Chapter Text
When Daryl walked into his pre-calculus class, there wasn’t a pair of eyes not fixed on him.
He hadn’t expected anything different after seemingly disappearing for a month, and he supposed the slight limp he still walked with didn’t help any. At least he’d stopped wearing that damn brace on his wrist a while ago. Still, he couldn’t enjoy that freedom; he didn’t think anyone could get used to people gawking at them—least of all him.
Keeping his eyes firmly away from the intimidating rows of desks and their gaping inhabitants, Daryl strode over to the teacher’s desk a lot more confidently than he felt, almost cringing at the owlish shock Miss Anthony didn’t have the decency to keep off of her face as she looked up at him.
“Afternoon, Miss Anthony,” Daryl said politely, ducking his head. He held out a fat manila folder holding all the math work he’d missed, one among the six others for the rest of his subjects. Rick had organized them for him last night, just to put his mind at ease, and he certainly appreciated the organization the minute he’d walked into class. Even if Rick was still kept up, kissing Daryl just to get his mind off of everything, anyway.
“Hi, Daryl,” she replied, smiling warmly at him. Her dark red fingernails were stark against the pale file as she took it from him, placing it on her desk. “It’s nice to have you back. Thanks for keeping up with your work, too. Takes a load off my mind.”
Daryl opened his mouth to tell her that it was Rick who deserved the praise, but that would lead to questions he just didn’t want to answer. Undoubtedly she knew the cop, as he’d been in her class only three years ago, and why Rick would be retrieving his schoolwork wouldn’t be an inquiry that was easy to answer. Unless he wanted to tell the truth, Daryl amended wryly.
“Wasn’t nothin’,” he said diplomatically instead, hefting his bag up to rest more comfortably on his shoulder.
He finally turned back to the rest of the class, which had been uncharacteristically silent during the exchange, his pass for early dismissal crumpled in his fist. Daryl was already enough of a spectacle without having to leave five minutes early with some human pack mule carrying his stuff; he didn’t care what his doctor said about his ribs, or if he was still walking funny.
His mind blanked as he looked at the sea of desks facing him, struggling to remember where he’d been seated before he left. Daryl could have sworn he was in the middle row, second to the back—but that seat was taken by some kid he didn’t even recognize. He felt his entire body flush with embarrassment as he stood there like an idiot, searching frantically for some seat that might’ve been his.
“Daryl.” His ears pricked at the harsh whisper uttering his name, and he turned to see who it was. Glenn was motioning to the seat in front of him and diagonal to his girlfriend, an overly cheerful grin on his face. Rolling his eyes but feeling marginally better, he made his way over to the empty seat, falling heavily into it.
“We got yer seat changed when we heard when you were comin’ back,” Maggie leaned over to whisper, big smile bright on her lips and twinkling in her viridescent eyes. “Figured you might want a friendly face or two on yer first day.”
“Thanks,” Daryl muttered from the side of his mouth, eyes fixed warily on Miss Anthony as she began to teach her lesson. He was antsy being around so many people after so long of only seeing Rick and occasionally his family, and the last thing he wanted was for his teacher to have a problem with him. Seeing as Daryl had managed to avoid conflict with even Mr. Howard that morning in English, he was determined to keep up this streak of luck.
His anxiousness had diminished none throughout the day, and Daryl found his fingers tapping in a rapid staccato on the wood surface of his desk just as they had in English—and history and chemistry and health. Still, he paid close attention to the concept his teacher drew out across the blackboard, dutifully copying his notes into one of the new notebooks Rick had gotten him after he went alone to retrieve the pitiful amount of personal belongings, including school supplies, Daryl had in his room. As weak as he’d felt letting Rick go back to that place and staying safe in their apartment, he was glad Rick had done it. Especially because Rick brought back his little box filled to the brim with their letters, despite the pain that had twisted the man’s face at that request. It just didn’t feel right, not having them, when Daryl had found every single one of his replies, messy scrawl unmistakable, in the drawer of Rick’s dresser. He put the box on their bedside stand and read them to himself like a bedtime story every time Rick worked late, even let the man find him with the thin, creased paper held between his fingers, just so he would stop blaming himself a little bit more.
