Chapter Text
Hilltop wasn’t answering their hails. They’d been trying to contact them with the radio for hours but they just wouldn’t answer.
Whatever sanity Daryl had managed to cling to for the past few years was slowly slipping away. Hilltop would have know they’d have arrived at Alexandria by now, they’d know Siddiq was waiting to advise them. Paul would know. So why weren’t they answering?
The most likely answer was tearing him up inside.
Maggie had ducked out of the room half an hour or so ago after each of their hails went ignored. Rick had left long before, having to attend to his duties as leader and Michonne stepped away briefly to see to Judith. Daryl had been determined to stay until they were answered, but the thick, oppressive cloud in the room eventually forced him out, leaving Carol and Siddiq to keep trying.
If he had to listen to that damn, empty fuzzing answering them one more time, he’d lose it.
He stepped out into Alexandria and felt like he was stepping into another world. It was all so alien and separate from him now, just a strange, physical reminder of old, hazy memories. So much had changed in such a short time, he’d changed, and being back only dredged up old pain.
But as bad as it felt for him, Daryl knew who it would surely be killing.
He found Maggie exactly where he’d expected, stood still as a graveyard statue in front of her and Glenn’s old house. Their home.
It’d remained empty and for that he was glad. It was hard enough seeing it as it was, scorched and bullet ridden, but the thought of seeing it full of new people making new memories, writing over old well loved ones, was too much to stand.
Daryl wondered if Maggie felt the same. He watched her, pale faced and dazed, as she stared at the front porch, her eyes roving over it like she was following ghosts, the afterimages of a happy couple who’d once lived there.
It just didn’t seem right that you could find someone so perfectly meant for you and then just fucking lose them.
“Maggie?”
“I expected him to be here you know?” She said after a moment, voice so hollow and shaky he wanted to burn the world down. “I came here and just... for a second, I actually expected him to be stood there. Waiting for me.”
She was holding her heavily pregnant stomach, hand absently stroking over all she had left of her husband. How she wasn’t going crazy or marching over to the cells with her gun, he’d never know. But Maggie always had played a long game.
For now, all Daryl could think to do was be there for her. He stepped next to her, just letting her know he was there, and managed not to jump when one of her hands grabbed his and held on tight.
“All I want to do right now is go inside, curl up in our old bed and never leave.”
It’d been a long time since Daryl heard her voice sound like that, but he remembered it with a cold, sinking horror. Any second now, Maggie was going to break down and cry.
It happened in slow motion; her face crumpled, eyes filling with tears as her legs wobbled. Daryl could do nothing more than put his arm around her and lead her to sit on the porch, hoping it wouldn’t make everything worse. Then he just held her as she cried.
The guilt he still felt over Glenn’s death had never really left, but he’d realised long ago that it helped nobody, least of all Maggie. It wasn’t her responsibility to reassure him all the time that it wasn’t his fault, she’d done it once and that should be enough. If he wallowed in his guilt, he couldn’t be what she needed. He owed it to Glenn to be there for his wife, to help her and support her in everything, their kid too when it was born.
That was the main reason he first stayed at Hilltop, to make sure she was safe and supported. It didn’t take long for him to realise it was right for himself too; Alexandria had become a tainted place for him, what with the memories, Negan’s continued survival and the stinging pain from Rick’s decision.
Even so, all Hilltop was to him for a while, was simply someplace that wasn’t Alexandria. Daryl could never quite pin point the moment that started to change, the moment he started to know every person there by name, when he started to wake up in the morning with more than just the crushing weight of having to make it through another day.
But whilst he wasn’t sure he’d ever know the exact moment he began to feel at home, he certainly knew who’d dragged him into it. He remembered Paul introducing him to everyone they came across, he remembered early mornings in their trailer, talking with each other or just easy silence. He remembered who it was he looked forward to being around the most on any given day.
One of the things Daryl hated most about himself was his inability to realise or except feelings until it was too late.
No, he couldn’t think like that. It wasn’t too late, it couldn’t be. Everything would work out and they could talk and Daryl would figure out how to stop being so chicken shit. Anything else wasn’t acceptable.
He wasn’t sure how long they sat there, Maggie crying into his shoulder, Daryl holding her and letting her cry, hoping just being there was some measure of comfort. Eventually, her sobs stopped, her breathing returned to normal and she pulled away enough to wipe her face.
“Sorry. Shouldn’t have done that,” she muttered. “I need to keep it together. We don’t get to be upset.”
She sounded worn out, her words empty and rehearsed, like she was quoting something someone once told her.
“Nah, ‘s bullshit. If anyone gets to cry, it’s you. Kept it to yourself long enough and it ain’t good for ya. Cry if ya gotta. Hell, punch someone too if it helps.”
A wet laugh left her, Maggie’s head returning to his shoulder. “You volunteering there huh?”
“Hell nah, I’ve seen your right hook. Not that brave, or stupid.”
“Jesus would. He always said we should start sparring once the baby’s born.”
She sounded sad, resigned even. It hurt deep in his chest, but she didn’t need his worry on top of her own, Daryl needed to do his best to reassure her this time.
“Plenty of time yet. Let me know so I can watch ya kick his ass.” It sounded false even to his ears, but it still got a huff of amusement out of her as she slipped her hand into his. Silence fell and Daryl took the opportunity to deftly light a cigarette one handed, needing something to try and settle the constant worry churning deep in his stomach.
“I know, you know? Bout you two,” she said after a moment, voice quiet and kind as Daryl’s heart tried to burst out of his chest. “You don’t have to say anything, but I do.”
Fuck it. Daryl took a deep drag, held it as long as he could, appreciating the burn, before he exhaled the smoke and nodded. He was too damn tired and too damn scared to waste energy on doing anything else.
