the rapid fire thoughts that threatened to topple his stoic composure.

"What?!" Carol exclaimed, face pinched into a confused from, joining him and peering down. "He survived...that's good. But why-?"

"-Did he take his boots off?" Rosita "Think someone else fell too?"

"Goddamn idjit' if he bothered savin' em'." Daryl huffed. Anxiety still wracking his brain. "Need ta' get all tha' way down there. Then we can see where they went.

"Where's the horse?" Victor dared a glance. The others looked to him then back. "Did it...drown?"

"He tried to save it." Carol's voice trailed off as she came to the conclusion.

She looked to Daryl, "Which way?"

As they steadily ambled down the steep peak, Rosita spoke into her walkie-talkie, assuring them that help was on its way.

The afternoon sun was lilting as the ground they traversed flattened and the thick covering of ivy and knotweed sparsed into wild grasses and river weeds.

The land sludgy as their boots squelched and stuck in the oozing mud.

A 4x4 was parked at the edge of the lake, a bowlegged figure with hands on his hips stood at the edge, waving down Daryl and the group.

He was flanked by Aaron, calling out as they got close, "No luck?!"

Rick grasped Daryl's hand firmly, looking him square in the eye, despite the Hunter's avoidant gaze.

"No. 'E fell down."

Jerking his head back at the ravine, this side of which didn't seem so threatening, the towering land sloped down to the lake, which was fed by a stream that disappeared between the two narrow, rock walls.

"Ain't no tracks here. Rosita said to look about." Rick nodded at the woman who nodded back.

"Sure you haven't just missed something?" Carol offered, coming up beside Daryl, physically close and reassuring.

Daryl narrowed his eyes, brow furrowed as he stared at the gap where the stream ended.

A walker, stuck firmly in the mud, seemed to be garbling enthusiastically in the same direction.

"He's still in there!" He set off into a sprint, feet pounding along the shore of the lake. Boots sinking in the silt, water soaking through to his bare feet, socks waterlogged.

"f*ck." Clenching his fist tightly. "Need a' boat. Or somethin'!"

Before he'd even finished his sentence, Rick was straight onto the walkie-talkie. Daryl continued to pace, trying all along the seam of water for a shallow path, but getting no luck.

The group reorganised around him. Taking watch, dispatching the dead and studying the Hunter. Back-and-forth like a caged animal.

The Kingdom came through, a large truck with a long, livestock trailer appeared, it had been over an hour and Daryl was impatient. Moving to help pull the large dinghys from the pallets inside the trailer, his hands trembled and fingers fumbled at the buckles and straps that secured them.

Dragging them over the sodden knolls, wading hastily into the water, Daryl, Aaron and Rick clambered into one, the other pulled along as they oared across the lake.

The stream shallowed out as the land met the boats, pulling them up onto hard stone, the rippling rivulets coming up barely shin-deep.

The dinghys scraped as they were dragged, an alarmed nickering echoed from within the pass.

"Holy sh*t." Aaron gasped, they all splashed through down the thin path, following the twist in the rock and stopping short as they took in the scene.

Daryl hesitated barely a second before sprinting to the unconscious body of Paul. Knife loose in his clammy fingers. The bodies of several walkers littering a half-circle around the Scout and the horse.

Keats was stood, somewhat recovered, angry bruises and pink lacerations littered his body, congealed blood sat thickly around his hocks, down to his hooves. Ears pricking at the familiar faces but eyes still widened.

Dropping beside him, Aaron watched as the Hunter pulled Paul's head into his lap, letting his friend press his fingers against his neck. Pausing for longer then Daryl could take, lip trembling as Aaron nodded slowly, patting him gently on the shoulder.

"He's good."

"He alive?!" Rick called, reaching slowly for Keats.

"Just about." Aaron smiled, running his hands over the Scout. Noticing the purpling around his foot, using his knife and cutting up the sodden fabric to show a swollen and mangled looking ankle.

"We should move him. He's been here for hours." Aaron nodded at Rick, sliding his hands under the younger man's legs.

"I got 'im." Daryl cut him off sharply.

"Daryl," Aaron soothed, looking gently up into his face, "I get it, I really do. But you have to let me help. We could hurt him more..."

The Hunter's lip twitched.

"M'kay." They heaved him onto the first dinghy. Aaron and Daryl setting off for the shore. Rick managing to coax the weary horse into the lake, carefully encouraging it along beside the second boat. Feeling tense as Keats slowed the further they went.

Once close enough, a few others splashed into the water to pull the animal out.

Daryl let Aaron help him carry Paul to land. Setting him down onto a space prepared by Carol and the others, covering him with the emergency blanket and fleeces.

The rest of the group gathered round, eager to see what had become of the man who'd fallen.

Rick had loaded up Keats, as Victor tied up the dead men's horses. Coming to join the others as Carol strapped a splint against the Scout's foot.

"Till Dr Carson has seen it, we've got to assume the worst." She sighed as she lifted Jesus's leg, wrapping the bandages tightly around the wood.

Rick shifted on his feet, concerned for Daryl. Having had the two as guests not the previous week, Michonne and Rick's suspicions about the potential relationship all but confirmed when one bed had been used.

This was the second time within the month that the younger man had nearly gotten killed. The second time Rick had had to standby wordlessly as Daryl went through his feelings alone.

Sure, everything had been fine last time and normal life had resumed, but he knew. He knew that there was 'something', it had been nearly a year of 'something.' At least to his knowledge.

But he did nothing, unable to break the silence of the two, to overstep the line.

Aaron looked equally constricted by the dilemma, but settled down at Paul's other side. Daryl sat close to his lover, his hand resting by the Scout's arm, fingertips just brushing the wet cloth of his sleeve.

"Daryl?" Paul reached out, fingers wobbling. Finding Daryl's forearm and gripping weakly.

"Shh, rest up, you fell."

Aaron tried not to react at the smoothness of his friend's comforting voice.

"I can't breathe," The Scout's eyes widened. "Help me Daryl! I don't want to drown!"

The fingers that held him, tightened with alarming certainty. Daryl glanced up at Aaron, shocked and confused. Carol immediately ran delicate hands over Jesus's head. "Could of hit it on the way down, honey, I think you're concussed. It's okay, you-"

"I fell." Paul stared desperately at Daryl. "I thought I'd never see you again...Please, I can't breathe!" He writhed, chest expanding quickly as he hyperventilated.

"What's happenin'?" Daryl demanded, looking between Aaron and Carol for answers.

"I think he's in shock. We need to get him warm and to Dr Carson."

"S'okay Paul, you're hurt, s'messin' wi' ya' head." Daryl's voice cracked as he tried to reassure his partner.

"We're going to lift you into the truck," Carol stroked his hair reaching across and gently brushing Daryl's arm.

"On three," Aaron readied himself, "One, two, thr-"

"No!" Jesus cried. "My foot, it's stuck, I can't..." He pushed against his carriers.

"It ain't, jus' calm down." Daryl bit the worry down, it bubbled away inside him, threatening to pour out in waves.

"I'm drowning. Help, somebody, I can't..." Paul's face contorted into sadness, defeat, lost in whatever horrific nightmare he was reliving.

Daryl ached for him. They settled him in the truck. Rick jumping into the drivers seat and Aaron in passenger, shifting round to watch as Daryl took Paul's hand.

"We're goin' home Paul, you'll be alright, jus' hang on."

Rick pulled the truck and the trailer away from the lake, leaving the others and the remaining horses to find their own way back.

Focusing on nothing but the drive and his brother.

Daryl shifted in the back.

Rick squinted at the mirror, tweaking it down to see Paul's head against the Hunter's thighs. Carding his hands through the younger man's damp hair.

The emergency blanket crinkled loudly as Jesus moved. Blinking up at Daryl.

"Daryl."

The older man's lips twitched into a half-smile. "That you back now?"

Jesus didn't understand, but he was too exhausted to ask questions, he lifted his arm, the backs of his fingers brushed Daryl's jaw. "You found me."

"Saved ya', again." The Hunter scoffed, easing his own worry with light snarkiness.

"Daryl, I have never been so afraid in my whole life." Paul spoke softly, loud enough to be heard by the other three, yet as though it were just the two of them.

"I know." I was scared too.

Aaron stared out the window, trees and pinecone littered verges blurring past, listening to the gentle conversation behind him. Aware of Rick's silence also, neither daring or wanting to interrupt.

"Did, did Keats?..."

"Yeah, he made it. Better still be alive back there." He craned his head to check through the back window to see the horses on the trailer. Crammed in with the dinghys. "Nearly killin' yerself ta' save 'im an' all."

"Good." Paul closed his eyes, "Hold me Daryl." He mumbled.

Rick glanced at Aaron, who gave him a weak smile. They both pointedly stared through the windscreen until they got to the gates at Hilltop. Both ignoring, for Daryl's sake, the tender scene in the backseat as the Hunter cradled the Scout in his arms, tentatively brushing the hairs by his face as he curled into the older man.

Chapter 30

Chapter Text

It had been two weeks since the ravine incident. Paul had luckily limped away with a severe ankle sprain. Ribs bruised and a mild concussion. The shock had messed with his blood pressure, but Dr Carson had treated him accordingly.

Daryl persuaded the care to be relocated to the trailer, a bid to put as much distance between Alex and Paul. Picking up on the Scout's discomfort at the Nurse's overt behaviour. Fussing uneccessaeily and insisting on prodding the injuries beyond what Daryl assumed to be reasonable.

Hinting in casual conversation to Maggie that Paul wasn't happy, soon led to Alex getting roped into a training assignment in Alexandria.

Leaving Daryl and Paul, mostly in peace as they hid away in the trailer. Well-meaning visitors knocking under false pretences, seeing how soon their go-to-guy would be back up and running.

After all the time cooped up, save for small trips around the other cabins. Paul had stubbornly insisted on a 'proper' walk.

Still limping, easing down the steps and he headed to the allotments. Daryl stressing behind him like a new mother. Invisible quirks to everyone else, but Paul could read it in bold. Chewing his thumb and staring intently at the Scout's feet. Boots scuffing hard in the dirt behind Paul if the younger man so much as faltered even a second. The way Daryl put more space between them then usual, to save himself from needlessly grabbing Jesus and looking a bizarre fool.

A loud cheer sounded from the communal tables, Tara perched on the top, Rosita by her side on the bench, instigating a small round of applause for Paul.

He held up a hand and smirked, carrying on to the stables.

There he found Maggie, Herschel Jr in her arms as she carried a bucket of chaff from stall to stall.

"Well hey there stranger!" She called gleefully.

"Stranger?" One brow raised, the woman having only left the trailer earlier that morning.

She leant forward to kiss his cheek, Herschel taking advantage and grabbing a good handful of Jesus's hair.

"Woops. Young man, we've talked about this." Maggie instructed, easing the chubby fingers loose.

"It's okay Hersch. Everybody likes to yank my hair." Paul said candidly, pulling a face at the little boy.

Daryl frowned at his comment, glancing sideways at the Scout, then mistakenly across to Maggie who visibly suppressed a grin.

She played it off as a warm smile for her son, turning back to Jesus, "I suppose you're here to visit your injured-in-arms?"

"I meant to come sooner...-"

"-Don't worry, you can thank me another time. You're in luck that I happen to of had a vet as a Daddy. Knew horses before I knew people." She lead them up to Keats' stall.

His legs were bandaged and bruises were fading. The worst of the cuts had been stitched. He poked his large nose over the door to investigate the visitors. Nickering happily at Paul. The Scout brushed his muzzle affectionately.

"Only you could fall like that and walk away with a dicky foot." Maggie shook her head, winking at Paul.

Daryl scratched the horse behind the ears, "An' a' bigger head. Had ta' hear how he saved this one, over an' over."

"It was a real, Free Willy moment." Jesus looked disgruntled, shaking his head and looking up from under his brows at Daryl.

"I don't even wanna know what that is." The Hunter snorted.

"Hey, your mind went there, not mine." Paul teased.

"It really is as bad as they say it is," Maggie muttered to herself.

Both men were just about to speak when Tara stepped into the stables.

"Yo, just a heads up. Dickbag PHD is back in town." She flicked her eyebrows and smiled in a flat line before pivoting on her boot and heading out.

"Oh good."

Later that evening, the colony sat eating together. Falling into their regular groups. Friends and family settling into smaller conversations. Daryl, Paul, Maggie, Sasha, Rosita, Tara and Enid all nattered away. Kal and Ed occasionally dropping comments as they laughed eagerly at a story Sasha shared from Before.

Their friendly cohort reunited had cheered up each others spirits. Giving the night a merrier feel then usual.

Tammy had shared a keg of cider she'd been brewing and Paul was already melting into the secure mirage of tipsiness, on the verge of drunk.

So content he was, that he didn't immediately react when he saw a figure staggering across the Hilltop toward the friends.

"Wait, is that-?"

"It's Alex." Rosita frowned.

"Hey look, he's smashed." Tara pointed, others from the area turned their heads to see the Nurse clumsily ambling toward them.

"Jeeeesssuuuss. Je-Jesus." He stopped by their bench, swaying, bottle in hand.

"Alex, you need to go home." Maggie warned.

"Before you say something stupid." Rosita added.

"Is that possible?" Tara snickered quietly.

Maggie cut her a stern look. Turning back to the drunken man. "C'mon, I'll take you back." She stood, swinging her leg over the bench licking sauce from her food off her fingers. "C'mon-"

"-No. Nope. I just, need. To hear him say it." He pointed sloppily at Paul.