He was glad that the lesson made sense to him as it went on, since Rick had threatened none too jokingly that he would be watching him all night to make sure he did his homework. He needn’t have bothered, though, because Daryl would do it anyway. Since Rick wouldn’t let him work to help pay the rent, the least Daryl could do was complete his homework and study for tests. He didn’t want to disappoint Rick, and, throughout the day, he found it a lot easier to concentrate when he wasn’t thinking about the amount of booze his father had left and whether or not he should go and stay in the woods that night, just to be safe. No, he left the lesson thinking only of vectors and their properties, calculating how long all his assignments would take that night, and maybe vaguely wishing he had Rick to loop his arm around his waist like Glenn’s did about Maggie’s as they walked out of the classroom together.
“How was your first day back, man?” Glenn asked kindly, leading their trio off toward the library. Luckily, they all ended the day with a study hall. Daryl didn’t think he could take much more of the incessant staring and whispering that followed him through his classes, regardless of how hard he tried to make it seem like he wasn’t bothered.
Daryl only offered a noncommittal grunt, shoving his hands deep in his pockets and staring down at his feet as they made their way down the hallway.
“Hey, Dixon, where ya been?” a voice shouted to their left.
Daryl still flinched slightly, though he’d gotten used to the jeering early on in the day, learning to duck his head and plow on through the corridor rather than holler right back at them like he would have a long time ago. But he was still pleased when Glenn and Maggie both aimed a glare that would’ve scared him at the bastard, allowing himself to smirk a bit when the kid fell docilely silent and let them go on their way.
“Jerks,” Maggie muttered under her breath
“Why they gotta stick their noses in everything?”
“’Cause they can,” Daryl responded dully, shrugging his shoulders. It was easier to ignore when his friends didn’t talk about the injustice of it.
Glenn sighed, but, cheerful as always, he brightly pointed out, “At least they have to shut up in the library.”
Daryl just shrugged again, but he was comforted, nonetheless, as they found a circular table to sit at. At once, he tugged his chemistry folder and a can of soda out of his book bag, beginning to fill in the answers with a bored hand. School really wasn’t that hard when you paid attention and had a decent attendance record, and Daryl planned on both. He didn’t anticipate staying home from school because he was too badly hurt ever again, after all.
“Nice hickey,” Maggie commented jauntily.
Daryl choked on his Pepsi.
Glenn patted his back merrily until Daryl emerged, spluttering, from his coughing fit, and glared at Maggie. “What?” he demanded, eyes watering.
“Your neck.” She pointed at him helpfully, green eyes dancing with mirth, and Daryl wiped his mouth again before looking down at the large purplish-red mark blooming out from underneath the collar of his tee-shirt.
“Whoa.” Glenn whistled lowly, neck craned as he appraised the mark alongside Daryl. “That is nice.”
Daryl’s entire body flushed hot, and he felt blood collect in his cheeks as he tugged his shirt completely over the mark. “Shut up,” he muttered, looking at his chemistry homework again. It was splattered with soda, almost ripping when the tip of his pencil grazed its surface. His face only burned warmer as he heard them stifling their snickers.
“Is Rick a good kisser?” Maggie asked dreamily, resting her face in the cradle of her palm. “I always wondered, with those lips.”
The very tips of Daryl’s ears went red as he stared at Maggie in disbelief, hardly comprehending what he’d just heard. He looked pointedly at Glenn, who was very ineffectively hiding snorts of laughter. He would’ve just gone to the damn cafeteria, stares and whispers be damned, if he knew what these two had planned for him.
“Oh, Glenn doesn’t mind,” she said nonchalantly, waving her boyfriend off. “He knows I like his lips more.”
Daryl shook his head, staring dejectedly at his still-wet worksheet and settling to work on pre-calc instead, figuring he might as well with the lesson still fresh in his mind. “Y’all’re crazy,” he said seriously, counting something off on his fingers and scribbling down a line of work for the first problem. He chewed on his pencil’s eraser and braved looking up at his companions quickly, only to find them still staring at him expectantly. “Yeah, he’s a good kisser,” Daryl grumbled irritably, feeling his eyebrow twitch when his company burst into giggles again. Even with their laughter muffled behind their hands, the librarian glared at them reprovingly. “Don’t y’all have ’nough goin’ without gettin’ involved in my business? Good Lord.”