“It’s good,” she said gently. “Just seems right. And you seem right, in a way I’ve never seen you before. Something just works.”
And didn’t Daryl just know that too. He’d never felt comfortable in his own skin or his own mind, not once in his entire life; there was always this undercurrent of fear, of hyper vigilance, of wrong. It had eased up for a bit, when everything was going well at the prison, when he had a family who actually gave a shit, when he was a part of a community that needed him. When everything went to shit, he lost that comfort too, back to feeling like the mangy but occasionally useful feral dog that followed the real people around.
Daryl never thought he’d get over that. And after Negan and the Sanctuary, he felt so wrong in himself he just wanted to scrape his skin off or stop having to live in it entirely.
But then Paul started hanging around him and didn’t stop. He invited him to live with him, like it was nothing, like giving Daryl somewhere to feel safe was anything less than monumental. Paul talked to him, or more often at him, then listened to him when Daryl started talking back, letting him remember he had words and that they meant something. He started fitting into Hilltop, regaining a dusty, half forgotten side of himself he thought he’d never get back, never let back.
Daryl started feeling like a person again.
And even through all the worry about the feeling stubbornly growing in his chest, he could never quite seem to force himself to smother it. It had scared him from the moment he realised what it was, it still did in fact, but what’d scared him more, what’d stopped him, was the thought of Paul dying and leaving Daryl with a bleeding, empty space in his life that could never be filled by anyone else. His stupid fear already got in the way once, the morning he left, and he knew now that if the worst did happen, it’d be the biggest regret of his life.
“Can’t lose him Maggie,” he muttered, lump stuck tight in his throat. “Don’t wanna lose any of em. I just- I can’t lose him.”
She said nothing for a second, then she moved, taking the nearly finished cigarette from his hand and stubbing it out on the porch before slowly pulling him into a hug. Despite his promise to only give comfort, Daryl couldn’t help but bury his face in her neck and wrap his arms around her. He just needed a minute, then he’d get it together again.
He barely got a few seconds before Carol came jogging around the corner. Daryl saw her before Maggie did and he felt his heart stop. He wished he could just ignore her, just bury his head in Maggie’s neck and not have to see the look on her face, not have to hear whatever it was she came to say. He’d thought waiting was the worst, but now all he wanted to do was live in the blissful unknown.
Maggie must have felt him tense. Hell, maybe she felt his heart just fucking stop. Either way, she pulled away and turned to see Carol. She must have picked up on the same things as he did, her hand gripping his like a vice, like it was all that was keeping her tethered. Stupid idea. If the worst had happened, there’d be nothing left of him to tether on to.
“Carol?”
“Hilltop’s got in contact.”
She was tense. Avoiding saying the whole of what she knew. Maggie’s hand tightened again.
“Who was it? Who made contact?”
Carol hesitated, then spoke.
“Dante.”
———
Everything hurt. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. All he knew was the taste of blood and hurting bones, chest crushed by something he couldn’t see or move, no matter how hard he tried to push it or buck it off. There were people near him, talking, shouting. He tried to speak but couldn’t, just cough and choke and hurt.
There was something important, something screaming in the back of his head but it was getting too dark and too hard to think.
———
Daryl was pretty sure the only thing that kept him on his feet as they walked to the radio was Maggie’s death grip on his arm and Carol’s eyes on his back. He still didn’t take in anything as they walked; his head was an echoing cavern with horrible thoughts of grief and pain bouncing from one side to the other, getting louder and louder with each return.
They reached the room with the radio when Carol peeled off, he vaguely heard her say she was going for Rick and Michonne, before she left them with a quick, gentle press of her hand against his shoulder.
Siddiq was already talking with Dante on the radio, talking him through something technical and medical. Maggie headed straight to the chair next to Siddiq and sat down heavily, plucking the mouth piece out of his hand with a nod. Daryl could only stand there, legs cemented to the floor as he watched and listened.
“Dante, it’s me. What’s happened?” She sounded tense but in control, an immovable force as always. Daryl was grateful for it. He felt like every atom in his body was shaking apart.
“Maggie? Oh thank God.” The relief in his voice was tangible. “Listen Maggie, don’t come back here okay? You’re pregnant, you need to keep yourself safe. Siddiq’s walking me through what to do since I’m okay so far, but we just need someone to drop the supplies near Hilltop. We’ll do the rest. This shit is just too contagious. It’s bad here Maggie, we’ve lost three more people and-“
He cut himself off. Daryl watched Maggie steel herself to ask the question on both their minds.
“Dante? Why is Jesus not there?”
Dante sighed. “He’s sick Mags. Really sick. I knew something wasn’t right! He was wearing himself out from the start and I knew he looked bad but he just said he was tired! Then after he contacted Michonne he just... collapsed. Couldn’t breathe ‘cause he was choking on blood!”
A hand grabbed his arm, keeping him upright when he was sure he’d have dropped to the fucking floor. Daryl hadn’t even noticed Rick come in. His instincts were going crazy, body wanting to run and fight and shut down all at once.
“Is he stable now Dante?” Despite her pale face and visible fear, she still held it together.
“I think? Yeah, yeah as much as can be expected I suppose. But... I don’t know Maggie. I don’t know if anyone can come back from this. Not that far along. He’s- I think he might-“
“Dante,” she interrupted sharply. “Listen to me. We are going to get these supplies to you and you’ll all do exactly what Siddiq says. We’ll fight this. I just need you and everyone else not sick to keep it together okay?”
“Yeah,” he exhaled, audibly pulling himself together. “Yeah okay, we’ll keep it together. Just please get the medical supplies to us as quick as you can, we’ll do the rest. But just... be prepared okay?”
“Be safe Dante. We’ll be with you soon.”
