Chapter Text
As Brodie drew up his knees to his chest, he released a breath he felt like he’d been holding since the Sanctuary. Those tight lungs of his, barely letting anything out or in, they were stuck until he was far enough away that he could breathe without any chance of it being air from that place.
Brodie’s head knocked against his knees to counter a shiver, but it didn’t work. So he honed on his counting instead. Groups of four, six, and eight guided him into a more manageable state across the next few hours – according to his watch.
The sun was setting by the time Brodie opened up his can of pears. His lips sucked around the fruit; it didn’t prevent the juice dribbling down his chin and soaking into his trousers. It filled up his cheeks with a single pear and kept it there like a hamster. After covering up the tin’s top, he curled up where he was and soothed his tongue against the fruit. His right hand reached out to keep the hut’s door propped open. A night of tossing and turning, a stiff neck, they coupled nicely with the rattling of his perimeter wire, the most obnoxious life-saving wind chimes.
At some point, he drifted off, because he opened his eyes to a low sun staring right back at him through the sliver of an ajar door.
Bounced it on the tip of his fingers before sitting up and holding it open.
Daryl.
He was chowing down, his back up against a tree near the perimeter. His crossbow was sitting beside him. As if he sensed Brodie was awake, he looked up at him. He offered a gentle blink, then refocused on the squirrel he was skinning on the rock between his legs. A dead walker caught its foot on the wire just a few feet away with a bolt hole in its skull. There was a new lump in the topography too, suspiciously shaped like a motorcycle.
Skimming along the boards, Brodie positioned himself to hang from the treehouse floor. A fair bit more difficult to do with one hand, but he managed to climb down the tree a smidge above inelegantly. Jumping down the last hurdle sent a spike of pain up his ankles. The pears sloshed about in their can, and again when Brodie sat himself down near Daryl. He offered Daryl the can. Once he noticed the offer of dessert to his squirrel breakfast, Daryl plucked one out and tilted his head back, his open mouth catching the juices on his tongue. Then he ripped a chunk out and chewed loudly.
Brodie sniffed before swallowing, “I don’t know what happened. I was doing fine.”
“I know,” Daryl said through a full mouth.
“I had to get away; I couldn’t stop.”
Brodie placed the can between them, toying with the half-eaten pear he already claimed for his breakfast. His stomach didn’t seem to want it. Yet he forced it down his throat.
Daryl asked, “How long ya had this place?”
“Few months. Found it by chance.”
“Anyone else know ‘bout it?”
“Not that I’m aware.”
“How long ya gonna stay?”
“I don’t know. But I’m not goin’ back now.”
Tucking the last morsel into his mouth, Daryl licked each of his fingers clean with gusto. Then he linked them together under his chin as he blinked lazily at the honey sun. Brodie mirrored him but with his eyes shut instead, basking in the fresh warmth. He could stay like this forever.
But it was not meant to be.
A humble snarl from the left drew the men to look at them. It was a lone Walker, and unintimidating at that with one arm missing – even more so when it tripped over the wire and faceplanted in the leaves. One of Daryl’s bolts shot through the air into the back of its skull.
Daryl pivoted onto his feet, crossbow in hand, “C’mon then.”
Brodie didn’t ask; he just followed Daryl retrieving the bolt then over the wire. It was in the opposite direction of the Sanctuary, so it was perfect wherever they ended up.
His feet hurt still from yesterday, a blister on each heel working their way to pop. No complaints though and Brodie maintained a steady pace beside Daryl. His boots lifted over the dry leaves and twigs, lest Daryl be tracking something.
Down the hill were the final dregs of the herd. Last thing they needed was a herd diverting course because they couldn’t stay hidden. So they slid diagonally down the slope, hidden amongst the trees while the Walkers trudged through the gathering of leaves at the foot of the hill.
When Brodie and Daryl finally reached the hill’s base, they watched together as the Walkers followed the highway out of sight. Not enough peace yet, some snarls still hung in the air. Brodie and Daryl stayed on their side of the road. Their paths weaved in and out between asphalt and grass.
Seemingly out of nowhere, just as they entered the trees and pushed in at the hill’s base, Daryl stilled, held a finger to his lips then moved it to point ahead. A rabbit, its nose twitching before a fresh shoot of grass. Brodie watched, fascinated as Daryl looked down the sights of his crossbow. Like a practiced meditator, his breathing slowed right down until he was virtually motionless. Brodie could never imagine his hands being so still. The image drew him in and he started by the sudden snap of the bowstring. The bolt found a home in the left eye of the rabbit. Daryl reloaded his bow with the patience of a saint before quickly pinning a squirrel to a tree nearby. He collected them both, attaching his spare bolt to his quiver. From his pocket, he withdrew a rope and handed the other half over to Brodie.
