[ He wants to keep drinking, looks around for a bottle he can snag on the way out the door, but Daryl's reflexes are way faster than Jesse's right now, and before he can blink they're out the door, heading down the street and back towards the center of town.
He snorts bitterly at the question, stumbling a little until Daryl grabs him, keeps him upright. ]
Th' floor.
[ It's not really what Daryl had been asking, but it's the answer that comes to mind. The floor of the apartment he still hasn't told Daryl about. He'd made some good progress on getting it all fixed up before he'd fallen hard off the wagon - there's a little table and two chairs in the kitchen, lovingly handcrafted during slower times at the woodshop and during his off hours. Dishes in the cabinets, silverware in a drawer, a chest full of blankets for colder nights. But the bed is still a heap of lumber in the corner of the bedroom. He kicks morosely at the ground, nearly losing his balance again. ]
[ Daryl has seen Jesse have fun, of course he has, but this is nothing like those nights. Those nights, booze had woken Jesse up and turned him into the life of the party. Of Daryl's, anyway. Tonight, he's a mess, he needs support just to get one foot in front of the other and when Jesse finally answers him, Daryl is confused before he's worried.
The floor, sure, haha. Whatever. Clearly, this bender has been going on for a while now. Just how long ago had Jesse gotten back to town? But the bed? Daryl slows, trying to get a good look at his eyes in the dim light of the street. ]
What? What'd you take, man? You ain't makin' any sense.
[ He looks trashed, so maybe it's better not to assume he's getting an intelligible answer out of him tonight. He just has to get Jesse through this. Stay up with him. Take care of him.
This idiot. What is he thinking, making himself this vulnerable in this fucking place? ]
We gotta get you home. [ And since there's nowhere else that feels remotely like that right now, not that he knows of anyway, Daryl turns towards the boarding house. It isn't safe, but he'll stay awake if he has to. At least no one has seen a villager around in days. ]
[ Jesse just shakes his head. Anything stronger than booze is still hard to get in this town, but he'd filched what he could from the clinic, letting the drugs dispel any guilt he felt over stealing from House yet again. It's harder to know what exactly he'd taken. It's not as though the clinic had been stocked with neatly labeled prescription bottles.
Home, though. Home sounds kinda good, if Daryl's there with him. It's too quiet, mostly. It's why he's been spending a lot of time at the bar, surrounded by people, letting the noise and the activity drown out the buzzing, dark thoughts in his head. He lets Daryl propel him forward, but when he starts to turn right towards the boarding house, Jesse turns to go the other way, only Daryl's grip on him stopping him.
He turns to look at him, brow creased in confusion. That's not the way home. What's he doing? ]
No. 'S...the wrong way.
[ And he tries to tug Daryl to the left again, towards the woodworking shop and the little apartment near it. ]
[ The wrong way? Daryl digs his heels in at first only because he thinks Jesse is too drunk to know the direction they should actually be heading in. The boarding house should be impossible for him to lose track of, it's one of the only constants in their life in this terrible place, so when Jesse insists, Daryl can't help second-guessing himself. Letting him lead. ]
What d'you mean? Where are we goin'?
[ He's still doing the heavy lifting of getting them where Jesse wants to go, but when he finally stops in front of the carpenter's place, Daryl just stares. What are they doing here? ]
C'mon, Jesse. What's goin' on? You need to lie down. Get some sleep.
[ Daryl lets Jesse lead, even if he doesn't understand where they're going or why, and that's good enough. Luckily, he's made the journey from the apartment to the bar and back again often enough that he knows the way by instinct, doesn't have to be sober or think about it to find his way back. He ignores Daryl's question as irrelevant, nonsensical. Where does he think they're going? Home. Like he'd said.
When they finally reach the place and Daryl just stares at him, Jesse shoots him a look back, an are you an idiot look as he fumbles for his key. ]
That's what I'm doin'. Dumbass.
[ The last word is mumbled, as he finally drags the key out of his pocket and turns away to focus all his concentration on the challenge of sliding it into the lock and turning. It only takes him a couple tries, and then he's swinging the door open, half-climbing, half-falling up the stairs to the tiny second-story apartment he's been slowly fixing up. It's still only half-livable, dirty dishes on the counters but no real furniture to speak of other than the table and chairs he'd made, a few of Jesse's things tossed around haphazardly. And a few of Daryl's, if he spots them, piled in a corner as if for safekeeping.
He drops the key and then himself, all but collapsing onto a pile of blankets on the floor. A messy, makeshift bed, clearly where he's been sleeping since he'd abandoned the boarding house. ]
'M gonna sleep.
[ It feels important to announce that, so Daryl knows. ]
[ Keys. That's what clues Daryl in that something he doesn't understand is going on here. He just stares as Jesse opens the door, as he starts to clamber up the stairs with his hands as much as his feet and he hesitates before following, closing the door behind himself after a long look either way up the street. Remembering where they are. Locking the door. The stairwell is dark, oppressively quiet except for the fumbling sounds of Jesse going up the wooden stairs, but Daryl goes up slowly. Letting it all sink in.
It's small and unfinished but he recognizes things inside the apartment. Jesse's things, some of his own. It's hard to miss them since it's so empty. It doesn't do much to lift his confusion and he's sitting on a hundred questions when Jesse flops down on his pile of used blankets (some of the earlier questions he'd had about where Jesse has been staying clicking into place the more he looks around) but he knows it's going to be a useless fight getting any answers out of Jesse tonight. He watches him curl up in the blankets on the floor, something sharp and sad tugging inside his chest.
