dadyl | 𝙿𝙴𝙽𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙴 𝙸𝙽𝙱𝙾𝚇 ;

Yeah. We do.

[ The scars, the weight of all that history. They keep it, carry it, embrace it or try to box it away. But it's always there. Shaping them.

Gabe hesitates a moment, then takes a risk and puts his hand on Daryl's arm. A loose touch. Easily broken. ]

All that bad shit, that's not the end.

[ Just like when Gabe brushed him, Daryl doesn't respond at all to the hand on his arm. Neither does he pull away. He simply accepts that it's happening.

It's not the end. No, it isn't, but what's here for them? What can be built in this place when it can all be snatched away so easily? Not that it hadn't been the same back home, but the stakes were clearer, there. Then. ]

No. We just get more bad shit to handle. Nothin' ever changes. Not really.

[ A cycle it seems impossible to stop, but normally Daryl can keep all this buried. Unacknowledged. Dealt with.

But for some reason it's all just falling out. ]

[ For a moment, that just hangs in the air between them. Some quiet, unhappy truth that Gabe can't find it in himself to deny because there's a part of him - badly hidden, most of the time - that believes it too. That's accepted the world is suffering and hurt and most people are either going to cause more of it or suffer themselves, and he'd rather be the bastard with the gun than the one down on his knees if that means protecting his people. Because one day they might get out, even if he never will. Daryl's one of those people, he thinks. One of those decent fucking human beings. There aren't many in this or any world. And that's enough to build on, isn't it? If they try, if they just keep on fighting -

Then the screen clicks. And the images change. Gabe can't see them, can't tell what's playing out, and for a moment he thinks it's another one of Daryl's. The sound of crunching stone and ragged breathing, dust falling down from a great height. And then he hears a child crying and it comes back.

Oh, he thinks. Of course they went there. He can't see the images play out but he remembers them just the same. An elevator shaft turned into a cave after the explosives tore it open and sent everyone inside plummeting down. The faint steams of dust motes and weak light streaming down from above. The blood soaked in black. His father, face down and utterly silent. His mother on her side, wheezing. Blood bubbling in her mouth as Gabe held her hand. The way the coins on her bracelet clicked as she shivered. She didn't see him, not really. She was well on her way to gone by that point. Head trauma, probably. But she held his hand for a long time, down there in the dark. And next to him, Mateo holding their younger brothers. Utterly still, and utterly silent as he wept.

He looked it up later, as an adult. When he had context for things he'd only remembered in fragments. First device took out a server farm on the thirtieth floor. Took out a good chunk of the surrounding building too, including the floor where Gabe's mother worked as a translator. And where they'd gone to surprise her when her shift ended.

Maybe it would've been okay, if the secondary device hadn't torn the medical team to shreds. Maybe then his youngest brother might not have gotten so fucked up. Gabe's fairly certain his father died on impact but maybe they could have saved his mother. Maybe it would've been enough to change what came after, once Mateo stopped being so still and silent and started getting angry. Maybe it would've been enough, if they had one parent left. If they had anybody left.

Her name was Marta. She was -

Well. He doesn't really remember, does he? ]

Oh.

[ Gabe just shakes his head. He doesn't need to see. He knows what's coming next. And he pulls his hand away just before his mother's ragged breathing just -

Stops. ]

Maybe this is karma. For all the bad things we did.

[ The click from the changing screen makes Daryl look, already panicked that it could be some other shitty memory of his laid out to be dealt with, but he doesn't recognize what he sees. At least not immediately. He doesn't even realize the significance of his confusion quickly enough and it takes until he finally recognizes the expressive brow on the child in the center of the frame to know.

Just like the last time, once he realizes what - who - he's seeing, Daryl doesn't want to look. He turns away fast and then remembers the command. The deal for getting out of here. Maybe if he doesn't look, if he doesn't know, whatever this is won't count it for Gabe. Then the pain would be for nothing. He has to do his part.

So he looks. And what he couldn't feel for himself rushes in for Gabe. ]

Ain't any such thing. Else the world wouldn't be what it is.

[ His world, Gabe's. Maybe they're more similar than Daryl is even aware of. Bad shit happens everywhere and he knows what survivors look like. It isn't ever pretty and all of them are dangerous.

