I haven't--fuck. Look, something's wrong with Danny. And--don't--! [ Feel free to imagine him throwing both hands up to hold off the inevitable commentary. ] Something more wrong than always. I need to get him away from his family, somewhere out of this fucking mausoleum of a cabin. I need to get him somewhere I can watch him and keep him calm and straighten him out.
I need it to be somewhere with someone attached that I know--that I know would help me. [ "Know" is a strong assertion. Even as he says it, his unsurety of whether Daryl will help him is obvious. ]
But hearing Quentin say his name, revealing everything while saying so little and clearly asking for no commentary on it, blooms so much disappointment in Daryl he almost chokes on it. He lets the kid talk just so he can collect himself. ]
You're fightin' a lost cause. [ He knows Quentin thinks he thinks this. He knows Quentin knows. He still fucking says it. ] He's rabid. Fuck with him enough and you're gettin' bit again.
[ Worst part is, he thinks Quentin must know that too. Maybe even wants it. ]
I know. I know better than anybody, Daryl. So knowing this, what am I supposed to do? Let him run wild and see who he bites next?Β
I can help. I can-- [ I can fix him, I can fix him, I can--Quentin stops and sucks in a deep breath, thinks fully through this thought before explaining, earnest. ] I think this is the best chance I'll ever get to teach him something. I have to try.Β
[ He hates that containment is a fair point, even if he doesn't know the exact situation they're dealing with. Because already in Daryl's mind it's turned to them,their problem, because the void broke something in his DNA, something that whispers to him every time Danny's name comes up that he's his responsibility, his fucking problem. ]
You can't help. [ He hears what Quentin is saying even though he's not saying it. He wants to shake him, slap him. He wants to admit that he hopes the same fucking thing. ] But yeah. Yeah, you can use the spot.
[ And if he's helping Quentin, what sort of idiot does that make him? ]
[ At the very least, it makes him an appreciated idiot. Quentin shows his appreciation with an outpouring of gratitude in this moment and with updates over the next few days. How they got in. How it's going. Word that he's keeping the place clean. A few more days. It's getting better, he thinks. The next day, no, no, it's still bad. Quentin's gratitude increases fourfold when he asks Daryl one more favor: an overnight stay while Quentin takes care of something. He'll be back in the morning, promise, just--one night. One night.
[ Quentin does come back in the morning--later than he means to, sweaty from the mid-morning heat and the hike, looking like hell warmed over. He warns Daryl when he's close to the shack, an implicit request to meet him outside, and when he lays eyes on Daryl, a pang of something sharp and familiar lances through his chest. Relief. Nervousness. He's got a progress report in his backpack with three C's. Stayed out too late with Jesse Braun and the living room light is on. He's in trouble, and the one person he doesn't want to know is the same person that he desperately needs help from.
[ Daryl isn't his dad, but Quentin still has a hard time meeting his eyes when they're finally close enough for low conversation. ]
The wound the void had left in Daryl's head has been healing for months, had nearly knit closed, and then all in one night it's been torn open again. He is indeed outside to meet Quentin but that's because he's been outside since dawn, splitting wood to keep from going back inside and killing Danny with the axe where he's still lying hogtied and gagged in the middle of the floor where Daryl left him.
His shirt is soaked through with sweat and there's a shallow cut on the side of his neck that wasn't there when Quentin left. He bites the axe deep into the stump he uses for a block and watches him approach, scowling through how torn up the kid looks. How much he feels like he's played this waiting game before.
[ Daryl looks like he's run a marathon. And fought a bear. And like he's already heard from Quentin's teacher. His expression wilts; he's just a guy, he's still learning, don't be mad. ] I'm sorry. Sorry, he's always got...just one more.
[ He drops his bag next to the wood pile, scrubbing his eyes with both palms. ] I owe you. For all this. I don't know if it's helping, I don't--I just need a couple more days.
[ He's always got just one more. Isn't that the truth? Blade, taunt, idea, trick. Danny's always got just one more up his sleeve. ]
It ain't helpin'.