"Say what?" The Scout sat facing away from the table, leg either side of the bench. Leaning back slightly against Daryl's arm. "I've said what I needed to say. I wrote you a letter explain-"

"You told me sh*t!" Alex spat, a half sob breaking with the words. The rest of the colony present, now fully invested in the unfolding drama.

Maggie carefully scooped Herschel Jr and went to take him inside, Enid hopped up instead and took him, twitching her head back at the scene brows raised, Maggie smiled softly, kissing the boy before Enid disappeared into Barrington House.

"Wha-?" Paul looked confused.

"So you don't love me no more. Don't wanna," Alex waved the bottle about, sloshing liquid as he cried out, "don't even wanna f*ck no more. Cause you, 'dont wanna settle', what, what kinda f*cking bullsh*t-"

"I didn't love-"

"Then why do I feel so bad? Huh?!" Alex staggered, legs crossing as he stumbled to keep upright. "I know, Paul. That's what he calls you, right?" The Nurse pointed sharply with his bottle at Daryl, the jerky movement toppling him onto his knees, essentially prostrate before Jesus.

"In the trailer. I heard him." Alex sobbed. "Why? Whas' he got that I don't? Is it protection? I can shoot," He fumbled in his jacket, pulling out a gun.

Gasps and clatters sounded as the people ducked and moved as Alex waved the weapon. Maggie yelping and hurrying to him, gentle hands pulling it from his grip. Disengaging and shucking the clip.

"Why do you sleep with him and not, you didn't let me, you didn't sleep with me? Am I not worth it?" He looked plagued with his own grief and even Tara felt remorseful for her remark.

Paul went to speak but the Nurse cut him off, "Don't you f*cking deny it, I saw the spare room. I put a coin on the blanket, s'probably still there now. Was every day."

Daryl scowled from under his bangs. Now understanding the extra annoyances of Alex in the trailer were just poor attempts to get to him.

The others were stunned. Maggie and the closer circle not-so-much.

"I think that's enough don't you?" The Hilltop Leader linked an arm with Alex, "Kal, a hand?" Steering the drunk toward his home.

"On that note, I think I'm going to call it a night." Jesus stood, sensing the tension of new discovery. Tara's unchecked expression leaving him no question of the interrogation he'd get if he stayed.

"Mm." Daryl hummed, refilling his mug from the decantered jug of cider, pausing, before just taking the jug. Holding it up in a thanks before turning to follow Paul as he hobbled homeward.

"Dude! What?! I thought there was some, y'know, crush thing. Redneck Rambo battles with his white-trash demons whilst Kung Fu dreamboat ignores all his suitors in favour of persuing Mr Lonely Hearts column-"

Rosita snorted, "I thought it was something."

"I called it. Months ago, I said to Maggie once when we were still all in the trailer. Pretty sure I heard something..." Sasha wiggled as she dropped the juicy tidbit.

Tara's mouth hollowed into a shocked expression, "Nooo?!"

"Oh yeah," Sasha leant forward toward the other woman, "Heard the bed squeaking."

"You mean they've been f*cking this whole time?! Tara slammed her hand on the table with each word. "Jesus, literally. How did I miss this?!"

"Too busy chattin' sh*t?!" Rosita huffed.

"Goddamn. Hilltop. Home of the gays, n' waifs and strays."

Chapter 31

Chapter Text

Daryl stretched. His wrists and shoulder clicking as he turned on the makeshift bed. Sleeping in the room he shared with Jesus, having moved in from the couch because it was warmer and better for his back.

Only, now he didn't sleep. He'd lay there, for hours, the first week. Jesus eventually began to share his books and that helped a little. The other man would have his head buried in his own, the only sound in the room, the pages turning.

Sometimes, the pages stopped turning and a quiet snore sounded, Daryl would glance up and see the Scout, head lolled back on the pillow, book splayed open on his chest.

Given that he kept the oil lamp on the bedside table, Daryl had often found himself having to nudge the younger man's foot until he stirred enough to save his page and switch off the light. Rolling onto his front, still dressed, asleep over the covers. Eventually forming a routine, Daryl clearing his throat loudly as he heard the Scout nodding off, on some nights, just keeping the lamp by Daryl.

Daryl had shared sleep spaces with various people, friends, family, enemies. Even the dead, lurking about behind the trip lines of a rushed camp. Yet somehow, this was the hardest place to rest. Newborn Judith's wails, did not compare to this.

Mind racing as he stared at the ceiling, the Hunter would try every trick in the book. Eventually burning out in the early hours and being awoken not so long after, by the ever eager Jesus. Soon enough, Maggie and Sasha could be heard chattering and then Enid.

Barely awake, eyes still yearning to stay shut, he would listen as the covers shifted. The younger man groaning as he yawned, arms and legs reaching out from the duvet. Slinking quietly, tiptoeing around the Hunter.

Daryl would take the solitude as a gift and doze off, Jesus busy either making up coffee or taking an unreasonably long shower. He supposed he should be grateful, it was the only good sleep he got, in that short, stolen moment.

Other times Jesus wouldn't be so quiet. Fumbling as he forced himself up before his body had time to catch up, he'd wobble, tripping on laundry or banging his foot on the dresser, a large thunk followed by whispered curses.

Daryl would jolt awake, not showing it, eyes wide and adapting, heart leaping until he recognised the uncoordinated movements of the tired Scout.

Some mornings he didn't notice the younger man get up at all, only waking up when cheerful conversation drifted in through the door, or if someone dropped a bottle in the shower.

Maggie stirred throughout the night, but he didn't register it. Nor Sasha when she was plagued by night terrors. Only Jesus. Swift, skillful, yet dizzy and fidgetsome.

Months passing made it easier. Jesus got used to Daryl and his nocturnal sleep patterns, not fussing so much about keeping quiet, in turn making him less clumsy.

Daryl also soon became accustomed to the Scout's limits. Deciding to walk the Hilltop perimeter and take a smoke, if fortune had favoured him on a scavenge. The Hunter could flit in and out the room and seemingly not disturb the younger man whatsoever.

A lot could be gleaned from a person just by their sleeping habits, the older man considered, sat up flicking through worn books. Unable to choose one, he'd get halfway through the first page before a soft noise caught his attention.

He couldn't see the Scout properly from where he was sat in the floor, but he knew well enough he was asleep. On his front as he usually was. Leg twitching under the cover, Jesus made the sound again.

Daryl frowned, the younger man laughed quietly in a dream. The Hunter's brows relaxed as his mouth tugged into a half smile.

On celebratory nights, Daryl expected the worst for sleep. The inhabitants of the trailer would stay up past whatever party had gone on outside, card games, hidden bottles of booze and general silliness saw them up late. Maggie would slip away first, soon enough, Jesus would fall into a pleasant, quiet bubble.

Fatigue draining the last of his social battery.All out of steam, just a contented look on his face as he began to check out of the conversations.

Nights like this, when the Scout had had his fill of food and drink, he'd sink into his bed. Turning onto his back, usually at the point Daryl was about to crash, then snoring loud and deep. Even garnering disgruntled complaints from the roomates next door in the morning.

It was one of those nights. Maggie escaped to bed earlier then the rest, getting close to moving to Barrington as her belly swelled. Sasha fiddled them both at Texas hold'em, pinching herself a bag of stale cornchips and the remainder of a tub of coconut oil Jesus had been stashing that she'd had her eye on.

Grinning, she scooped up her prizes and slunk into the women's bedroom.

"You look about ready ta' hibernate." Daryl smirked. The dark circles on the Scout were tiring just to look at.

"Mm, that would be nice." He eased up out his seat, not bothering with his usual nightime rituals.

Messily pulling his hair into a bun, yanking his shirt over his shoulders, Jesus flopped forward onto the mattress. Something clunking under the frame as he landed.

Daryl's eyes lingered on the toned curve of the Scout's back, dipping before it met the waistband of his sweatpants.

"Ya' gone be on tha' floor 'fore too long, ye' keep leapin' onnit' like that." The older man snorted. Dropping his own top onto the pile, messily draped over boots and socks, worn pants swapped for something thinner and softer.

There was no response, the Scout's breaths already long and shallow.

He huffed, settling in for a long night.

Daryl woke, surprised that he'd woken. Having not realised he'd even gone to sleep. It was getting light out earlier now, but the room was swathed in black, apart from a sliver of amber glow coming from the open door.

Blinking hard to force his reflex to give him sight, Daryl sat up and peered at the empty bed. He could hear Jesus's familiar footsteps padding around the bathroom and then the kitchen. Glass chinking and then a large sigh.

The glowing light got brighter and the Hunter, unsure as to why, squinched his eyes tight and faked sleep.

He could hear the sleepy man ease the door wider, stumbling, then suddenly feeling the sudden sensation of wet as Jesus tripped.

Accidentally jerking forward with his water, chucking nearly the whole glass out onto the older man.

"f*ck!" He whispered pointlessly.

"The hell man?!" Daryl grumbled, most of it hitting the exposed duvet he led on, having curled alway from it when he'd slept.

"sh*t, sorry Daryl. Got wrapped up in something near your boot. Uh, do you need a towel?" Face shadowy and warm in the low beam of the small solar light Paul kept in the window for emergencies. He patted the wet blanket, "uh, oh. Hop up on the bed, I'll hang it up."

"S'not that bad, getta' towel, take most of it out." Daryl shrugged.

"Right, uh," Paul scanned the room, brows furrowed. "I think Sasha was folding them up in their room last..."

The Hunter sighed, "If you snore in ma' ear, I'm kickin' you out." He eased under the duvet, still warm from its occupier. Knowing without asking which side of the bed was available.

"Okay, then if you kick, bite or scratch me, same rules apply?"

"Whatever."

Jesus slipped in beside him, rolling on to his side facing the wall. Daryl stared upwards, at least this was a more comfortable spot to let insomnia do it's thing.

A long period elapsed, Daryl had been waiting for the low snores, but instead was met by the Scout turning round suddenly.

"Why don't you sleep?" A wide stare lingered unabashedly toward him. "Cos, if it's the snoring, we can figure something else out, Maggie's-"

"It ain't that, I dunno. Sometimes it's just like this. Been like it since a child. Seem ta' only sleep if someone's still awake."

"That's interesting. Like a dog, you need someone on guard." Paul yawned.

"You jus' call me a dog?" Daryl shifted to face the younger man fully, looking darkly under his lashes. The pale moonlight shining through gaps in the window covers, enough to map out their expressions.

"No! No, I wouldn't. You're shockingly human." Jesus said matter-of-factly, holding a reassuring hand out, fingers brushing Daryl's arm. The touch seeming more intimate in the private setting they found themselves in.

"Wha's' that meanin'?"

"Like, you're just, it's hard to explain. It's just something I can see, in you. It's nothing bad." The Scout gazed off past Daryl's face.

"You still drunk?" The Hunter scoffed.

"Maybe, probably. What about you? Drinking obviously doesn't help you sleep."

"Nah." The older man bunched the pillow up under his head, wiggling to get comfier. "Grow up wi' drinkin' it don't effect you 'same."

Jesus nodded silently. "You tried drugs?"

"For sleep or..." Daryl rubbed his eye gently, the sensation teasing a grunt out.

"Sleep, though, if you have any good stories for the latter, then please don't hold back next time we're stuck in the truck."

"Maybe when I was younger, used to just f*ck about then pass out."

Paul flicked his eyes up and down the older man's face. "I'm sure we could find you a friend-"

Daryl slapped the Scout's bare shoulder. "No f*ckin' thank you. Gotta' 'nough women ta' deal with as it is."

The younger man snickered, "Well then, just the trusty old hand and whatever p*rn you can get hold of, or go vintage and use your imagination?" He teased.

"Yeah, that ain't happenin' neither. Got one'a' ya' always buzzin' about. Then it's jus' not right, if you're sleepin', puts me off."

Jesus tried to ignore the conjured image of Daryl trying and failing to masturbat* when he is barely a few feet away. "I'm not asleep now. You crack on, I have a book."

Daryl huffed, shaking his head then looking back at Paul's serious expression.

"You're so f*ckin' weird."

"Not really, men in similar positions to us got up to worse. Plus, you aren't the only one who hasn't been able to, y'know..." He diverted his gaze shyly. Jesus shifting, sitting up resting back against his pillow.

"So yer' sayin' we should both jack off, because it's been a while an' at least it's not some other desperate sh*t?" Daryl's belly swooped with nerves. What the f*ck was happening. Daryl heaved himself up, leaning against the wobbly headboard.

"Well, the old adage goes something like, 'It ain't gay if we don't kiss'?, everything else is, understandable." The Scout out on a phony voice, "Given the uh, extenuating circ*mstances."

"Uh, I don't...you first though. I ain't lookin' like some creep-"

"You big child, fine." Paul thrust his hand under his waistband. Jerking his head pointedly at Daryl.

"It ain't some competition!" He huffed, slipping his own hand down and taking his semi, pulling slowly.

"If it was, I would still win." Jesus rolled his eyes sarcastically. Flicking off the light, freeing himself from his pants. Hearing the snap of elastic pinging back against flesh, knowing Daryl had done the same.

Blood filling him out in his hand, Daryl teased, a slight gasp breaking as he spoke, "What, who can cum quickest?"

"Oh Daryl, that wouldn't be win though, would it? But whatever helps you sleep better. Hah, literally." The younger man's breath hitched. The sound of skin brushing over skin the only thing that broke the silence. "Who comes the hardest would be a good one."