But dangerous to whom is all that really matters. ]

Livin' that shit is punishment enough. This?

[ Daryl spits between himself and the screen, all impotent frustration. ]

This is because they get off on it. It ain't about us.

[ The scene keeps playing out. Isaac making small, hurt noises like an animal as Mateo held him. Julio wheezing and numb. Both clinging to Mateo because he'd been a few years older and because what else were they supposed to do, down there in the dark? But that might have been where the lines were drawn, all those years ago. Because they clung to each other and Gabe stayed with their mother. Held her hand until the first responders finally dug deep enough to fish them out.

He drags a hand down his face, shaking his head. He feels suddenly, almost painfully tired. This never ends, does it? ]

Wasn't our fight.

[ He has to explain. Otherwise they'll both bleed and Daryl doesn't deserve that shit. ]

It was some corporate shit. Wasn't about us. Wrong place, wrong time, you know? Only the fuckers took out most of the building when the bomb went off, and then they were smart.

[ He makes a strangled sound. Bitter laughter. ]

They were smart, see, 'cause they had the secondary device on a timer. Tore the first responders to shreds. Took 'em fifteen hours to sweep the area and dig us out, after. Me and Mateo, we were fine. Julio, he was fucked for a while but he shook it eventually. But Isaac never walked right. Couldn't shake it. All because some operator was smart when they did that shit. Targeted the supports, timed it just right. Maximum disruption. Though they didn't coat the shrapnel in rat poison, so, room for fucking improvement.

[ He's talking too fast, the words coming out rapid fire. ]

You wanna know how I know that? Because that was me, later. They trained me up and I did -

[ And the words die. He twitches. ]

I know what I am, okay? I know. You didn't deserve that shit, Daryl.

[ It's a whole different kind of horror than the world Daryl knows. Human evil before the walkers were an excuse. He stands very close to Gabe as he explains and even though he feels sick every time, he keeps glancing back at the screen to make sure he doesn't miss anything. Gabe's carried this since. Daryl can pick up some shadow of the weight from here on, too.

But it's all coming out so fast that Daryl can barely imagine what he's describing and then suddenly Gabe drops off. Daryl knows now. He can see the picture, the trajectory of a life he can't otherwise conceive of in the space Gabe leaves when he lapses into silence.

Was it his fault, who he became? Who fucking knows. But it was the result of something that shouldn't have happened. That no one should live through.

But then Gabe is talking to him again and something in Daryl that's been bending under the weight breaks. He grabs Gabe by either side of the face and pulls him in, possessive, adamant, and presses their foreheads together. He's breathing hard. ]

Stop.

[ His voice sounds very damp. ]

You were a fuckin' kid. You all were.

[ Daryl had watched his house burn down with his mother in it. Gabe had held his mother's hand until she bled out. He realizes he's got hot tears in his eyes and he doesn't know when they got there. ]

[ He flinches. He doesn't mean to but suddenly Daryl's there and it doesn't matter how often they've stood next to each other. Sometimes reflex just takes over, something burned even deeper than the training and all the years Gabe's spent carting a rifle across the universe. Sometimes people get close to him, move too fast, and he just -

Flinches.

But Daryl doesn't hit him. Just puts his hands on Gabe's face and presses their foreheads together. An old, familiar gesture. It has a weight to it. Importance. Gabe shudders, his throat suddenly tight. He can feel tears on his cheek. Not his own, this time.

Silently, he reaches up to hold onto Daryl's wrist. He presses into the contact. Selfishly, maybe. But it's something solid, something that isn't a memory come to trip him and drag him back down.

He thinks of the moment that Daryl described. Nine days out in the woods. No one came looking for him. And then back in the carnival, all those animatronic nightmares dredging the past up yet again. A brother who yelled and taunted him. The sound of a beating doled out to a child. Scars laid out for the first time. And he thinks of how it felt to hold this man, to trace out some of those same scars with his fingers. Learn them like topography. ]

History repeats.

[ His breath hitches. And he realizes, suddenly, that he's crying too. He didn't intend that. He ought to have better control than that. He holds onto Daryl's wrists and he cries as silently as he can. Weak. Least you can do, he thinks furiously, is laugh it off. Be the sniper. The body is nothing. The past is less.

