dadyl | 𝙿𝙴𝙽𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙴 𝙸𝙽𝙱𝙾𝚇 ;

Cool.

[ He isn't dismissive. It's sort of fascinating, but he knows if it were him he wouldn't want it focused on. He wouldn't want multiple questions asking to explain it more. It would be only his business, for the most part.

Even though now Daryl is now terribly curious how Gabe reads the books he said he has. ]

Wait here. I'll be back.

[ They're close enough to the group now and Daryl doesn't want to be in the thick of it. Around the chatter. Even those he'd helped survive and those who want to go back for the rescue aren't people he wants to talk to. He heads straight to the little medical tent, gathers what they need, and heads back to Gabe. ]

You need a place to work? Or can we just sit?

We can sit.

[ This part, at least, is route. He’s done it a thousand times before. Patched his family, complete strangers, got it done. At least this time they’re not under fire and nobody’s in danger of bleeding out. There’s time to do it right. Gabe toggles his tech, scanning their surroundings. There’s a bit of what reads like driftwood a little ways back from the crowd. Good enough. He jerks his head at it. ]

That thing work?

Yeah.

[ There's relief in Daryl's voice. The farther away from the crowd, the better, and being forced to sit will take some of the exhaustion away from the forefront of his mind. Even if he knows there will be pain.

He touches Gabe's arm gently before walking over to the log and sitting down heavily. He tries not to groan but a bit of a grunt escapes him anyway. Every part of him aches so much that the wounds themselves have been barely registering. ]

Arm or face? Dealer's choice.

[ He hums in agreement, moving with Daryl. The touch at his arm is light. Not so long ago, Gabe knows he would have snarled at Daryl for daring it. And now -

Well. Things changed on him. There's trust between them.

Gabe sits down next to Daryl, toggling the sensitivity on his tech and considering his next steps. First things first, he reaches for the kit and gloves up. ]

Arm, to start. I'm guessing there weren't any painkillers?

[ Daryl just grunts as he unbuttons his shirt and shrugs out of one side of it, grateful that his back is facing away from the little crowd. He watches Gabe with interest as he feels his way through the kit. ]

Don't need 'em.

[ They hadn't had the luxury for years back home. He's used to the process without them. He'll just lock his jaw and breathe through his nose. ]

[ Gabe clicks his teeth at that, though he knows he's got no room to comment. How many times has he powered through on nothing but stubbornness and the understanding that allowing anything to dull his senses - anything at all - would be a risk to the team?

Enough. Maybe too many.

He gets a cloth and the alcohol to start. Can't do anything before you've disinfected the shit out of everything. ]

Cool. You want me to talk to you, or just do it?

[ He motions for Daryl's arm. There's no point in dallying. Just get it done, and then move forward. ]

[ He hears that sound and gives Gabe a look that he's halfway glad the guy can't see, then lifts his arm and sets his elbow on the other's knee to brace it. ]

What you wanna talk about?

[ Daryl doesn't think of himself as someone people want to talk to. But has has been away for a while. ]

I miss anythin' here?

Not really.

[ No reason to fuck around, so he gets to it. Wets the cloth and then toggles his tech to its highest sensitivity. And then he commits, like he always has. He's careful about the wound. Cleans it thoroughly, but doesn't linger more than he has to. ]

Just more bullshit. But the bar's back.

[ Daryl doesn't flinch. He's expecting it and something about the pain is reassuring - it means that something is getting done. Some action is being taken. He likes the distraction and Gabe's good at it. ]

Great.

[ His tone suggests that it isn't. ]

Spent enough time in there before they moved us. Figured I didn't have anythin' better to do.

[ Then, in the new location, his people had appeared. That had changed everything. ]

Least I never got dosed in there, though.

Mhmm.

[ Daryl takes it without flinching, without reacting much at all. As expected, really. You learn to take things in this sort of life. To accept them as normal, unremarkable. Gabe knows he's lucky that only the worst of his scars ever slowed him down. He got whipped once, on a bad job, and that could have fucked his back up good if he hadn't gotten them dealt with. The scar tissue could have tripped him up, restricted his range of motion. Slowed him down at a moment where he needed to be fast.

