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He’s walking the grounds of the Prison when he comes across them.
For a second, Rick isn’t so sure he’s seeing it right. But as he slows his pace and actually turns to look, he stills.
He did in fact see what he thought he saw.
Shane’s sitting with his back against the wall, head tilted towards the morning sun and eyes closed. He looks…peaceful for a man at the end of the world. Rick’s known Shane since they were in diapers. He’s never peaceful. Shane is the dynamic sort—always moving, restless, loud. Someone who seemingly gravitates to the centre of the action.
Strange as it is to see his best friend so calm and relaxed, that’s not what catches Rick’s attention. Rather, it’s the man nestled comfortably between Shane’s spread legs, resting against him.
Daryl is deep in his task, his knife moving swiftly across the small block of wood. His narrow eyes focus keenly on the task and his fingers move deftly. If he’s at all bothered by Shane’s hand resting on his hip, he doesn’t show it.
It’s…strange. And Rick can’t help but stare.
A few minutes pass before Shane opens his eyes. He yawns and stretches, eliciting a small grunt of annoyance from Daryl. Shane’s mouth curls up in a half smile and his fingers tap against the hunter’s side.
“Still at it?” he asks.
Daryl nods once. It’s not much of an answer but Shane doesn’t seem to mind. He straightens up, curiosity apparently piqued and rests his chin on Daryl’s shoulder to observe his work. They’re both completely absorbed, to the point that they haven’t even noticed Rick yet.
“That a bear?”
Daryl side-eyes him. He’s silent for a while. When he finally answers, it’s with a hint of challenge in his rough tone.
“Chupacabra.”
Rick blinks. That was…not an answer he’d expected. Not that Daryl isn’t entitled to his beliefs, but it is a little ridiculous. Instinctively, his gaze shifts back to Shane. His friend can be a little tactless, and Daryl is surly enough without being made fun of for his superstitions. Rick is mentally preparing to step up and resolve the fist-fight that’s sure to go down as soon as Shane opens his mouth but…
“Yeah?” Shane asks conversationally. He plucks the piece of wood from Daryl’s hands and turns it over. “That ain’t half bad then.”
Rick goes still and stares. So does Daryl. His eyes narrow suspiciously as they flit between the half-whittled Chupacabra to Shane’s open expression.
“I saw one,” he says, and it’s obvious even to Rick that this is some kind of test.
Shane tilts his head, the very picture of non-judgemental interest. “What’s it look like? In real life, I mean.”
This time, Daryl blinks.
“Ain’t playin’,” he says, turning around so he’s facing Shane. He sits on his haunches, and his hand reaches up to grip at Shane’s forearm. When did these two become close enough for all this touching to be normal, Rick wonders.
“Saw it for real,” Daryl insists. It’s clearly important to him…although for what possible reason, Rick has no idea. He gave up trying to read Daryl a long time ago. The guy’s never really forgiven him for leaving Merle up on that roof and it’s just easier for everyone if they keep their distance. In fact, if it wasn’t for Carol and Beth, Rick’s not so sure Daryl would have stuck around long enough to see the farm go down.
Now though, as he watches the two men — Daryl leaning into Shane, willingly sharing something of himself (no matter how weird) and seeking his confidence, and Shane still resting a casual hand on Daryl’s hip, relaxed and confident, with the ease of a man who’s got the important things in life all figured out — he wonders if something else has been keeping Daryl here.
“Know ya did,” Shane says. His thumb brushes Daryl’s cheek, swiping off a smudge of dirt. His arm snakes around Daryl’s waist and pulls him closer. Daryl makes a small noise of protest as he tumbles into Shane’s chest. But he stays put and lets Shane rest his chin on his head again.
“Gonna tell me what it looked like or do I have to wait ‘til ya finish this?” Shane asks, tossing the wood block in the air and catching it.
Daryl’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. His fingers twitch against Shane’s bicep. “Big,” he offers, so hesitantly that it almost sounds like a question. “Huge fucker.”
“Yeah?” Shane coaxes, ruffling his hair a bit. “Like a wolf?”
Daryl snorts. “Yeah, right. More like a bear. Black as tar. Spikes in the neck an’ tail.”
Shane nods thoughtfully. How he’s managing to keep a straight face through this conversation is beyond Rick. “Did ya shoot it?”
“Tried,” Daryl mutters. “Damn thing growled at me an’ I missed by a mile. Pissed my pants an’ ran all the way home. Merle laughed his ass off fer days.”
Shane’s answering grin is fond, not mocking. “Tell you what,” he offers, pulling Daryl closer. “If I ever see it, I’ll shoot it down an’ bring ya back one of them tail spikes.”
Daryl’s lips curl up in a reluctant smirk. “Do it an’ I’ll put a bolt in yer ass. Damn bastard’s mine.”
