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Daryl looks around Hilltop warily, stumbling off the bike and cringing at the normalness of it all. The quietness. The fact that all these people have no idea what's really going on. Everyone here has been living peacefully while he's been trapped in a box and eating dog food.
Being Negans bitch.
Daryl doesn't like to complain, usually let's people live their very normal lives while he fights for his. But right now he's tired. So very tired.
He would usually take pride in the fact that he didn't let Negan break him. He's a strong mother fucker, he wasn't going to bow down to that bat wielding lunatic.
But at this very moment, looking around Hilltop, while he is covered in god knows what wearing these awful clothes (which are at least better than that awful jumper) he is so fucking tried.
He feels Jesus' eyes on his back, like they're burning a hole in the back of his jacket, waiting for him to collapse or vomit. Jesus is too nice for his own damn good.
When Daryl feels himself sway a bit on the spot, for no good reason he hasn't even moved purely the exhaustion getting to him, he feels hand go out to steady him. As if they're afraid he might collapse there, but Daryl moves out of his way and stands on his feet as steadily as he can. He doesn't want help, he's fine on his own.
Granted, he more flinches out of the way when Jesus tries to touch him, which makes the man recoiled back instantly like he's afraid he may assist in breaking the man further. Daryl manages to stand up purely based on will power more than the fact that he's actually capable.
He feels stupid for flinching. He hasn't done that in years.
"There might be some people you'll want to see," Jesus says slowly, carefully like he doesn't want to frighten him.
Daryl whips around and glares at the man, "What?"
They hadn't said anything on the ride here, Jesus just said they were going to Hilltop and Daryl doesn't feel like he has a place anymore, so he went along with it.
Besides, anything was better than there.
Daryl is still trying to process the other mans words when someone whispers his name, he hadn't heard anyone approaching them, too zoned out of it to notice,
"Daryl?" the southern accent takes him off guard, and he follows the voice afraid he's hearing things. Afraid maybe Negan did break him and this is all a hallucination. Maybe if he blinks too much he's going to wake up in the box, covered in his own vomit.
Maggies dead.
According to this however, she is not dead. She's standing a few feet in front of him, tears are already pouring down her face although her voice is steady. She looks pale and thin, too thin for someone who's supposed to be pregnant. Was pregnant he corrects himself. Guilt shoots through his stomach and makes him want to reach when he realises she must have lost the baby. And Glen. She lost everything because of him.
She must hate him.
He hates him.
"You'ew dead," He wants to sound firm and confident, betrayed or angry. But it barely comes out a whimper. He tries to hold back the tears.
Sasha is standing a bit behind Maggie with that kid from Alexandira, Enid he thinks, and he can hear Jesus moving behind him.
"Oh Daryl," Maggie sobs. She's crying now and she takes a step towards him.
Daryl can't help but take an instinctive step backwards and he runs into Jesus who stands firmly behind him, not letting him move further away. Not letting him run away.
The movement seems to upset Maggie more, which isn't something he intended but he can't help it. She must hate him. He can't face her. Not like this.
Its only then when Daryl realises how awful he must look, sweaty and gross, you could smell him a mile away. He's covered in cuts, bruises, blood and god only knows what else. Daryl's never been a clean person to begin with, but Maggie and Sasha both look so clean in comparison that he feels inadequate even being near them. He can smell himself in this unsoiled air and it makes him want to puke.
"Daryl Dixon," Maggie has composed herself a bit and she's standing up straight. Tears are still welling up near her eyes but she's collected herself, she has her determined look on. The one he saw her have when she took on the Gregory, the one she had when she wanted to argue with Glen.
It makes him cower. She's going to yell at him, tell him he fucked up and it's all his fault. He hunches into himself more, hides under his fringe. Waiting for the blow.
Instead, he feels tiny arms wrap tightly around him, holding him closely to her chest and he just breaks down. He cries into her hair and burries his face into her neck. For such a little person she has a death grip on him, and he holds her back equally as tight.
"I'm so sorry," He sobs, the words barely come out but she understands and shhs him gently.
"Shh Daryl, it's okay, it's okay," She says softly. But it's not. It never will be.
"My fault, s'all my fault. I'm so sorry," He says but she just continues to hold him, stroking his grotty, sweaty hair, "I thought you were dead."
This gets a strangled laugh from her, "We thought you were dead,"
It wouldn't matter he thinks, he should be.
She lets him cry for a beat more and usually Daryl would feel embarrassed by now but he can't let go, can't understand why she's being so nice but refuses to let it pass.
After a few more moments she pulls away and he lets her hesitantly. She's still got her hands on his shoulders, and despite being shorter than him she appears so big, still keeping him upright. He feels like he might collapse if she lets go of him, "This is not your fault. This is all on him. I don't blame you Daryl, do you understand me?"
Daryl doesn't reply, looks down at the ground and lets his fringe cover his face again. Maggie has none of it though, putting fingers under his chin and forcing his face to hers. He feels like a child,
"Daryl," She repeats, "This is not your fault. I need you to say it,"
Daryl shakes his head, silent tears fall down his face. He doesn't say it, and on some level they both know they could stand here all day and he still wouldn't say it, they're both as stubborn as each other,
"The baby?" he asks instead.
Maggie smiles softly, "The baby is fine. I'm fine. Gonna need some help with him or her though. Gonna need an uncle."
Daryl would make a shit uncle, remember that time I got your Daddy murdered.
Still he doesn't say anything, lets her have her fantasy. Glad she's not beating him or sending him away.