"N' how'd'ya' judge that?" Daryl grunted, quickening his pace, reasoning that the prolonged time between org*sms was the answer to why he was so horny.

"Well, that would require some 'hands-on research,'" Jesus whimpered under his breath as he felt the staccato of Daryl's arm, shaking the mattress beside him.

There was a pause in the two and fro, both men just focusing on the motions as Daryl considered his next step.

"It ain't," He grunted, "gay, 'long as we don't kiss'?"

"It's straight up 'bro-code', no pun intended."

"So, what then? Jus', swap?" It sounded ridiculous even as he said it. Feeling like a fool, Daryl had to reconvince himself that it couldn't be some joke because Paul was here too.

"Well, yeah, basically." The younger man scooted closer, hip to hip.

Noses an inch apart, the Scout grinned, "Suppose you want me to go first again?"

"Competitive prick," Daryl scowled, "I can do it."

He reached across tentatively, hand brushing over Paul's thigh. He flinched, despite what he was consenting too, anything else, any other touches seemed...too much almost.

"In all seriousness though Daryl, I'm still tipsy and confident, so if this is too far out your- ohh f*ck." He moaned as Daryl wrapped his fingers around him.

Feeling out and finding Daryl's erection and returning the favour, Jesus felt the wild urge to just fornicate like animals until dawn, but knew that this was completely off the books for the older man as it was.

Their arms bumped as both men tugged at the other.

"Hang on," Paul pushed himself down the bed, laying on his side and facing Daryl. "Better this way."

The older man followed, "Seem ta' know what yer' doin'?"

"I suppose now is a bad time to tell you I've done this before?" Jesus waited, stroking himself.

"Uh, no, I don't care." The Hunter reached between Paul's legs, pushing his fingers away and replacing them with his own. "Jus', no kissin an' we're good."

"f*ck, yes Daryl." They resumed their mutually assured pleasure, the Scout pressing his forehead against Daryl's chest as they pumped quicker.

The older man keened, cheek brushing against Paul's hair as it loosened from the bun in strands.

They moaned and pressed harder against one another, grunts and whimpers echoing each pull.

Daryl felt his control slipping, straining a short warning, "Gonna cum."

Spilling over Jesus's hand, just as the younger man cried out softly, co*ck pulsing in the Hunter's grip. His nose rubbing upwards against Daryl's nipple, mouth wet and open, tongue catching the sensitive nub.

They both flopped onto their backs, panting hard.

"Now we got the same thing wrong I came up here for in tha' first place." The older man choked after a moment, catching his breath.

"You're not wrong. You'll just have to scoot over this side."

"Still ain't gay-?"

"-if we don't kiss' yeah."

Chapter 32

Chapter Text

Jesus looked around at the chaos of people rushing with bags, screaming as crowds heaved against the gates. Airport staff getting shoved backwards, down the tunnels toward the jets.

The young man hovered in the periphery, luggage in his hand, a backpack and a holdall.

This had been a bad call. News of the virus had been spreading, it hadn't been long since he'd been back in Virginia.

Bored on the plane, staring at the newspaper the passenger beside him flicked through. A brief mention of drugs making people act crazy in the streets, deaths blah blah blah. Typical tabloid melodrama.

A visit to see Suzette, his older foster sister, hang about the old stomping ground for a bit until he'd figured out what the next step was.

It had been as he expected. She scooped him up in a tight hug, taking his bags and chucking them into her car. Hitting a small restaurant on the outskirts of town and reminiscing on the silver linings of group home, few as they were, the bonds built were unshakable. They got lobster, Suzette snapping a picture of him in the bib, laughing at how he managed to get garlic butter everywhere.

"I'll keep this," He joked sarcastically, as they wandered arm-in-arm to her car, "So if ever I get too self-assured, I can remember you bullying me and know my place in the world."

She cackled, shaking him as they parted to hop into the vehicle.

At the her apartment, they sat for hours in the living room. Paul on the floor, idly flipping through the magazines she had on the coffee table.

Suzette led on her front across the couch, "It's good to have you back lil' man."

"Zee, I'm entering my thirties-"

"And that makes up for your height deficiency?" She sneered playfully.

He mocked an affronted expression, head leant back and hand on his chest, slapping her with the magazine, "I am well within the regular height range of a man thank you, you're just Amazonian."

"I still remember when you were small." She blinked softly at him for a moment before breaking into a grin.

"Look at me now", He gestured over himself, a hand brushing his jaw. "Can even grow stubble look!" He snorted.

"All I see is a baby-face. Gotta grow your hair long and a beard, I hear the gays love a manbun." Brows waggling.

Paul blushed, "Yeah right. I already get dragged enough at work for being a "book-nerd", He frowned to himself, "If that's what having an interest outside 'beer 'n' bitches' means. If just showed up, after leave looking like hipster Jesus, I don't even want to know what they'd do!" He laughed.

"They can't all be douchebags though?"

"It's special ops Zee, the key's in the name. These guys think they're the sh*t."

Suzette sat upright, "You'll settle in, you always do and you said that training was going well? I told you, if you just left that stupid crack den in Seattle, did something meaningful, you would start getting somewhere in life!"

Paul shook his head, rubbing his hand through his floppy fringe, scratching the short hair at the back of his neck, "Alison's place isn't a 'crack-den', Suze, she's just going through some stuff."

"Well thank f*ck we ain't biological. If juicing up and making 'masterpieces', is going through stuff, you'd of OD'd years ago."

She cast a wary eye at him

"Hey!" Paul frowned at her. "You know I don't do that, the mushroom thing was one time and I didn't really understand what she meant by special brew."

It had been a good night. The best in a long time. Crashing in the bed beside her and waking up to more conversation and the best eggs in America.

The TV on in the background, they ate half asleep, Paul sipping coffee, Suzette looking mildly concerned at the news as it ran.

"Paul, you seen this? Some crazy sh*t, look!"

He turned, the reporter standing away from a crime scene as police tried to push the camera crew back.

"...The cases of what is believed to be insanity induced by a toxic strain of methamphetamines...people attacked in the streets...reports of looting in the cities as whole towns are beginning to corden off...highways coming to a standstill amidst fears of terrorist attacks..."

"sh*t." His brows raised. Remembering a similar story a couple of years ago. Returning to his eggs.

"So, what do you wanna do today? I thought maybe we could check out Maurice's, see if they still do those burrito thingies?" Suzette moved around the kitchen, chucking essentials into her coat pockets.

"Sure, then maybe see if that bookshop is still going, seeing as we're being all sentimental today. Could even visit the old bat."

A loud snort sounded from the hallway, "I ain't that sentimental."

Paul savoured the return to his childhood haunts, picking up more books at the old shop, one just simply because he liked the old cover.

"The Dictionary of obscure phrases? Honey, you don't need to buy that, it's already in there." Suzette jabbed at his temple, glancing up over a pair of large sunglasses.

He rolled his eyes at her, shoving the hardback into his backpack, crinkling the lobster bib at the bottom.

That night they went out for drinks, dancing the night away in their own precious bubble, laughing all the way home, eating ice-cream with a teaspoon and a fork on the kitchen floor.

The next day he'd catch his flight back home, back to training corp and all the bullsh*t that followed.

Suzette held him tightly at customs, her car keys digging into his cheek as she tried to hold his face.

"Right, lil' P. Remember wise old Zee's words you hear me? Those tanks at the barracks? They ain't sh*t," She shook her head. "You kickass and you're more then that, you gotcha words. Your obscure phrases whatever," She giggled, the flurry of people rushing to their planes flying around them. "Just, don't forget why you got that job. You got brains Paul, not just smooth moves."

"I'm gonna miss my flight." He smiled fondly, missing her already.

"Alright, you better go now. I better go, all these people in here is making me claustrophobic."

He gave her one last wave once the security officer gave him the nod through to boarding.

The steady thrum of people seemed to swell suddenly. Struggling to find his gate, a queue of somewhat angry and frustrated passengers were all pushing the flustered employee. He checked his ticket and walked down the line to the desk.

"Oi! Get to the back, we're here first!"

"He doesn't even have children! You can't let him on!"

Paul looked at the hecklers, confused, ignoring them and approaching the woman manning the barrier.

"Hey is this the right gate?" He flashed the boarding pass to her.

"Sorry, it's been delayed, please wait while we find out what's going on!" She shouted at him panicked.

He managed to find a spot, the area was filling up quickly, soon there were fights breaking out as passengers demanded to get to the tunnels.

Paul stood, feeling his alertness kicking in. He'd seen the roads were blocked, but this was ridiculous. He scanned the room, looking for some calm in the sea of frightened faces.

A TV ran a breaking news strip, inaudible but with subtitles, the young man squinted as he read the yellow text

...OUTBREAK OF VIRUS, CITIES TO EVACUATE AMIDST PANIC...

Staring in horror at the screen as it displayed images of the military in full combat gear gunning down what looked to be civilians.

"Jesus Christ." He muttered under his breath.

Just then a gunshot fired somewhere near the gates. Screaming broke out and then another shot after another.

Paul tried to run back to the customs gate, thinking of Suzette. The wall of bodies too thick to break through. He sprinted to the nearest terminal. A large fat man pulling a gun right out and pointing the muzzle straight at his forehead.

Gritting his teeth, Paul grabbed the underside of his hand, spinning himself to the side, pushing the arm upwards so the gun faced the ceiling just as the weapon fired. Then slamming the arm back down, elbow against his knee forcing the man to drop it as Paul grasped the handle. Pointing it at the assailant, then kicking him hard in the solar plexus, knocking him backwards as the young man wasted no time, hopping the barrier and speeding down the tunnel.

The crowds already beginning to pour down them behind him, he flew down the steps, bypassing the planes, one taking off on the strip in the distance.

Running around the building, his holdall digging into his shoulder, thumping against his side awkwardly.

The carpark was a mess. He could hear gunshots and screaming, helicopters flying overhead and sirens blaring. His heart thundered as he stared at the nightmare unravelling before him that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

He needed to get out of the city. But how do you do that when everyone else is doing the same thing.

The young man scrabbled for his phone, "C'mon c'mon c'mon! Damnit!" A tone beeped out and told him that the network's were down.

Making his way hastily away from the airport, he kept his eyes peeled for Suzette's purple car. The roads soon becoming thick with traffic, horns blaring and people yelling at each other to move.

Dashing between the cars, fear settling in as he saw more helicopters.

The further down he got, the harder it was to move for people, abandoning their cars and pushing toward a blockade that had been crudely constructed, manned by combats wearing FEMA identication.

f*ck.

They joked at work about the new subdivision that had been training in the same base as his cohort. Something unsettling about the looks on their faces when their groups passed in the lecture halls. They'd managed to rope a few into drinks, hearing a bit more about the otherwise confidential initiatives of the new first response team.

It sat unsettlingly in Paul's stomach to learn about this new crisis team. Assuming it was for nuclear warfare or something like Ebola. But this was it. This thing. sh*t.

People continued to claw at the chain link panels, the FEMA officers yelling at them to get down. Still green from training, a lot of them seemed unsure of what to do. There was no way they could of known what was coming.

Then fear set in and hell broke loose. A desperate civilian grabbed at an officer, shaking the scared man by his bullet vest, a blast of an automatic shot rang out and stopped him dead.

Like a chain reaction, more and more bodies dropped as each side waged a pointless war against the other.

Immediately ducking down, Paul tried to go back on himself. Shrieking and helpless sounds deafened him as he was barged into from behind. The large man retreating into the incoming storm of people. A strong push caught him from the side, spinning him and knocking him off his feet.

Head bouncing hard off the hood of a car as he went down, blacking out.

"Oh f*ck." He groaned, distant gunfire and screaming filled his ears.

He could hear his shoes dragging in the gravel as he shifted to sit up. Cars empty and abandoned, one on fire and burnt out in the distance. Car alarms and building sirens whirred in surround sound. Eyes blinking back into wakefulness, he glanced toward the blockade.

Unable to see the tops of the fence panels, no one present, bodies visible on the ground from between cars. A figure limped towards him slowly from the far end of the chaotic path.

"What happened, are, are you hurt? What the f*ck is happening? Where is everyone?!"

The sloping person continued to drag their feet toward him.

"Sue? Suzette? Zee?! Oh thank f*ck it's-"

He stopped short, her once pale t-shirt was riddled with dark red wounds, as though she'd been sprayed with bullets.

"How're? Wha-?" He stammered, staggering slowly onto all fours.

He spewed up, as she got close enough he could see the inside of her throat. Ripped open, main artery shredded as blood congealed in swathes of dark brown and red on her neck and down her chest.

Just then, a hand scrabbled at his jacket, tearing at the sleeve, a lifeless face gnashing at him. Suzette closing in, he couldn't move, his legs refusing to work. He screamed as she crowded over him, the dead frenzied as they all snatched at his clothes.

"Paul!"

He blinked his eyes open suddenly, arms crossed over his chest, he could feel himself sweating under the leather coat.

"Dude are you okay?!" Tara stared at him from across the backseat.

He took a deep breath, peering up at the wingmirror and seeing Daryl's eyes looking dubiously back at his. The Hunter turned in his seat, hand on the wheel, "You wanna stop?"

"Yeah..."

They pulled over, Eugene stepping out the passenger side, informing everyone on the statistics and causes of motion sickness whilst Paul bent, doubled over in the overgrown verge.

Tara rolling her eyes at ongoing commentary.

The Scout absorbed it. Letting it ground him.