The connection cut off and Maggie slumped in her seat, one arm wrapping around her bump whilst the one rubbed over her face. She looked tired. Defeated.
Grief stricken.
Dante’s words were going round and round Daryl’s head, the mental images they conjured twisting his stomach, nausea hitting him. The thought of Paul suffering, fucking dying, was beyond comprehension, something that he should never experience outside of his most horrific nightmares.
But it was real and there was only one thing to do. Whatever happened, Daryl needed to be there.
———
It was getting harder and harder to breathe. All he could taste was blood and all he could feel was bone crushing aches. He was worried about something, he knew that much, but it was getting impossible to remember what it was. He tried to speak, tried to let the faint ghosts around him know that there was something important that he needed to do. Maybe a warning, maybe a goodbye. But they just kept pressing him back down.
———
Daryl was shouting, arguing, but he kept phasing in and out for it, barely hanging on to anything considering sane.
“You can’t tell me what to fuckin’ do Rick!”
“No I can’t, but I can damn well ask! It’s too dangerous to go in there right now. Take the supplies, sure, but going in is too big of a risk!”
“I don’t care!” He shouted back, panic surging through his body like a live wire.
“Well I do! We need you!”
“And I need him!”
His raw shout made Rick falter, the fight leaving him, only pity and sadness left behind. It was even worse. Like Paul was already dead.
“Daryl...” Rick stepped forward and put a hand on his arm, but Daryl just shrugged it off, breaths coming too quick. Surprisingly, the fact that Rick knew now, for sure, barely even registered. Every cell in his body was focused on one damn thing, he didn’t have space to worry or think about anything else.
Rick just kept looking at him, everyone else in the room silent, holding their breath. Whatever Rick saw in Daryl, he finally understood and nodded.
Carol stepped next to them. “Rick, no! You and I both know he won’t drop the supplies off and leave! He’ll stay and there’s too high of a chance for infection!”
Daryl was about to bite back about her speaking like he wasn’t there, like he was a kid she could speak for, but Rick interrupted before he could.
“It’s Daryl’s choice. I don’t like it but... I get it.”
Relief flooded through him so profound he would have teared up if he had any spare emotions left. Even with their current issues, Rick was still his brother, still knew him and cared. But Carol still didn’t accept it.
“Daryl, Jesus wouldn’t want this, he didn’t want it! He was right and you can’t help him now and we can’t risk it spreading to the other communities. We have to do everything we can to stop that!”
Daryl turned on her, rage and worry lighting up his insides like someone shoved a firework down his throat, burning away any lines he wouldn’t usually cross.
“And what’re you gunna do then huh?” He spat. “You gunna let them stay in there till they’re all gone? Or will you ‘step up’ again, burn the whole place down.”
Carol froze, an expression on her face that Daryl knew would haunt him later. As it was, he was so angry, so scared that nothing else bothered him.
“He’s dying Carol!” He choked out, voice breaking. “He’s alone and he’s dying! I’m goin’. Even if I can’t help, I’m goin’. Least I can do is take the supplies and just... be there.”
Carol was silent, worry and anger and hurt warring on her face. Somewhere deep inside him, he realised he’d crossed a line, using something like that against her. He’d just have to make amends later and hope it was enough.
“I think he should go,” Maggie said from her seat against the wall, the one she’d all but collapsed in after starting to feel dizzy. But even through her fear and old grief mixed with new, she was strong, still kept her head. It was no wonder Paul believed her to be the best leader he’d ever seen.
“It makes sense. Dante told Siddiq that J- that Jesus separated the sick from the healthy early on, but more kept catching it regardless. Now the healthy ones are tired and scared, not exactly the right kind of people to handle something like this. We need someone who’s steady and can follow Siddiq’s orders without panicking.”
“I’m going too.”
Everyone turned to stare at Siddiq, a stranger that quickly became family and an invaluable member of all the communities. He seemed determined and Daryl knew once he’d decided something, nothing would change that.
“No, we really can’t risk you. We-“
“Rick, please,” Siddiq interrupted firmly. “It’s only right that I should go. I’m the doctor here, I know exactly what to do and how to deal with any complications that could arise. Daryl would follow my instructions and do it well, of that I have no doubt, but he can’t be expected to know what to do in a medical emergency. I do. If you want those people to survive, I’m their best shot.”
Daryl nodded at Siddiq, words not enough to show how grateful he was. Rick just sighed, but he knew it was the right call, everyone did. Daryl couldn’t help but look over at Maggie, knowing that she’d be thinking of her father.
After a moment of thought, a moment utterly wasted in Daryl’s opinion, Rick sighed and nodded. “Fine. Both of you get ready and head out, it’s not too late to set off and make it before dark.”
Daryl didn’t have anything to say to Rick, words were still difficult between them for now, but he clasped his shoulder for a second on his way past. He hoped it was enough. Maggie rose unsteadily to her feet, almost fighting off Michonne’s help, but it seemed there was still love there and she finally allowed it, their arms linked together as they headed towards the door. He’d no doubt have time to speak to her before he left.
Carol left without looking at him, without saying a thing. Despite his urgent, burning need to set off that exact second, he knew Siddiq was organising his supplies and Daryl just didn’t feel right leaving without apologising. Once upon a time he probably wouldn’t have bothered, would have just left it and hoped things got fixed between them anyhow. Personal growth was a thing with him now apparently, who the fuck would have guessed?
He hadn’t seen where she’d gone, but he had a pretty good idea, heading to her old digs with a sick feeling in his stomach. The door was shut, but he could hear faint noises inside; cupboards opening and jars clinking. Forcing down his anxiety, Daryl opened the door. He found her in the kitchen, wandering around it, probably remembering the times when she had to pull back on the too well fitting mask of helpful, dotty housewife who’s only skills were keeping them all fed and clothed.
