dadyl | 𝙿𝙴𝙽𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙴 𝙸𝙽𝙱𝙾𝚇 ;

Goddamn it.

[ The curse comes out soft. He's losing the thread here, his boots dragging against the carpet. Every time he moves, he's gambling that he won't pitch right onto his face. Like an asshole, like an idiot, like the fucking asshole who wasn't fast enough or strong enough to dodge what came. Because he knows by now. There's no excuse.

He keeps his feet under him. He won't fall. Every time Daryl brushes against him feels like a balm, eye of the storm shit, and he grits his teeth hard enough that his jaw aches. Because he wants to get down on his knees, pride be damned, and -

Focus. Don't get lost. ]

Some demon. Got pushy.

[ Shoved him into a wall. In a different moment, with someone human, Gabe thinks he would've liked that. It's a bitter image now. ]

It's, hah. It's real fun.

It's alright.

[ Said just as softly as the curse and Daryl reaches to squeeze Gabe's upper arm with his other hand in what he hopes is a reassuring way. He isn't going to get hurt while Daryl's with him. Daryl can at least make sure of that. ]

Fuck. Course it did.

[ He's grown to hate them, these demons that seem to delight in their suffering, but for a while, they were almost passive about it. They got the sinners to hurt each other instead of acting outright, but Daryl has his doubts about that now, too. Everything is out to get them here. ]

Don't worry. I got you. It can't last forever, right?

[ When they make it to Daryl's room he lets them in one-handed, keeping the other on Gabe's back to let him know where he is the whole time. ]

[ It's all right, Daryl says, and Gabe makes a strangled noise. It's really not. It's really not, and he knows it. This is going to burn before it dies and with their luck it's going to get both of them by proximity.

He can feel his hands twitching. A tremor working its way down through the whole of him. But the hand on his back is steadying and he has to fight not to press into it. Because he wants -

Hah. Of course he does. Gabe exhales through his teeth. ]

Always a first time.

[ There's usually a trick to it. Some condition he'll have to fulfill before it passes. Sex or violence are the usual culprits. ]

Do me a favor and punch me, would you? Want to - test a theory.

[ There is always a first time, it's true, but Daryl tries not to sink into the same sort of despair about the situation quite yet. He closes and locks the door behind the two of them just in time to hear Gabe's strange ask and Daryl turns around, trying to figure out if he's serious. ]

You want me to punch you?

[ It's exactly what Gabe said but he's asking anyway, deadpan. He doesn't want to hurt him. He never wants to hurt any of his people and he's grown to think of Gabe that way, too.

But he also knows that Gabe is normally sure of himself. He knows the guy can probably take a punch and he wouldn't be asking without a point. Hesitantly, he asks: ]

Where?

Yep.

[ His voice is very flat. Sex or violence. And it's not like he's asking Daryl to beat him senseless. Just smack him once. If it turns him into a slut for the pain, well, that'll be an answer. ]

Not in the face.

[ It'd really suck to field a broken nose on top of everything right now. ]

[ He doesn't have to ask if Gabe wants him to hit hard. He has a feeling he'd be pissed if he felt Daryl holding back and treating him gently. Even still, it's hard for Daryl to commit. ]

You asked for it.

[ He's telling Gabe as much as he's telling himself but he doesn't make him wait. Daryl hits him in the shoulder, hard, probably enough to send even someone expecting it stumbling backward. ]

Well?

[ Daryl asks it expectantly. Is he going to explain why he just asked for that? ]

Yeah, yeah.

[ It comes out impatient, edging onto sharp. Anger is better than whatever bullshit is running through his veins. It goes warm, then soft or sharp in turns. His skin feels too tight, his joints aching like he's been running hard on a three-day job and not fucking around the hotel. Not good.

The blow comes. He takes it with a grunt, staggering back a step, but he keeps his feet. And he -

It feels like the most natural thing in the world to drop down to his knees. To bow his head and take it like punishment. Pain's good for the soul, the instructors used to say.

Gabe hisses out a curse. It's not the pain, exactly. He's got gagging for it this time, it doesn't feel good. But something's wrong with him, something is fundamentally wrong with him right now, and he doesn't know what's going to make it stop. ]

This is fun.

[ His voice is tense. Angry. ]

This is really fucking fun for me.

[ Daryl watches, focused as ever. Even though he's expecting the stagger, he tenses when Gabe falls to his knees and takes a step backward to give him room. It didn't look accidental or like it came from fatigue.

That would have been bad, but Daryl likes this even less. ]

I can tell.

[ So fun that he's practically snarling and Daryl takes a knee in front of him, tilting his head to get a better look at Gabe's face. His expressions can be hard to read, he doesn't seem to pull them unconsciously as most people do, but what Daryl sees now is even harder to interpret. At least the anger is obvious enough. ]

Tell me how to help.