So walk it off. ]

[ That flinch hurts. God, it hurts. But Daryl isn't deterred by it, he understands where it came from, and when Gabe lets him do so Daryl just holds him like that. Still and solid, palms cradling either side of his jaw. Holding fast.

He wipes at the tears that hit his thumbs, tries to smear them away. Feeling them hurts worse than Gabe's flinch had and Daryl shakes his head, determined to pull Gabe out of the hole he knows he's slipping into. All those memories are like glue. Like tar.

Daryl knows because he's only just caught his own balance on the edge of the pit. Being needed is all that ever keeps him sane. ]

No.

[ Because they have to play into that. They have to make it happen. He'd lived in that cycle for years, fueled by Merle and self-hatred and the knowledge that he was nothing. He had no options. Then he'd woken up, it seemed. His people had woken him up and now, for Daryl, history repeating would mean neglecting the kids he's in charge of keeping safe. Rick's kids.

Which is exactly what he's doing while he's here - he can't protect them back home if he isn't even there. ]

But we gotta stop it. We do.

[ This place isn't on their side. Tonight has just proved it for the hundredth time. ]

[ Deep down, there's a part of Gabe that wonders if maybe he's fighting just for the sake of it. That believes the world is suffering and hurt and even if they crawl their way to the top, there's no way out. Not really. Or at least not for someone like him. That he's got too many sharp edges, that he broke himself into pieces a long time ago and what staggered out was too much of a weapon to ever be anything else. He didn't put it to words because what'd be the point? He had a job to do. He had to protect his team.

But here in Hell, nothing - not a goddamn thing - stays buried like it ought to.

His breath hitches. It hurts. Like how he imagines it'd feel to swallow glass. ]

You think we can?

[ It comes out small. He grinds his forehead against Daryl's and he cries and it just -

It feels like too much, suddenly. He wasn't prepared. It got past his guard. It sunk in too deep. ]

[ The tears keep coming from Gabe and Daryl has to find a way to help. If he can't help, if he's useless when he's needed, then what good is he? Why does he deserve to have people to rely on if they can't rely on him? He doesn't. It's the answer that's always there, waiting to be acknowledged. Waiting to remind him whenever he ends up empty-handed like he is now. He doesn't deserve any of this - the trust, the contact.

Gabe nuzzles against Daryl like he's trying to crawl inside of him headfirst and Daryl kisses his wet cheekbone. Then his closed eyelid. ]

We'll try. Together.

[ Some people are lost causes. Too far gone to save, to talk back from beyond the edge. He's met dozens and dozens of them. People who couldn't see past death or madness or something Daryl wasn't prepared to try to understand.

Gabe isn't one of those people. There's so much gentleness left in him and Daryl is adamant - it's going to be kept alive. ]

I ain't gonna leave you behind.

[ Not like the world had. Not like their brothers had. Not like their mothers had. ]

If I got any choice. I'm stayin' with you. Got it?

[ He can feel tears pooling behind his prosthetics. Making a mess. Gabe sniffs, clinging to Daryl, and it just -

Echos. All this shit, all this history dredged up to the light. Hell really outdid itself this time, he thinks dully. But through it, Daryl holds him. It’s gentle, despite everything.

I ain't gonna leave you behind.

Gabe goes very still. For a moment, he barely breathes. ]

I, hah -

[ Shit. ]

I believe you.

[ It comes out small, and rough. But true. ]

[ Daryl lets go of Gabe's face very carefully so he can fold his arms around his waist and support the other's weight in a hug. Daryl is solid, it's another way he can help, he thinks, and he guides Gabe's head to his shoulder with one hand.

He's got him. But he still wants to give Gabe a way to disappear into his tears if he needs to. ]

Good.

[ It's all Daryl can offer him but he's glad he could do it. He can only deal with one crisis at a time, he can only take care of the people immediately around him and right now that means Carol and Gabe. They're all he can let himself focus on, not the life out of reach back home. They'll find a way back together and if they don't... he needs to find a way to keep his purpose. Daryl can't let himself disappear. Not like he had after Rick.