Could have. Didn't. He moved on.

Gabe cleans the first wound. He's thorough about it, but he doesn't linger overly long. ]

Sometimes I get twitchy.

[ This time, he doesn't bother angling his gaze like he's watching things. No point around Daryl. And it takes less energy this way. ]

So, I end up there a lot.

I've never seen you twitchy.

[ Angry, maybe. Cold, sure. Usually quiet and steady and that's what's saved Daryl in the past. But so far, never twitchy. ]

Guess I'll know where to find you if I need to, then.

[ Once he gets Carol back and has made sure she's safe, after all this and the days spent stranded beforehand, Daryl is going to need a drink. Or several. He's just become nervous about drinking alone here. Strange things end up happening, it seems. ]

You're good at that.

It’s not pretty. I’m told, anyway.

[ Usually he ends up wasted and in bed with strange, regrettable men. Angling for a fight or sex or both if he can get it. Something real, something he can sink his teeth into. But then, Gabe’s known there’s something a little off with how he moves through the world. He’s known that for a long time. In the field and with a rifle in hand, he’s steady as iron. It’s only the aftermath that trips him, one of those fun little ironic twists the universe likes to toss out just to keep it interesting.

He hums to himself, running another scan. Wound’s as clean as he can get it. Time for needle and thread. ]

Sure. Could always use a drinking buddy. And I’ve got a lot of practice.

[ Doing shots, stitching people up. It’s takes him a moment of carefully feeling it out to get the needle threaded, but he’s had practice with that, too.

He goes slow. Every motion deliberate as he pulls the needle through flesh. This is the part he could fuck up, if he doesn’t focus completely. ]

Our team never got a corpsman. They’re rated special, got extra training, so they get paid more. Cheap fuckers decided we’d just go without. Thomas stole the handbook and taught himself, but we all picked up some tricks.

Bet you do.

[ So does Daryl, years and years of it before the apocalypse had made getting blackout drunk risky. He'd still tripped on what was left of his stash for a while after the dead started to rise, for a while after the camp outside Atlanta had formed, but he hadn't been the smartest back then. ]

Lucky for me, then.

[ Thomas. Prior. Daryl is tucking the names away to remember in case any of them should ever show up here and need to be pointed in the right direction. He knows he would never want one of his own people lost in Hell for a minute longer than they had to be. He's resolved to return the favor for others.

He still doesn't flinch when Gabe's needle starts to suture him closed, but to the trained eye, there's tension in Daryl's scowl. He can take it but it isn't as though he doesn't feel it. He just knows better than to move while his flesh is being drawn closed. ]

How many is it gonna take?

Feels like four.

[ The trick - or one of them, anyway - is to keep everything evenly spaced and to make sure you don’t make things worse by drawing it too tight. Gabe’s stitches are neat, careful, and if he takes a touch longer then a proper corpsman would to get it done, he still manages to tie off then knot and start on the next. ]

Should heal straight, anyway.

Four's nothin'.

[ Even if the pain, combined with the exhaustion and the nearly crippling worry, is getting to him a little more than it normally would. He sighs, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. ]

I'm guessin' this place will let us heal just fine. 'Til it's in their interest not to.

[ Regardless, he watches the process approvingly. ]

It's the one on my face that nearly took my head off.

Focus on your breathing.

[ A gentle reminder. Daryl knows how to survive this, but it bears repeating. Gabe continues working, steady and calm. He's been doing this for a long time now. It comes natural, reflexive. Losing his eyes changed things, but not what needs to be done. Adapt or die. ]

Yeah. Somebody's probably getting off on making us jump.

[ He hums to himself, focusing on his work. ]

Machete?

[ The reminder isn't unearned. Daryl concentrates on his next exhale and lets it go slowly, trying all the time not to flex his arm while Gabe is working on it. ]

Arrow.