A sound of crunching twigs broke his meditation as Daryl stepped cautiously toward him.

"Alright?"

"Yeah."

"You lyin'?"

"... Yeah."

The older man nodded, watching Jesus for a moment before heading back to the car. Their code for 'we'll talk about it later.'

Once Eugene was reassured that he wouldn't lose his place in the front to Paul, they drove on. Tara didn't even stop to make a joke about it.

They pulled up to the Alexandria Safe Zone, heading round to the new rebuilt entrance. A caravan of vehicles were lined up, ready to head into the city.

Rick and the rest the ASZ had to spare were stood waiting with members of Oceanside, the Hive and the Kingdom.

As they all exited the vehicles and greeted each other, Daryl nodded his head to the side, Paul hung back as they lingered by the car. Rick shuffled impatiently, monitoring the conversation while he made smalltalk.

"You sure it's a good idea you comin'?" The older man spoke gently, the chattering around them giving them enough privacy.

"As if I was staying behind while you went." The Scout retorted, giving Daryl a pointed look. Eyes then flicking down, he licked his lips and sighed. "But, if I'm being honest, I just think it's a bad place to go."

The older man touched Jesus's elbow reassuringly, "Tha' plan's been thought out. Gonna' be a lotta folk. Jus' gonna be a quick in'n'out an' maybe a whole buncha' geeks, but nothin' we haven't done before."

"I know, it's just, going backwards."

"I know."

Paul smiled grimly at Daryl, shrugging as he caught the fidgeting presence of Rick Grimes in the background.

"You better say hi before he explodes."

Turning to see who he was referring to, Daryl huffed. Sensing the end of their moment, he gazed softly at Jesus, heads close together.

"Daryl!" Rick had taken the acknowledgement of his staring as a greenlight. "Jesus." The Alexandrian leader slapped the Hunter on the back. "You ready for this?"

"... Havin' now gotten the city maps, I think it would be wise if we sent out a couple scouts to just see what we're dealin' with first." Rick addressed the gathering. "With the least amount of disturbance. We can know the layout of tha' place but we don't know what kinda numbers we might be facin'."

"I'll do it." Roisin from the Hive stepped forward. The newer settlement housing the more recent additions across the groups.

"Thank you. I thought we could also have Jesus. If you don't mind? This is really, your area of expertise." Rick looked imploringly at the Scout, hands on his hips, face assertive but unsure.

Paul stepped forward slightly, feeling all kinds of stress eminating from the Hunter. "Whatever I can do to help."

"I'm goin' too." Daryl moved beside him again, not looking at him but stiffening, letting Jesus know his resolve was hard as concrete.

"Two's enough, 'nymore and we'll be drawin' attention." Rick brushed him off, turning to say something else.

"I'm goin'. You said it yourself, on tha' prints, shows a bottleneck. He could be trapped, we don't know." Daryl argued, raising his voice to assert more authority over his words.

Jesus flicked his gaze over him, appreciating the surge in confidence on his behalf.

Rick sighed, "Daryl, if anyone can get out of that it's-,"

"-He ain't perfect, could be a suicide mission."

"It's fine. I'll be fine." The Scout put his hand on the older man's back.

"Nah, I'm goin' with ya', it's final."

Getting to the airport had been harder then anticipated, the roads all blocked up, cars long abandoned, the ones closer to the city were burnt out shells. Blackened with ash, writhing walkers still strapped into their seats.

The large group had to leave their own vehicles behind and moved precariously through the maze.

"The f*ck happened?!" Tara narrowed her eyes ducking to peer at a crusty skeleton, the skull rotating slowly to lean out the window.

"It was panic." Jesus said mournfully.

Somehow managing to get out of the city, passing all of this when it was still full of life, despite the looming threat of death at his heels.

People scrapping impatiently as the roads were blocked. Children milling around confused as their parents panicked. Bottles of water being shared around and others addressing small groups as they tried to rally against the fear of the unknown.

A few others were also heading his way, backing up away from the populace as quickly as possible.

"You were here?" Viktor asked.

"I was in the airport when they locked the cities down."

"Holy sh*t." Tara blanched. "Were you... alone?"

"No." He answered bluntly, picking up the pace and leaving the others behind as he started a conversation with Morgan.

Feeling slightly guilty, Tara turned to Daryl who'd been listening silently. "sh*t, I didn't know."

"He'll be fine."

It felt suddenly to cramped. This place, of towering metal and glass. The environment change affected them all. Too long, having lived out in their pockets, surrounded by rural countryside. They were urged to proceed with caution.

Daryl and Rick were conscious of their time many years ago in Atlanta, knowing all too well that there could yet be inhabitants here beside the dead.

It was hard work, getting through each block, some streets heavier with walkers then others, eventually the street-signs started to point to the airport.

Jesus swallowed, the carnage frozen in time. He hadn't had to revisit this personal hell for the best part of a decade, life at the Hilltop had become the norm, it was jarring to be reminded that there was a Before. How afraid and helpless they had all been.

"You boys ready?" Roisin perked, the trio standing off from the rest. Weapons armed as they checked the walkie-talkies.

"Are we?" Daryl nudged Paul.

"Yeah, let's get this done."

They passed through the cordons, walkers and bones heavy around the entrances as they were trapped, milling about for years rotting slowly.

The three made quick work of them. Paul felt his pace quickening as they moved through the lines of cars, the echoes of past voices ringing in his ears. Pleading cries to be saved.

Then he saw something he hadn't for far too long.

Something of his, of Paul Rovia's. Paul Rovia, young man, raised by the system and intermittent foster parents. A plethora of siblings he loved, all from different backgrounds. His squadron at work. The job he'd finally started to mature with. The crappy little flat he avoided staying in during leave. The neighbours who slammed their door like it was a competition, who had a cat that kept pissing on his doormat

His possessions, clothes, oddities, even the growing collection of bodywash sets going dusty in the bathroom, accumulating more with each birthday and Christmas. The material reflections of a man long gone. But here was something.

A worn, sun-paled leather holdall, sat beside a purple car. He stilled. Before, he'd not noticed. Crow-picked remains littered the tarmac. All unrecognisable, he stared hard until he recognised a cracked pair of large-lense sunglasses.

Roisin had also picked up on the halt, turning to see Daryl studying Paul. The Hunter keeping his eyes trained on the younger man, breaking focus to scan the buildings for possible life.

Jesus stooped low. It was Suzette. He choked out a laugh, dulled only by the small sob that followed. The fabric of her clothing long since worn to tatters, strands of fabric falling between the rib bones. The glasses resting on her sternum where she'd hung them over her shirt collar, all those years ago.

Her skull still resembled her, if he thought hard enough. Time and carrion had taken her features but the shape of her bright face still showed. Two holes had shattered through the skull, one where the eye socket met the bridge of the nose and another above the brow. The final killshot.

"How're? Wha-?" He spluttered as she staggered closer. The flesh torn from her neck, eyes glassy and lifeless.

The reanimated corpse of Suzette lurched towards him as he scrabbled to get up, a tight grip pulling at his sleeve from around the back of the car.

"Get down!" A voice cried and he ducked, the defeaning reverb of gunfire going over his head stalling his brain.

Stumbling as he was dragged around the corner, no time to process what was happening, he was soon running.

The stranger kept gripping his shirt, shaking him and yelling at him to run. In all the panic and confusion, he obeyed the order. Gratefully letting the responsibility of decision fall into his hands.

They flew through the streets, everywhere buildings were being looted, possessions being chucked out of windows, some people even lighting fires. It would be wishful thinking to assume this was just a riot gone wrong. Or even a terror attack. As they headed further away from the core of the danger, Paul noted there were two men.

They rested for a moment, one of the men, tall, broad and blond dithered whilst the bolder and more precocious one checked the nearby parking lot.

"Alex, c'mon we're clear."

The blond, Alex, patted Paul's arm as they ran to find the other man.

He was stood by two bikes, "Can you ride?"

"Wha-uh, no." Head spinning as the events of the last hour tumbled about his headspace.

"Alex, you take- what's your name?"

"Paul, Rovia."

"Alright Paul, you get on the back with Alex, we gotta get out of here. You with us?"

"Yeah." No sarcastic comment, just following blindly, anyway out of this horror show.

They rode until the stranger's bike got low in gas. On foot, helicopters flew over head occasionally, they moved away from the road, breaking in to an isolated house.

"I'm Farrell by the way. Sorry you lost your...?"

"Sister." He croaked. They all sat in the darkening room nerves still pricked with anxiety.

"We were lucky to make it out with each other." Alex rubbed his face, constrained emotion marring his fine features.

"Thanks for getting me outta there. Probably would be dead by now."

"Sure, Paul" Farrell nodded at him, "No one wants to be alone."

The Scout, despite his notoriety for being somewhat of a magpie, didn't make a habit of looting bodies. Gloves brushing away dirt from her bones, he located Suzette's rings, still intact.

Pocketing her jewellery, he switched his attention to holdall. Lifting the handles slowly, the bottom fell away, having rotten through over time. A dark sludge that was his old clothes home to a smattering of woodlice and other insects. The keys to his apartment poked out, rusted, but still present. On the chain was a silver 'P'.

He pocketed that too and turned to see the other two staring.

"Uh, we're good, let's move."

"We can turn around Paul?"

"No, let's go, I'm good."

They find there way to the entrance of the airport easily, the doors were barricaded shut from the outside as it had quickly become overrun, checking the surrounding streets, they were satisfied with the numbers. Roisin radioed in.

The entire ground floor of the airport was flooded with walkers. The alarming variety in the ages were a reminder to all of their previous losses.

Cordoning off a section. They made an entrance for the dead to come through and attacked them slowly as they passed. Once there was a big enough opening, they went in, actively dispatching them. Executing stab wounds to the skull with well practiced precision.

Daryl followed Rick, Jesus alongside, as they led a team toward the fule storage. Eugene in the throw, here with other specialists in the more technical areas to ensure safety of both the group and transportation.

In the end they made out with plenty. Creating a chain to pass down the jerry cans of fuel, the cars far from the airport and unable to get through.

Sub-groups looted the stores, the untouched utopia of essentials. Daryl even scanned the minimarts, filling his satchel with candy bars and soda. A small smile tugging at his lips when he noticed the crossword puzzle books.

The atmosphere in the airport had transformed almost completely. A carefree attitude hummed in the survivors as they browsed the free retail. Jesus was in the store next door, looking at all the duty free goods. His large bag full of booze and cigarettes.

He smiled when he saw Daryl, walking over and peering into the Hunter's satchel, chuckling to himself as he saw the all the sweets and books. Flashing Daryl the contents of his, exerting a similar huff from the older man.

Cabinets filled with expensive perfumes and jewellery still sat fairly pristine. Paul hummed to himself as he absently picked up a bottle and spritzed the air.

Daryl sniffed, it smelt oddly familiar, not the scent itself, but the distinct notes. Not unlike the characterisations of a person, he'd figured it out before Paul glanced at him with a solomn smile, "I used to wear this. Too much at one point."

"S'good, you smell better though."

Jesus rolled his eyes, gestured to his tatty clothes, walker grime on the hem of his coat, boots having seen better days. "Daryl Dixon, you are a liar. I smell like a walking armpit that only bathes with old pennies."

"Could be worse, could smell like this sh*t." The Hunter stepped back repulsed as he sprayed another bottle.

Paul leant in to inhale the perfume, coughing and backing up. "Good God, what is that?!"

"What's going on in here?!" Tara strode in wide grin on her face. "Ooh are we trying smellies? Daryl, I don't think Chanel no.5 is really for you."

"I ain't never had none'a' this bullsh*t before, don't need it now."

"Too right. Jesus loves you just as you are." She chuckled, looking back suddenly, eyes wide at the Scout. Daryl's narrowed eyes flicked between the two as Paul pulled a very subtle face at her.

The older man sighed, "Tough sh*t if 'e didn't." Then looked the woman square in the face.

Her head tilted slowly as she pursed her lips. "Oh...well, that's great." She nodded, then pulled a contorted face at Paul, "Right? Well, I'm going to find- well no that's a lie, I need to go and tell Michonne that she's the brand new owner of four jars of peanut butter."

Tara walked backwards, her back bumping into one of the glass shelves, the bottles clinking on it, settling it with her hands, she spun and zipped out the store.

"You said somethin'?" Daryl asked nonchalantly, persuing pointlessly, simply as a diversion for his gaze.

"Yes actually. I told her that I love you." Paul sucked in a deep breath. The older man didn't falter as he kept inspecting the stock.

"Well, that makes no sense." He replied, facing away from the Scout.

Jesus co*cked his head, "It, it doesn't?" His belly swooped unpleasantly, the whole year of romantic intimacy and friendship unravelling as a strange dream before him.

"No." Daryl moved, glancing at the younger man, then moving to close the distance. "Cos' surely you're s'pose' to tell me?"

Head bowed slightly, his nose brushing down against Paul's.

The unspiralling panic rewound itself as Jesus's chest bloomed warmly, "Y'know, I hadn't considered that." He teased gently. "But of course you're right...I love you."

Daryl smiled. "I love you, Paul."

He knew, they both knew, but now there were words to the thoughts and they were untethered and freely spoken between them.

"C'mere before I swoon and you have to fan me," The Scout giggled, hand cupping the back of Daryl's neck as they kissed softly in the empty room. The sounds of their brethren echoing about the airport around them.

