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The first thought Daryl had as he was bouncing up and down is that he’s thankful his ma is gone from this world so that she wouldn’t have to be the one to plan his funeral when Jivin’ Pete is through shooting at him. Too sweet for this world, his only solace is that she wouldn’t have to bury her only son. It’s a shame he won’t be joining her. He ain’t been a degen for long, but even the mistakes in his life have probably been enough to turn him from the pearly gates.
The second thought? It’s an apology to Wayne for having to plan said funeral. Even though he’s been mighty ugly to Wayne there’s a part of him that knows Wayne do him right with the funeral. It may be small. May just be Wayne, Katy, and Squirrelly Dan at this point considering whose company he’s been keeping, but Daryl knows they’d at least show up.
And then he’s running. There’s no thoughts anymore. He knows the guys behind him are laughing as he just runs as hard, as fast, as his legs will do. He’s not the lanky teenager he used to be, but fuck is he is scared to stumble over his own feet just like he was at 15 and running to catch a ball Wayne threw too hard. His boots feel heavy, and he can feel the sharp pain of needing air as his lungs burn. Damn him for smoking so much, but fuck if he survives he’ll need a dart or two.
The sound of blood rushing is the only sound he can hear until a whistling shatters it as Daryl can’t fight the flinch that takes him. He can hear shouting but can’t make out the words. He knows he just needs to run. Run and run and run. He feels like a piece of prey. Is this what it’s like when he was a kid chasing the cattle ‘round? Maybe it’s closer to a deer and hunter. Coyote and chicken.
Chicken.
If he’d be any animal it’d be that. Always shit on for being too soft but the one time he should have been soft and told the family what he’d been feeling he bottled it away and let someone else try to make him feel wanted. He saw himself in Mike. Still does. The one that doesn’t quite fit in. But he did didn’t he? He may have been a bit off or soft compared to Wayne, Katy, and Dan, but they always treated him like family. Hell, at this point he considered them his family. Letting him crash at their farmhouse as a teen and an adult, Katy telling him that she seems him as a brother when they’re 14 and 16 respectively, and their Ma and Pa feeding him.
He’d been such a fucking fool and it’ll probably cost him his life.
Daryl’ll never get married. Never have a kid of his own. Never get to confess that he’s a Sally for his best friend. Fuck. Ain’t that a shame.
His legs are sore, his lungs burning for a break as the sound of shouting stops the sound of laughing. He’s running. Running as fast as he can as the sound of the gun cocking strikes fear into him. It’s almost not worth thinking about as the second bullet just barely misses his ear. It might have nicked him actually. He can’t tell.
What he can tell is that two seconds later there’s hands and arms on him, wrapping around him, and the warmth of someone’s chest on his back trying to slow him down. The adrenaline coursing through his blood has him still running but he’s coming slowing down to a jog, then to a walk. Breaths coming out in pants as Wayne - he could tell from touch alone but as Wayne pulls him into his side he could cry from the scent of sweat, deodorant, and shampoo that is so throughly Wayne, a scent he has known ever since they were boys, a scent he paid too much attention too - holds him so tightly Daryl’s worried he won’t be able to get a good breath.
Wayne’s voice is soft. A voice he generally uses to talk to Stormy when he thinks no one is near. It’s comforting. “I got ya. I got ya, Darry.”
He’s so tired. He’s so tired that he’s melting into Wayne’s side. His curls pressed into Wayne’s shoulder as he closes his eyes. The sound of gunfire has stopped as the shouts of a brawl have filled the air. Fuck. Did he assemble the crew? He can hear Squirrelly Dan, Jonsey, Reilly, and more fight against the others.
“Fuck Wayne. ’m so fuckin’ sorry.” It’s quiet, one of his arms wrapped around Wayne’s waist as his other hand holds onto the flannel Wayne so often wears. “Been a shit friend ‘aven’t I? You had to come save my ass.”
“Fucking save your ass more times than I can count at this point, ‘aven’t I?” There’s just a hint of affection there and it’s enough to make Daryl’s heart burst. “Don’t forget, ‘ve got ya always, Darry.”
It’s the most affection Daryl thinks Wayne’s shown him since his mother died. Back when he was thirteen and his dad was fuck-off who knows where. Back when Wayne let Daryl sob into his shoulder and just held him life a friend would.
“Fuck off. ’ve saved your ass before too, Big Shoots.”
“Fuck off yourself. Got us worried there.”
It’s quiet, but Daryl has known Wayne long enough to know he genuinely was concerned. Was scared he’d go as far to say. Fuck. If that don’t make him feel elated and like shit at the same time.
Daryl’s so lost in thought he almost doesn’t notice it until it’s too late, but he feels Wayne turn his head and feels warmth on the top of his curls. It’s gentle, a press of lips. “Thought we’d lost ya. Fuckin’ never do shit like that again.”
It’s enough to make Daryl sob louder. His breaths hiccuping as he pushes his head up. Wayne’s beet red but if it’s from running or from embarrassment at being fucking 10 ply Daryl can’t figure it out. He sniffles, wipes his snot on his shoulder, and pushes his head up to knock foreheads before kissing him. The adrenaline is what fuels it mainly, but the part in him that’s wanted this for years is cheering.
It’s slow, hesitant. He almost pulls away until Wayne reciprocates. His lips fumbling against Daryl’s as he holds him closer. They fall against the truck, Wayne’s back pressing into it as lips part and they’re kissing like they’re sixteen trying to figure out what the other likes. It doesn’t last long. Daryl needs the air more than he needs to kiss his best friend right now so he breaks it first.
“Well fuck me. How long ya been sweet on me, Wayne?”
“Probably forever if we’re honest.”
“Sally answer buddy,” but if Daryl’s smiling isn’t enough to show how actually happy he is with that answer, then Wayne’d be blind.
“Can’t just ask me that and not be asked it yourself.”
“Same as you probably. Had known for years though.”
“Ya can’t call me a sally when you give the same answer, the fuck you on?”
Daryl’s laughing now. His heart is still racing, but not from the fear of eventually being shot down while running.
“You gonna make me ya sweetie, Wayne?”
“Fuck off, Darry.” There’s no bite in Wayne’s voice though. And Daryl’s kissing him again as the sound of fireworks go off behind him and there’s cheers and hooting coming toward them. And if Daryl pouts as Katy pulls him away from Wayne into a hug he won’t admit it as he holds her tightly.
And if later when they’re in the bed of the truck driving down the highway, Puppers in hand, Daryl slips his hand into Wayne’s no one says anything. No one says anything whenever Wayne leans his head on Daryl’s shoulder, his voice just barely a whisper on his breath as he speaks, “‘course I’d have you as my sweetie, Daryl,” then no one has to say anything about it either.