“Aw, c’mon, Daryl,” Glenn said, opening his own history textbook with one hand, the other clasped tightly around Maggie’s on the stretch of table beside it. “We’ve been waiting for you guys to hook up since you first met, let us enjoy this.”
“No,” Daryl said plainly before moving on to the next problem in his math homework pointedly.
A few minutes passed where the only sound was Daryl’s pencil scratching against his notebook and Glenn’s occasional mumbling of a fact he wanted to make sure he remembered for their quiz on Lincoln’s presidency tomorrow. Maggie sat silently, tracing the rivers of Glenn’s veins meandering up his wrist and into the crook of his elbow with her fingertips, his eyes going unfocused as the occasional feather-light touch sent shivers through his body.
Daryl let his gaze travel from the couple, missing Rick so much it ached, to the high-vaulted, sturdily beamed ceiling of the library. He contented himself to stare at the dust motes dancing in the afternoon sun filtering in through the windows, high above the tall bookcases. This was one of his favorite places in the school; it was quiet and open and, if you got a seat near the window, you could even see a bit of the forest at the edge of the wall-height windows’ canvas. They’d gotten such a table, and Daryl rested his chin on his palm, staring at the treetops and the distant, flickering specks that must’ve been birds circling overhead. His eyes moved down to the road, next, just in time to see a cop car sneak by the school at a leisurely crawl. Instead of the inexplicable unease that usually filled him when he saw the police, he wondered where Rick was, if maybe he was even the driver of that vehicle, coming by the school just to be closer to Daryl—like he sensed just how much he was missed. And maybe even missing Daryl a little, too. He smiled.
“So,” Maggie said conversationally, redirecting Daryl’s attention to her. “I was thinkin’, you bein’ back an’ all, we should all do somethin’ tonight. Y’know, to celebrate.”
“Like what?” Daryl asked apprehensively, eyes not leaving the forested horizon where they’d decided to rest.
“Maybe we could out and get some ice cream,” Glenn piped up, closing his textbook with a self-satisfied grin. “When does Rick get off today?”
“Er. . .” He racked his brain, trying to remember when Rick had left for the station. Six o’clock, he recalled suddenly, the image of the man apologizing profusely for not being able to bring him to school himself flashed before his eyes. Daryl had waved him off much more bravely than he actually felt at not having Rick at his side, but Mrs. Grimes had been plenty supportive when she picked him up at quarter to eight to take him to the high school. “He gets off at two.”
“Great!” Maggie oozed enthusiastically. “He’s pickin’ you up from school, right?”
Daryl nodded, smiling a bit shyly.
“Okay, tell him what’s up, and we’ll all go to Ben and Jerry’s afterschool. Sound good?”
Daryl nodded again, and Maggie and Glenn positively beamed.
The window was cool against Rick’s forehead as he leant into it, staring out at the street beyond. It was hot today, Georgia wasting no time leaping into summer as early as April, and even the AC running full blast couldn’t get rid of the humidity clinging to the back of his throat. His hands rested idly on the steering wheel, feet stretched out in the limited legroom his patrol car allowed.
Beside him sat Shane, head lolled back onto the headrest of his seat, eyes closed and mouth slightly agape. It’d been a long night for both of them. A party and liquor were to blame in Shane’s case; in Rick’s, it was Daryl.
Anxiety had the boy’s pulse fluttering beneath Rick’s lips as he kissed his neck, tenseness like a live wire running through every nerve in his body. He’d wasted no time straddling his hips, careful to put no weight on his still-injured ribs, allowing his mouth and hands to learn and memorize every inch of Daryl’s skin, every scar the boy allowed him to see when Rick risked trying to pull his shirt over his head.
Rick’s tongue trailed up from his lightly-haired navel, along the ridges of his muscled abdomen before finally resting on his collarbone. He’d focused on one spot at the junction of Daryl’s neck and shoulder that had the boy arching his back, keening low and soft, eyes fluttering shut in surprise. He’d nipped and sucked at the skin fervently until it was purpling underneath the glisten of Rick’s saliva, Daryl hissing in a breath as air hit the tender skin, blonde hair darkened and stuck to his forehead with sweat.