This time, Shane does laugh. His shoulders shake as he buries his face in the dip of Daryl’s shoulder. Rick swears he sees Shane’s lips brush against Daryl’s pale neck for just a second. Then Daryl turns his head.
Rick’s eyes widen and he almost takes a step back. The two kiss unashamedly, comfortably…like they’ve been doing this a long time. How had he missed it? Sure, he’d been busy with runs and clearing out the cells and Lori’s been taking up a whole lot of his mind-space with her constant carping about how horrible everything is. But Rick thinks he probably should have noticed…well, this.
Shane runs his hand through Daryl’s hair and cups his nape possessively. Daryl’s response is timid in comparison, but no less eager as he crowds into Shane’s space and deepens the kiss.
Rick watches them for what feels like hours, until Daryl final breaks away. Shane’s brow furrows and his grip tightens a bit but Daryl shies away.
“We got company,” he says, nodding in Rick’s direction.
Two pairs of eyes turn on him and Rick flushes, embarrassed at being caught in the act.
“Hey,” he blurts out.
Daryl narrows his eyes and scoffs. Shane sighs and nudges him, then gets up. “Hey brother,” he says casually. Still, Rick doesn’t miss the way he positions himself in front of Daryl. It’s a protective stance, and he finds himself backing down.
“Sorry, didn’ mean to…” Rick trails off, not sure how to finish. “Jus’ wanted to check if y’all are up for a run. We’re runnin’ low again.”
Shane nods slowly. “I’ll come,” he offers.
Daryl isn’t so forthcoming. “Goin’ huntin’,” he says shortly, as he gets up. He brushes past Rick, pausing only when Shane grips his arm and pulls him back. Daryl goes stiff but doesn’t fight it when Shane leans into him again.
“You be careful out there,” Shane says quietly. His thumb brushes Daryl’s jawline again. “Don’ come back with another bolt in ya or nothin’.”
Daryl huffs resentfully. Apparently, he’s heard this before. “Was one damn time,” he grumbles, nudging his head against Shane’s chest in what could almost be called a playful gesture. Then he’s walking away, still shooting Rick a guarded look over his shoulder.
Rick watches him go. He’s still not sure how to respond to what he just saw and as Shane nudges his shoulder, he ponders over what to say. The words finally come to him as they’re walking over to one of the cars.
“So,” he starts. “A chupacabra.”
Shane’s guarded look disappears and the smile returns, fond and a little exasperated. “Apparently. He swears he saw it.”
That, Rick knows first-hand. “You believe him?”
Shane shrugs, like it doesn’t matter one bit if his…his boyfriend believes in blood sucking demon dogs. “No reason not to,” he says. His eyes drift over to the walkers lurching outside the steel fence. “Stranger things have happened.”
Rick thinks back to his best friend kissing their resident badass hunter, and decides that’s a fair point. The chupacabra though, that’s where he draws the line.
“Still,” he tries, “it’s a little…out there.”
Shane chuckles. “He’s a little out there,” he concedes. “But I’m just gonna pick my battles, brother. Kinda like sleepin’ in my own damn bed an’ all.”
Right. They share a bed. Rick honestly can’t believe he’s been this clueless for this long.
“Besides,” Shane says, swinging the car door open and making himself comfortable in the driver’s seat. “It’s what you do, right? Bet Lori lets you get away with some of your hang-ups.”
Rick makes a noncommittal noise, for lack of anything to say. If Shane notices his telling silence as they drive to the nearest town, he doesn’t mention it.
Late that night, Rick lies in his own bed and stares at the ceiling, mulling over one of the strangest days he’s ever had— even by his newly heightened standards. He remembers the way Shane’s face lit up when Daryl returned to the prison with a buck, the way they worked in effortless tandem to skin the animal…and the way they retired to the same prison cell after dinner.
No one batted an eye — except for Lori rolling hers — and Rick decided that yes, he had in fact been that clueless.
He thinks back to Daryl’s chupacabra and Shane’s easy acceptance. He watches the woman lying next to him and wonders if stuff like that really makes a difference.
It’s what you do, right?
“You know,” he finds himself saying. “I saw a chupacabra once.”
He can feel Lori’s slim frame going still. Even though it’s dark, he knows she’s looking at him like he’s grown a second head.
“What?”
Her voice sounds incredulous, and a bit accusatory.
Rick sighs and turns away. “Never mind,” he mutters, trying (and failing) not to resent her for it.
Lori sighs and settles back in her covers. “You’re goin' crazy, Rick,” she mutters bitterly. “This is why I keep saying we should find another farm. A prison is no place for a normal life for us, for Carl…”
Rick tunes her complaints out and focuses on the ceiling again.
And finally, after mulling about it all damn day, he gets what Shane meant.
Everyone needs someone to believe in their chupacabras.
It’s just…it’s what you do.