The tender pressing of lips subsided into a chaste caress. Paul slid his hands under the Hunter's vest, over his shirt, thumbs rubbing idly into the older man's back.

"I thought- y'know with the whole privacy thing. Saying it might be too much?" He blinked up coyly at Daryl.

"Good Lord. We' been sleepin' in tha' same bed about a' year. Goin' everywhere together...hell, I ain't been keepin' it private, jus' ain't no one asked."

Jesus held Daryl at arms length, scrutinising frown on his face, "Hang on, so you don't care if people know? Why didn't you say anything?!"

"I don't care, no one's business. Jus' didn't go roun' vocal 'bout it, cos' I seen it wi' the others. Sayin' it makes it harder to get over if somethin'...then you got hurt, twice, ya' dumb f*ck," He muttered the last words, "Then I knew it didn't matter, could happen anytime. Sayin' it or not, bein' secret or not. I ain't wastin' no more time."

His voice turned to a confident matter-of-fact tone as he lifted his head, looking down into Paul's eyes, "Had to wait for tha' world to fall ta' sh*t ta' get here, ain't stoppin' for nothin' no more."

"So, does this mean I can call you pet names in front of the others?"

"Hell f*cking no."

They were all headed back to Kingdom, decidedly the best place to store the bulk of the fuel, the settlement well defendable and therefore less likely to blow up in the event of a fight.

The radio in the car came to life and an excited voice alerted them that Ezekiel was in the festive mood.

"Looks like we're getting crunk tonight my dudes." She sat at the wheel, winking at Eugene, then grinning through the wing mirror at Daryl and Jesus.

"Though I may be a dude, my autonomy is never in question, owned nor borrowed. I will thank you to remind yourself of that fact Miss Chambler."

"Keep your mullet on G. What about you two?"

Jesus and Daryl sat close beside one another. Paul brushing the back of his hand against Daryl's as he stared out the window.

"If gettin' 'crunk' is drinkin' anythin' with bite an' then droolin' onto some table till tha' mornin' then no, we ain't."

"Ouch Daryl, if I'm going to be your third wheel, you can at least go easy on the insults." She scowled playfully at his reflection.

"Tara, I do believe use of the term, 'third wheel', denotes that the subjects in question, Mr Dixon and Mr...Christ. I never got your last name- apologies- denotes that they are in an active hom*osexual relationship."

"Sounds so steamy when you put it like that, " Tara hooted. "...They are genius."

Eugene spun in his seat, staring at the two men. Flicking his gaze over the hands that had now entwined. "Interesting, I had not deduced the usual behaviours that are the social norm for such a development."

"Yeah well, there it is, bold as brass in the backseat."

There was still work to be done when they got back, but soon enough, the goods all stored, fuel divided, noted and distributed where possible, then the food started appearing on the long trestle tables.

Ezekiel's celebrations were always lavish with music and well-watered, as home brewed ales and ciders and pressed wines circulated abundantly amongst the groups.

Rick and Daryl got wrapped up in a conversation with the exuberant King, the Hunter flitting his gaze between them and Paul, who was playfighting with a gaggle of children. Showing them simple moves as they all jumped about kicking and punching.

After Rick had wandered off, Daryl exited the conversation. People had started to fill the tables, watching the musicians or even Paul as he urged the kids to give him space, impressing them all with a flip.

The children gasped gleefully, then clambered at him, throwing their best at the Scout. Obligingly dropping to his knees, dramatic overtures of his last words flamboyantly performed with wide gestures.

Daryl stepped over, smirking as Jesus led on his back on the floor. Having defeated him, children giggled and moved on, roleplaying the new game as they darted between the adults.

"They got ya' good." The Hunter peered down at Paul, his wide, green eyes blinking in the afternoon light.

"They did, I think I'm a goner. Kiss me hardy!" He chuckled, reaching a hand up to Daryl for help. Making a surprised squeak when the older man pulled him up fast, yanking him in for a snog.

Jesus melted into it, even as a feminine whoop could be heard in the background. Daryl flipped the bird in the direction of the call.

When they parted, the Hunter couldn't help but notice the faces all turned to stare at them, however, he scanned the gathered family and friends, none looked in any way bothered. On the contrary, Carol positively beamed at him, Rick laughed in surprise at the outward gesture, but his smile didn't vanish.

After a beat, the chattering resumed, in vigour within certain groups along the table. Daryl and Paul squeezed in near the Alexandrian's, Jerry leant over from his seat. "Dude! Congrats man." Offering the Scout a handshake. "My tips helped huh?" He winked, waggling his eyebrows.

Daryl quirked his brows at the younger man.

"That's a story for another time. Anyway," He raised his voice over the others, "Who wants to bet me, a bottle of rum, that Tara won't make it to the end of her third beer?!"

Epilogue

It was a busy morning in Hilltop, the fuel consignment had returned, albeit hungover and tired. The rest of the colony still buzzed with life, Maggie was up and doing rounds of the allotments, Rosita fetching breakfast for Tara who hadn't left the trailer since her arrival, Enid played with Herschel Jr, pausing with him to watch Earl as he hammered away in the forge.

Maggie offered to help with the laundry as she passed the clotheslines being emptied. Carrying a basket with Paul's clothes, going back up to the house to grab some bread and fruit, then skipping down the front steps.

The fresh scent of clean washing wafted up in her face, the blissful sense of normalcy she felt here with her family was enough, enough for a world so volatile behind the walls.

As she moved through the trailers she smiled, ducking under more washing lines. Pammy's large white bedding covers and sheets cutting a maze to the Scout's trailer.

She carefully shifted through them, pulling aside the last of it after multiple rows, then giggled out loud.

Daryl sat on the table round the back of the trailer, Paul stood between his open legs, the two making out heavily.

They stopped, not suddenly or with any panic.

"So the rumours are true?" She approached them, setting the basket beside the Hunter

"Rosita told me at breakfast, wasn't sure given how pickled her news source is, even now."

Paul just grinned back, still in Daryl's space, hands either side of the older man's face. "Not surprised she led with that this morning." Then gazed back into the Hunter's eyes.

"You know her. I'm happy for ya' both. Gotta give love a chance, this whole world is built on that."

"What, love or chances?" Daryl asked.

Maggie tilted her head as she considered.

"Both."

Chapter 33

Chapter Text

"Hey, you still up?"

Jesus walked down the landing as Daryl came up the stairs in Barrington House. It was currently crowded with Hilltop colonists and Alexandrian's, the winter too harsh for the trailers and the safe zone still under repair postwar.

"Yeah, I ain't sleepin'." Daryl paused, looking up as the Scout leaned over the bannister. It was nighttime and a low hum of snores and hushed conversations could be heard throughout the stately home.

"Need a book, something to do?" Jesus yawned into his arm, resting his chin by the crook of his elbow.

I have some ideas, though nothin' we ought ta' be doin' roun' this lot," Daryl muttered, eyes glinting as he peered up at the younger man.

Paul grinned, "If there's a will there's a way?"

"An' have ta' listen ta' tha' girls yip about it fer' tha' whole winter? Nah, no thanks." Daryl settled against the handrail. "What're you doin' anyway?"

"I was just on my way back from the shower, nothing exciting, what about you?" Knowing Daryl had no reason to be upstairs.

"Came ta' see if you were up. Know ya' don't like sharin', 'Sonia 'n' all."

"Well, I can make an exception every now and then." Jesus waggled his brows.

"So I'm an exception now?"

The Scout co*cked his head, looking up thoughtfully. "Something like that, yeah."

"Cheeky prick." Daryl scoffed, the younger man chuckling.

A whispered shush sounded from below the stairwell, from one of the little groups sleeping all over the house, the rooms already over capacity. Both men turned to look.

Daryl huffed, facing Paul again, "Looks like yer' disturbin' tha' piece."

"I am? I was minding my own business till you came up here all Romeo and Juliet." Jesus snarked.

The older man leant backwards, lands on the railing as he gestured up at the Scout, "Romeo, Romeo, I'm bored as f*ck, cometh down an' sh*t, s'fooleth around."

Paul grunted loudly, holding back a laugh. "No, it's," he giggled, "Wherefore art thou Romeo, she's up on a balcony and he's below."

"Why she askin' 'at' then, when he's right there? Dumbass bitch." The Hunter frowned, letting it melt into a smile as he watched the younger man struggle to keep his calm.

Jesus clutched at his belly. "She isn't, she's-" He straightened up slightly, "The greatest love story ever told, doesn't impress you huh?"

"Ya' think it's tha' greatest?" Daryl brows quirked as his lips pursed.

"No, God no. I mean Shakespeare's great, a classic-but...you read any?"

"Do I look like I have?" The older man scoffed.

"Maybe, is there a certain way you should look if you have?"

"I guess, one'a' them flowy shirts them pricks from vintage chick flicks wear. Long hair, beard...I dunno." Daryl sneered, teasing the younger man.

"A vintage chick-flick?"

"Like Jane-whatever-tha'-f*ck-she's-called. Y'know, all that pinin' n' moody sh*t." He waved his hand as if to illustrate the point.

"Jane Eyre? How'd you-, y'know sometimes I'd love to just see what goes on in that head of yours. I would also kill to catch you watching British period dramas, giving your crude commentary." Paul beamed, the image clear in his head.

"Wouldn't judge it," Daryl mumbled looking away, "Ain't a bad story."

"No, I guess, it's not." Jesus winked, "In fact, you're kind of a Mr Darcy..."

"'Cept without tha' moneybags n' fancy clothes." The Hunter scoffed.

"You could always borrow my 'flowy shirt'? Do the whole lake scene?" A grin plumping up the younger mans cheeks as he spoke, brows flicking up.

"Don't get carried away wi' yerself." Daryl cautioned sarcastically. "Don't wanna set standards we can't keep."

"One night would be fun though?...Right?"

"Maybe one."

"Would I have to call you M'Lord?" Paul leant further over the bannister as Daryl took another step up the stairs.

"Goes without sayin'."

"Should I curtsey?"

"Too f*ckin' right," Daryl took another step.

"Does that mean you're gonna bow to me?" Jesus giggled.

Another annoyed demand sounded from below at them to keep the noise down.

"You going to let an insubordinate talk to you like that in your own home? My Lord?" The Scout snickered.

"I'll deal wi' them in a minute." Nearly on the landing, the Hunter took another step, their faces getting closer.

"Got other matters to attend perchance?" Paul's body hummed with excitement. Their to-and-fro in the dim light mostly hidden to the scattering of others below, made him feel giddy, reminiscent of his teenage years.

"If that's what yer' callin' yerself now." Daryl growled flirtatiously.

Hopping up the last step and standing before the younger man.

They both paused, before simultaneously bowing, cracking their foreheads together.

"f*ck!" Jesus burst into laughter.

Daryl also chuckled, rubbing the sore spot.

"Trying to sleep down here!"

"Get f*cked!" The Hunter called back.

"Daryl!" The younger man set off again.

"What?" Daryl shrugged, grinning incredulously.

Jesus brushed his nose against the older man's jaw, "I think you'd be quite dashing in banded pants and a waistcoat, maybe some pomade to slick all this back." He twiddled with a strand of Daryl's shaggy hair.

The older man nodded candidly, "Hm. Not sure 'bout tha' hoop skirt an' bonnet fer' you though."

Jesus laughed nasally, the sound coming out as a rough snort as he covered his mouth.

"The f*ck was 'at?!" Daryl guffawed at the weird noise, "Whatta' ya' a pig? Maybe just'a trough fer' ya' instead!"

"With-" Paul gasped as he spluttered, "with the-" He hooted loudly, "The bonnet-"

The Scout was bent over wheezing, clutching at Daryl's arm. Inhaling through his mouth and accidentally making another piggish grunt.

At that, Daryl laughed openly, mimicking the farm animal in between words, "My Lord, care ta' take a stroll through tha' sty this fine mornin'?" Voice mocking a posh English accent but heavily laden with Southern twang.

The younger man doubled over again, giggling silently, shoulders shaking and eyes pricking wetly, "Pray tell-" His pursed lips failing to keep back another holler, making a dull squeak, "Pray tell M'Lord-"

He pressed his head into Daryl's chest as both men snigg*red, "-Doth thee have any favours to bestow upon a lowly swine?"

"How 'bout some peelins' an' some flowers?" The Hunter choked.

Belly sore and jaw aching, Jesus just mouthed Daryl's comment back, falling again into his chest.

"Just- just f*cking takes a bite out of the flowers!-" Paul giggled, "Thank you sir." His hysterics trailed off as he calmed down.

"Christ, we're so f*ckin' stupid." Daryl wiped a tear from his cheek.

"Good though, right?!"

A door creaked down the landing and Enid's voice sounded, "- like laughter, maybe he's locked out, I'll go see."

"f*ck..." The Scout sighed. "Party's over. G'night Daryl" He winked, "Tomorrow, the pantry!"

"Your swineness." The Hunter bowed.

Skipping down the stairs as Paul chuckled toward the open door.

A disgruntled Alexandrian scowled at him as he headed out. Grinning to himself.

Chapter 34

Chapter Text

Paul Rovia was not a stranger to trauma. They'd met on many occasions throughout his life, apocalypse aside, so when he saw trauma again, he recognised it easily.

Well, easily after some serious studying and mutual observation. His own concern etched into a frown on Maggie's face, or a grim shrug of Sasha's shoulders.

So it was that Daryl Dixon had suffered. Not unusual, given the state of the world, but the details of his particular pain were secret. Guarded behind grunts and abrasive stoicism.