Daryl had kissed him long and hard after that, fingers pulling at his hair and massaging his scalp and holding him close like he was terrified Rick would disappear.
You know I’m not goin’ anywhere, right? he’d asked him in the space between kisses, breath heavy on Daryl’s swollen lips. Just seven hours, sweetheart, and then I’ll be right there to bring you home.
The boy’s grip about his neck had tightened at the last word, pulling him in for another kiss, sensual and slow and exploratory. He’d nodded off after that, both of them bare-chested, Rick curled around Daryl with his front pressed to Daryl’s scarred back. Daryl’d held both of his hands between his, pressing his lips against them, and they’d stayed that way till the alarm Rick set went off.
“Hey, Rick, man, you even lis’nin’?” Shane asked, rolling his head over to look at him.
Rick started. “What?” he asked, blinking bemusedly at his friend.
Shane sighed. “I was tellin’ you ’bout Lori, man. You should see that girl when she’s drunk.” He hummed appreciatively.
Rick rolled his eyes. “Do ya have ta talk ’bout my ex like that? Christ, Shane.”
“You broke up with her,” he pointed out. “An’ it ain’t like you’re still single.”
Smiling sheepishly, Rick cocked his head and met Shane’s dark gaze again. “Fine, but my point stands. Shut it, huh?”
There was amusement on Shane’s expression for a moment before it sobered suddenly, and he raised his hand to his mouth to gnaw absently at his thumb. Rick began to fidget when Shane’s gaze flickered between him and the window, unreadable and dark, anticipation heavy in the air between them.
“What?” Rick finally asked, emphatic.
“You know I’m cool with whatever you’re doin’, right?” Shane asked after a moment of quiet deliberation.
Rick shifted, averting his eyes. They grew up in the same environment—around the same racist, homophobic society. Rick had his crisis at twelve, after his dad gave him the talk and only mentioned girls—Rick sitting there, remembering how his stomach had flipped when Tommy Dawson smiled at him the other day and half-waiting with a growing sense of panic for now, son, if it’s a boy. . . As much as he knew what was going to happen, having his father act like every other person in their town shook him; it’d be between them, unspoken, till the day he died six months after.
And Rick would never forget the look on Shane’s face, worldly and wise, when Rick asked him, despairing, why—too ashamed to talk to his father or even meet the man’s eyes afterward. Shane took too long to lock the horror and revulsion away as he stared at Rick, looking around nervously to see if anyone was listening, even though they were alone in the park. You don’t know that for sure, right? he’d asked, anxious. You like Lori, don’t you? And—and Amy, man, she likes you, why don’t you go out with her? You’re just confused, man, that’s all.
Rick had stayed home from school the day after, wondering what the fuck was wrong with him.
They never talked about it after that, never talked about the secret relief in Shane’s eyes whenever he saw Lori and Rick together—but Shane never used the word fag around him again. Shane was cool with it—as cool as he could get, that was.
“Yeah,” Rick said, automatic. “What’s this about?”
“I’m just—I just want you to realize that not everyone’s gonna be.”
Rick raised his eyebrow. “I don’t—I don’t go around holdin’ his hand, Shane. I know the kinda people I’m dealin’ with, I’ve known ’em my whole life.”
“I acknowledge that,” Shane said wryly. “But you’re plannin’ on testifying for him, right? In the case against his old man?”
Rick nodded, staring hard at his best friend. Shane’s gaze wasn’t nearly as steady as his own, still flickering to and from his eyes; he was uncomfortable, don’t ask, don’t tell ideology epitomized in just his expression.
“You can’t let that jury know what you two are,” Shane told him, and there was no vitriol in his eyes as he finally turned his eyes to bore into Rick’s. Only concern flickered in the dark brown depths, and Rick felt a dash of despair lick at his insides. “They’ll let that son of a bitch walk free just ’cause they think Daryl deserved it for bein’ what he is.”
