[The quick change of hands and how Jesus didn't actually stand told Daryl everything he needed to know. He was on his knees immediately and his hands were at the zipper of that damn vest he wore to pull it down and open it up. He pushed the cloth roughly to the side and then yanked at the collar of the shirt he was wearing under it when he couldn't get a clear look. The bandana came off and he pressed that hard against the wound to try and get as much pressure on it as he could.
Hope Paul had more of those.]
I shoulda come with you. Coulda jumped that asshole 'fore he got the shot off.
I finished with time to spare, what are you complaining about?
[ That kind of levity is really not necessary, Paul. Or maybe it is: he's not genuinely trying to distract from having a wound because he knows it needs tending; he's keeping himself from thinking about the fact he'd just had to kill three living, breathing people. They weren't good people but they were still people. It's just the person in front of him now is more important.
But that's how everyone feels, right? That their own interests are most important. Just how people are.
He's still kind of smiling even as Daryl moves to unzip his vest and work at his shirt and Jesus is about to try and help shrug out of the vest and all but as soon as Daryl presses against the wound he sees stars and has to grip at Daryl's arm with his own good one, exhaling roughly as his head tips forward. ]
Shit, that hurts. [ A grimace , hidden. He pushes forward against Daryl's hand anyway for more pressure as he weathers the pain. ] No, you shouldn't have. It was bound to go bad either way. Let's just take the win.
[ The wound isn't as bad as it could have been: the blood flow is already stopping. ]
[Daryl bit out tersely, leveling a glare at the stupid, cheeky bastard. His touch remained as gentle as it could be, though. Still maintaining pressure, but otherwise feather light.]
You're lucky this grazed ya and didn't go through.
[The line of the wound petered out as it moved toward the bicep from what he could see. Not exactly pretty, but not the kind of thing that would make moving his arm difficult for the next few days. It'd be sore once it scabbed over and that was about it.]
Shit, that guy was a bad shot.
[Daryl was avoiding saying anything about just accepting the win for what it was. He understood the mentality - he had it most of the time - but with Jesus's health, he didn't want to settle for only that.]
[ Which is the understatement of the century. Much, much worse. In any case he still doesn't let go of Daryl's arm, though it relents from death grip to settle on holding tight. He doesn't argue any further about whether it's a good call or bad call, just lifts his head enough to watch what Daryl's doing, take in his profile. He doesn't talk at all for a long time, actually. When he does, it's more subdued. ]
I'm sorry. [ There's a brief pause like he's taking a breath, trying to word something important. ] For making you stay behind. I just had these visions of losing you due to some stupid crap in the woods and I couldn't.
[ It's not joking and it's not confident like he usually is; sort of like how he gets stammer-y around Rick sometimes. (It is not actually like that at all. It's a different kind of stammer-y.) His fingertips press harder into Daryl's arm briefly before he lets go entirely. ] So I figured if I could take them all out, I wouldn't have to maybe lose you.
[ Now he's said it twice: "lose you," like he's family or something else entirely, and while it doesn't have as heavy a meaning as it might have before the apocalypse (you can lose anyone at any time), there's still a little something to it.
Whether "lose you" means dying or letting Daryl lose some of his humanity, Jesus doesn't say. ]
[Daryl chooses to ignore the implications of it meaning anything but dying. He chooses to because it's easier to focus on the loss-as-in-death and not the... the way everything inside him had torn itself up with the need to destroy them all and hurt them and make their physical humanity disappear under his fists or to his gun so they'd all be just as broken in body as Glenn and Abraham had been when they were taken from them. As broken in body as Daryl had nearly been in mind.
He chose the easier thing do deal with. Though it was obvious he was choosing because he went very still and sucked in a breath that he let out shakily while his eyes lost focus for a moment before he came back to the here and now.
He let out a forced scoff while moving to tie off the wound with the bandana instead of just maintaining pressure. He tightened it, but not enough to cut off circulation.]
I ain't about to let no asshole Savior kill me.