[ He yanks the axe free, lifts another log into place and brings it down violently to cut it in two. He needs the outlet if he's going to talk about this. ]
He fucked me at knifepoint. [ Another log, another savage swing. ] Before you find out an' cry to me about it again. He made me fuck 'im so I did.
He-- [ Is he supposed to not cry about it? In an instant, Quentin's eyes well with tears of anger and exhaustion and pity, but to his credit, he doesn't choke. It's all in the eyes, all down his cheeks, no beats skipped. ] --what the fuck, Daryl, are you okay? What do you--what do you need?
[ As soon as he says it, as soon as Quentin's face crumples, Daryl regrets it. He swings that axe as if he's cutting through the guilt he feels for having not stopped all of this, kept him in line, something. But that guilt isn't his and he won't take it on.
Chop. ]
Nothin'. For you to get him outta here, if you ain't gonna put him outta his misery.
[ Daryl's out here because he couldn't. He couldn't get the knife away from him until the end, then he hadn't been able to drive it home. Failed, then failed again. ]
It's my fault. I shoulda sat outside with a bow an' been done with it. [ He should have said no to Quentin but even now he doesn't want to say that to him. ]
[ Out of his misery. That's what Danny keeps asking for too. To hear it off someone else's mouth--as soon as it's out his mouth, he hears how selfish he sounds, asking for advice on top of favors, but not until then. ] Is that what he needs?
[ You're gonna kill him with that face and those questions, kid. Daryl finally falters, lets the axe slam home again and stay there. He sags. ]
He's still alive. That's your answer.
[ Maybe it's what he needs. Maybe killing him just brings him back worse. Daryl's starting to think that might be the case, but... ]
I can't. [ It comes out defeated, hoarse. He doesn't know how much Quentin knows, if Danny had ever whispered about it to him. Daryl's hurting too much right now not to spit it out like a chipped tooth. ] He was my kid once, too. In... like when you were mine.
[ But not like how he was with Quentin, in far too many ways. ]
[ Danny never mentioned it. Quentin never thought to ask. It had been enough that he knew Danny would breath down Daryl's neck, Quentin ignored it the way he ignored Jim, and House, and John-- ]
[ More than he had, less than he should have, who fucking knows? It was a cloud of moonshine and anger and lust, the very worst parts of who Daryl used to be, magnified by a thousand by the void. No wonder the kid he'd created there had been twisted too, gone wrong. ]
All versions of him are broken, kid. You don't need me to say it.
[ He knows it, but he might still need Daryl to say it. One more person has to say it, every once and a while Quentin feels like maybe he's starting to understand it at last. Still, it drives him deep enough into his thoughts that he flinches the next time the ax comes down. Daryl moves through a whole other swing while Quentin thinks, and the second crack of hatchet through the logs startles a murmured sorry, I'm sorry out of him.Β
[ He turns to pick his bag back up, eyes on the ground, storm cloud trailing behind him as he lurches back towards the cabin. ] I'll take care of it. I'll get him out of here--tomorrow. Tomorrow, we'll be gone.Β
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
no subject
Can I borrow your hunting shack?
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[ Doesn't sound that huge to him, so there's a catch. ]
What've you done?
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I need it to be somewhere with someone attached that I know--that I know would help me. [ "Know" is a strong assertion. Even as he says it, his unsurety of whether Daryl will help him is obvious. ]
no subject
But hearing Quentin say his name, revealing everything while saying so little and clearly asking for no commentary on it, blooms so much disappointment in Daryl he almost chokes on it. He lets the kid talk just so he can collect himself. ]
You're fightin' a lost cause. [ He knows Quentin thinks he thinks this. He knows Quentin knows. He still fucking says it. ] He's rabid. Fuck with him enough and you're gettin' bit again.
[ Worst part is, he thinks Quentin must know that too. Maybe even wants it. ]
You got stones to ask me this.
no subject
I can help. I can-- [ I can fix him, I can fix him, I can--Quentin stops and sucks in a deep breath, thinks fully through this thought before explaining, earnest. ] I think this is the best chance I'll ever get to teach him something. I have to try.Β
no subject
You can't help. [ He hears what Quentin is saying even though he's not saying it. He wants to shake him, slap him. He wants to admit that he hopes the same fucking thing. ] But yeah. Yeah, you can use the spot.