Rick wanted to protest, but something deep inside stopped him—something that knew Shane was right. He’d been stupid, bolstered by the acceptance Glenn and Maggie showed him. He had to realize at some point that they were a dime a dozen, that the last thing their God-fearing society would ever want would be protecting a queer. They’d think that a few more beatings would’ve knocked it right out of Daryl; they’d no longer have the sympathy they were banking on for a long sentence that would keep Daryl safe for as long as Rick wanted him to be.
“I’m supposed to—I’m supposed to lie?” Rick asked, sounding childish—sounding just like he had when he and Shane were sitting on the swings at twelve years old.
“No, man,” Shane said, pity clear in his gaze. “You’re supposed to make sure those people don’t know shit so you can keep your boy safe.”
Daryl was leaning up against the school with a cigarette waggling out of his mouth, pointedly ignoring the reproving glances Glenn and Maggie paid him in the breaks between their idle chatter. Today had been stressful enough to still have Daryl’s heart jackrabbiting against his ribs, and the gritty smoke filling his lungs was the only thing he could think of to subdue it. He was careful to blow the smoke away from them, though, standing a ways down the brick wall—he never liked it much when his father or Merle blew smoke in his face.
He finished his cigarette and crushed the butt underneath the heel of his boot, pulling out his pack to get another one automatically. Daryl looked up before he could pull it out completely, finding himself face to face with Glenn’s concerned face as he watched him fumble with the carton. They had a silent standoff for a minute, chocolate brown eyes soon joined by green boring into his, before Daryl sighed in defeat, jerking his hand to push the cigarette back down and shove the pack back into his pocket.
“Thanks,” he said gruffly, as a sort of explanation. “Y’all really had my back in there. I—I needed it.”
Maggie and Glenn came closer now that Daryl was done smoking, twin, smug smiles on their faces. Everything about them was perfect—the way their hands fit together between them, how Maggie swayed into Glenn, all soft, feminine curves against the straight lines of his torso. Daryl wondered with increasing uncertainty how wrong he and Rick looked compared to this, if there really was a reason people like them knew not to flaunt what they were. It’d been easy to deny how long his eyes lingered on guys—how they raked over the broad curve of their shoulders, the angular cut of their jaws—how he knew he smiled and laughed a little too much at the boy down the street who wasn’t scared off by the bruises discoloring the corner of his mouth or the skin around his eye. It’d been easy to scoff at Merle and say I ain’t a fag whenever his big brother decided he was being a pansy.
But, now, it was different. He lived in Rick’s apartment. He slept in the same bed. He let Rick kiss him and touch him and hold him until even anxiety couldn’t keep his eyes open. It wasn’t accidental flirting with the kid down the street. It was intentional, it felt right, and he was complicit—
“Daryl, man, you look like you’re gonna be sick,” Glenn said, worried. Daryl realized he was swaying on his feet when the other boy reached out a hand to steady him.
He jerked back, blinking hard and fighting the nausea rising in his stomach, fumbling with his cigarettes again despite the silent promise he had made to his companions. Maggie and Glenn just watched, Glenn’s hand still outstretched, worry creasing their brows as he lit his second cigarette with shaking hands, sucking in the smoke with a hint of desperation.
“’M fine,” Daryl finally said when he felt he could speak without throwing up, acrid grey smoke tumbling from his lips. “Just out of it today, just—just out of it.”
Maggie opened her mouth to reply, disbelief plain on her face, when a flash of movement from the parking lot caught her eye, and she turned instinctively. A police cruiser had just pulled up, and Daryl was already stumbling toward it despite himself, relief washing through him and making his legs weak.
But Daryl jerked back like he’d been slapped when he realized the passenger seat wasn’t empty, tripping over his feet as he backtracked. Looking up at him from the car was Shane Walsh, dark eyes unreadable as he chewed at the cuticle of his thumb. Distrust and betrayal flooded into him cold and froze him, vanquishing the relief as quickly as it’d come. Once he was a safe distance away from the car, he looked around for Rick, eyes narrowed in an accusation as he found the man coming toward him with his hands outstretched, hastily mediating the situation.
“Daryl—Daryl, hey,” Rick said soothingly, coming up closer and reaching out for him. Daryl reared back for more reason than being afraid of Rick’s company, but it didn’t change the hurt and fear the flickered over Rick’s soothing expression as his hands dropped to his sides. “Listen, it ain’t what you think, Shane’s not gonna hurt you.”
