dadyl | 𝙿𝙴𝙽𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙴 𝙸𝙽𝙱𝙾𝚇 ;

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.

Need to touch you face for this part, okay?

[ It's said softly. He'll need to feel part of it out with his fingers. And Daryl knows, isn't an idiot, but it bears repeating. Anyone would want to avoid getting a needle so close their eyes, especially after Gabe took one of Daryl's out when they first met.

It needs to be done. So it will. But they can be decent to each other about it. ]

Sounds like it's underground, then. How big is the island?

Mhmm.

[ It's a low hum of agreement because thanks to the warning, Daryl is remembering the last time Gabe had touched his face. It had been Daryl who'd brought his hand there the first time and the memory hasn't faded.

He waits until Gabe has the needle threaded, watching placidly as he works, before reaching for his wrist. Daryl takes it gently and guides it again, turns Gabe's fingers so the tips brush against the wound the arrow had left. ]

Big enough that we didn't have time to explore even half of it.

[ For whatever reason, once Gabe is touching his face, Daryl speaks more softly. He wants to tell Gabe not to come. That he'll have one more person to be worried for.

But he knows that he wouldn't appreciate being told the same, so he doesn't. ]

Don't know why the hell I thought goin' along was a good idea in the first place. [ He's aware he's sulking a little. ] I shoulda never let her come.

[ Slow and steady, that's the way. Gabe hums to himself as he works, tapping the edge of the wound to double-check the size before he applies the needle. It's important to get this right. Sometimes, things scar in Hell. That means one day they might not heal properly and that could slow a body down at a moment when everyone needs to be moving full fucking speed. And that will not stand.

He presses the needle in. Draws the thread through. ]

We do better in a team. People. People like us.

[ It's said simply. ]

Is what it is. We adapt to what we have.

[ This time, when the needle goes in, Daryl flinches a little. His cheek twitches against Gabe's hand while the stitch pulls through and Daryl flexes his hands into fists trying to keep his face still. ]

I know.

[ He does. He knows it. It still helps to hear it and a little acceptance seeps into Daryl's voice. If he'd gone missing instead of one of his own people, he'd think the same. But it's Carol. If it had been Rick it would have broken him, too. Daryl just doesn't consider himself as valuable as the people he loves. ]

You think that pistol'll be enough, then, huh.

[ He does his best not to sound doubtful and more or less manages it. ]

Easy. You're doing fine.

[ It's said absently. Gabe's focused entirely upon his task. Once he commits to something, he sticks with it. That's always been his strength. ]

I'll make it work. I always do.

𝙿𝙴𝙽𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙴 𝙸𝙽𝙱𝙾𝚇 ;

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