Paul only knew what he saw and from what he saw he could only then make further presumptions. A map of events shaping in his head after what he'd seen, the dank empty cell that was rank with piss and vomit, the obscene rattling of Easy Street ricocheting around the metal cage.

It takes exceptional force to beat someone to death. He'd read, in a book somewhere, about murderers no less. To repeatedly attack the body, even with a weapon, was something so personal and emotionally driven. The physical effort itself would wear on the attacker, muscles would ache for days following, occasionally ligaments could even be torn, fingers broken even, if they had used their fists.

Daryl had used whatever he could grab. Desperation. Rage. Paul had met both of those too. It was an unholy reunion of all things past, born again on the face of a man already so defeated. It was shocking, always, each death always hit him at the core. This death was no different.

However, the revolting devotion with which Daryl lavished each blow did not bring pity from the Scout. No. Something darker inside him was called to the forefront.

Empathy? No, In a moment on pure madness, he was envious. To be able to exact revenge, perhaps not on the initial perpetrator, but still a release, what would that feel like.

Paul guessed it didn't feel like anything, given it had made no difference to Daryl's recovery. The Scout considered what course of action he would take, if presented with the same chance to deal with his own prior demons. Would it change the process of healing, giving him a headstart in closure? No. Would he do it anyway? Probably.

This new world was unpredictable. He couldn't even foretell his own reactions, such was the unstable nature of the human mind. No longer coddled in the safe barriers of certainty from before. Rules and consequences protected each defiant decision that reared it's head, security in life dependant on following a set course, laid out by society. Dictated to him as a child and reinforced throughout every possible outlet, life was, whilst inherently spontaneous, a set track.

All strings cut, accountability diminished, the standard expected of him now was more tangible.

More freedom to do literally whatever the f*ck he wanted, if the situation called it. Which is why it seemed normal to not blink an eye at the Hunter, after watching him cave in the skull of a man right before him.

In the shadow of it all, it also meant not addressing the nightmare Daryl had lived through, the weeks he spent at the Sanctuary.

It has been bewildering at first, the former Alexandrian's continuing about the older man as though he'd simply been away on a long trip. Paul had hoped that Rick might encourage some form of debriefing, but a tight gripped embrace was the limit of it.

Gregory had been greatly reluctant to house the 'his mongrel and those wild women', so Paul had kindly offered his home. His trailer, home was never a thing, was a hope once, but all that wishful thinking disappeared the day the world had stopped.

The three women tucked gratefully into his spare room, settling themselves in sooner then anticipated. The Scout knew from his own experience, that being nomadic often leant it's hand in acclimatising yourself to new surroundings. They assimilated quickly, familiarising themselves with the other members of Hilltop and setting themselves chores and tasks to keep busy.

Daryl on the other hand, had only sought to bring meat back. Paul would wager that it was only a side effect of what he was really out there for. Despite not having his crossbow, the Hunter would disappear for hours and sometimes days, trying to deal with the war and everything he'd had to shelf all at once.

Uncanny was the knack that trauma had, destroying your very being, rupturing the foundations of who you are and who you're going to be, but then not giving you a chance to address any of it.

Yet nobody openly spoke. They ate well thanks to Daryl, roast beast, a whole menagerie of butchered animals spruced up at the whim of the Hilltop cooks. The older man traipsing in and out of the colony as he unconsciously tried to rebuild himself.

Paul saw. He saw everything. Deciding to follow the lead of those closest to Daryl.

The man grunted and sighed all night long on the sofa in the middle of the trailer, on the evenings he chose to stay. After turning down the offer of a bed, the Hunter had become more bristled around the younger man.

Not taking offence was already an instilled personality trait of Paul's. A lifetime of letting things roll off him like water on a duck's back, but he still sat up in the dark and listened, wondering if he could help.

Both men, insomnia riddled, lay staring at the ceiling from separate rooms. The door to Paul's room never closing fully made it feel less distant. Purposeful coughs on the Scout's part reminded the Hunter he wasn't alone. Eyes focusing on the damp circles above him, Paul would occasionally hear another cough or audible disturbance in return.

The secret intimacy of shared experience was all that the Scout could offer by way of solidarity and support. Respecting the silent rules of the newcomers by not engaging in the typical conversation that would take place in such a scenario.

The only encouragement for his participation was an extended glare should they happen to maintain the same space for any given period of time.

For a man so wordless, Daryl spoke volumes.

"Thought it was you."

A voice interrupted Daryl as he wandered through the bracken, close to Hilltop, checking the traps he'd left the morning before.

Jesus had startled him. Both because he hadn't heard him coming and by the very fact he hadn't heard him coming. It was unusual, but then the Scout was particularly adept at cloaking his movements.

He grunted and jerked his head at the younger man, continuing down the trail he'd set. Finding one, a possum was caught in the rope, Half-eaten. He chucked the carcass to the side, grumbling in disappointment. At least there were two rabbits on his belt.

A low hum came from the side of him, Jesus was bent by a vine, plucking plump, dark berries off its branches.

Crossing the space between them, he smacked the fruit from the Scout's gloves.

"Hey! Wha-?!"

"S'poisonous. Deadly." Daryl's brows flicked as he noted the twig that Jesus still held up.

"I know. Fox grapes." The younger man bent and picked them up off the ground, harrumphing as he noticed some were squashed. Picking more and putting them into a small tub from his bag.

"Oh." The Hunter frowned.

"Harvey's got bedsores," Jesus indicated the plant, holding a berry up between his thumb and forefinger, "It's good for making salve."

"Cherokees used it for-"

"-laxatives, yeah I know." Smiling at Daryl.

Slightly impressed, the older man didn't show it. Huffing to himself, noting a potential other use for the peppy, Hilltop prick.

"You wanna know how I know?" As if hearing his thoughts, the Scout had piped up.

"Not really."

"Ouch. Well, I actually found this book on common plants and their deadly doppelgangers-" He rambled on as Daryl sought out the next trap. Not paying attention, the older man let him continue, finding it didn't irritate him enough to comment.

The Scout blabbered on as he followed.

"-and so I am working on an apothecary type collection." Jesus glanced at the sky, hands on his hips, bumping into Daryl as the Hunter bent to unhook the trap.

Shooting him a dark look, the older man tied the skinny fox to the rest of his catch.

"So how do you know about plants? Do you have an interest in native American culture?" They'd already spoken more in this brief encounter then they had since meeting, the Scout didn't want to push it, but he couldn't help but be intrigued by Daryl.

"Learn more from 'em then some 'expert', 's'for sure."

"Do you recommend a good guide or-"

"Ya' got nothin' better ta' do?" The Hunter turned and faced Jesus. Face tightened into an almost-there-snarl. "Quit followin' me. Goddamn jabberin'." He mumbled as he stomped through the brush, twigs snapping underfoot.

The younger man hesitated, before calling, "I'll uh, see you back at the trailer I guess?" But Daryl continued on.

"Right." Jesus nodded to himself before setting back off home.

Sasha and Enid were laughing over a magazine quiz, Maggie chuckling too every now and then. The teenager having dug up a whole stack and had been pouring over them intently to find the fun games they could play, in a bid to cheer up the two women.

Paul showered to the sounds of giggles and couldn't help but smile himself. A fan of his own privacy and the solitude of being a lone-wolf, he found that the atmosphere brought by the Alexandrian's was infectious. Even Daryl, who was a silent, emotional hurricane was good company.

Dressed, Jesus headed to the others, catching Maggie's eye as she warily scanned him.

Trust had been established and he'd already proved himself, but she was still jumpy and he was sure that there was a plan to stab him in his sleep should they ever be suspicious of him.

"Hey Jesus," Enid grinned. "Wanna do a quiz?"

"Uh," The Scout pulled a homemade roll from the breadbag on the kitchen counter. Heading to the small table and perching on the arm of the couch. Taking a bite and speaking with his mouthful, "Sure, what you got?"

Just as she started talking, Daryl came through the front. Nodding politely at the group before slumping down into the sofa. Arms spread wide over the top and head lolled back.

"So, Jesus... Coffee or hot chocolate?" Enid asked, pen hovering over a notepad.

"Is this gonna tell me which member of destiny's child-"

"-just, answer the question." She glared.

Smirking, he fiddled idly with the bread, crumbs falling onto his leg. "Coffee.

"Dogs or cats?"

"Neither."

"Ooh." Enid remarked, scribbling something down.

"You got something against animals?" Sasha's face quirked in mild interest.

"No, just not a house-pet kinda guy."

Daryl scoffed.

"What?" The Scout directed, slightly affronted. Brows tugged into a frown as he looked at the Hunter.

"Jus' not surprised."

Paul felt somewhat annoyed at the older man's judgement. Having clearly already built a mental picture of who he was and apparently disapproving.

"Let me guess, cat person? Likes to hunt, going solo, distances themselves...?"

"Nah," Daryl studied the younger man, "Dogs."

"Oh. I can see it actually, would suit your whole," He gestured, saving his hand at the Hunter, "Thing."

"Thing?"

"Hey, stop railroading my quiz!" Enid demanded, tapping her pen on the table.

The two men turned to her, before Paul let her carry on.

Later that night, when the women were asleep, Jesus crept out of his room. It had been fairly quiet in the living space, the bedroom door couldn't shut, so he could hear if Daryl was moving about.

Padding slowly, he made a small noise of acknowledgement as he noticed the Hunter sat upright at the table.

"Sorry, just getting a refill." Raising his empty glass.

"Your place." Not looking up, Daryl shelled nuts using his knife, peering over a large book.

"I guess. Don't really have stuff anymore. What're you reading?" Jesus stepped toward the table. Lifting his chin to peer at the large volume flat against the surface.

Flaky casings covered the pages, the text not visible in the lowlight and as the Older man leant his arms against the book, he saw less.

"S'non'ya' s'what it is." Daryl warned. Not snapping, but the message was clear enough. He didn't normally dig out the Therapy book, but since Carol had discreetly handed him a new one, he'd been sneaking little moments when he was sure he wouldn't be crept up on.

"Alright," Paul held his hands up defensively. "I just like books that's all."

Daryl just glowered as he watched the younger man return to the darkness of his bedroom.

Only returning to his page once a low snore sounded.

A war was coming. That much had been discussed by Rick Grimes. Since rescuing the Hunter, the Hilltop had begun to prepare. This meant storing up as much longlife food as they could, should they be potentially starved out by the Saviours.

Long hours spent in the allotments tired the Alexandrian's as they turned soil, planted seeds and harvested existing crops. Excess being grown for canning. A lucky find had seen to it so that they could keep the tomatoes, beans and even potatoes for as long as a year if necessary. Pickling was another great resource they were trialling and so cucumbers where being grown by the barrow-full.

Daryl appreciated the distraction, if he was left unfocused too long, the ringing of that awful song could still be heard. The words seared into his brain.

But raking through the compost to pull out hearty green vegetables was at the moment, enough.

He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, sweat and fine dust from the crumbly mud was smeared across his forehead. It was hot under all of his hair and he could see why Jesus had tied his up.

He grunted to himself, it was good to see the smarmy, little hippy getting stuck in. He would never deny, the Scout wasn't work-shy. Putting in more hours then most of the others, even getting into increasingly dangerous situations just to fulfill a scavenge request.

The Hunter watched quietly as the younger man sifted in the dirt with gloved fingers, leather swapped for tough cloth and rubber. The exposed skin of his forearms and face tanning slowly in the summer sun. The katydids and crickets whirred in the grass around them as the heat blurred the periphery.

Just as Jesus turned, Daryl switched his gaze to bore hard into the ground before him. A gentle brush against his bare arm jolted him as he saw the Scout's hand retreating.

"You had a bug." He answered the question before it was asked.

The scowl that had started to crawl across the older man's face faltered. It was, a reasonable enough excuse, but still uneccessary in his opinion.

Slowly, as the week went on, Daryl would listen, somewhat vehemently, as Jesus would introduce conversation.

Forming a pattern of predictability, he would start with benign questions usually regarding the scenario they were in or some element relevant to the Hilltop. Gauging Daryl's response before leading it further, imploring the older man to expand on his short answers.

When, if the Hunter had been so obliging, an opportunity presented itself, Jesus would latch onto a word or comment and go off-tangent. His knowledge was widespread, able to bring up several different subject points and regale Daryl with facts and stories about all kinds of things.

It was pleasant, the older man supposed. If he were one of the others perhaps he'd feel slightly awestruck. However sometimes he mistook the Scout as showing off, insinuating perhaps that he was inferior. Stupid even.

Prick. Daryl knew he was smart. Smarter then it could ever of been predicted of him. It was one of the nuisances of being around Jesus. The Hunter enjoyed learning, it was important to spread knowledge, only letting the younger man know he'd been responsible for it, was just...no, he wouldn't.

This world had no place for self-consciousness, but being around the Scout had that effect on Daryl. He figured he'd find a tent and move out the trailer for a while, hopefully sort something out with Rick and get back to Alexandria where he belonged, but he never bothered.

Jesus had been out of Hilltop for the whole day, much to Daryl's relief. He spent much of his time just carving bolts, no crossbow to use them with, but it was a soothing habit. Pulling on his focus, skill and patience, he found the crafting to be meditative. Enjoying each finished arrow as he worked in peace.

Carving, nocking and fletching till sundown, Daryl felt his eyes growing tired and decided to head back.

He could smell the Colony cook's chilli from the porch steps, his belly growling as he stepped into the trailer.