[ And if he's helping Quentin, what sort of idiot does that make him? ]
β in person . may 23
[ At the very least, it makes him an appreciated idiot. Quentin shows his appreciation with an outpouring of gratitude in this moment and with updates over the next few days. How they got in. How it's going. Word that he's keeping the place clean. A few more days. It's getting better, he thinks. The next day, no, no, it's still bad. Quentin's gratitude increases fourfold when he asks Daryl one more favor: an overnight stay while Quentin takes care of something. He'll be back in the morning, promise, just--one night. One night.
[ Quentin does come back in the morning--later than he means to, sweaty from the mid-morning heat and the hike, looking like hell warmed over. He warns Daryl when he's close to the shack, an implicit request to meet him outside, and when he lays eyes on Daryl, a pang of something sharp and familiar lances through his chest. Relief. Nervousness. He's got a progress report in his backpack with three C's. Stayed out too late with Jesse Braun and the living room light is on. He's in trouble, and the one person he doesn't want to know is the same person that he desperately needs help from.
[ Daryl isn't his dad, but Quentin still has a hard time meeting his eyes when they're finally close enough for low conversation. ]
Looks like you made it. Did he?
no subject
The wound the void had left in Daryl's head has been healing for months, had nearly knit closed, and then all in one night it's been torn open again. He is indeed outside to meet Quentin but that's because he's been outside since dawn, splitting wood to keep from going back inside and killing Danny with the axe where he's still lying hogtied and gagged in the middle of the floor where Daryl left him.
His shirt is soaked through with sweat and there's a shallow cut on the side of his neck that wasn't there when Quentin left. He bites the axe deep into the stump he uses for a block and watches him approach, scowling through how torn up the kid looks. How much he feels like he's played this waiting game before.
He hasn't. It's important to remember that. ]
You missed a knife.
no subject
[ He drops his bag next to the wood pile, scrubbing his eyes with both palms. ] I owe you. For all this. I don't know if it's helping, I don't--I just need a couple more days.
(cw: mentions of non/dubcon)
It ain't helpin'.
[ He yanks the axe free, lifts another log into place and brings it down violently to cut it in two. He needs the outlet if he's going to talk about this. ]
He fucked me at knifepoint. [ Another log, another savage swing. ] Before you find out an' cry to me about it again. He made me fuck 'im so I did.
no subject
no subject
Chop. ]
Nothin'. For you to get him outta here, if you ain't gonna put him outta his misery.
[ Daryl's out here because he couldn't. He couldn't get the knife away from him until the end, then he hadn't been able to drive it home. Failed, then failed again. ]
It's my fault. I shoulda sat outside with a bow an' been done with it. [ He should have said no to Quentin but even now he doesn't want to say that to him. ]
no subject
Is that what you'd do?
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He's still alive. That's your answer.
[ Maybe it's what he needs. Maybe killing him just brings him back worse. Daryl's starting to think that might be the case, but... ]
I can't. [ It comes out defeated, hoarse. He doesn't know how much Quentin knows, if Danny had ever whispered about it to him. Daryl's hurting too much right now not to spit it out like a chipped tooth. ] He was my kid once, too. In... like when you were mine.
[ But not like how he was with Quentin, in far too many ways. ]
no subject
What did he need? Back there?
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[ More than he had, less than he should have, who fucking knows? It was a cloud of moonshine and anger and lust, the very worst parts of who Daryl used to be, magnified by a thousand by the void. No wonder the kid he'd created there had been twisted too, gone wrong. ]
All versions of him are broken, kid. You don't need me to say it.
shall we call this a π?
[ He turns to pick his bag back up, eyes on the ground, storm cloud trailing behind him as he lurches back towards the cabin. ] I'll take care of it. I'll get him out of here--tomorrow. Tomorrow, we'll be gone.Β