[Daryl rocked back on his heels and took in the scene. His hand had fallen to Jesus' knee as he did so and rested comfortably there. Keeping contact between them. More to reassure himself that Jesus was fine than to reassure Jesus. But regardless, he wasn't breaking that touch any time soon.]
Think we can leave 'em like this? Honk the horn a few times to draw the dead in and go?
[ He watches this. He watches it carefully - so carefully - and he knows. He's a good judge and for now, concentrating on live-or-die is enough. Still, pale eyes don't leave Daryl like he's not sure the other man isn't going to simply disappear. Maybe he still will. Like he's proving to himself that he won't, Paul drops his hand until it's on his own leg, barely touching Daryl's hand - the weight on his knee doesn't seem to quite be enough. ]
What, and I decided to let some asshole Savior shoot me? [ Wry.
He's calmer than he was though, breathing easier despite the pain still being there. It's funny: moving from endless calm to tense worry. Then right back to calm again just because Daryl is here, Daryl is touching him, reminding him he's here. Stupid, childish.
He shakes his head and he's not sure if it's in answer or incredulity at himself. ]
We should probably do a full clean-up. If there's any evidence left when they come looking, they've only got a few options for people to blame.
[ Eventually he breathes out slow, that same hand lifting to grip at Daryl's bicep. ] C'mon, I'm gonna stand up.
[He gets up slow enough that Paul can come with him, letting him hold onto his arm to steady himself while helping with the other. Once he was on his feet, Daryl tucked his hand under one of Jesus' elbows and looked around before settling his eyes on the car.]
We can pile 'em inside and then drive it out a few more miles. Should be a river or a shallow gorge somewhere 'round here we can dump the lot in.
[The car just as much as the bodies. It would be safer to simply make out like all three had disappeared and leave no evidence of them having been around at all. Though Daryl didn't actually know the area half as well as Jesus.]
[ Paul stands, still holding onto him - and once he's upright he keeps leaning into Daryl, squinting from the car to the body that's still laying in the road. The way he's resting against him might be a little more than absolutely necessary, but sue him. ]
Yeah, there's one that way. [ He nods off in the direction they'd come from. ] A gorge, that is. A while out past where we got to but not far. We clean up enough here and they won't be any the wiser. [ Then he focuses on the car again, frowning. ] Means we can take anything that's not overtly marked as being theirs. Supplies, all that. They weren't set up for a long trip but they'll still have something.
[ Even if they can't take guns with the Saviors' marks on them they can take bullets, food, water, whatever. It's not ideal but it's better than nothing. ] We should probably move quick, though.
[ There's a split-second where it looks like he might argue. Instead he nods and takes a step away toward where the bike is hidden. He's about to take another before he turns back, good hand lifting to touch Daryl's shoulder, a ghosting thing that's barely-there. He doesn't say anything, not be careful or even be safe, because they're always careful and there's no such thing as safe.
The touch says enough, anyway. ]
Yeah.
[ In any case he's gone after a moment, trailing carefully off to the bike to A: make sure everything's ready to go and B: actually do what he's told for once. He's favoring his shoulder a little but it's not bad. He'll live. ]
[Daryl forced himself to wait until Jesus was out of sight to swallow the air sticking in his throat. He knew that look. That touch. He'd never been given it but he'd seen it often enough in the way Glenn had looked at Maggie and Maggie had looked at Glenn. In the way Rick and Michonne looked at each other. The way he'd looked at Lori before things went sideways there. And in so many other gazes shared between those in his family that had found whatever they'd been missing in each other.
It was something Daryl had started to find in Jesus without even realizing it.
Something that would just hurt him more in the end.
He pushed those thoughts away and focused on the task at hand. Finding the bodies and dragging them back to the car. Going through their pockets. Searching out anything worth keeping that couldn't easily be tracked back to them. Nothing marked, nothing that stood out.
It took about a half hour all told. Mostly for the body moving. And when Daryl was getting himself behind the wheel to start moving the car, he'd almost convinced himself he'd just been seeing things in Jesus' eyes. Things that he might have wanted but knew weren't for him. Wasn't how the world worked.]
Alright, lead the way.
[He called out as he backed the car up to where the bike was, waiting for Paul to pull it out and drive it.]