Jesus's leather duster was haphazardly flung over one of the rickety chairs at the table, a bowl of chilli sat still emanating a tempting scent, a swirl of steam danced temptingly above the food. The back end of the building was dark and quiet as it's other inhabitants slept.

Four bowls were stacked wonkily nearby, the Hunter grunted as he realised this was for him. Placing his ammo bundle to one side, he collapsed into one of the chairs, sighing as his muscles relaxed.

A garish piece of fabric sat behind the bowl. Daryl picked it up, it unfolded as he held it into view of the lamplight, a dark square with bright, painted dogs of varying species. It was tacky, like something his more senior neighbours would of picked up in an old thrift store, a small note slipped from a crease.

Why have one dog when you can have twelve?

P

Daryl snorted. Pocketing the cloth into his vest.

It had been a few days since Paul had left the little gift for Daryl, seeing it as a joke and hoping it was taken so.

He led awake, pale, dull light filtered in from the poorly hung pillowcase that was pinned either side of the window. The blinds had lost their function before the trailer had become home to him.

It was early, far too early. Unable to sleep properly as a warm arm draped heavily across his stomach.

Seeing Alex was a mistake at the best of times. Indulging his own needs; seeking the validation of sexual gratification, the self-destructive allure of shame for his own greed, the minor relief for the alarming state of loneliness he felt; never caring about the other man's. However, last night he'd been particularly exhausted and now he was paying the price.

Making sure to kick the nurse out of bed, or swiftly hopping out of his, Paul had managed to avoid sleeping beside the Nurse for some time.

Denying the other man mundane intimacy wherever possible, tying to dissuade the inevitable discourse about their supposed relationship. To Paul, a friendship with mutually assured sexual benefits, though, it was becoming clearer, to Alex, this was romantic and far more intense then the Scout was comfortable to even think about.

Cutting it off was the obvious answer. He had, successfully even, on numerous occasions. But then Alex would walk in and just take his clothes off, seducing him with soft touches, there was only so much he could ignore. It was easier this way, sometimes, staring at the ceiling as the other man rocked on top of him, eyes closed.

Jesus would flip him over and pound into him hard and fast, getting it over with and out the way. It was not unpleasant, but nothing to want to keep Alex around for.

Sighing heavily, Paul considered what he'd say when the Nurse would wake up. Knowing all too well that the stubborn and desperate pleading would be a headache as be tried to kick him out. f*ck. He rolled his head back and rested against the headboard. He'd have to march him out in front of the others. Daryl at the very least.

No one had been awake when he'd snuck in. Originally telling him it wasn't going to happen, but bumping into Alex enough throughout the previous day to get him to give in. He'd needed it more then he'd realised in the end.

Maybe he could get him out now, he thought, shaking the cool skin of the other man's shoulder.

"Alex," He whispered. Pushing a little harder.

"Mmph?" The muffled sound came from next to his side, the Nurse's face buried between Paul and a pillow.

"You gotta go." He spoke quietly.

"What?" Alex sat up, arms stretching and hair askew. "What's happening?"

"Nothing, you just need to go, you must of crashed here last night." Feeling impatient, the Scout fiddled with the cover on the duvet, pinching and twisting it.

"Yeah, I thought you said...that I could?"

"I was tired, you know why we can't." Paul made excuses, not facing up to the truth of the matter.

"I don't see why you care so much about what the others think." Alex grumpily climbed out of bed, seeking out his clothes. Finding his boxers and wobbly pulling them up his legs.

"I don't, I just-" Paul started lifting his hands but letting them flop back onto the duvet, before getting up and yanking his pants up.

"No it's fine, Jesus. You just take what you want, no f*cks given about me." The Nurse's voice cracked as he bit back.

Trousers on but undone, the Scout rolled his eyes, then looked cynically at the other man. He wasn't overly invested in Alex's feelings, as much as he berated himself for that, he still was a sucker for the emotional pitch. The same trap that had kept the less than entertaining affair going.

"Alex, c'mon, you know that's not true." Not a complete lie, Paul mused, he was in many ways, closer to Alex then the other colonists.

"No, whatever. I'll get out of your hair." The Nurse crashed about the room, picking up a book from the dresser. "This is mine, I'm taking it."

"Sure." The Scout waved his hand, this wasn't the first time the two had argued and he knew within the next couple of weeks they'd end up back where they started. Before he would of tried harder to put the fire out but he'd learned not to bother.

A timid knock on the door sounded as Maggie popped her head round. A slight look of suprise danced across her features as she noted the guest in Paul's room and the shirtlessness of it's occupier.

"Every'thang' alright?" She cooed.

"Yeah-"

"-I was just leaving." Minding the pregnant woman, Alex barged out the room, stomping through the lounge area and ignoring the incredulous expression of the Hunter as he slammed the front door behind him.

Maggie wandered back to the table beside Daryl, her ginger tea giving a faint aroma in the quiet room. Paul had followed, peering out the window as he watched the Nurse stomp towards the medical trailer, the sun beginning to peak up over the colony walls.

Daryl put the pieces together and glared hard at his coffee. Normally getting a good read on people, he hadn't expected to find the younger man of that persuasion. He also wondered how many times Jesus had smuggled someone in at night, past the sofa where he slept.

"Sorry, didn't mean to wake you guys."

Maggie took a sip from her mug, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. She was pale and had dark circles round under her tired eyes. "I been up most o' tha' night. Woke Daryl up, this baby did not want yesterday's dinner."

Paul grimaced, then remembered he needed to grab a shirt, "Can I get you anything?"

"No, jus' gotta get through it. This helps though." She raised her tea. "You can come sit, if you ain't busy, he's been talking my ear off all morning."

She nudged the Hunter playfully.

Daryl frowned, momentarily confused before he picked up on her sarcasm, huffing and giving her a glimpse of a smile. It felt good to bond with her, after Negan, time was that he felt their relationship would never recover.

Paul nodded eagerly, popping back into his bedroom and came back fully clothed. His hair pulled back half-heartedly into a knot on his head, strands loose around the edges as he poured the rest of the hot water from the pot into a mug. Slicing up a lemon and settling in between the two Alexandrians.

"Sasha and Enid still sleeping?"

Maggie hummed in the affirmative. Hands wrapped around the warmth of her cup, despite the oncoming arrival of summer, the morning still held a chill. "So, what's with...?"

"Alex? Oh, just, well it's nothing. Just, y'know."

Daryl refrained from looking up, from what he could see of the Scout from under his lashes, the younger man was facing him, the Hunter shifted uncomfortably. He felt glued to his seat, not sure of the right words to leave without making it seem like he took offense to the conversation topic.

"I get it. Been going on long?"

"Not really, well kind of. I met him in the beginning, the very beginning. Him and his partner saved my life. Things went wrong, he died, then it was just the two of us, till we found Hilltop." Paul turned the cup in circles as he spoke, the hot water rippling slightly. "Sort of stuck to each other when we got here, then stuff happened-"

"-as it does-" Maggie added, knowingly.

"-yeah, but then, it never really stopped. It should, it's not good for either of us, but it's just, uh-"

"-habit?" She offered.

Paul smiled at her, "Yeah."

Maggie sighed, then looked at Daryl, "People do all sorts'a' things 'cause life's harder now, but life's short. Don't put up with anythin' honey. Just be honest. Like Daryl."

"Huh?" The older man lifted his head and glanced between the Scout and his friend.

"Be like you. Always sayin' how it is. You don't put up with sh*t. It's good, good example to live by." She rested a soft hand on his arm.

Jesus snorted, "Maybe I will."

Daryl couldn't help it, but he found himself staring at the stranger who'd left the trailer that morning. Alex, Paul had said. He was tall, had the kind of face you saw on all the cheesy 90's sitcoms. The kind Merle would of jumped if they'd seen him outside a bar.

The Hunter bet that life had been easy for someone like Alex. The entitled way he seemed to carry himself, but he assumed the braggadocio was all false and a whiny little, spoilt child sat beneath the skin. Maybe that was what Paul liked, some pretty boy he could use, guess there weren't a lot that looked like Alex around.

The Nurse seemed to have good rapport with the other colonists. Always taking a background role, Daryl wondered for a moment if Jesus took pleasure in having someone to act as a subordinate.

The sexual dynamics of such a situation crossed his mind and he blanched visibly. Thankfully unwitnessed, his skin flushed as he tried to shake away the mental image that broke through the barrier he kept up to filter out similar, dangerous thoughts.

Daryl found himself still thinking about Alex and Jesus well into the next week. The Nurse had been trouble, repeatedly bringing over long lists of medical supplies and being rude about how quickly they were needed.

Trying to be polite, the Scout would nod and be agreeable, his face held a continuously strained expression and his demeanor was glum. Maggie made an effort to try and cheer him up, the two becoming closer as they got to know each other.

Sasha and Enid too, collectively, the residents of Paul's trailer had become a tight-knit group.

Sasha had said as much to Daryl as they ransacked a department store that had been on the list for raids. It was unwise for the Hunter to venture out, with Negan and his cronies still loose, but Daryl had gone over every square metre of the Hilltop and was crawling the walls.

So far the take was good. Being in the country meant a gun section, mostly cleared, but a few boxes of ammo and cleaning and spare parts remained. Sasha scanned aisle to aisle, rambling about specific items for Enid and Maggie.

Daryl followed suit, peering up and down rows of shelves, so many things that were pointless now, that he would never have wasted money on before. Stepping over a fallen rack, he ventured into the book department. The deterioration that came with age and the lack of cleaning aside, the whole area looked untouched.

His fingers brushed the spines of books that would never be read. Romance novels, true crime, heavy anthologies teeming with knowledge. A quick thought popped into his head, grunting with vague enthusiasm, Daryl went to find the maps, books about Virginia and it's land. Bagging the up-to-date geographic editions and scanning for ones with local flora and fauna. He was well-satisfied with the consortium of information he'd gathered, making a mental note to share what he found with the other groups. He turned to find Sasha, but not before something caught his eye.

One with Nature, Native Guide to Virginia by a collection of Indigenous Author's.

He picked it up, flicking through the pages and reading some excerpts, it seemed legitimate.

He hesitated as he went to take it, thinking it odd to just gift the man he barely knew, but then he glanced down at the tacky bandana tucked beside his red rag. Dude liked books, liked plants, nothing weird about it. His way of saying thanks for looking out for Maggie and the girls, giving up his space.

On the drive back Daryl ran over in his head how he'd give the book to Jesus. Sasha was humming indistinctly and he spent the entire ride psyching himself up to it. He wasn't out of tune with his mind, but chose to ignore the subconscious voice that questioned why it was such a big deal in the first place.

The Hunter thought he was ready, but changed his mind as they stepped into the trailer, everyone sat round the table, Enid perched on an old gunsafe, cards spread out mid-game.

There was eager chatting and they all turned to smile at Daryl and Sasha, even Alex, back again. The Hunter twitched his lips, frowning under his bangs, a glance at the Scout told him that hopefully the Malibu-Ken-Lookalike would hopefully be gone soon.

Daryl sulked to himself on the couch as he watched the others play a poor game of poker. Jesus seemed reasonably good, coming head-to-head with Sasha before winning the majority of the rounds.

As Maggie and the others got sleepy, the Scout began to make subtle hints about going to bed, Daryl was no social wizard, but even he could get the basic message across. Alex however was either dumb or ignorant, a wager the Hunter would stake on it being both, persisting on not moving from his place at the table.

"Ain't they give you a home?" Daryl grunted, fussing about with the tin kettle in the kitchenette, resisting the urge to spark up a fa*g off the gas camping ring.

"You talking to me?" The Nurse blinked up innocently.

Jesus's eyes widened a fraction as he averted his stare, brows tweaking upwards before returning to his neutral expression.

"'E lives 'ere...you don't, who else am I talkin' ta'?" Daryl didn't bite, but he kept an abrasive tone, his back toward the others, the small pot began to rattle as the water boiled.

Alex's mouth hung open as he glanced at Jesus, the Scout creased the corner of a card in front of him, staring at the glossy rectangle as the layers at the edge frayed. "Uh, right. Well, I guess I'm going to head out. Just me tonight...in the trailer. Dr Carson is with Brenda at the house...sepsis... yeah."

The Nurse lingered, hovering by his chair as he shrugged his jacket on.

"Night, Darius, uh-"

"Daryl." Jesus rolled his lips tightly together to hold back the awkward smile behind them.

"Oh, sorry, Daryl. Uh, night Jesus." Alex bent as though to kiss the side of the Scout's head but missed as Jesus stood abruptly.

"Night," Flashing him a tight, brief smile before heading into the back bedroom just as the kettle whistled.

The Nurse looked lost for a moment, meeting the Hunter's eye, the hard glare making him divert his gaze as he slowly left. The door clicked resolutely behind him.

"He's gone."

The younger man appeared from the shadow of the open doorway of his room. "Thought he'd never go."

"I don' get it." Daryl went to pick up the kettle, hissing as he brushed the scalding metal, grabbing a tea towel before pouring the water into two mugs.

Jesus looked quizzically at him as he leant against the counter by the older man, "Don't get what?" Reaching down into the mini fridge that ran off the old, knackered generator and picking out a lemon half, handing it to Daryl.

Taking it he peered at the Scout, "You have tha' nuts ta' take on me n' Rick, steal our truck, drown it-"

"-Accidentally" Jesus added defensively, "Not that bit," He indicated the slightly dried up slice Daryl had cut off.

Rolling his eyes, the Hunter cut another and dropped it into the second mug, "-Did all'a' that an' you can't tell 'pony boy' to f*ck off?

