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Aaron should probably be worried about weapon weilding walkers and what the fuck happened back there. Maybe if the rest of their friends made it out okay. Maybe he should be worried about the possibilitie that there’s other walkers like that one. And their proximity to his friends. If it's the result of some sort of evolution or mutation that they’ll now have to worry about. If the walkers start having the consciousness to know how to fight back, or even to understand what a weapon is, then they’re totally and royally fucked.
But no, he’s barely even registered the fact that they’ve just faced off with a knife weilding walker. It’s difficult to register anything other than the effort that it takes to keep up with Daryl, who’s carrying Jesus’ limp body away from the graveyard. He was still breathing when he was lifted off the ground. But they’re about half a mile from their horses and supplies, and even further from Hilltop. Even if he’s alive now there’s no guarantee he’ll stay alive long enough to get any kind of proper medical attention.
The thought has Aaron’s throat feeling tight with tears that he refuses to shed. The feeling of butterflies in his stomach and blush on his face whenever Jesus was around was something he never expected to feel again. Not after how Eric’s death had devestated him down to the fucking core.
It was difficult to accept at first, and his main point of consolation was that he was pretty sure there was no one Eric would prefer for Aaron to find affection for after him. Eric had had a lot of respect for Jesus, and he once or twice had made a fleeting wish that Jesus was around Alexandria more to talk some sense into Rick when he couldn’t see past his own nose.
“Think if I make him some really good banana bread he’ll tell us what he uses on his hair?” he said once or twice.
Eric would be happy for him. And that alone is reason enough to make sure Jesus survives. No matter what.
“I gotta make sure the others are okay. See if anyone else needs to get patched up,” Daryl says as they reach their horses and his bike. “Get a head start. I’ll be right behind you.”
He can’t do this. Not alone. He’s so weak in the knees and dizzy with panic he isn’t sure he can get on his horse, much less keep Jesus on it for the ride back to Hilltop.
“Aaron,” Daryl says, voice a little extra stern to grab and maintain Aaron’s attention. “You got this. You gotta pull it together, Jesus needs you.”
Fuck . He can’t argue with that.
With Daryl’s help Jesus is sat on the saddle in front of Aaron, slumped against Aaron’s chest with a shitty excuse for a bandage wedged between them over his wound. After looping some rope through both Jesus’ armor and the saddle, so that if he does start to fall off he won’t go very far, they’re off. Not nearly as fast as they need to, but Aaron can’t really be mad at the horse for having to carry double the weight she’s used to.
Aaron’s arms are tight around Jesus’ limp frame to hold onto the reins, his head jostling around against Aaron’s neck while their horse runs to Hilltop. He’s never really noticed before, since Jesus has a presence that takes up an entire room and is one of the best fighters Aaron knows, but he’s so small . Aaron is still discouraged from lifting anything too heavy with his prosthetic but he’s pretty sure he could have easily carried Jesus. Even if only for a little bit.
At least Jesus’ breath is loud and wheezy so Aaron can hear it over the sound of hooves on pavement and know that he’s still alive.
They’re less than five miles from Hilltop and Jesus is alive. Of course he is, he has to be. He’s finally living up to his namesake, since he had a head so good on his shoulders that- as far as Aaron knows- this is his first brush with death. The closer they get to Hilltop the more Aaron dares to allow himself to be optimistic. A trait that tends to get him into trouble.
Jesus’ breathing becomes sharper and more labored before he shifts, attempting to sit up or turn or something he can’t do when the pain seems to be too much for him to try. His head hangs a little and a moment or so later Aaron feels his hand on his elbow. “Aaron?”
Tears that had laid dormant while he focused on the trip start to bubble up to the surface again, prickling in the corner of his eyes, at the sound of Jesus’ voice. It’s weak and gravely, but God it’s good to hear. “Yeah, bud, it’s me.”
“What happened?”
Good fucking question.
“You got attacked. They snuck up behind you.” There’s no point in explaining what actually happened. Even if Aaron knew how to. Jesus has more important things to worry about. Like staying alive. “We’re almost back to Hilltop. You’re gonna be okay.”
Jesus lifts his head, a little too much since it thumps against Aaron’s collarbone. He turns his head and Aaron feels Jesus’ nose against his neck and his beard against his chest. If he was more coherent Aaron would worry that Jesus could hear how his heart starts to slam against his ribcage. “Stay with me.”
This means something, Aaron knows it immediately. Despite the fact that Jesus has gone from second to first command at Hilltop, and is as selfless as he can afford to be, Aaron knows that he’s a tortured introvert. He’s tense in large crowds, and relaxed when he’s alone. Jesus isn’t the type to ask someone to hang around. And here he is, asking Aaron to stay. He’s probably just scared, which is a completely valid reason. One Aaron is content enough with to not read into any more than that.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Aaron says, and he hasn’t been so certain of something in a while. “I’ll be right there while they patch you up.”
“What about after that?”
“... what about it?”
“Don’t go back to Alexandria.” He’s tired out already, and Aaron has to lean down a little to hear him properly. Jesus’ nose brushes against the side of his face as he titls his head up enough so his lips are next to Aaron’s ear. “I want you to stay with me.”