[ Sometimes Paul wonders if he comes on too strong. Other times he wonders if he's not doing enough. But acclimating Daryl to touches like that, to quiet looks that mean more than they let on, is fine by him. Eventually, he knows, Daryl might return the sentiments. Easier to wait and keep waiting than to get a firm no, anyway.
It's difficult to wait patiently for Daryl to finish but he does anyway, keeping an eye out for anything. When nothing happens it's a relief - by the time Daryl's ready to go Paul's shoulder is stiffening a little toward something sore-but-still-usable but he ignores it, pulling the bike out and getting it started. From then on it's a matter of silent directions: gestures, pointing, exaggerated nods.
It's not long until they arrive at the edge of a ... well it's smaller than a canyon, bigger than a gully, but most importantly it's good enough to get the job done. As soon as he turns the bike off and gets back on his feet, he's taking a breath and waiting for Daryl to get out. ]
This is the best bet. Once it's down there, the plant life should cover it from sight unless you're really looking hard for it.
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[The quick change of hands and how Jesus didn't actually stand told Daryl everything he needed to know. He was on his knees immediately and his hands were at the zipper of that damn vest he wore to pull it down and open it up. He pushed the cloth roughly to the side and then yanked at the collar of the shirt he was wearing under it when he couldn't get a clear look. The bandana came off and he pressed that hard against the wound to try and get as much pressure on it as he could.
Hope Paul had more of those.]
I shoulda come with you. Coulda jumped that asshole 'fore he got the shot off.
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[ That kind of levity is really not necessary, Paul. Or maybe it is: he's not genuinely trying to distract from having a wound because he knows it needs tending; he's keeping himself from thinking about the fact he'd just had to kill three living, breathing people. They weren't good people but they were still people. It's just the person in front of him now is more important.
But that's how everyone feels, right? That their own interests are most important. Just how people are.
He's still kind of smiling even as Daryl moves to unzip his vest and work at his shirt and Jesus is about to try and help shrug out of the vest and all but as soon as Daryl presses against the wound he sees stars and has to grip at Daryl's arm with his own good one, exhaling roughly as his head tips forward. ]
Shit, that hurts. [ A grimace , hidden. He pushes forward against Daryl's hand anyway for more pressure as he weathers the pain. ] No, you shouldn't have. It was bound to go bad either way. Let's just take the win.
[ The wound isn't as bad as it could have been: the blood flow is already stopping. ]
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[Daryl bit out tersely, leveling a glare at the stupid, cheeky bastard. His touch remained as gentle as it could be, though. Still maintaining pressure, but otherwise feather light.]
You're lucky this grazed ya and didn't go through.
[The line of the wound petered out as it moved toward the bicep from what he could see. Not exactly pretty, but not the kind of thing that would make moving his arm difficult for the next few days. It'd be sore once it scabbed over and that was about it.]
Shit, that guy was a bad shot.
[Daryl was avoiding saying anything about just accepting the win for what it was. He understood the mentality - he had it most of the time - but with Jesus's health, he didn't want to settle for only that.]
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[ Which is the understatement of the century. Much, much worse. In any case he still doesn't let go of Daryl's arm, though it relents from death grip to settle on holding tight. He doesn't argue any further about whether it's a good call or bad call, just lifts his head enough to watch what Daryl's doing, take in his profile. He doesn't talk at all for a long time, actually. When he does, it's more subdued. ]
I'm sorry. [ There's a brief pause like he's taking a breath, trying to word something important. ] For making you stay behind. I just had these visions of losing you due to some stupid crap in the woods and I couldn't.
[ It's not joking and it's not confident like he usually is; sort of like how he gets stammer-y around Rick sometimes. (It is not actually like that at all. It's a different kind of stammer-y.) His fingertips press harder into Daryl's arm briefly before he lets go entirely. ] So I figured if I could take them all out, I wouldn't have to maybe lose you.
[ Now he's said it twice: "lose you," like he's family or something else entirely, and while it doesn't have as heavy a meaning as it might have before the apocalypse (you can lose anyone at any time), there's still a little something to it.
