Work Text:
Paul broke the surface of the murky water with a wild splash, his arms windmilling and sending waves rocking across the dark brown surface of the creek. He retched, spitting water and debris back into the lake, but the foul taste of it clung to the inside of his mouth, the stench filling his nostrils. His wild splashing turned more purposeful as he moved from the panic of falling into the water and into a freestyle stroke, swimming to the slippery, steeply inclined edge of the creek. He reached for the exposed roots of a tree, using them to help get his feet underneath himself. Retching again, his chest heaving with the force of it, Paul spat a wad of dirt and mud out of his mouth. There was a low, rumbling sound from up on the bank and Paul frowned, looking up to see something he hadn’t had much opportunity to witness: Daryl smiling. And, more than that, Daryl was laughing.
“It’s not that funny,” Paul said, his voice rasping out.
“Funniest shit I’ve seen in a good long while,” Daryl said. He looked down at Paul, his lips twitching again before he looked away. He pressed his knuckles to his lips but it did nothing to conceal the way his shoulders shook with laughter. “Way you fell head over ass. What happened to them ninja reflexes, huh?”
“I don’t have a lot of… woods-based experience,” Paul said. His boots could touch the bottom of the creek bed, but the mud was thick and sludgy, sucking him down as much as it was helping to keep him upright. “I didn’t see the tree roots.”
The reason for that may have been because he’d been following behind Daryl. His eyes had strayed from the path to something a little more scenic, and it had led to his immediate downfall.
“Y’look like a drowned rat,” Daryl said. His laughter had settled down, but he was still smiling. It may have had a mean edge to it, but Paul would be damned if he didn’t enjoy the sight of it. That smirk alone might have made his little sojourn into the creek worthwhile. As much as they’d finally toed over the border into begrudging allies, Paul still hadn’t had much occasion to see Daryl anything resembling happy. It made him wonder exactly what the mad had been through. Everyone had a story, and he suspected Daryl’s might be particularly interesting, if unhappy.
“You could give me a hand,” Paul said, coughing again. Tugging at the tree root he tested its strength. The last thing he needed was to make it halfway back up to solid ground only to fall back into the creek, taking part of a tree with him next time.
“Could do,” Daryl said, though he made no move to help.
With a sigh, Paul started pulling himself upwards, one hand above the other on the root. The mud gave way from around his boots, sending a flurry of detritus whirling around him in the process. And then something brushed against Paul’s leg. He could almost overlook it, write it off as something benign like some flotsam shaken loose from the mud he’d disturbed, or one of the creek’s native inhabitants. But then it came again, fingers clamping around his calf, digging painfully into the muscle. He gasped, eyes widening, and Daryl must have seen it for the urgency it was, or he’d seen something of what lurked below the surface of those dark waters because the smirk was wiped from his face in an instant.
Daryl’s hands wrapped around Paul’s wrists, and, after a second’s hesitation, Paul let go of the root he’d been clinging to and let Daryl bear his weight. Paul kicked out blindly at the unseen walker holding him, pulling him downwards, back into the murky depths below. Above him, Darly groaned, his arm muscles bulging with the strain of pulling Paul slowly, so slowly upwards. Paul slammed down hard against the wrist of the hand clutching at him. Again and again until something gave way. Without resistance, he soared upwards, gaining a foot of height in a matter of seconds. Pauls’ boots scrabbled against the muddy incline and Daryl redoubled his efforts until Paul finally cleared the top of the incline.
Daryl’s back hit the ground with a dull thud that knocked the wind out of him and shook through Paul’s body, as well, when he landed heavily on top of Daryl’s chest. Daryl’s hands still had a hold of Paul’s wrists, his grip even tighter than walker, and Paul knew he’d be bearing the finger marks of him for days to come, bruises that would rise on his pale skin and make it impossible to forget the feeling of Daryl squeezing him tightly. The very feel of the tender flesh would remind him of the way they were now, Paul’s soaking wet body pressed to Daryl’s, pinning him to the ground and drenching him through, just as surely as if he had fallen in the creek as well.
Those hands released him, blood and disappointment washing through Paul at the loss. Daryl groaned, a nasally whine of a sound, and his head thunked back against the dirt. Paul rested his chin against Daryl’s chest and looked at him, waiting until Daryl finally raised his head again and their eyes met. Daryl’s face was open, for a moment, softer and more vulnerable than Paul had ever seen it. There was something like fear in his eyes, until it was gone, dashed away when Daryl turned his head. He raised an arm, nudging at Paul’s shoulder. It was hardly done with any force, but Paul rolled off of him all the same, his body sprawling out onto the ground beside Daryl.
The air around them was warm and still. Birdsong filled the treetops overhead and there was the sound of insects buzzing nearby. Sunlight streamed down through the layered canopies in dappled patterns. Paul’s clothes clung to him, heavy with the weight of the water that had soaked into them. Though they weren’t touching, Paul could almost feel the rise and fall of Daryl’s chest beside him. After several long minutes of catching his breath, Paul pushed himself up into a crunch until he was sitting, knees raised, on the ground.