He’s delirious from blood loss. He doesn’t know what he’s saying, and what Aaron’s lovestruck heart will take from it. But Aaron could never stay no to such a request, no matter how insincere.
“I’ll stay as long as you want me.”
Jesus knocks out again shortly after and the rest of the trip goes by in a blur. The rest of the day is a blur, really. As soon as they’re inside the walls of Hilltop there’s hands all over them; helping them off the horse, carrying Jesus up to the infirmary, taking Aaron’s things and checking to see if he’s hurt too. People hurl questions at him so quickly they morph together into one buzzing hum.
He feels hazy and dissasociated as he heads up to the infirmary once he remembers the promise that he made. Though he craves to be close he lingers by the door and watches Dr. Carson and Enid patch him up; first stopping the bit of bleeding that remains, then disinfecting the wound before stitching it all up. Jesus, laying shirtless on his stomach, drifts in and out of consciousness through it all, but seemingly isn’t coherent enough to feel the pain of what they’re doing.
Dr. Carlton and Enid know what they’re doing. Aaron knows that, he’s seen it. Hell Enid by herself knew what she was doing. Saving his life had been a bit of a bonding experience for them. Yet he still can’t help but watch with hawk-like concentration as they stitch Jesus up. What if something goes wrong? Anything can now. Even if they fix him up fine, who's to say they won’t get raided any second. By people or walkers. Or weapon weilding walkers.
He’ll relax when it’s over.
Which, though it feels like an eternity, doesn’t take very long. Before he can completely lose his nerves Enid is waving him over and grabbing one of the chairs to drag it over next to the cot. “Just missed all the important parts. It was close, but if he makes it this next hour he’ll be fine,” she tells him. He believes her. Enid’s too good at delivering bad news to lie.
“Doctor Enid strikes again,” he says, mustering up the best smile he can manage and giving her a little pat on the shoulder before sitting in the creaky old chair. “Thank you. For him, and for me. Again.”
“Don’t sweat it, Mr. Loverman. This place would be lost without him. Even if they forgave me, I don’t know if I’d forgive myself.”
Aaron sucks his teeth a little. He doesn’t have the energy to process the nickname, much less address it. “Yeah, I know the feeling.”
Enid grabs over another chair and drags it over with a folded up blanket. “He’s got a lot of homework for when he wakes up. I should probably see if I can hand any of it over to someone else.”
“Oh, he’ll like that.”
Jesus is still laying on his stomach, head turned to face Aaron. The bandage over his wound only has a small spot of blood. It’s nothing compared to what’s dried all over the front of Aaron’s shirt. His hair, perfect as always, is splayed out in front of him like a halo. He looks just about as holy as his namesake. If cameras were still a thing this would be a great picture.
Jesus is fine. Jesus is okay . He repeats this like a chant or prayer to himself until he starts to believe it enough to relax. And the moment it does exhaustion hits him like a freight train. He doesn’t want to sleep, doesn’t want to miss Jesus waking up. Or anything else. But he has no idea how long that will take, so he might as well get comfortable.
He lays down across the two chairs, using the blanket Enid left him as a pillow. As he situates himself he looks over at Jesus, he’s just within reach. He looks even more peaceful and serene while asleep than he does when he’s awake. Everyone battles demons now, Jesus just handles them as gracefully as he does walkers.
It isn’t the first time Aaron’s woken himself up by accidentally hitting himself in the face with his heavy prosthetic, and it won’t be the last. He startles a little and rubs his hand over the spot just above his eye that’s now sensitive to the touch. It’s only when that starts to subside that he feels the familiar crick in his back and neck he always feels when he doesn’t spend the night in his bed. Fantastic . As he tries to stretch the pain away he hears the creak of old wooden chairs. It’s this that makes him remember where he is and, more importantly, what happened.
He shoots upright so quickly he nearly topples off the chairs and onto the floor. When he looks beside him Jesus is laying on his side facing Aaron, eyes a little lidded while he wears the cheeky grin that makes Aaron’s face flush.
“Good morning,” he says, with sarcastic sweetness.
“How long have you been up?” Aaron asks, turning to face him and leaning his elbows on his knees. “You should have woken me up.”
Jesus shrugs the shoulder he isn’t laying on. “You looked like you needed it.”
He isn’t wrong. Aaron’s surprised he was able to fall asleep at all. “How are you feeling?”
“Oh, never better.” Sarcastic once again. With a small grunt of effort Jesus pushes himself onto his elbows to sit up, and while Aaron’s tempted to stop him and tell him he should lie down he knows better than to think Jesus will listen to him. It takes longer than it normally would but Jesus sits up. He’s still without a shirt and it’s a good thing he has such lovely eyes or else Aaron would undoubtedly be staring. “You stayed.”
He almost sounds surprised. Aaron’s brows come together in confusion. “I said I would.”
Jesus lets out a puff of breath that could almost be considered a laugh. “Yeah, well, I couldn’t really tell what was real and what wasn’t. I mean, at one point I thought it was a walker that stabbed me.”
