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Daryl isn’t exactly sure how he got here, but it’s happened enough times for him to know that he probably woke up from a nightmare and just sort of lost his shit. He’s standing facing the wall and looking down at his hands, moving them around and trying to convince himself that they belong to him and he’s actually moving them. There’s a memory rolling around in his head, or is it a dream? He can’t really be sure of what is and isn’t real. Merle used to confirm that some of his memories actually happened, but he never really asked Merle. What was he supposed to say? ‘Hey Merle, did this thing actually happen to me? Because I don’t have many memories of my childhood, just a hazy void.’ But that doesn’t really help him now.
The memory can hardly count as a memory, all it is is someone shouting. He can’t make out what the voice is saying and he can’t see anyone’s face, but it’s playing on a loop and he feels very small and scared. He looks back at his hands. The cigarette burn scars are distinctive, something that tells him this is actually his body. He’d always planned on getting another tattoo, one on the back of his hand, something he could look at and know that he was real. So much for that.
Sometimes, if he caught it early enough, he could burn his hand and the pain would lead him back to himself like a beacon. He’s been trying to kick the habit, especially after meeting Paul. There’s a couple of little dents in the skin on his pointer fingers, he’s been chewing on them. It’s not a new thing, he used to do it as a kid when his dad was yelling and Merle was asleep and it was dark and he was scared and he couldn’t sleep. The memory plays over again.
He knows what this is.
Dissociation.
Flashbacks.
He’s read the ‘Treating Survivors of Childhood Abuse’ book three times, but he can’t remember anything it said about stopping them.
“--okay?”
It’s only a fragment of a statement and it sounds distorted, like it came over a walkie talkie, but the voice is undeniably Paul’s. He focuses on the words, trying to pick out more of them.
“Daryl-- … … --okay?”
He turns around and hopes that Paul will ask again. He’s pretty sure that he’s being asked if he’s okay, but hearing it again might help him find his way back better. He watches Paul’s lips as they move.
“Daryl, are you okay?”
‘I’m fine,’ he says, but he can’t hear himself speaking. He’s pretty sure his lips are moving but everything’s kind of far away and tingly.
“Can you talk right now?” Paul’s hands are hovering by Daryl’s arms, like he isn’t sure if it’s okay to touch him. Daryl shakes his head no. This isn’t new either, but he’s not exactly the most talkative man in the world, so most people don’t notice.
“What can I do to help?”
Daryl doesn’t know why he asks because he knows damn well that Daryl isn’t gonna be able to answer, but the thought is nice. He takes a step forward and he feels like he’s falling, but he isn’t. His body just takes a step forward like it’s supposed to. He wraps his arms around Paul’s torso and presses his face into the other man’s neck. Paul’s hands stay up, uncertain for a moment before he completes the hug. Paul smells clean and Daryl focuses on that. Paul squeezes him tight and for a second, it’s almost good as burning himself.
He’s not sure how it happens, but next thing he knows, they’re both sitting on the floor. Paul’s still holding onto him and he’s still holding onto Paul and they’re both swaying back and forth slowly.
“I’m gonna get Rick, okay?”
No. No. Nononono. That is not okay. That is very fucking definitely not okay. Rick has important things to do, chores and people who need him. He already has Carl and Judith to take care of. The last thing he needs to be doing is taking care of a useless sack of shit that still hasn’t gotten over something that happened decades ago.
But Daryl couldn’t say any of that if he tried. Even if he could, he isn’t sure if he wants Paul to know exactly how pathetic he is. His head is still pressed against Paul’s neck, but his arms are at his side, like he can’t think and move his body at the same time.
“I’m not gonna leave you here, though. You’re coming with me.” Paul rubs his hands along Daryl’s back, “I won’t leave you alone.”
Turns out those are the magic fucking words because Daryl starts crying like he hasn’t in years. His whole body is shaking and he can barely breath. Paul keeps rubbing circles on his back and it almost sounds like he’s singing something, but Daryl can’t make out the words. He keeps it up until Daryl stops crying. He sits up and wipes the snot and tears off on the back of his hand. His hair is in his eyes and he still can’t look directly at Paul because he feels shitty about being like this in front of him.
“You good?” Paul presses a palm against Daryl’s cheek. Daryl nods, eyes closed. Paul grabs both his hands and helps him up. He’s standing but barely and Paul keeps one hand on his waist, leading him out of the bedroom and into the hallway. They find Rick downstairs, sitting at the kitchen table and looking over a map of the complex.
“Rick, uh…” Paul flounders, unsure of what to say. If he could, Daryl’d say something about how he’s finally at a loss for words for once. Rick looks up from the map and tucks the pencil he’s been sketching with behind his ear.
“What?” His voice is terse, but when he looks up and sees Daryl, his expression immediately shifts to concern. Daryl tries to run, but his body betrays him yet again and he can’t move.
“This happens sometimes.” Rick’s using his soft voice, “Bad days.” Daryl would prefer any other voice than that, he’d even take Rick screaming at him over Rick giving him sympathy.
“I know, I know.” Paul sounds almost desperate, “I just want to help, even if it’s only a small amount.”
“Carol probably knows more about how to help, but she isn’t…” Rick trails off, not wanting to say the truth out loud. It makes Daryl’s skin burn, knowing that Rick’s trying to protect him. He’s not fragile, he’s not going to break. Okay, that’s a bit of a lie considering he’s already balls deep in an emotional breakdown.
“Try to keep him grounded. It’ll pass, it always does.” Rick smiles slightly while looking directly at Daryl. Paul nods and they work their way back upstairs. Daryl feels a bit more certain about himself, his body is working more like it’s supposed to and he’s aware of each step. The memory isn’t lurking just out of view anymore and he doesn’t feel nearly as shaky.
When they reach his bedroom, he closes his eyes and musters up as much energy as he can, then chokes out, “Wanna sleep.”
“Okay. Okay.” Paul runs a hand through his hair, pushing it up and out of the way, “Sounds good.”
“Stay?” It’s still hard to get the word out, his voice is quiet and it doesn’t sound like it’s actually his.
“Yeah. Yes. Always.” He’s still running his hands through his hair.
Daryl smiles a bit and lays down on the mattress on the floor. He curls up, trying to make himself as small as possible; it’s a weird thing, probably, but he’s always done it after things got bad. Paul sits down next to him, back up against the wall, with a book in his hands. He holds it with his left hand only and uses his right hand to rub circles on Daryl’s scalp.
“You’re okay. You’re safe.”
“Safe.” Daryl echoes back.
“Mhm. Safe.”
Daryl decides he’s probably right.