The dissonance between who she was, what she’d had to do and who she was pretending to be was almost lethal to her, and he was grateful she’d finally found a place she could be all of herself and still feel loved, still feel accepted. He knew what it felt like to finally find that.
“‘M sorry.”
That made her look up at him. It wasn’t often he’d ever verbally apologised before and it made her stare right into him, like she was trying to figure out when he’d changed. But even if the words were out there, it still didn’t feel enough, not for what he’d said.
“Shouldn’t have said what I did. Was real shitty,” he mumbled, looking down at his hands and picking at the skin around his fingernails. “‘M just... scared. But I shouldn’t’a brought that up. Know you wouldn’t, I was just bein’ a dick. Don’t have to forgive me, just didn’t wanna leave with you thinkin’ I actually thought that.”
He heard her light footsteps come closer until she was right in front of him. She didn’t say anything and he didn’t look at her, but then her small, rough hand took hold of his and he couldn’t help but look up.
“I’m not going to pretend it didn’t hurt Daryl, it did. But I’m glad you came to talk to me. I didn’t expect you to. You’ve changed a lot you know? For the better.”
She smiled at him, small and soft and sad.
“I’m sorry this is happening Daryl. I’m sorry it’s Jesus. It isn’t fair.”
The pain in his chest got worse, jaw clenching as he tried to keep it together. He couldn’t fall apart yet, he was needed.
“I shouldn’t have tried to stop you,” she continued. “It’s not my place and it wasn’t the right thing to do. I just... I don’t want to lose you too Daryl, and I let that take over. But you need to be there, I know that. You need to be there to help them all, but especially him. And if he... if he can’t get better, you deserve to be there for that too.”
Daryl was sure he was going to choke on the lump in his throat, his free hand coming up to roughly scrub at his burning eyes before he was pulled down into Carol’s arms. Just like with Maggie, he let himself have that for a moment, to take strength from one of the most important people in his life. They’d always been connected, him and Carol, even when they were apart. They understood each other and she was the first person to really try to know him and to let him know himself. They had a bit of each other’s soul in theirs, of that he was sure.
After a moment, she pulled away slightly and put a hand on the back of his head, pulling him down to press a kiss to his forehead.
“I’m so proud of you Daryl, whatever happens.”
———
Fuck is was so cold, so dark. He was sure there were people nearby but he felt so alone. Totally adrift in the empty, shadowy space he found himself. No matter what he tried, he couldn’t break free of it. He was just so damn tired now. Nothing seemed to matter so much any more.
———
They left not a half hour later, Daryl on his bike with Siddiq following in his supply stuffed car. Maggie’s words were ringing in his ears as the wind rushed past him.
“Thank you for being there,” she’d said, tears in her eyes that she wouldn’t allow to fall, not then. “I’m glad you’ll be there for all of them but... especially him. If the worst happens, I’m glad he won’t be alone. I’m glad he’ll have you to hold his hand and talk to him. It’s what I wish I could have done for Glenn.”
She’d sent him off with hope too of course, the same stubborn hope they were both clinging too, but it was those words that stuck with him.
He gunned his bike faster, hoping to outrun the possibility that he might actually have to do that; might actually have to face that Paul was too far gone to get better, that he might have to watch him die. Death had always snuck up on him before, cloaked in shadow and unexpected, pulling the people he cared about away from him in the blink of an eye.
The slow, creeping march of it coming for Paul was worse, was beyond words. But he would fight it every damn step of the way.
The journey to Hilltop had never felt so long before, not even during the darkest days of the war. Every moment stretched to a lifetime and he was constantly waiting for something to go wrong; a herd would come and slow them down, Siddiq’s tires would go, maybe Daryl’s too, a fucking freak storm. It felt like even the tiniest hold up would result in Paul just... leaving. Going too far away for him to ever reach.
There were too many things left unsaid, too many things he was too afraid to say or think or feel. Or do. Paul needed to get better, he was too important, not just to Daryl but to everyone, to the new world they were all building. If Paul died, Daryl knew the world would never see the likes of him again.
When the gates of Hilltop came into view at last, Daryl could barely keep his bike under control, legs shaking with desperation to get inside as quick as possible, mixed with absolute terror over what he might find. But the gates remained shut, even though someone had surely heard his bike and Siddiq’s car. Irrational thoughts of a colony full of corpses attacked his mind.
“Hey! Hello?” He shouted up. “Open the gates! It’s Daryl and Siddiq!”
For a moment there was nothing, Daryl’s heart pounding in his chest, before he heard the blessed sound of feet pounding up the wooden stairs on the wall and saw Dante appear.
“Daryl? Shit, you weren’t supposed to come here man! You need to drop the supplies and go okay? We got this.”
“Hell no. Maggie cleared us, so get that fuckin’ gate open now!”
He didn’t care if he sounded harsh or that he snapped at someone just doing their best, if those gates weren’t open in the next few seconds he’d blast them open.
“Fuck, alright, okay.”
Dante ran his hand roughly over his hair and moved out of sight, the heavy doors of Hilltop swinging open minutes later. Daryl started up his bike and shot inside, some irrational part of him hoping Paul would hear it and come out to meet him. Whenever Daryl had been gone for a few days, Paul would always be there waiting for him, as soon as he heard that bike.
But of course, this time, he didn’t. This time all that Daryl came back to, came home to, was an empty, desolated Hilltop.
He heard Siddiq pull the car up behind him and start gathering his gear, talking to Dante all the while, but Daryl just couldn’t bring himself to stop looking around. Hilltop just looked wrong. It was always such a buzz of activity, people coming and going everywhere, the noise of working and life filling the air. Now it was almost echoing in its empty silence.
“Daryl?”
Dante’s voice made him focus, turning to one of Maggie’s most trusted helpers. He looked tired, worn down to the bone but thankfully, not sick.