And still, all they can do is wait it out. Survive. Daryl clings to the hug like it's a lifeline because while locked in this fucking room, it is. At least the screen has gone quiet for the moment. Daryl feels an almost unstoppable urge to put his foot through the fucking thing. ]

You better.

[ He clears his throat to keep his voice from cracking more than once. He presses his chin and cheek to Gabe's head and tries to get his own breathing to settle. ]

I won't let you fall.

[ It’s rare for anyone to hold him. Even rarer for Gabe to allow it for any amount of time. But Daryl’s solid and warm, a ballast to everything that’s thundering it’s way through Gabe’s mind. The memories dredged into the open. All that hurt he thought had scarred over years ago.

He closes his eyes, slowing his breathing down so he won’t completely lose the thread.

Breathe, sniper. Survive this.

He holds tight to Daryl for what feels like a long time. And then, quite abruptly, the door clicks open.

Gabe draws back just enough to wipe at his face. ]

Shit. Guess that did it.

[ He hesitates a moment, then leans forward and presses his forehead to Daryl’s. ]

Thank you.

[ Daryl's head snaps around on his neck when he hears the door open, the simple sound such an incredible relief that he actually says a silent prayer of thanks to anything that might be paying attention. Whatever the fuck this place wanted from them, it seems to have gotten it. Hell certainly knows how to read them by now. It knows the sort of pain they can't just take like soldiers.

And it's going to linger again. He can tell right away.

Gabe is suddenly wiping at his face and Daryl wants to help him but refrains. He'd want to handle that himself in Gabe's place, too. He doesn't let go of him though and when Gabe presses their foreheads together, Daryl nods in answer. ]

Any time.

[ This place isn't going to win. He'll be the rock he has to be because it's the only thing that makes him feel steady. It's the only thing that keeps him strong. ]

C'mon. Before they change their minds, huh?

[ Gabe huffs a little, sniffing. He can feel tears pooling up behind his prosthetics. He'll need to take his eyes out, drain the sockets. A mess, compounding all of this shit. But what can you do, really?

What a mess. What a goddamn mess.

He reaches up to touch Daryl's face for a moment, smoothing his thumb along the line of Daryl's cheek. Gentle, always.

Always. ]

Let's get the fuck out of here.

[ Daryl had never seen Gabe cry like this. He'd felt it, certainly, when Gabe had tried to start a fight with him and had ended up completely deflating against him. He'd felt those tears, had done his best to stop them then.

But these tears have nothing to do with Daryl. He doesn't have the power to fix what's wrong this time.

So he let's Gabe touch his face. He let's Gabe guide the moment, decide when they're done. Daryl doesn't want to draw away but they need to get out, to get beyond that fucking door before they're punished again. But he won't rush him.

Daryl angles his chin up a little and kisses him, chaste, on the forehead. Something Carol used to do for him when he needed reassurance. Something he wants to provide now. ]

You tell me where. An' we'll go.

[ He reaches up to thread his fingers with the hand Gabe is holding to his face, bringing it down between them so he can guide Gabe out of the room. Daryl keeps the connection, too stubbornly protective to let him go. ]

[ It's a small gesture, on balance. A kiss pressed to his forehead. Light, and chaste. But it hits in a way that Gabe wasn't ready for and he lingers there for a moment, blinking rapidly.

His skull aches, tears pooled up behind his prosthetics. It's going to a mess later, unless he deals with it. But he lingers for a moment, breathing out slow as Daryl holds him.

Okay. Reluctantly he pulls back, squeezing Daryl's arm. ]

My room. Need to deal with my eyes.

[ Daryl has to resist the urge to kick the door on their way past it but somehow he does, lest they get pulled into more bullshit somehow because of him. He keeps holding onto Gabe's hand and heads in the direction of his own room, just assuming that they've all been stuck in the same place.

Why wouldn't they be? If they're all just fish in a barrel here then it makes sense to keep them all grouped together. Close. ]

What's wrong with 'em? Your eyes?

[ He asks it quietly, stroking the back of Gabe's hand with his thumb. He's wondering if it's one of the glitches he doesn't understand or if it's something else entirely. ]

[ He waits until they're out in the hallway before he lets himself truly breathe. It's fine. They're okay. Today it's a bad moment and tomorrow it'll be a memory. Day after that, they can both carry it in their own ways. That's the way, he thinks silently. That's how you survive.

