dadyl | 𝙿𝙴𝙽𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙴 𝙸𝙽𝙱𝙾𝚇 ;

[ Oh. Somehow Daryl had never considered that they would have to come out. He doesn't let that trip him up and instead just wishes that these stupid rooms came with little attached kitchens like the ones back at the hotel. At least then he wouldn't have to leave Gabe just for supplies.

But the booze. Well, that might be worth it. ]

Got it.

[ He guides Gabe over to the bed so he can sit if he wants, checks that nothing is out of place since the last time he'd been in the room (the paranoia isn't ever going to leave him), and then turns to go.

But then just as quickly he turns back, steps in close and angles his face down to kiss him. Full on the mouth, gentle but surprisingly assertive. An I'm coming back kiss. ]

Gimme ten minutes.

[ He's already mapping his route out in his head, based on the parts of the mansion that he remembers. As soon as Gabe agrees it's okay, he'll be gone. ]

[ It shouldn't surprise him. They've kissed before. Fucked enough times they've gotten good at it. By right, it should just be a gesture. Something that people do sometimes, that Gabe's done plenty over the years. But it staggers him, somehow, when Daryl just turns around and kisses him on the mouth like a promise.

Gabe blinks several times. Goddamn. ]

Okay.

[ After a moment, he sits his ass down on the bed. It feels more than a little like getting punched in the head. That sudden moment in the aftermath where nothing hurts and there are no thoughts at all. That comes later, once you get your breath back.

He breathes out. The moment passes. And he pulls out a square of origami paper and begins to work. Mountain fold, then valley fold. And on, and on, until Daryl comes back and Gabe's finishing the final creases. He hums to himself, then offers out the little origami dog to him. ]

For you.

[ It takes him eight and a half of the ten minutes. Dining room for the salt, kitchens for a stack of clean cups and Daryl makes another stop at a bar he'd seen in one of the lounges before heading back upstairs. He even jogs a little on the way back, conscious of every minute he's gone.

He closes the bedroom door again with his shoulder and is about to head to the on-suite bathroom to fill one of the cups with water when he sees Gabe holding something out to him. Paper.

A dog.

He remembers the night Gabe had found him and walked him out of the crowds that had gathered to see the whippings. He remembers how frozen he'd been, how numb he was to everything Gabe had said to him. At least until the little papers had come out and it had given Daryl something else to focus on. Something to watch.

And he remembers what Gabe told him about why he'd picked it up. The sort of times that he relies on it. It makes Daryl's chest ache a little. ]

Thanks.

[ Daryl sets the sealed bottle of booze down on the bed beside Gabe and takes the little folded piece gingerly. It seems like Gabe remembered something about Daryl, too. ]

Lemme just... hang on, an' I'll get you some water.

[ Daryl sets the dog carefully, upright, on the table beside his bed, then disappears into the bathroom for a few seconds. When he comes back he sits down beside Gabe on the bed. ]

Here.

[ Gabe hums a little, breathing out. After a moment, he takes the cup and holds it gingerly in both hands. He doesn't usually have an audience for the next part. It's messy. Embarrassing, more than anything. His prosthetics are well made, advanced enough that he can usually sleep in them so long as he remembers to flush them out periodically. So long as he doesn't start crying, anyway.

Then it gets messy. And he has to deal with it. ]

I have to take the prosthetics out. And then drain the -

[ He gestures vaguely at his eyes. ]

It's messy. You don't have to stay for that.

[ Daryl is truly impossible to gross-out. He's done absolutely foul things to survive and to help others and this certainly wouldn't bother him in the least. But it isn't his own comfort level that's really at issue. ]

'm here if you need help.

[ He offers it softly, nudging Gabe's knee a little with his own. Just to prove he's there. ]

But if you want me to, I'll leave.

[ Gabe smoothes his thumb along the rim of the cup. Then he breathes out. Okay. ]

Can you get me a towel?

[ So he's not leaving, then. Good. Daryl doesn't want Gabe to be alone right now, even if he of all people deeply understands the appeal of privacy.