“Where is everyone?”
Dante sighed. “Everyone left who isn’t sick is in Barrington. We’re trying to keep them there, where it’s safe, but it’s not easy. The rest are in the medical trailer and when that filled up, we had to clear out the storage trailer too but... well, they can all fit in the medical trailer again now.”
So they’d lost even more then.
Siddiq jumped into action, voice calm and commanding as he asked Dante questions and asked for his help collecting water and whatever the fuck else they needed. Daryl wasn’t even listening. All he could do was keep staring at the medical trailer and pointedly ignoring the sad, pitying looks Dante kept shooting at him.
Paul was in that trailer. He was sick, dying, and Daryl was only a few strides away but now found he couldn’t move. Once he went in there, it would be real. He’d have to see how bad Paul was, would have to watch and help Siddiq try to make him better. And if he couldn’t, he really would have to watch him die. He was violently aware that was a possibility, had been since he was in Alexandria, but with it so real and so close, he wasn’t sure he could do it. What would be left of him if he had to watch Paul die? How much of him would he want to be left?
Siddiq and Dante swept past him, arms full of medical supplies and entered the trailer. Still he just couldn’t move. Without his say so, his eyes moved in the direction he knew Glenn and Abraham’s graves to be. They didn’t get to have someone sitting next to them, holding their hand and talking to them as they died; instead they got pain and fear and their family watching on in silent horror as the life was beaten out of them.
His feet unglued from the floor. Slowly, each step almost causing him actual physical pain, he moved towards the trailer, steps getting quicker until finally, he was in front of the door. He could hear horrible coughing coming from inside and the odd groan, as well as Siddiq’s gentle voice.
Daryl opened the door.
It was dark inside, the light limited to dull camping lanterns and the few windows covered. It smelt like sickness; like sweat and blood, that familiar scent reminding him too much of the prison, yet another time that their hard earned life was torn from them. Once his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he started to recognise people.
Al was first, one of the reformed Saviours who’d admittedly helped Hilltop a great deal, his face pale and sweaty but eyes open, coughing and answering Siddiq’s questions in a voice so horse he could barely be heard. Then there was Clarice, a sweet woman who worked wonders in their gardens, totally unconscious. Kal, his usual energy and attitude gone, leaving him still and silent. Earl looked uncharacteristically small and weak, no sign of his usual strength and quiet kindness. Jenna, the joyful glint in her eye hidden beneath a feverish haze. They were all so fucking sick.
Daryl moved past them in a daze once his eyes fixed on the last bed in the trailer.
The man in the bed looked nothing like the man Daryl knew. It was Paul but it wasn’t; none of the spark he always carried showing through, just a sick body unconscious on the bed. There were speckles of blood on the pillow next to him.
He was paler than Daryl had ever seen him, even at the tail end of the war when he’d been running on a few hours of sleep for days of being awake, all except for the fever flush of his cheeks. He was shirtless, probably in an effort to bring his temperature down, making every wheezing, desperate gasp for air obvious. His normally perfect hair, not that Daryl would ever be caught dead admitting it, was lank and messy, all tangled on the pillow with little strands sticking to the sweat on his skin.
Daryl was already reaching down to fix it before he realised he’d thought to. He moved the hair stuck to his face, trying desperately to ignore the heat coming off him, then gently lifted his head ever so slightly, gathering all the tangled hair and moving it to the left side. He didn’t move away when he’d finished, he couldn’t, he just sat on the edge of Paul’s bed and kept looking at him, his fingers still touching his hair.
Did he even know Daryl was there? Did he know he wasn’t alone?
“Paul,” he muttered, mindful of the heavy weight of silence in the trailer. “It’s Daryl. ‘M here okay? ‘M here.”
With nothing more to do until Siddiq made his way over, he quietly got up and moved the closest stool next to Paul’s bed and sat, settling in for the long haul. No doubt he had things he could be doing, ways he could be helping, but the sight of Paul looking so fucking sick in that bed erased all other thoughts, all other feelings of duty. He needed to be there for him.
Mindless of anyone else in the room, not caring that they could see, he gently took hold of Paul’s hand, threading his fingers through the still ones. They fit so perfectly. He’d never bought into any of the mushy, romantic bullshit that books and movies liked to pedal, never thought that there was anyone out there actually meant or made for him, but the way Paul’s hand fit into his almost made him change his mind.
Pain and fear contracted his chest, tightening his airways with the realisation that he could not lose him, not now, not ever. He brought their joined hands up to his face, pressing a rough kiss to the back of Paul’s too warm hand, letting it stay against his lips as he tried to just breathe.
Paul had been wrong. There wasn’t always more time.
If it hadn’t been for his stupid fear, Daryl could have know what it was like to kiss him, just once, before all of this. At least he’d have had that.
They’d been saying goodbye when it nearly happened; both of them in their trailer as the pale morning light came through the trailer windows. It was the longest they’d have been apart since the war and neither were happy about it, though Paul had tried to make light of it, joking about finally getting the full use of the couch back. As if they both didn’t enjoy sprawling on either side of it, legs tangled in the middle as they read or talked or sat in silence. Daryl could have gone along with it, but he just couldn’t bring himself to, not in the peaceful, safe space of their home, the rest of the world locked outside.
So instead, he’d allowed himself to be honest, to put into words that he would actually miss Paul, that he wished he didn’t have to go or that Paul could come too. That he didn’t feel right without Paul around.
They weren’t especially profound words, they weren’t like the poetry in Paul’s books, but they were honest, and as always, Paul had understood that. The silence had hung for a second, Paul seeming to internally debate something, before he blurted out that he was just going to hug Daryl.