“Tell me why the fuck I should believe that,” Daryl hissed, backing away toward Glenn and Maggie. They were confused—he could sense it in the air around them—but they parted automatically to let him between them, standing on either side of him slightly defensively.
“Daryl, Jesus—” Rick started, faltering when Daryl’s gaze shifted to stare coldly at a place just above Rick’s shoulder. Shane had gotten out of the car now, coming up tentatively behind Rick and rubbing his hand over the back of his head. “Just hear me—and him—out for a second, okay?”
Daryl stared at them both for a long second, feeling the gazes on either side of him flicker between him and Rick uneasily, before he nodded curtly, making an aborted, vague gesture for Rick to continue.
Rick’s ice-blue eyes were filled with such heavy relief that it shook Daryl, compelled his gaze down to his shoes, as Rick continued. “He wants to apologize, Daryl—for everything,” Rick said softly.
Daryl flinched a little bit, startled as his eyes flickered up to look at Rick, remembering all of Shane’s words, the way he looked at him, telling Daryl that he wasn’t near good enough to be around Rick, and he was unable to make it add up.
“I told him I was comin’ to get you, and he asked—he asked—to come along so he could say he was sorry,” Rick explained.
“Why?” It was the only question Daryl could think of, ribs aching as some of the tension leaked out of him like water down a drain.
Shane stepped forward then. His hand found Rick’s shoulder as they exchanged a glance and a slight nod, and Rick stepped to the side, letting Shane come to stand directly in front of Daryl. Daryl sized him up without really meaning to—Shane was big and broad like his father, his ribs impeded his ability to run and his stamina to fight—no. Rick wouldn’t let it come to that.
“I was wrong,” Shane said simply, and Daryl could see how it pained him to admit it, how the words caught unfamiliar and unnatural in his throat. “I thought I was doin’ right by Rick and his family, but—but I was just—” He swallowed, rubbing the back of his head again as Daryl’s eyes warily followed the movement. “I was wrong,” he said again, before mumbling: “You’re a good kid. I’m sorry.”
Daryl stared at him incredulously for a moment, hands balled into fists at his sides as he held his breath. But, suddenly, the air left him in a punched-out rush, his body relinquishing its hold on the remnants of its rigidity. It was still with a cautious eye that he scrutinized Shane, unsure what to think as he mulled over his words in his head. There was still a good chance that Rick had forced him into this, trying to resolve the conflict between his best friend and his—Daryl, but there was something genuine about Shane, about the remorse over-bright in his brown eyes.
He opened his mouth without any real plan of what he was going to say when Glenn interrupted, exasperated and bewildered. “Man, were you jealous?”
All eyes flickered to stare at the boy standing on Daryl’s right, stunned. Glenn instantly balked, shrugging his shoulders sheepishly as he fixed his gaze incriminatingly on Shane. “I mean, man, Daryl almost had a heart attack when he saw you, the hell’d you do to him?”
“Aw, hush up,” Shane said uncomfortably—almost guiltily, Daryl noticed with surprise—the formality that had come with his apology to Daryl rolling off his shoulders. Daryl watched the exchange uncomprehendingly before he realized that Rick and Shane went to school together—of course Glenn knew Shane if Rick did, was probably good friends with him, too.
“He was just a jackass every chance he got,” Rick said helpfully, and Shane scoffed, starting to bite at his thumb again. Rick continued half-playfully, “Jealous, huh? That is interesting. Never knew you cared, Shane.”
“Man, shut up,” Shane said again, shoving at Rick.
“Definitely jealous,” Glenn whispered conspiratorially in Daryl’s ear, startling him before he came back to listen. “C’mon, man, take pity on the poor guy and accept his apology, I can tell you right now he meant it.”
Daryl rocked back on his heels for a second, considering Glenn’s words and Shane’s apologies and the accusations of his being jealous—Jesus, of Daryl?— gaze flickering up from the ground to find Shane staring at him with barely concealed nervousness as he deliberated. Finally, Daryl let out a deep breath and briefly closed his eyes, mostly thinking of Rick as he stepped forward with his hand held out to Shane, gaze steely. The man seemed genuinely shocked for a moment as he stayed stock still, staring at Daryl’s hand—but then his hand came up and gripped Daryl’s firmly and shook it, his mouth still hanging open slightly in surprise.