This is information Aaron doesn’t have the courage to confirm by himself, especially when he doesn’t know what exactly he would be confirming, so he decides to ignore it altogether. “Well you didn’t imagine that part. That I said I’d stay.”
Jesus hums in agreement and looks down at his hands, then up at Aaron, then back down at his hands. “Now it’ll be you giving me physical therapy.”
“Good thing I learned from the best.”
Jesus laughs again, a real one this time. It’s been less than a day but Aaron already missed the sound. “You know, when I first met you I couldn’t get a read on you cause of stuff like that.”
Aaron isn’t baffled to hear this kind of thing. Hell, half his best friends had held him hostage for the first day and a half that they knew each other. But that was because of his little recruitment missions from the good old days. Never because of… whatever the hell Jesus means. “‘Stuff like that?’”
“It’s hard to find someone who’s made it this far that says genuine, nice things. All the time.”
Now this is something he hadn’t before. Not really. Not in the way Jesus is saying it and looking at him like he does. Is he annoying? Has he not been nearly as subtle as he’d been working his ass off to be? “Oh. Sorry?”
“I like it.”
Well, there goes the butterflies and blush again. This is something about Jesus that Aaron had had to get used to; he’s so goddamn blunt. He isn’t mean, not in the slightest. But he says things in a way so cut and dry that most people not only could never replicate but are usually uncomfortable with. Jesus has a way of making half the things he says a mic-drop moment.
Like this, since Aaron has no idea what to say.
“Oh, well… thanks.”
Jesus laughs in that teasing way, that lacks any kind of malice but makes Aaron feel transparent. He readjusts closer to the edge of the cot, his knees sliding between Aarons. And when he mirrors Aaron’s posture their fingers brush together. “For someone so good at giving compliments you don’t take them very well.”
Aaron can’t meet his impossibly green eyes any longer, not when they see right through him. His gaze falls down to his hand on his knee that’s just a hair away from Jesus’. “Yeah, I guess not.”
“Guess that’s another thing you need practice with.”
Okay, that is something he can’t reason away. Especially not when he looks up and sees the way Jesus is looking at him like he knows something Aaron doesn’t.
“Aaron,” he says. How cliche that he feels a little lovesick at the sound. “If you’re not ready, after Eric, that’s fine.”
Aaron blinks at him a few times, brain struggling to process the words. “... are you-”
“Yeah.”
Aaron hadn’t taken this into account, hadn’t tried to figure out whether or not what was starting to develop was reciprocated at all. No, he’d settled on the default that this was unrequited. With the world they lived in Aaron was lucky enough to have had one person who loved him. Nowadays it’s greedy to ask for more.
But Jesus seems to be offering it up anyway.
“You’re not gonna hurt my feelings if you’re not.”
“Shut up.”
He ponders for a moment, given the revelation, the answer to Jesus’ question. Is Aaron ready for this? He was ready, after a few weeks of sleepless guilty nights, to feel something for someone again. Was he ready to do something about it?
Eric would want him to. He’s pretty sure, at least. Eric would probably tell him that he’s too good a catch to turn into some kind of spinster. If he were pissed at him he’d probably say Aaron was just using him as an excuse to not figure out what he actually wants for himself.
What he wants is Jesus. He’d given up on denying that months ago.
With minimal space between them it doesn’t take much to lean in to kiss him, especially when Jesus meets him halfway. It’s so gentle, so hesitant, not unlike kisses he had shared in middle school. Like Eric’s death, and the state of the world, had made him some kind of born again virgin. He’s terrified to breathe too loud, as if that of all things will be what gives Jesus pause. And he can’t help but wonder if Jesus feels similarly, since it’s a good minute or so before either of them moves a muscle.
Of course Jesus is the first to do so, adjusting his lips against Aaron’s while his hands come up to hold either side of his face. Now this definitely has Aaron melting, following Jesus’ moves like an eager puppy. His hand comes up (his real hand- he’s not ready for the prosthetic to be involved in any part of his love life) to hold the back of Jesus’s neck, his elbow resting gently on his chest. Just because Aaron isn’t going to grope him doesn’t mean he isn’t going to completely pass up the occasion of a shirtless Jesus.
The bun his hair had been tied up in when he was attacked at the graveyard hangs loosely, barely held together, and it takes only one light pull of the elastic band to fall out. Aaron’s happy to conclude that yes, Jesus’ hair feels just as nice as it looks.
Jesus’ hands slide down Aaron’s neck to take hold of either side of his shirt, pulling Aaron towards him until he’s sitting on the edge of his seat. He couldn’t get any closer without climbing into Jesus’ lap. Which he might have if he wasn’t still recovering from a bad wound. Jesus kisses like he knows what he’s doing, which is how he does just about everything.
They part just as Aaron starts to feel a little dizzy from not breathing, and Jesus sounds just about out of breath as he feels. Though their lips separate they’re still close enough for their noses to brush together. The feeling of Jesus’ breath fanning across his face has the hairs on the back of Aaron’s neck standing up.
“I never thought I’d do this again,” Jesus whispers.
“Me neither.”
“So let’s do it again.”