But he squeezes Daryl's hand. Another one of those small gestures. ]

's fine.

[ He exhales again. ]

Just got tears stuck behind the prosthetics. I don't cry right anymore. It makes a mess.

[ Somehow that hurts to hear - that even crying is worse than normal for Gabe. Daryl squeezes his hand back, tugging it close to his side so the distance between them shrinks. He's feeling protective. It's an instinct that's probably going to last. ]

You want me to drop you off an' go get us somethin'?

[ Something to eat or something to drink. Maybe even something to smoke or pop. Preferably something that will take the edge off of the pasts they were just thrust back into. ]

Unless... you need my help?

[ The tone in his voice is evident - whatever he needs, Daryl will take care of it. He wants to help. ]

Edited 2021-11-23 04:04 (UTC)

[ It is what it is. After he first got fucked up, Thomas had thought there was a chance Gabe could get some sight back. That he'd be able to see shadow and light, at least. Something. Maybe enough to augment with tech. Getting his eyes removed was a distant, horrifying thought. Only then the infections kept coming, one after another, and each time Gabe got sicker and weaker. And then Thomas sat him down and told him what had to be done, otherwise he'd die.

And he couldn't do that to his people. Not when they needed him to watch their backs. So he laid down and he let a surgeon come and carve his eyes out of his skull. Wasn't like they were doing him much good at that point.

He rubs at his face with a sigh. Daryl's sticking close.

That helps. ]

Need some saline. I can make it, if you get me salt and clean water.

[ He huffs a little, cracking a faint smile. ]

And alcohol. Because fuck doing this shit sober.

You got it.

[ That shadow of a smile isn't nothing. Not quite something, not yet, but Daryl watches it come and go on Gabe's face with a twinge of relief.

Before getting to Hell, Daryl hadn't touched anything harder than a cigarette in a long, long time. Here, it's just part of the deal he's accepted. He'll put up with being tortured and killed and being forced to watch the people he cares about get hurt. Over and over and over. He doesn't exactly have any other choice.

But then he'll have a goddamn drink about it. ]

Which one's yours?

[ They've reached the long, luxury hallway lined with doors, behind one of which Daryl has been forced to stay (or at least leave his things). Carol is in the one next to him. But that's as much as Daryl knows. ]

[ Gabe toggles his tech, scanning the area to orient himself. He's usually better than this, able to orient himself automatically, but sometimes he gets thrown and lost. And then, sometimes, it takes him a moment to center himself and put everything in context. ]

I'm on the floor below.

[ Shit. He exhales. ]

Your place around here? Rather not walk around longer than I have to.

Fuck, sorry.

[ He hadn't asked and he should have, obviously. Daryl's sense of direction, even in buildings, is always good. He just hadn't been thinking clearly. He feels scrambled, drained and a little tender.

So he's happy to agree that whichever door is closest is best. ]

Yeah. 'Course, c'mon.

[ He still hasn't let go of Gabe's hand, despite being in public again, and he holds it while he leads him to the door and digs his key out of the pocket of his stupid suit jacket. Probably purely ceremonial, the keys they'd been given, but he'll pretend the locks hold some real protection for now. He has no other choice.

Inside it's far too nice for Daryl's taste and the bed has only been slept on, not in. He lets go of Gabe once the door clicks closed behind him and instead guides him further inside with a palm on the small of his back. ]

How much salt you need?

[ There aren't many people that Gabe will let close enough to guide him, let alone out in the open where anyone could see. But it's still the aftermath and he's feeling scraped raw, the wounds ripped open to bleed anew. All that shit dredged up to the surface when it ought to be buried deep.

He doesn't shy away from Daryl, not even when they're inside. The closeness -

Helps, he thinks. Fuck. He didn't plan that. He didn't plan for any of this. Gabe exhales and prods at his eyes, wincing when he feels the heat rising against his fingers. Already swollen. That's fun. ]

Not much. Half a teaspoon. And two cups.

[ He taps at his eyes. ]

Need something to put these in.

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