When he's asked for a towel he just gets up silently and heads back to the bathroom, returning with a big one for the bath and a smaller one that's the size of a hand towel. He wasn't sure which one Gabe wanted. ]

Big or small?

[ Would've been simpler just to head to the bathroom himself. Gabe doesn't say anything for a moment, tracing his thumb over the rim of the glass yet again. Stalling.

He always does this part alone. And yet -

Hah.

He stands silently, exhaling. ]

Big. I'm gonna mix the saline, then take my eyes out. Drain this shit. It'll be messy, but it won't take that long. Where's the sink?

In here.

[ He doesn't take Gabe by the arm or anything presumptuous like that, just sticks close enough to bump elbows with him while Gabe stands and they head back towards the bathroom together.

It's somehow warm in there despite all the tile and Daryl points Gabe once they're inside the door towards the big sink set in its marble countertop. He sets down the other cup and the full salt shaker beside the other stacked and folded hand towels. Everything hard clinks against each other in the echoing space. ]

...It gonna hurt?

[ First things first. Gabe rolls his sleeves up and then, methodically, washes his hands. Normally it doesn't matter all that much but having a process settles him. Clear steps to follow, a defined end goal. Like assembling his rifle, like caring for his armor. It stacks. It builds to something. ]

It stings a little.

[ He taps with his fingers until he finds the salt, then measures it out and adds it to the first cup. Swirls it. ]

But not too bad.

[ He hesitates a moment, then exhales. Okay.

Okay.

And then he reaches up and tugs his eyes out. Right first. And then left. ]

[ Daryl can't help but find himself watching. He thinks he's probably been given permission to do so and watching Gabe mix the saline is one thing.

Watching him reach up and pull his eyes right out of their sockets is something else. Daryl looks away after the first one and suppresses a shudder. They're damn good prosthetics. They look real enough.

And he's never seen Gabe like this before. When he's got them both out Daryl looks at his face through the mirror and almost can't believe it. He looks so different. He also knows Gabe doesn't need to hear that. ]

Wish I could do somethin' to help.

[ Gabe doesn't know what it looks like with the prosthetics out. Not really. But he's heard enough people react to know it probably looks ghastly. Raw flesh, scar tissue. The hollow places where his eyes ought to be and now where nothing sits. Even the scars can't compare.

At least Daryl doesn't say anything.

Gabe exhales, then drops the prosthetics into the empty cup. ]

You really want to, you can -

[ He hesitates, twitching, then exhales again as he picks up the cup of saline. ]

You can help me hold the towel. This part is messy.

[ He does want to. Daryl hates very little more than he hates the feeling of uselessness so he steps forward without hesitation to pick up the towel. He can assume what the next part of the process entails so he unfolds it and keeps it raised, ready to follow directions. ]

Don't wanna do it standin' in the shower?

[ He would have approached the situation exactly the same way Gabe is about to so he's not sure where the suggestion came from. It just seems like it might be convenient. ]

No.

[ It comes out tired more than anything else. Thomas helped him do this the first couple times, going through things with the same methodical care that Thomas does everything and all the while Gabe stood there stock still, burning with fury and twisting embarrassment. He'd felt weak, ashamed. Broken. Unable to do anything himself, utterly reliant on his team and thus a burden to them. The moment he could manage this part himself, he did. And he's handled it ever since, secreting himself away to complete it alone.

And now, for the first time in a very long time, he has an audience.

He bows his head a moment, then twitches and reaches for the cup of homemade saline.

Stop stalling. Man the fuck up. ]

I'm going to tip my head back. Get the saline in. And then I lean forward, and -

[ He tightens his jaw. Angry suddenly. Mostly at himself. ]

And then it makes a mess, but that's what the towel's for.

[ Daryl can see Gabe's jaw working, can hear the anger filtering into his tone. He doesn't blame him. He thinks he'd feel the same way in the same position but that's exactly what leaves Daryl at a loss for how to fix anything. It's just something that has to be worked through. Just one more thing to deal with.