Whether "lose you" means dying or letting Daryl lose some of his humanity, Jesus doesn't say. ]
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He chose the easier thing do deal with. Though it was obvious he was choosing because he went very still and sucked in a breath that he let out shakily while his eyes lost focus for a moment before he came back to the here and now.
He let out a forced scoff while moving to tie off the wound with the bandana instead of just maintaining pressure. He tightened it, but not enough to cut off circulation.]
I ain't about to let no asshole Savior kill me.
[Daryl rocked back on his heels and took in the scene. His hand had fallen to Jesus' knee as he did so and rested comfortably there. Keeping contact between them. More to reassure himself that Jesus was fine than to reassure Jesus. But regardless, he wasn't breaking that touch any time soon.]
Think we can leave 'em like this? Honk the horn a few times to draw the dead in and go?
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What, and I decided to let some asshole Savior shoot me? [ Wry.
He's calmer than he was though, breathing easier despite the pain still being there. It's funny: moving from endless calm to tense worry. Then right back to calm again just because Daryl is here, Daryl is touching him, reminding him he's here. Stupid, childish.
He shakes his head and he's not sure if it's in answer or incredulity at himself. ]
We should probably do a full clean-up. If there's any evidence left when they come looking, they've only got a few options for people to blame.
[ Eventually he breathes out slow, that same hand lifting to grip at Daryl's bicep. ] C'mon, I'm gonna stand up.
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We can pile 'em inside and then drive it out a few more miles. Should be a river or a shallow gorge somewhere 'round here we can dump the lot in.
[The car just as much as the bodies. It would be safer to simply make out like all three had disappeared and leave no evidence of them having been around at all. Though Daryl didn't actually know the area half as well as Jesus.]
Or ain't there?
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Yeah, there's one that way. [ He nods off in the direction they'd come from. ] A gorge, that is. A while out past where we got to but not far. We clean up enough here and they won't be any the wiser. [ Then he focuses on the car again, frowning. ] Means we can take anything that's not overtly marked as being theirs. Supplies, all that. They weren't set up for a long trip but they'll still have something.
[ Even if they can't take guns with the Saviors' marks on them they can take bullets, food, water, whatever. It's not ideal but it's better than nothing. ] We should probably move quick, though.
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[This time he put on the 'that's an order' voice. Same as the one Paul had used on him before going off and playing hero and getting himself shot.]
You can play lookout. Just in case.
[And not be in immediate danger if another car did come their way.]
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The touch says enough, anyway. ]
Yeah.
[ In any case he's gone after a moment, trailing carefully off to the bike to A: make sure everything's ready to go and B: actually do what he's told for once. He's favoring his shoulder a little but it's not bad. He'll live. ]
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It was something Daryl had started to find in Jesus without even realizing it.
Something that would just hurt him more in the end.
He pushed those thoughts away and focused on the task at hand. Finding the bodies and dragging them back to the car. Going through their pockets. Searching out anything worth keeping that couldn't easily be tracked back to them. Nothing marked, nothing that stood out.
It took about a half hour all told. Mostly for the body moving. And when Daryl was getting himself behind the wheel to start moving the car, he'd almost convinced himself he'd just been seeing things in Jesus' eyes. Things that he might have wanted but knew weren't for him. Wasn't how the world worked.]
Alright, lead the way.
[He called out as he backed the car up to where the bike was, waiting for Paul to pull it out and drive it.]
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It's difficult to wait patiently for Daryl to finish but he does anyway, keeping an eye out for anything. When nothing happens it's a relief - by the time Daryl's ready to go Paul's shoulder is stiffening a little toward something sore-but-still-usable but he ignores it, pulling the bike out and getting it started. From then on it's a matter of silent directions: gestures, pointing, exaggerated nods.
It's not long until they arrive at the edge of a ... well it's smaller than a canyon, bigger than a gully, but most importantly it's good enough to get the job done. As soon as he turns the bike off and gets back on his feet, he's taking a breath and waiting for Daryl to get out. ]
This is the best bet. Once it's down there, the plant life should cover it from sight unless you're really looking hard for it.