Looping the rope, Brodie followed Daryl’s hands and mumbled instructions. He hated tying knots as a kid; these were simple enough to remember and put up with though.
They crossed the land with the sun sluggishly falling behind the ranks. Legs ached, Brodie’s back was sore, but Daryl’s gentle treading through the brush allowed him to keep his breath. Brodie crept after him avoiding all the twigs and trips. He didn’t even realise how fast time had passed until they were circling back to the camp and back to walking upright as opposed to crouched waddling.
“Whatcha smilin’ at?”
Daryl was holding out another squirrel to him, just as he had done with the pears that morning. Accepting it, Brodie shrugged before carefully tied the new knot around its neck. It was given the seal of approval with Daryl’s look, nod of the head, and quiet grunt.
“’S enough for dinner. Thanks.”
“For what? I did absolutely nothing.”
His lips pouting in thought, Daryl copied Brodie with a shrug.
Buttercream clouds mixed with a strawberry sundae sky as Daryl spent the afternoon demonstrating how to skin and clean the animals. Brodie followed with his own blade. They picked through bones and bloody organs before skewering the rest onto sticks.
Brodie thumbed over the last of the cottontail’s back, “Can’t furs be used for something?”
“You want ‘em?”
“Just thinking of something to bring back.” His voice grew quiet towards the end.
Daryl eased the fur away from Brodie’s hands, “Ya know how to start a fire? Gonna need one soon.”
A new task, and Brodie knew how to handle this one. The layers of kindling, twigs, sticks, all of them he gathered and constructed into a low fire within the hour. The flames licked the underside of squirrels which they took turns rotating until it was cooked enough that Brodie could eat it. And while he could not see himself living off the animal, the rabbit was certainly welcomed.
“Ain’t ya gonna ask how I found ya?” asked Daryl through his squirrel.
Brodie swallowed hard before speaking, “You’re stubborn and a tracker. Put the two together, here you are.”
Sucking the last of the meat off a bone, Daryl tossed it into the fire and nodded up at the treehouse, “So, room up there for me tonight?”
“Sure. Only got one blanket though.”
“Better than the ground.”
Daryl climbed up the tree after Brodie, after stamping out the fire, leaving marks of ash up the trunk. It was only half a truth; there was room for Daryl in the cabin, and very little else. Still, the proxemics meant body warmth as well as the one blanket.
“Someday soon, I’m not gonna be able to climb this anymore,” Brodie said quietly.
Daryl scoffed, “Don’t start that.”
“I’m pushing forty - at least. I dunno, didn’t think I’d make it this long. Be dumb if I died falling out a tree of all things.”
A snort came from his companion and Brodie felt a tad more comfortable laying beside him. He could still smell a hint of smoke from the crushed remains of their fire.
“It everything you hoped it would be?” Daryl mumbled.
“What?”
“The treehouse?”
“I don’t think I could have, in my wildest imagination, come up with- Stop.” Brodie sat up with his hand flat over Daryl’s, who had reached to shut the door. “Keep the door open. Please.”
“It’s fucking cold,” Daryl said incredulously. He stared for a while, then he rolled over away from Brodie, “Whatever.”
At first, Brodie didn’t move. He just lay there and stared at the ceiling. Eventually though, his shaking hands rested more of the blanket over Daryl’s shoulders as penance. Then he fell onto his front and closed his eyes.
Sleep never really felt right, but this was the worst kind. Brodie was in and out, never feeling like he was either awake or asleep for more than a few seconds. By the time dawn broke for another day, he was still shattered. He flinched at the sunshine and hid his face in the crook of his elbow. The loll of his head let Brodie squint at Daryl, who had rolled to face him during the night. His hair was hiding a majority of his face. A stray strand lifted above his nose with his quiet snores. It caught the golden light every now and again. Brodie raised his head. Daryl’s crossbow was acting as a very efficient door stop.
“Thank you,” Brodie whispered as Daryl screwed up his eyes then opened them. He tilted over to follow Brodie’s eyeline.
“Yeah, well,” Daryl avoided his gaze, “You didn’t have to sleep by it.” And he shifted on his back before covering his eyes with his forearm.
Brodie let out a sigh, “I’ll trade places with you tonight if you want.” Daryl’s arm lifted and he shot Brodie a look, who instantly said, “Not now. I can’t go back right now.”
“I ain’t in a rush either.”