The older man handed Jesus the lemon water before making up a coffee, then followed him to the couch.

"It's not as simple as just giving the hardy Daryl stare." He snorted, blowing over the steam and taking a tentative sip, "Thanks."

"It is, y'aint hard enough. Too soft."

"Bold assumption, you don't know what I'm capable of." The Scout lilted, a foreboding hint shading his words.

"Hm." Daryl scoffed. Then noticed his bag beside the couch. "Here, gotcha this."

He reached inside and pulled the book out, placing it in the gap between them.

Brows furrowed in curiousity, Jesus picked it up and examined the cover. "Huh."

"'Cause o' tha' other week." The older man blurted.

"I remember. Thank you Daryl, been needing something new to occupy my sleepless nights with. This is will do nicely"

Sure he'd hear the pages turning for the rest of the evening, the Hunter nodded, smiling. "N'problem."

They chatted absently about the book before Paul yawned his way into submission, placing his mug back in the kitchen and thanking Daryl again.

The older man settled down onto the sofa, a copy of Modernising the Motorcycle in his hands ready to be lazily leafed through, the sound of paper shifting in the back of the trailer. Sighing in a long exhale, that had gone well.

Chapter 35

Chapter Text

The long day had it's payoff, the new stable was finished before the expected time, housing the growing number of livestock before the predicted snowfall hit the Hilltop.

It was hard work, shifting heavy beams into place as the frosty air nipped at the worker's skin. Jesus sat atop the frame of the roof, joints aching in the cold, fingers red and irritated as the screws drew the last ebbs of warmth from his hands.

Daryl was amongst the others below, preparing the roof panels, keeping a wary eye on the Scout, seeing his teeth chattering.

But they'd done it. Even Eugene who was staying with them had put in grunt work.

Once the horses and sheep had been fed and were tucked in, the group dispersed, Paul and Daryl to their trailer.

Sharing a hot shower, making the most out of the heat so as not to leave the other without. It wasn't Alexandrian standard, but it was just what was needed, followed by snug jumpers and black coffee. The Hunter wondered if it was his age, that made him so reliant on his creature comforts, or maybe it was a Paul thing.

The younger man insisted on getting the best out of every situation, be that lingering on a scavenge to catch the setting sun in panaromic view, pulling the car over at the "perfect spot", or carrying a book in his bag in case he found the time for some light reading or delighting his friends and other colonists with little trinkets or other suprises he knew would please them.

He fussed about the older man, ensuring his clothes were adequate and mended where needed, his belly satiated beyond meeting the necessary food requirements to survive and that his days were as bright and meaningful as possible.

It had been a lot to cope with. In many ways, the introduction of physical intimacy and sex had been the least overwhelming thing about Paul, about them. In bed, or wherever things took place, it was raw and emotionally driven. It was very much a shared experience, yet, it had an end goal.

Scouring for a CD with Daryl's favourite music and idly brushing his fingers over the Hunter's knuckles while they meandered along the back roads, nodding along to lynyrd skynyrd was something else entirely. It had no agenda. It just was.

It was love, specifically Paul's. Adapting to it was both horrifying and exquisite. Learning to relax, allow the Scout to show him, respecting his boundaries when he couldn't take the affection.

Patience was a virtue, of which the aptly named man was blessed.

Whilst Daryl was getting an education in how to be cared for, a bit late in the game but nevertheless; if not more; important, Jesus was learning his own lessons.

Not born a people pleaser, but picking up early on that life would be harder the more stubborn and freethinking he was, Paul began to mask a fake smile.

He didn't use it so much since Gregory was hanged, but his awareness for other people's vulnerabilities and needs was right on his toolbelt when it came to Daryl. Only, now it was simply because he wanted to.

Wanted and desired to adore the Hunter, recieving, eventually, a mirror of the same behaviour. Almost as though there were a steady stream of consciousness between them, held up by trust, fueled by the love they shared. Burning ever brighter during the throes of passion.

With Daryl, Paul felt cherished. With Paul, Daryl felt wanted.

Laying on the bed, squished together, the Scout read his newest find and Daryl continued restitching the wings on his vest.

It was already dark out, the temperature dropping as ice formed over the paths of the colony, yet early enough in the evening the two hadn't settled down for the night.

"Need more oil." Daryl observed, glancing past Paul's head at the lamp on the bedside table, the little chamber nearly empty.

The younger man made a pitiful moan, squinting his eyes and leaning closer toward it, "Damn it. Arthur and Kerry have some, but that means getting my boots back on and- ugh, they're probably still wet. Call it a night? Save what's left for tomorrow morning?"

"Well I ain't that bothered ta' go out there." The Hunter nodded toward the covered window, the seals around the glass were well-worn, letting in a draft. The fabric shifting with the blustery wind outside.

Daryl yawned, an un-smothered stretch, mouth wide and tailing off in a satisfied groan. Rolling his shoulders and reaching behind himself to rub his back.

"Sore? Me too." Jesus switched the lamp off, still in his jumper as he scooted under the duvet. "Want me to take the edge off?"

Wrapping his arm around the older man as he slid under the blanket beside him. His hand burrowing under Daryl's clothes, palm caressing the scar-mottled skin below his shoulder.

"You eitha' mean pills or dick-"

"-massage, well, back rub. I'm no masseuse but it's pretty simple right?"

Daryl thumbed Paul's cheek gently, "Wouldn't know."

"Well it's settled then." The younger man squirmed, pushing the Hunter onto his front before straddling the small of his back. Pushing up the jumper and top, Daryl pulling it right over his head.

The Scout pressed his hands from either side of Daryl's spine, finding the tight muscles and dragging his hands up toward the nape of his neck. Thumbs kneading in as he pressed along the base of the older man's skull, hair still damp from the shower.

Face smushed against the mattress, pillow cushioning his cheek, Daryl moaned and sighed as his weary body was manipulated with all the fervour as one would beat and plump cushions with.

"Is it okay?" The older man opened his eyes as Paul spoke, having forgotten they were in the dark.

"Mmhm." A muffled grunt of pleasure sounded back.

Jesus improvised, a brief memory of sports massage directing him, not remembering much other then the poorly illustrated poster above the urinals at his old gym.

Letting the low rumblings coming from Daryl guide him as he worked lower and lower down his back.

Paul couldn't ignore the delicate position he found himself in. Pressing a lingering kiss upon one of the dimples above Daryl's waistband.

Then slowly pulling the Hunter's sweatpants down over his ass. Leaning over the older man, head bent by his ear. "Let me show you something?"

"Mm." Daryl felt relaxed, the Scout had guided them through most of their firsts, each lesson of patience, not without apprehension, came with a deluge of rewards.

Paul slipped the clothes further down Daryl's legs, then rested on his hands supporting himself upright, squeezing the Hunter's cheeks playfully. Then returned, adorning the perfectly imperfect skin with treasured lips.

Daryl was no longer insecure to the point he'd wriggle and flinch, continuously asking the younger man what he was doing. So he let his body be adored as he sunk further into the bed.

Still palming at his ass, Paul trailed the kisses closer to where his own thumbs brushed. Pushing tentatively to introduce a new sensation to Daryl.

Startling in the most pleasant way, the sudden feeling of wet heat between his cheeks had the Hunter catching his breath in his throat.

Jesus stroked a hand up Daryl's side, awaiting the affirming nudge of rough fingers.

The Scout lavished the older man with his tongue, relishing the jerky quiver that he felt befell him. "On your back," He gasped despite himself, not impervious to the salacious feeling of debauching Daryl in such a way.

The Hunter obliged, knowing without seeing the crimson hue of his lover's cheeks, his own eyes heavy with lust as his erection twitched against his stomach.

Propping him up with a pillow, Paul keened seductively before licking up the thick length, dribbling into dark curls. Hand wrapped around him, the Scout swirled his tongue around the tip, bobbing his head and taking in more.

Daryl groaned, a hand reaching to grab at Paul's hair but instead flopping down against his stomach, fingers barely brushing the younger man's forehead.

Jesus steadied himself with a hand cupped against the Hunter's waist, the other exploring eagerly the body he'd become so well aquainted with. Nails digging into the flesh of Daryl's thighs as his hand snaked up to his torso.

Pawing softly at his chest, rolling a pert nipple under his thumb.The older man arched slightly, co*ck swollen and heady.

Paul replaced his mouth with a loose grip, slipping up and down in a steady rythm, mouthing at Daryl's balls, sucking one into his mouth. The hair tickling his nose as the loose skin shifted.

Tongue leading a wet path back to where he'd started, Jesus continued reverently with more established familiarity.

The older man was lost to the whims of his own body's desires, legs quaking and muscles dancing as his nerve endings zinged with suspension.

Hearing the quickening of his pants and whimpers, Paul didn't stop, focused on the same movements. Daryl's knees squeezed against his shoulders as the Hunter cried out a moan.

Paul felt the pulsing dick in his hand, a warm feeling coating his fingers. Moving his face away and seeing the older man's balls untighten as he came down from his org*sm.

After giving Daryl a moment to collect himself, wiping his face with a corner of the duvet, the Scout grinned. "Well?"

Daryl had thrown his arm over his eyes, chest still rising and falling exaggeratedly. "Tha'...yeah."

Chuckling, the younger man settled up beside him, lifting up the Hunter's arm to see his face. "Thought you'd like that."

"Oh yeah?" Voice low and rough, Daryl turned onto his side to brush stray hairs from Jesus's face, tucking them behind his ears, slightly damp with sweat. "Thought ya'd trick me wi' ya' sh*tty spa routine, get ma' prick out n' gimme' a happy endin'?" He teased.

"sh*tty? That was genuine effort you asshole, you were relaxed were you not?" Paul shoved Daryl's shoulder, then nuzzled on closer. His eyes long adjusted to the dark, almost able to make out the older man's face.

"Ain't fixed ma' back." Winding Jesus up, the Hunter snarked.

"Your bedside manner is atrocious, have I ever told you that?"

"Many times. Ain't changin', no need fa' p's-'n'-q's when we're doin' what we do." Daryl buried his face into Paul's neck, tracing his teeth along the taught skin, nipping cheekily.

"And what is it we do?" The Scout gasped as he felt greedy hands pulling him out of his clothes.

"I'll show ya'."

Chapter 36

Chapter Text

Daryl tickled the Scout who yelped, legs kicking out.

"I yield! I f*cking yield-Daryl!" Shouting desperately as the older man dug into his ribs. "I thought you were going to show me something sexy, not attack me?!" Paul led slightly breathless on the bed, still rocking a semi after what had just happened.

"Everythin' I do is sexy." The Hunter teased.

The younger man grinned wickedly, "You always get like this after you cum."

Daryl avoided the coy smile that bloomed by pressing a kiss along the hem of Jesus's top, just above his waistband.

"You get al' soft n' sappy when you cum." Licking the glimpse of flesh exposed at his side.

"Do I?" The Scout crooned seductively, "I can't remember... you'll have to show me."

"I plan ta'." The older man crashed their lips together in a frantic snog, tongues messily sliding across one another as their bodies grinded.

Paul gasped, dick hardening and pressing against his lover's thigh. "I want your mouth-"

The Hunter interrupted his breathy plea by pulling the Scout's trousers down, his boxers too, causing his erection to spring out.

Wasting no time, he wrapped his lips around the head, the tang of precome on his tongue. His ministrations were a collective mix of things he'd learnt from Paul and what he assumed would feel good, somewhat messy and unpractised at times, but getting the other man keening under his touch.

Stroking him as he gasped and moaned, sucking down, working his co*ck in his mouth.

The Scout whimpered carding his fingers through Daryl's hair.

The Hunter wasn't quite ready to reenact what Jesus had done for him, but he had his own ideas to explore, pulling his mouth off Paul's dick with a wet smack.

Slicking a finger, he shouldered one of the younger man's legs before gently pressing in. Getting a long moan in response, Daryl eagerly thrust in and out. Goading him to make as much noise as possible.

The Scout groaned louder as the older man took him back into his mouth, fingering him in synchronised rhythm.

Stopping only to spit onto Jesus's hole, Daryl pressed in a second digit. Relishing the lustful chorus of his lover.

"sh*t...uhhh...don't move your-" The grip in his locks tightened as Paul rocked his hips, riding himself onto the older man's hand and f*cking up into his mouth.

Excitedly, the Hunter couldn't help but quicken, making obscene noises as his lips slid over the tip of Jesus's dick over and over, his fingers keeping rapid time with his mouth.

The Scout whined, voice pitching higher with each thrust, head thrown back. He rubbed at his nipples as he swore repeatedly, face flushing red as pleasure began to boil inside him.

Daryl figured he'd hit the good spot, knowing from Paul's skillful moves what the younger man was now feeling.

Shuddered panting was the only warning he got before Jesus came hard, into his mouth, clenching around the Hunter's fingers as the org*sm ricocheted throughout his body.

Swallowing, Daryl then pressed a kiss on Jesus's balls as they contracted. Sliding his fingers out then pressing his lips in a path toward the younger man's face.

Scooting up beside him, the two lovers gazed hazy eyed at one another.

"Y'know, you didn't have to do that."

"Wanted ta'." Daryl hugged Paul's shoulders as the Scout rested on his chest.

"Yeah, but I just want to make sure you know I don't expect it."

The Hunter kissed the top of Jesus's head, "See, whadid' I say 'bout you gettin' all soft?"

Chapter 37

Chapter Text