[ But it doesn't sound like a command. It sounds almost a little desperate. ]

[ He can hear Daryl moving, knows he's close, but his tech's bitched out and that just twists through him. Rage building upon rage and underneath that - barely concealed - is whatever's fucking him up that makes him want to do whatever someone tells him. Someone, anyone - he has a feeling it doesn't matter. And that it'll get worse before it breaks.

Time isn't going to fix this. Neither is violence.

He hisses a vicious curse under his breath, his head bowed. ]

I don't fucking know. But I want to -

[ He swallows, his throat tight. Everything about this is hateful. ]

I want to get on my knees and do what you tell me, and it's getting worse the longer I don't.

[ His voice is very flat. ]

My tech's getting hot. I can feel it in my skull.

[ He's already halfway there, Daryl notes, even as he balks at the other half of Gabe's admission. Without realizing it, he pulls back a little again. Gives him space, leaning back on his knee to do so. ]

You want what?

[ Because the details matter to Daryl even though all possibilities are making his stomach turn. ]

I'm goin' to touch your head. Okay?

[ What Gabe's said has him worried and he doesn't wait long before he reaches out, slowly, and lays his palm against Gabe's skull just behind his ear. Daryl's stomach plummets. He's warm to the touch, far too warm, and Daryl's touch doesn't linger. It doesn't have to be for him to be sure. ]

Sure is.

[ Daryl doesn't swear like Gabe but there's stony panic in his voice. ]

[ Gabe's jaw works. He doesn't lean into the touch, but he doesn't flinch away from it, either. This is happening. He only has a few choices about how to survive it. And in one version, he doesn't. His tech has drawbacks, weak points. So does the human body. ]

It's going to give me brain damage if it gets worse.

[ Like before, his voice is very flat. ]

Probably going to have a seizure.

[ Fuck. Daryl doesn’t like being at a disadvantage in understanding the threat at hand, but if there’s something he’s still truly in the dark about, it’s the fine details of the tech in Gabe’s head. He doesn’t know how to help him. He doesn’t know how to keep the worst from happening.

So he’s willing to listen. Daryl sets his jaw and scowls. He has to try what he can. ]

No. You ain’t.

[ He’s about to ask ’what do I got to do again but stops himself. Gabe has told him already, even if Daryl doesn’t understand - or doesn’t want to understand. He’s silent for another few seconds, steeling himself. ]

Tell you what to do. [ Repeating it, as if to himself. ] You mean like a command? Like a dog?

[ Humiliation curls in his chest, hot and sour. Gabe exhales through his teeth, purposefully slowing his breathing down. Steadying himself. The only way out is through. ]

Yeah. Like a fucking dog.

[ He bites his rage down. He'll find an outlet for it later. ]

Fuck.

[ He lets out the curse in a low hiss and has to look away from him. The humiliation is burning into Daryl by proximity. He feels no better than Gabe does that he has to have any part of this. ]

Alright. Fuck, alright.

[ What can he tell him to do? What will work? Daryl swallows.

Better start with what he can handle. Something easy. ]

I want you to hit me. Make it even. Okay?

[ Make it even. Gabe makes a strangled noise, digging his nails into his palms. But he's been given an order and he hates the part of himself that settles at the sound of it. That wants to jump to it like a good soldier.

It could be worse. It has been, in the past.

He stands up slowly. He still feels sick, overheating. He can feel his implants burning hot in his skull.

Do or die. Get it done, sniper. Gabe exhales through his teeth. His tech isn't working, but he knows more or less where Daryl is. And so he strikes. Closed fist, aimed for center mass. ]

[ Daryl stands up when Gabe does, flinching less this time now that he knows halfway what to expect, and braces himself. He isn't sure how he'll be hit. He knows Gabe can't see, that he's smaller than Daryl is. But hell, he's fierce.

The punch proves it. He strikes Daryl in the sternum and Daryl takes a step back despite holding his weight on his back foot, lets out a hollow 'oof' as his breath escapes him.

It takes a moment or two to fill his lungs properly again as he rubs at the place of impact. ]

Nice.

[ At least it doesn't come out as a wheeze, but now he's encountered the next problem - there's no way that command is going to be enough. ]

That help? At all?

[ The blow lands. He's always been a scrapper, quick to adapt. Had to be, Gabe thinks, otherwise there wouldn't have bene much use to him and he wouldn't have survived. Wolves aren't long-lived. He's edging up on the list, getting old enough that his joints have started to ache in new and exciting ways, but some things never change. He'll always be a fighter. And he will never, ever let someone force him down to his knees.