[ He says it darkly. It had been fired from far enough away that Daryl has to assume that magic was at work. It was impossible for him to fight, being fired at from the dark of the woods when he was still on the beach with the rescue boats. He couldn't go back if he wanted to live long enough to help - not even for her. ]

I didn't know how to go back for Carol. Not if I was already dead.

[ And it had come close before he'd finally listened to Henry but instantly, the fury and frustration is back in Daryl's voice. ]

But I'm gonna kill 'em this time. All of 'em, if I have to.

[ The work is almost meditative. It takes focus, concentration. The silliness to commit. Not unlike origami, or dealing with his guns. He ties the next stitch off, then begins again. Gabe hums again - to center himself, to give Daryl something to focus on. Whichever takes. ]

All right.

[ He says it softly. He'd do the same, in that situation. ]

How many are there?

Couldn't tell.

[ The tactics of fear had done what they were meant to - scatter the sinners, keep them on their toes. Scare them out of a real and organized fight. Daryl and Rick had been trying to find Carol after getting chased off the beach but all the whistles and cries from the woods had been disorienting. They'd had no idea what they were fighting. ]

To do what they did? Had to be a lot.

[ Too much fucking magic. How was he supposed to deal with that? ]

Or they had help. From exactly who took us there in the first place.

Let's assume both.

[ Seems on brand for Hell's bullshit, anyway. And a little paranoia's healthy in situations like this. They'll work with what they have. Build a strategy from there. It's like being back home, going on a drop with limited intel.

Assume the worst, but don't get lost in despair. You have a job to do, sniper. ]

How's the elevation there? The terrain?

[ It isn't until Gabe asks about the terrain and uses the word 'let's' that Daryl realizes why he's asking. He isn't just talking to keep Daryl's mind off the stitches anymore. He tenses up a little, the arm Gabe's working on hardening in a flex. ]

The foot of the volcano is the highest part. That's where they chased us to. Everythin' slopes down from there.

[ But he answers slowly, eyeing Gabe's concentrated face. Daryl has no intention of letting someone else he cares about get exposed to kidnapping or worse when he goes to get Carol back. He can't have that be his fault, too. ]

Thought you didn't have the rifle you needed?

Breathe. They won't heal straight if I draw the thread too tight.

[ One step at a time. This has to be done properly. Nearly every wound that Gabe's taken here has healed without a scar, but there are always exceptions. The mark from Daryl's teeth, for example. That one's stuck around. Sometimes he runs his fingers over the indents and remembers getting them. But that means some things do scar, and if they scar, that means they can heal crooked and restrict mobility.

Can't have that. Can't have anything that slows them down.

He knots off the stitch. Last one. ]

I don't. I'll worry about that later. What's the terrain?

Don't much care what it looks like.

[ Daryl is covered in scars and plenty of them are gnarled, twisted things, many dozens of years old. The ones that tug are less easily ignored but he isn't concerned about having one more to add to the collection. He's used to getting by with them.

What he'll never get used to is knowingly putting others in danger. He's silent for a little while before answering ]

Rocky. Shallow soil in the forest gets sparser as you climb higher. Not a lot of visibility.

[ He isn't lying and it's what had tripped him up as an archer. You can't fight what you can't see. ]

They must have someplace to hide, maybe underground. Didn't find a thing while I was huntin'.

[ He draws the needle through Daryl's skin. Pulls the thread, listens to it move. The dry sound it makes. Scraping. This too shall pass. ]

Elevation?

[ If they have to go underground, they'll need more gear than they've got. Scanning equipment, night vision. If they have to go high, they'll need long guns. More arrows for Daryl's crossbow.

He knots off the thread. ]

It's done. Ready for the next one?

[ He shrugs with the opposite shoulder, but it's a tense and unconscious gesture. ]

Tree's ain't tall. Volcano's got ledges but who knows if that shit's stable.

[ Probably not in a place like this. Probably not if they're counting on it to be.

He resists the urge to flex his arm when Gabe finishes the last stitch and closes his eyes for a moment as he imagines the same procedure being done on his cheek. ]

Alright. Get it over with.

𝙿𝙴𝙽𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙴 𝙸𝙽𝙱𝙾𝚇 ;

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