“He cares about you a hell of a lot, you know,” Daryl said quietly, stepping forward so only Shane could hear. He still remembered all the stories Rick used to tell him about his childhood, the rarity of Shane’s absence in one of the tales. He could still see Rick’s face, happy grin frozen sudden in a laugh before settling into sad, pensive nostalgia as he thought about the best friend he confided to Daryl so many months ago he thought he was losing. “Stop feelin’ so threatened and ’preciate what you got. He ain’t goin’ nowhere just ’cause I’m here.”
Leaving Shane to stare at him, stunned, Daryl pulled back and brushed past him to head toward Rick and shoulder into him playfully. “Warn a guy,” he said weakly, feeling overwhelmed and standing far too close to the other man. Still, he didn’t fight when arms wrapped around him briefly—the only people here were Glenn and Maggie—and Shane, who had unconsciously turned his face away from them, but still said nothing.
“Sorry,” Rick said quietly. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Daryl shrugged, brushed it off, before returning the quick hug. “Shitty day,” he told Rick, face pressed into the fabric of Rick’s uniform at his shoulder.
“I know,” Rick responded sympathetically, running a hand gently over Daryl’s spine as he pulled away, hand hesitating unobtrusively on Daryl’s hip. “But we can go home—”
“Nu uh,” Maggie said suddenly, and Daryl jerked his head to the side to stare at her before he remembered the promise he’d made earlier, swaying into Rick and hiding his face in his neck with a groan.
“What?” Rick inquired curiously, chin brushing across Daryl’s hair as he looked down at him.
“He promised y’all’d go out for ice cream with us, y’know, to celebrate,” Maggie said without hesitation.
Daryl peered over at her through his bangs, glaring with as much venom as he could muster with how exhausted he was. “More like you forced me to,” he muttered loudly.
“A promise is a promise,” Glenn reminded him smugly, and Daryl hid his face again, feeling the amused chuckle in Rick’s throat.
“They’re right, Daryl, if you did promise,” Rick said teasingly, sidestepping away from Daryl, and Daryl got the message loud and clear: he wasn’t getting any help from him.
Shane, who had been silent for the exchange, started to back up toward the cruiser, face looking inexplicably drawn as he cleared his throat to get their attention. “I’ll take the car, huh, Rick?”
“Shane—” Rick said, but he faltered, looking quickly at Daryl and then back to his best friend, and Daryl suddenly got it. “Yeah, all right. I’ll see ya tomorrow, man.”
“Who said you weren’t invited?” Daryl asked quickly before Shane could open the door to the cruiser. He wasn’t about to let his presence keep Rick from Shane; it was clear Shane would normally accompany them on these kinds of expeditions. He wasn’t about to make a liar out of himself.
Shane straightened up slightly to stare at him, and, this time, it was his turn to have distrust and uncertainty darken his visage. He leaned his hip against the side of the car, eyes boring into Daryl and undoubtedly waiting for an explanation before he proceeded.
“You should come along,” Daryl told him. When Shane still didn’t respond, Daryl added: “Ain’t no one stoppin’ you but you.”
“Rick’n I are taking the cruiser, though,” he told him absently, approaching the car without heeding Shane’s stare to put his hand on the handle of the passenger door. “Ain’t no way I sittin’ through a car ride with them,” he said with mock dislike, pointing over his shoulder at Glenn and Maggie with his thumb, “so you’re gonna have to walk if you don’t wanna come. Sorry.”
Rick was grinning—Daryl could tell without looking at him—and his ears burned as he pulled open the car door and slipped inside. Still, he couldn’t help the self-satisfied little smile he hid in his fist when Shane got into the backseat without a word, uncharacteristically quiet. Daryl didn’t look at Rick when he got into the car a few minutes after, having been discussing their destination with the shocked and laughing Glenn and Maggie. Even when Rick took his hand a circled a silent thank you into his skin with his thumb, Daryl only stared out the window and gently pressed you’re welcome into Rick’s fingers.