He steps in close, letting Gabe feel the proximity. He brushes the towel against his neck, touching him without quite touching him. ]

'm ready.

[ He would offer to pour, but maybe there's less of a shock to his eye sockets if he knows exactly what to expect. Daryl doesn't want to hurt him any more than he already has been. ]

[ Breathe out. Focus on your task, sniper, and get it done. One step at a time, a sequence long since memorized. You know how it ends.

The body is nothing. So leave it behind.

He exhales sharply. Then - hesitantly - he bumps his arm against Daryl's. A brief touch. But Daryl's here, and that means something. ]

Okay.

[ No more stalling. Best to get it over with quickly. He steels himself, then tips his head back and just pours the saline into the place his right eye used to be. Easier with a syringe but he hasn't got one, so this has to work. And it stings, like it always does, but what's worse is the pervasive feeling of wrongness - his body rebelling against a sensation his lizard brain knows shouldn't be there.

Some of it spills out, running down his face. He knew it would and he hates that too. The mess of it. But he's not done, not yet.

Second round. And he tightens his jaw and dumps the rest into the left socket. ]

Oh, motherfucker.

[ He sets the glass down almost too hard and then drops his head down, burying his face in the towel to hide the worst of it. This is the part he hates the most. When everything has to drain. ]

[ As much as he'd told Daryl that it wouldn't hurt, that it would just sting, there's something keeping Gabe from getting it done - something about the process that's making him lag. Daryl wants to rub his back, comfort him somehow, but he doesn't. He saves that for after this is done.

He's ready when Gabe finally tips his head back and dumps the cup. He raises the towel, wiping at his cheeks where the water has run down, trying to keep his collar dry, and then Gabe just leans forward and dives into it.

Daryl holds him like that, cradling his face, feeling the saline soak the towel and wet his hands. He doesn't shy from it. ]

There. Almost done, right?

[ He doesn't actually know, but it seems the thing to say. ]

[ Gabe makes a strangled noise, only half-muffled by the towel. It stings but that's nothing. He's taken much worse over the years. It barely even qualifies as pain, on balance. That's never been the part that got to him. But the humiliation of it, yeah. That always stung.

Breathe. You're fine. ]

Yeah.

[ Daryl doesn't shy away. Just stays there, holding the towel. ]

Fuck.

[ He can feel it draining from the sockets. The saline, tears, all that shit. Making a mess. But it's like Daryl said, knowingly or not. It's almost done. It never takes long, in the end.

Finally, he draws back. He rubs the towel at his face, trying to get the worst of it off his skin. ]

So. That's fucking gross.

[ Bitter humor. But what can you do, in the end? ]

[ Daryl is steady throughout. He doesn't flinch. When Gabe takes the towel from him to rub his face himself, Daryl lets it go and casually wipes his hands off on his jeans. He shrugs, hardly qualifying this as gross. To him, it isn't. ]

Not really.

[ He sounds utterly unbothered. Like he'd just helped Gabe give himself a haircut or something. ]

An' believe me, I know gross.

[ Daryl reaches out to squeeze his shoulder. He can't tell if it will help or make Gabe bristle, sensitive as he probably is right now, but Daryl wants to make it clear he isn't going anywhere. He isn't disturbed by this in the least. ]

Try wearin' an old corpse's face like a mask. Ain't nothin' so bad after that.

[ This part, at least, doesn't take long. He needs to leave the prosthetics out for a while longer or everything will get swollen in a way every goddamn sinner in Hell will notice, but at least he doesn't have tears and saline pooling up in his empty eye sockets anymore. Small favors.

Gabe snorts, lowering the towel. ]

Wait, seriously? Why?

[ That wasn't quite a laugh but Daryl is proud of getting that sound out of Gabe anyway. Sometimes distraction is all that helps, so Daryl answers willingly. ]

Guess I haven't told you much 'bout where I come from.

