[ 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
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no subject
Is that what you'd do?
no subject
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?
no subject
[ 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