"Are you okay?" Maggie asks him, fingers still under his chin and she doesn't miss the way he flinches at the question. She instantly starts looking him over for any visible injuries, he's not missing any limbs or fingers. He looks bruised and beaten, smells like a dead animal but physically he looks okay.
Everyone within a hundred mile radius can tell he's not emotionally though. She thought she'd seen Daryl broken before, so many things have threatened to break Daryl Dixon and although he's always tried to mask it, it hasn't always shown through as tough as he would like.
Maggie could usually see through him.
This is different though, he's different.
Instead, he just nods, recoiling into himself again. A defensive mechanism Maggie picked up on years ago, a Daryl Dixon thing. This used to sadden her, make her upset he felt the need to make himself small around Rick or Shane because they held authority. Now it makes her want to throw up or rip Negan apart slowly and painfully.
Negan has taken so much from them. Glen, Abraham. She doesn't want him to take what's left of Daryl.
"Go on, go get yourself cleaned up, smell like shit. We can have dinner afterwards."
Her words leave no room for discussion and Daryl instantly makes a move to obey her, but he hesitates, unsure.
Maggie seems to take pity on him, taking his hand and taking small footsteps forward, as if leading a scared and frightened animal. Jesus gives him a little shove from behind that has him stumbling. It's like he's forgotten how to walk. How to function properly.
Before they enter Maggie and Sasha's little house, Sasha stops by them. Looking Daryl up and down for injuries, pulling him into a tight hug.
"It's okay Daryl, we're going to get him. We're going to win this," Sasha says determinedly.
Daryl doesn't say anything to that, just allows Maggie to lead him away.
-/-/-/-/-/-
After a shower and fresh clothes, ones that don't resemble a track suit, Daryl feels a lot more alive. He had the shower as hot as it would go, not having one since he was taken, and scrubbed at his skin until it was so raw he re-opened some of his wounds.
He's still more unsteady on his feet then he would like, too subjective to loud noises, but he feels a bit better.
Like he can keep going.
When he enters the little living room he's surprised to just see Enid by the little stove. She smiles at him warmly and he shoves his hands in his pockets awkwardly. He wouldn't know what to say to her on a normal day, let alone just breaking down in front of her.
He wishes he could go back to when the people of Alexandria used to think he was capable, he hates the look of pity in her eyes.
"We've got pie. Maggie ate most of it but she said to keep this for you, sit," Enid is gesturing towards the table as she sets a piece of apple pie by it. Daryl hasn't eaten proper food in weeks. It looks amazing but he's not even sure he could keep something so rich down. He's not sure how to tell her that without disappointing her though, she looks so happy to help.
Instead he takes a hesitant seat and puts a little piece on a fork, "Thanks."
Daryl's never been very good with kids. Judith doesn't count because he's good with them when they can't talk or understand the social norms that keep people like him away, so he doesn't know what to say to a teenage girl.
Thankfully, this is when Maggie chooses to enter and he can feel the awkward tension in the room leave. It fills with a new tension, a guilty, pity filled one. But he has a feeling it's mainly vibrating from him, so he lets its slide.
"You smell much better," Maggie acknowledges happily, taking a seat across him and Daryl gently glares at her. Doesn't usually much care for how he smells, didn't before the dead started walking won't now. Still, he blushes a little and tries to hide it under his bangs.
From the smirk Enid gives him he knows he fails, he resists the urge to poke his tongue out at her. That's something he's good at.
Instead, he eats a tiny bit of pie and it's amazing, but he can feel it turning uncomfortably in his stomach.
Maggie must sense he's having trouble because she gets up and pulls out some crackers, where the fuck did they get crackers? Maggies handing them over before he can think about it more and taking the pie away, "Eat these slowly, I'll save the pie for later,"
He must look at her dumfounded because she just smiles lightly at him, "eat," she repeats and Daryl obeys her. Like he always would.
"Got the bossy mom thing down pat," he mumbles, but she smiles genuinely at him, like she's glad he's finally acting normal.
"I do," She agrees, "which is why after this we're going to see Harlan, want him to look over that wound,"
Daryl frowns at her, eating another cracker slowly, "Don't need no doctor."
Instead of arguing with him, she just shrugs and leans forward in her chair a bit, daring him to argue again.
When he stays silent, she smiles. She won.
He flicks a look at Enid, she's grinning at him. Stupid teenager.
Worse than Carl, he thinks.
"Don't need anyone lookin' after me," Daryl says gruffly, he hasn't before, he doesn't now, the thought makes him cringe.
Besides, "don't deserve it."
He says it barely audible, not looking at her and he's not sure if either of them heard it or just incoherent mumbling. Maggies face doesn't waver either, but when he looks up he sees a flicker of doubt cross over her face for a moment, so he knows she has.
She leans forward a little bit, putting a hand on his knee and he hates himself when he flinches on instinct. Maggie doesn't pull away though.
"We're family. We've been family from the start Daryl, and nothing has changed that. Family looks out for each other. Whether we want it or not," Is all she says.
Daryl just looks down at his crackers, trying not to break down into sobs again. He wants to keep some of his pride, although he doubts Maggie thinks he has any left. Instead he takes her hand that's on his knee and holds it tightly. A silent understanding.
It's all Maggie needs.
"Come on, Jesus is waiting for us."
With that Daryl lets himself be dragged by the younger girl to some doctor who tuts to himself and looks more traumatised from the wounds then Daryl is himself.
It's barely a start, they've got such a long way to go.
But they're going.