When he’d slowly wrapped his arms around Daryl, he was hit with the most profound sense of belonging he’d ever felt. It was impossible not to return the hold, pulling Paul to him and holding on, breathing in the smell of Paul’s hair, shivering at the breath against his neck, feeling the way Paul slowly rubbed his thumb against his back. It felt so right, so safe, that he never wanted to leave, never wanted to give it up. He wanted more.
Daryl had pulled away slightly, Paul following his lead but stopping when he realised Daryl wasn’t trying to get away. Daryl knew what he wanted, he just didn’t know how to ask, didn’t know how to make the first move, but Paul did. Daryl watched as his eyes widened slightly, gaze fixing on Daryl’s, reading the very heart of him and understanding. He’d leant in and Daryl held his breath, heart pounding harder than it ever had before, so full of life and nerves and hope and want.
They’d been so, so close when Maggie banged on their door and called Daryl’s name.
He’d jumped and pulled back, and Paul had let him go. With the space between them and the seconds moving on, the fear had come back and even if he’d known he could step right back towards Paul, he just couldn’t. If he kissed Paul, there’d be no going back from that, no pretending it didn’t happen or taking it back, no possible hope of saving himself from the utter desolation he’d feel should anything ever happen to Paul.
The moment passed.
Daryl had grabbed his bag and headed for the door, avoiding Paul’s eye as his stomach twisted. He was stopped by a hand grabbing his. He’d turned and finally looked at Paul, seeing nothing but understanding in his eyes.
Then Paul had told him that he’d be waiting for him to come back. That there was always time.
Now, looking at him lying on the bed, sick, maybe even dying, Daryl knew he’d do anything to go back to that morning and make a different choice. Because more time was never a guarantee, not in their world.
The world moved forward as he sat there, maybe ten minutes, maybe an hour, but each second dragging into a lifetime until he finally heard Siddiq and Dante come towards them.
“Daryl,” he began gently. “I need to examine him now okay? Get the medication and treatment started. I’m going to do my best to get him better, you have my word.”
He didn’t want to let go. The irrational part of his brain was sure if he let go of Paul’s hand, he’d just... leave.
“Come on Daryl.” Dante spoke gently, putting a hand on his shoulder. Daryl watched Paul’s hitching, pained breathing and finally managed to make himself let go, placing Paul’s hand gently back down on the bed and standing. He stayed long enough to watch Siddiq take his temperature and frown, a dark look on his face when he checked his breathing, before Dante managed to lead him out of the medical trailer.
The fresh, late evening air hit him and he had to make his was over to the closest bench on shaking legs, dropping onto the seat and breathing deep. It was just so wrong. Nobody at Hilltop deserved this, nobody deserved to die, not from something like a virus, not after they’d made it through hell. It didn’t make sense.
Dante sat heavily on the other side of the bench with a sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. He looked exhausted, obviously from taking over Paul’s role, but had somehow managed to avoid catching the virus thank fuck. Daryl had never been sure what to make of Dante at first, of any of them really, but he knew him now and he was good people.
“What happened?” Daryl mumbled. They’d only really heard bits, just the small snippets of information they’d needed, but Daryl had to know more, had to know exactly what happened. Dante sighed again, but told him anyway.
Daryl winced at every name of the people who’d died, heart hurting as memories of each one surfaced. The quick onset of the virus was so familiar it was like going back in time, as was many of the symptoms, old memories plastering themselves on the faces of people he’d come to care so much for. And because Dante obviously knew something, or at least heavily suspected, he told Daryl about Paul.
He’d been brave, strong, always in control and someone to look to. As if there was any doubt about that, as if that wasn’t his overriding instinct; to help, to protect, to quietly and thanklessly take on every burden that he could. Of course, that had come at his expense.
Daryl could see it perfectly as Dante spoke, could see exactly how tired Paul would have been and how he’d have used that as an explanation for everything, all while hiding the cough and the pain and the blood. Right until he couldn’t anymore.
“I hadn’t seen him in a while,” Dante continued, eyes downcast and voice subdued, avoiding Daryl’s eyes like he thought it was his fault, like Daryl might blame him.
“Then I remembered he was trying to contact Alexandria in his spare time. I was coming up the hall when I heard... when I heard him cough and cough. Then a thump. I ran in and he was just on the floor, choking on all this blood and making the most horrible noise. Then he just stopped. I thought he’d died. I got him on his side and hit his back, tried to clear away the blood. It worked thank God. But he hasn’t been right since then. In and out of consciousness and fighting us until a few hours ago. He hasn’t come round since.”
Fucking hell. As much as Daryl wished he’d been there with Paul, he was immeasurably glad he didn’t have to watch that. Hearing about it was bad enough.
“I’m sorry Daryl,” Dante mumbled.
“Ain’t your fault,” he managed to force out in response.
“That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry Daryl. It’s not fair.”
Dante finally looked up, sorrow and pity and grief plain to see on Dante’s face. It made Daryl’s throat close up; it was like Paul was already dead, everyone treating him as mourner in chief. He was going to make it very clear that Paul was still alive, still fighting and it’d damn well stay that way, when Siddiq poked his head out of the trailer and nodded at Daryl. Then nothing else mattered but returning to Paul’s side.
Still, he couldn’t stop himself from patting Dante’s shoulder as he went by. “Get some rest. And... thanks for everything.” He meant it too, the guy had stepped up, kept it going since Paul was sick. He owed him.
Then he stepped back into the trailer, back to the bedside vigil.
———
He didn’t know why, but he didn’t feel alone anymore. He felt further away from everything with every passing moment, but there was a faint feeling of safety. He wanted to find where it came from, wanted to follow that feeling. But he couldn’t, it was impossible, he was too far down in the dark, in the cold. No matter how much he fought, something was pressing him down, keeping him away. He was just so tired. It was so hard to remember why he was fighting to wake up now. He’d done his best, he’d tried. Maybe it was just time to sleep.
