𝚁𝚄𝙱𝙸 𝙸𝙽𝙱𝙾𝚇;

[dadyl]

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Daryl Dixon, 53

It's Daryl, say what you gotta say.

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(cw: mentions of non/dubcon)

[dadyl]

[ 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.

[pharmacy]

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?

[dadyl]

[ 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. ]

[pharmacy]

[ 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?

Is that what you'd do?

[dadyl]

[ 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. ]

[pharmacy]

[ 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-- ]

What did he need? Back there?

[dadyl]

More'n I could give him.

[ 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 🎀?

[pharmacy]

[ 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. 

[ 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.