[ Even though Gabe can't see him, Daryl looks him in the face. The empty sockets are spooky and make the backs of his thighs itch a little. But he'll get used to it. ]

There were these... people. Another group of survivors, only they'd found a different way to stay alive. They skinned walkers and wore 'em like costumes. Disguises. Then they walked with 'em.

[ They'd killed a lot of his people that way but he doesn't mention that part. That isn't the part of the story he wants to focus on now. Maybe ever. ]

Had to go in undercover, once. So we killed two an' took their place.

[ He leaves out Connie. He leaves out Henry, so many things he doesn't want to drop on Gabe now, of all times. This isn't about Daryl and his hurts. ]

[ There's a lot they haven't told each other about where they came from. Maybe for some of the same reasons, Gabe thinks absently. Who wants to dwell on the bad shit? And most of it was bad, back home. You fight, you survive, you get up the next day and do it again. Clockwork. Muscle memory. And then what?

Maybe it doesn't have to be like that. Maybe it could be better one day. Maybe they could do that. Build that shit instead of just fighting all the time.

Gabe hums a little, folding the towel in his hands just for something to do. ]

Smart. Gnarly, but smart.

[ It's a distraction, he knows. But it works. He sets the towel down. ]

I gotta leave 'em out for a while. But this part's done. Tell me about it?

[ Or just tell him anything. It's a distraction and he knows it, but Gabe really doesn't care. ]

[ Daryl stops himself from asking about what? as a way to narrow down the conversation before it even properly begins. That wouldn't be fair, not after how vulnerable Gabe has been with him. Is still being.

But he wonders how much to tell him. Carol wouldn't appreciate him talking about Henry at all, he doesn't think. The more Gabe knows, the more he'll be able to fill in the blanks about what she's been through. And if she wants that to be a secret, Daryl isn't about to take that from her. ]

They were fightin' with us over territory. An' one of their kids, who wanted to change sides. Lydia. She was the leader's daughter.

[ The leader and mother who would whip her, who had brainwashed her into thinking her mother had her best interests at heart. Who'd lied to her from childhood. He shrugs, trying not to get caught in the memories of breaking Lydia of her past in the Hilltop cells. ]

I help look after her now. Or... I did, I guess. She can take care of herself.

Edited 2021-11-26 04:30 (UTC)

Lydia.

[ Gabe stills, one hand braces against the sink. It isn’t a name he recognizes and he might know a thing or two about brutality, but he’s never gone out among people who wore zombie skins as masks. Even the Sons of Plunder never did that shit. Their horrors were different, all that talk of warriors dying for their shining, neo-Valhalla. Crazy shit, but nothing like that.

Every place has its monsters, Gabe thinks.

He shifts so he can press his arm against Daryl’s. Just a little. He doesn’t ask why the kid wanted to change sides. He’s got a feeling. ]

There’s a kid I look after, back home.

[ His voice goes soft. ]

Zee. Needed somebody to be my eyes in a tough spot and he was there. And then, after -

He’s not my kid. But he’s -

[ Important. Zee’s important. Gabe bows his head. ]

What’s she like, Lydia?

[ The smile that steals its way onto Daryl's face is soft. He's surprised. He'd have never pictured Gabe as the nurturing type, at least not as far as babysitting was concerned. And it seems like it's more than just babysitting. ]

Sounds like he's yours to me. As much as anyone is anyone's.

[ Judith, RJ... He supposes that they're his now, too. What with Michonne gone, who knows for how long, he's the closest thing they have to family. Uncle Daryl. But they're also everyone else's, too. The whole community looks out for the kids. It's the only way it works anymore. Maybe the only way it ever really did.

Lydia doesn't need him. But he wants to be there for her. ]

She's... tough. So damn tough. Couldn't believe she could still be a teenager under everythin' she'd lived through. But she is.

[ Daryl had stopped being a kid so early because of what happened to him. He'd seen so much of himself in her. He shrugs again, a defence mechanism he doesn't realize he has. ]

We're stronger for havin' her. Her mother didn't deserve her. Some parents just... don't.

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cw: child abuse

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