“You good?” Daryl asked, getting up onto one arm first, before pushing himself upwards.
“A little waterlogged,” Paul said. “But otherwise, fine.”
Daryl grunted. He reached out unexpectedly, and Paul went still, watching in silence as Daryl’s hand connected with Paul’s knee, gently running down his calf until he stopped at Paul’s ankle. It was only when something was pulled loose that Paul even registered that there had been something clinging to him still. Daryl raised the dismembered hand, holding the blueish white palm in a pinch between his index finger and thumb
“Brought somethin’ with you,” Daryl said. "Looks like that hand you asked for earlier."
“Thanks.” Paul stared and the bloated flesh for a moment, before Daryl tossed it back towards the creek, where it landed with a splash.
Daryl grunted again, dropping his head in a nod. “Should check for leeches.”
Paul felt his lip twitch, eyes widening as he turned his head to look at Daryl. “Are you offering to strip search me?”
Daryl huffed, looking away, then darting a glance back at him from the corner of his eye.
With that line of questioning seemingly at a dead end, Paul removed his beanie from his head and wrung it out, water cascading down onto the dirt. He grabbed a handful of his hair next and gave it the same treatment. When he released it, the wet tendrils clung to his neck.
“I have to have a hair tie in one of these pockets,” Paul said, patting ineffectually at himself.
With another grunt, Daryl slid closer in the dirt. “Hold still.”
“Why?” Paul asked, though he did as he was asked.
His obedience was rewarded with the feel of unexpectedly gentle hands gathering the wet hair where it hung around his neck, sopping wet and still dripping despite his best efforts to wring it out. Thick fingers carded through his hair, and Paul let his eyes slip half-lidded, letting himself enjoy the contact. It took longer than it should have to realise the rhyme to the motions Daryl was making.
“Where did you learn to braid?”
The fingers slipped, losing the easy motion of gathering a section of hair and threading it into the knot.
“It ain’t hard,” Daryl said, after a moment, his fingers finally picking up from where they’d gotten lost. It was an answer that answered nothing, but it wasn’t important. Paul was hardly going to look this gift Daryl in the mouth, so he let it go, and let Daryl continue to gather his hair until finally he reached the end, tying it off with a band of leather, small like a bracelet, that he pulled from inside his vest pocket.
“Someone I used to know taught me,” Daryl said, his voice quiet. He wrapped the leather band around and around, until it was holding the end of Paul’s hair tightly in place. Daryl pressed it down, his hand against Paul’s back, resting there for far longer than necessary.
“It’s a useful skill to have,” Paul said, just as quiet.
Daryl scoffed. “Nah, it ain’t. Just wanted to - wanted to do somethin’ nice with the Li’l Asskicker’s hair, is all.”
“That’s a use,” Paul pointed out. “And I’m not exactly ungrateful to be the recipient of it today.”
Daryl frowned, his brow furrowing.
The silence lasted too long, and Paul pushed to his feet. His socks squelched in his boots, and Paul made a face at the feeling of the wet fabric clinging to the contours of his toes.
“Should get you out of them wet clothes,” Daryl said, getting to his own feet with a little more effort.
Paul smiled, dropping his head to try and conceal it. “Still trying to get me naked?”
Daryl snorted. “You could get pneumonia, dumbass.”
“Don’t forget the leeches,” Paul reminded him. “Pneumonia and leeches.”
Daryl rolled his eyes. He turned his head, gaze scanning their surroundings before he lurched forward. Paul hastened to catch up with him, eyes straying to Daryl’s ass for one last, appreciative glance, before falling into step beside him, removing the temptation. The last thing he wanted was to get distracted and wind up right back in the creek again. They walked in silence for what felt like miles, nothing but the squelching of Paul’s boots to fill the air between them.
“Could be ticks,” Daryl said, suddenly.
Paul tilted his head to the side, looking at Daryl, though the other man avoided his eyes. “Ticks?”
“Could be.” Daryl shrugged. He raised a hand, fingers scratching at the side of his nose. “Might need to check each other over. When we get some place safe.”
Paul’s feet stumbled, his arms spreading to the sides as he caught his balance. He came to a stop, watching Daryl, who kept walking without him. Paul jogged a few paces to catch up.
“Sounds important,” Paul said. “I wouldn’t want to risk not checking. Thoroughly. Maybe two or three times, just to be safe.”
Daryl made a non-committal sound, but the corner of his lips were twitching again, in something that might become a smile, if given the right encouragement. “Just to be safe,” he agreed.
The backs of their hands brushed, and Daryl turned his head, their gazes meeting for a moment and Paul felt a thrill race down his spine. Paul licked his lips, nose wrinkling at the bitter taste of the creek water and increased his pace. He was suddenly imbued with a new motivation for finding a safe house to crash in for the night.