———
The hours passed slowly, taking Jenna with them. He’d let go of Paul briefly to rush over and try to help, Siddiq doing all he could to save her, but in the end it just wasn’t enough. He left the doctor to say a prayer and stop her turning, covering her with a sheet until Dante turned up half an hour later, the two of them carrying her out to the spare trailer where they kept the two bodies from yesterday that still needed to be buried.
Paul hadn’t woken up once, hadn’t done anything other than struggle to breathe as they tried to bring his temperature down, to keep him going long enough for the meds to kick in. Having to sit there and watch Paul’s chest stutter and struggle to get oxygen in and out, that horrible wet wheezing ringing in his ears, was a new level of hell for Daryl. He wasn’t sure anything could sound worse than that.
Until it stopped.
The world titled sideways, pain and panic hitting Daryl as he jumped up, stool tipping to the ground behind him as his hands hovered over Paul’s chest. There was blood in his mouth, little trickles escaping his lips and staining his chin. Daryl didn’t know what to do.
“Siddiq! Get in here now!” He shouted, not caring how loud he was, his only focus on Paul. Siddiq threw open the door of the trailer and ran in, Dante following close behind, his eyes widening as he saw Paul. Siddiq thankfully sprang into action.
“Dante! Get the intubation kit and the bag valve mask! Hopefully we won’t need it. Okay Daryl, help me tilt him on his side, we need to clear the blood.”
Daryl reacted immediately, helping Siddiq get Paul on his side and just about choking down an animal noise of pain when he started thumping Paul on his back, blood spraying from his mouth with each hit.
Still he didn’t breathe.
“Dante, pass me- no, that one, the one with the bag on the end.”
Daryl could barely focus on what Siddiq and Dante were saying, eyes fixed on Paul’s still chest. It was agony to watch, agony to know that with every second, he was slipping further and further away from him. He didn’t know what to do. Siddiq placed a mask over Paul’s mouth and nose, starting to steadily compress the bag attached to it, forcing breath into Paul’s chest.
“Dante, check his pulse, tell me if it slows or stops.”
Daryl’s head shot up in barely restrained panic. Seeing Paul stop breathing was hell enough, the thought of his heart stopping was unbearable. He wanted desperately to hold him, to touch him, to talk to him, but he knew he’d only be in the way, Siddiq controlling the situation and ordering Dante about with firm, steady precision. But no matter what he was doing, it didn’t seem to be working; Paul’s chest still refused to rise on its own.
“Siddiq,” came Dante’s rapidly more worried by the second voice. “I think it’s slowing!”
“Don’t panic, just keep monitoring.”
Daryl felt like he couldn’t breathe, like they needed to put that fucking bag over his face too. He watched as Siddiq continued to steadily breathe for Paul and tried his best to ignore Dante and the growing panic on his face.
“It’s stopped!”
“Shit.”
Surely Daryl’s body was mirroring Paul’s right now, as Dante’s shout made his own heart stop in his chest. He watched, numb to everything but terror as Siddiq jumped into action, ordering Dante to take over the bag and squeeze when he told him, before starting chest compressions. He’d never been bothered by the sight of them before, never thought he’d ever consider himself squeamish, but it deeply unsettled something in him to see Siddiq pressing down so hard on Paul’s chest. The fact the man didn’t even react was even worse.
Daryl couldn’t stay back any longer. Dodging around Siddiq, he crouched behind Paul’s head, smoothing his hair back, touching his cheeks, his jittery hands not knowing what to do, just knowing he had to touch him.
“Come on Paul,” he whispered, voice so choked with fear he barely recognised it, dipped in desperation and pleading. “Don’t go. Please. We need ya. I need ya. You said we had time, remember? Don’t be a liar Paul, not to me. Please don’t go.”
Daryl kept up his mindless pleas, ignoring the sound of a rib cracking as Siddiq continued with chest compressions, Dante squeezing the bag when instructed, the two of them working together to save Paul whilst all Daryl could do was watch and try not to break apart.
The thought of having to leave the trailer without Paul, to go on living knowing that he’d never see that smile again, or hear him talk, or watch him read, was too much to even begin to imagine actually living through. It just seemed so impossible, so against the very laws of nature for there to be a world without Paul in it. For his world not to have Paul in it.
He roughly scrubbed at his wet eyes, pressing his forehead to Paul’s. “Don’t leave me Paul, don’t do that to me. Ya got a family here now. Don’t make us miss you too.”
Still nothing. Then...
If the sound of Paul stopping breathing was the worst in the world, nothing could ever sound as wonderful as the choking inhale that seemed to fill the whole room as he finally, finally started breathing again.
“Oh thank God,” came Dante’s relieved voice, removing the mask as he almost collapsed backwards, leaning against the closest wall as Siddiq went about checking Paul’s heart and breathing before he too relaxed, his smile like a breath of fresh air when he turned to Daryl and nodded.
If Daryl forgot to keep trying to wipe away his tears at that moment, he honestly didn’t even notice, too overcome with relief. He wouldn’t have cared if the entire world was watching, eagle eyed and judgmental on his emotional break down, he was simply to bone shatteringly thankful.
Siddiq and Dante left him where he was, retreating to the other side of the trailer, letting Daryl once again move to the chair beside Paul’s bed. His skin was still pale, there was blood around the corner of his mouth and in his hair, but his chest was moving. It was moving and his heart was beating and he was alive.
He wasn’t out of the woods yet, the meds still had to kick in and fight of the virus, but after watching all that, after seeing Paul come back, he knew he’d be okay. Daryl was so relieved he was almost delirious with it, hardly knowing if he should laugh or cry or move or collapse.