Not ever. And not like this.

Gabe hisses, satisfaction burning deep. ]

Some. Not enough.

[ Hatefully, he wants to do more. Be good. ]

[ Daryl doesn't know how to guide this. His lack of instincts for control and authority are showing and he turns away from Gabe again in the same way he would if he were trying to hide his distress from someone who could see him. He isn't stupid enough to test this place. He knows he needs to play along once it's happening.

But once again Hell has found a terribly personal and unique way to torture two at once. There's no one to fight. Nothing to get the satisfaction of denying.

Daryl catches himself starting to pace and turns back to Gabe. ]

Damn, man. I don't know!

[ He hates this shit, it turns out, no matter what end of the leash he's on. ]

Go... okay, come with me. You're gonna take a cold shower.

[ That could help keep Gabe from overheating, he hopes. It could buy them time. ]

[ Gabe works his jaw, fighting the urge to just hop to it. There was never any part of him that wanted to be a good student, a good soldier, any of that shit. Even with men, the thrill was in proving he could take it. Turning it into a fight. There's only ever been a few he slowed down with. He's stubborn to the bitter fucking end. But whatever he's been dosed with is strong.

It's gotten under his skin.

He exhales. ]

Cool. You're going to have to guide me.

Yeah. I can do that.

[ That's miles easier than commanding him to do anything. Daryl steps forward to take Gabe by the elbow and even though his grip is sure, he guides him very slowly. Overly gently, as if to make up for what he has to do and how he's going to have to treat him. Daryl knows intimately the humiliating shame of being forced to obey commands to stay alive and it's settling in his stomach now like an ache.

So far, they're still alone in Daryl's assigned quarters, but he locks the bathroom door behind them anyway. Just in case. He hasn't actually spent enough time here to get to know any of his roommates' schedules.

He puts the shower on a cool setting, not a cold shock, and then realizes what he has to do. He flinches, brings his knuckles to his face, and presses them into the hollows of his eye sockets. He turns to the wall out of respect and lets out a harsh huff as he drops his arms. ]

Now take off your clothes. Right?

[ That's what they want. That's always what this fucking place wants, in one way or another. ]

[ This is happening. There's no dodging it, no getting out, so it has to be accepted. Gabe exhales, forces himself to unclench his jaw, and then he does what he has to. He goes where Daryl guides him.

Cold shower. Right.

He hates the way he settles at the command, how it sends a warm feeling churning through him. Like being high. And he hates the way he goes to it almost unthinkingly.

Eager. Fuck, this thing -

It could be worse, he tells himself. It could be worse, so quit bitching and get it done.

He starts undoing his shirt. One button at a time. At least his hands don't fucking shake. ]

[ Daryl can't help glancing over at him to see if everything is okay, and since it seems to be, he faces the wall again. Listens to the echoing of the running shower. He resists the urge to pace, squeezes his hands into fists, and flexes everything to try and work out his frustration. ]

I'm sorry 'bout this.

[ He feels like it has to be said. It should go without saying between them at this point, he thinks, but he knows he'd still want to hear it in Gabe's place. ]

I fuckin' hate that it's me.

[ But a part of him also thinks 'better me than someone worse'. Anyone could have found Gabe like that. Anything. He can't help being relieved, too, that he'd found him first. ]

[ He tugs his shirt off. After a moment, he breathes out and folds it. Stalling, maybe. Or just centering himself. ]

I know.

[ It comes out more tired than anything else. He tugs his belt off next, then kneels to unlace his boots. ]

You won’t hurt me.

[ He wouldn’t, if their positions were reversed. And he still believes that holds true. That he knows Daryl that well. Trusts him that far. ]

[ Daryl listens, judging Gabe's progress by the sounds he hears while wishing he had something to do with his hands. ]

I won't.

[ It's a quiet, solid confirmation. He has no idea what he's doing, but he's at least sure about that.

At the rough sound of shoelaces being untied Daryl is reminded of how tired he is, how much he'd wanted to rest after doing nothing but watching out for Carol, but he pushes it down. He can't be tired right now. ]

When you're done, get under the spray. Just soak for a bit.

[ The order is clear. Gabe breathes out slow and straightens. Then, matter of factly, he strips off the rest of his clothes. Folds them, sets them aside. He feels two things with great clarity: a sick heat pulsing through his skull and a softer sense of relief that someone, anyone, is telling him what to do.

Proof positive that whatever he’s been dosed with is still going strong, Gabe thinks bleakly. But there’s no dodging this one.

He steps under the spray, bowing his head to let the water drum over the ports in his neck. It almost hurts. But it feels —

Better, he thinks, even as he sways and has to brace a hand against the wall. ]

…helps. I think.

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