Instead, he just took hold of Paul’s hand once more, pressing kisses to it, fighting off his sudden exhaustion as he settled back in to wait. No matter what came next, Daryl refused to be a coward any longer, refused to fight his feelings or hide them away. For the first time in a long time, he actually wanted a future, and he wanted the man in front of him to be right at the heart of it.
———
Waking up was, in all honestly, a genuine surprise. When he’d collapsed outside the coms room, Paul was sure it was the end.
He came to consciousness slowly and groggily, every cell in his body aching, his chest in particular. As he cracked an eye open and looked down, he saw why; there were bandages on his chest, more than likely someone had cracked a rib doing chest compressions. Fuck.
His lungs felt raw and full of acid, the disgusting taste of old blood in his mouth. But still, he was actually alive.
“Good to see you back with us Jesus.”
Paul looked up at the hushed voice, seeing Siddiq stood to the side and fiddling with an IV bag that was apparently attached to him. Wait, surely Siddiq shouldn’t be here.
“Why are y-“
“-try not to talk okay? Just rest. It was touch and go for a while, we nearly lost you. But the meds are kicking in and you’ll soon start feeling better. So take it easy okay? I don’t think Daryl could survive much more worry.”
Daryl? Paul would have shot out of bed in panic if he had any energy. He wasn’t supposed to come! He was supposed to stay safe! Where was h-
Oh. When Paul tried to move his hand, he realised it was trapped in the gentle but firm grip of the man in question. He must be worse off than he’d thought, not to notice a sleeping Daryl in the chair beside him, all bent over with his head resting on the mattress near Paul’s hip. From what he could see of his face, Daryl was exhausted, dark circles even more prominent around his eyes.
“He’s hasn’t left your side for two days,” Siddiq continued. “He fought like hell for us to even be here at all and it’s a good thing we were. So don’t get mad at him for ignoring the quarantine.”
Paul wanted to be, he really did, the thought of Daryl not only having to see Hilltop at its worst and nearly watch him die by the sounds of it, but also exposing himself to the virus, sent shivers of cold terror through him. But a bigger part of him was just so damn happy he was here. So instead he just nodded at Siddiq and forced out a croaked thanks, not surprised that their only real doctor would risk himself like that but immensely grateful anyway.
“How’s... everyone?”
“If I tell you will you stop talking and rest?”
Paul nodded, even as Siddiq sighed and rolled his eyes at his innocent expression. They both knew damn well he’d be up as soon as physically possible.
“Well it wasn’t good,” he said solemnly. “We lost one more since you got sick, Jenna, but everyone else is already improving. Earl actually left earlier today in fact, he’s in his trailer resting but I’m sure he’ll be back to his regular self soon. You’ve been harder to fix, since you worked yourself half to death.” Siddiq glared at him, quiet voice taking on a scolding tone.
“From what I can tell, the virus started with Mrs Williams and spread initially due to her still cooking before she realised she was sick. After that it just kept spreading like wildfire. But we’re over the worst of it now and we won’t lose anyone else.”
Relied flooded through Paul, just as strong as the sickly, crippling guilt and grief. They’d lost so many, to a fucking virus. It wasn’t fair. And despite logically knowing it was stupid, he couldn’t help but feel like he should have been able to stop it.
“We contacted Maggie this morning but we won’t let her return until all traces of the virus are gone. Though I’m still tempted to make her stay away until the baby’s born, just to be safe. Don’t worry though, we have it all under control. I’m going to leave you to rest now. Actually do it please. The better you look after yourself the sooner you’ll be back out there helping.”
Paul nodded at him with a smile as Siddiq patted him on the shoulder and moved back down the trailer, bending down to check on Al, the other man sitting up and drinking something. The rest of the trailers occupants looked just as on the mend, something that brought so much relief to him he could have cried.
Instead, he just looked back down at the sleeping man by his side.
Fuck, he was so glad he got to see him again, so unbelievably grateful that he didn’t have to leave him or leave Maggie. Whilst he’d always had excellent self preservation skills and instincts, there was still a fairly sizeable part of himself that just didn’t much care if he ended up dying. He didn’t have anyone to miss or who’d miss him, so why should he stress about when his time might run out? He’d try his best and fight to the end, but whatever happened, so be it.
But now, for the first time in his life, Paul had people he wanted to stay for, wanted to live for. He had friends spread out over the communities, all of them working together to help build their new world. He had a best friend, a sister who he loved more than life, and he was always so unbelievably grateful that fate brought them together.
And he had Daryl, the first person he’d ever truly loved, the person he wanted to have a life with if he was allowed. From the way Daryl was clutching at his hand, Paul thought he might have a chance. He’d always been willing to wait for Daryl, and still would, but maybe he’d realised it was okay to be who he was and to let someone love him. Maybe even let himself love someone back.
After a few more minutes of watching Daryl sleep, Paul realised he was utterly exhausted and probably couldn’t keep his eyes open for another minute. He wasn’t afraid to sleep this time though, as he was sure he’d wake up and Daryl would still be there, still waiting for him. So he simple gently squeezed Daryl’s hand, settled back into the pillows and dropped immediately into sleep.
And sure enough, when he woke again later, the early morning lighting up the trailer with pale golds, Paul felt a hand in his hair, gently untangling it and setting it carefully on the pillow.
He opened his eyes and looked at Daryl, the other man staring at him with so much relief and happiness and... love. There was so much to say, so much to ask and to promise, but Paul was too tired for all that yet, so he said the only thing he could think to.
“Told you we had time.”
Daryl paused before his face finally cracked into a smile. It was the most beautiful thing Paul had ever seen. Then he bent down and pressed a kiss to Paul’s forehead, so gentle and full of feeling that it made his throat close up.
“Yeah,” Daryl muttered against his skin. “Yeah we do.”