What the hell is this place? How long has Jesse been crashing here? Are they even welcome? Daryl hadn't intended to spend the night sleeping but he certainly isn't going to now. Not without knowing they're safe, or as safe as anyone can be here. He'll let Jesse sleep, wait until the sun comes up to demand answers. But before long Jesse is snoring and the tension in Daryl's shoulders is releasing despite it all. Jesse is here, he's alive. It's a relief he can finally take hold of, actually appreciate. Leah seems to be gone, but some people are still here.
The view from the window isn't much. The dark, the street, all the way back up the way they'd come from, where the town is busier. It's as good a vantage point as any. He'll see anyone coming a few minutes before they get here. He moves some of Jesse's shit off of one of the chairs and brings it to the window, sitting and settling in. He's used to watches, to waiting. To being alone. He needs the time to sift through his own thoughts anyway and when dawn comes, he still lets Jesse sleep.
He's still sitting in the chair when Jesse finally starts to stir. ]
[ Jesse groans, rolling over and pressing his hands to his face. He feels like dogshit. Which is how he feels most mornings, these days, but today seems a little worse than usual. There's a vague feeling of guilt underpinning it all, the sense that he'd done something wrong, let someone down somehow -
Then Daryl speaks and it all comes flooding back. What fuzzy, half-formed memories he has of the night before, anyway. He opens his eyes, dropping his hands to stare at the ceiling, then slowly, slowly raises his head to look. Daryl's there. Sitting at the window in one of the chairs Jesse had carved. Here, in the apartment Jesse hadn't yet told him about, the one he was - he was working on fixing up, making perfect -
Clearly, he's been there all night. Keeping watch. Waiting for Jesse to wake.
Jesse drops his head to the floor again, squeezing his eyes shut tight. ]
[ He lets a soft sound out of his nose that goes along with the slight roll of his eyes, but Daryl doesn't move. Jesse still seems utterly comfortable with where they are, just like he had last night, so he isn't going to force the kid to rush. Not after how wasted he'd been the night before. It isn't like Daryl hadn't white-knuckled his way through a thousand mornings like this one must be for Jesse. But that had been a long time ago.
He thinks about lighting one of Quentin's dummy cigarettes but he doesn't. He wants a clear head and who knows what's going to happen the first time he tries one of those? ]
[ What the hell is this place? Daryl asks, and Jesse wants to cry. He'd dreamed about the moment when Daryl saw the apartment for the first time. Jesse opening the door, leading him up the stairs to a cozy, homey room, the sun streaming through windows framed with curtains he hasn't yet hung, onto the warm brown wood of furniture he hasn't yet built. A place just for them, better than the boarding house or Daryl's camp in the woods. Safe and private and all their own.
Not this empty, half-assed space, abandoned halfway through. He looks around, seeing it through Daryl's eyes. It looks like someplace he might've broken into, a former crack house maybe, someplace to crash after one bender after another. And isn't that exactly what it is? He shakes his head, dragging himself up off his rumpled nest of blankets the floor, staring dully at the pile of dirty dishes next to the sink. ]
[ That mumbled yet is what saves his heart from what ends up just a glancing blow. It's clear enough that this is where Jesse has been staying and that he doesn't have any intention of returning to the boarding house. It's where he was snatched from, for all Daryl knows. He's never liked it, crowded and impersonal, no real privacy to speak of. Daryl can't blame him.
But the thought of being left behind had stung. Bad. He'd sat with it most of the night, wondering, letting it weigh down on him. He still isn't sure that the worst case scenario he's already talked himself into accepting isn't true. ]
You gonna be straight with me? Or what?
[ He realizes his heart is pounding in his chest. He tries to sit very, very still. ]
You want me outta here?
[ Out of here, out of his face. Just away from him. Isn't that what Jesse had wanted before disappearing? Before running off? ]
[ Jesse feels miserable. He'd never wanted Daryl to see him like this. He hadn't even realized how pathetic it was until now. What had happened? It had started off exciting, sleeping on the floor in the empty apartment, slowly starting to move his things in, full of dreams about what it would turn into. He'd even carved and assembled the table and chairs. Sanded and polished them. They're simple, sure, but beautiful. But standing on their own like that, they look like nothing at all.
He drops himself into the other chair now, leaning forward to press his face into his hands. Why had he ever thought this would work? Why had he thought it was a good idea? He's never built anything good that he didn't lose or destroy in the end. Everything from selling the box he'd worked on for months in high school shop class just for some weed, to watching Jane and Andrea die. Because of him. Even in his dream, the same thing had happened to Lottie. They'd had everything and then she'd bled out in his arms, killed because of choices he'd made, and Jesse couldn't do a thing to save her.
What had made him think he could build something here, with Daryl? He can't. He's never been able to. ]
...yeah.
[ It's so quiet he barely hears it himself. He sniffles, throat feeling tight. ]
You should get outta here.
Find someone...someone else.
[ Someone good for him. Someone who doesn't fuck up or ruin everything he touches, the way Jesse does. ]
[ It's a good thing that Daryl has so much practice holding on tight to his nerves, forcing all his turmoil down into stillness. Jesse is trying his blood pressure now. The kid drops into the chair opposite him, hides his face, avoids him even now when he's right in front of him. And Daryl just waits. Dumb, helpless. He's trapped, he realizes. As much as he's ever been. He can only wait out this pain, this emergency as his adrenaline is telling him. He can't anticipate what's about to happen.
But he can. He knows it before Jesse says it. Daryl inhales the tiniest bit through his nose when the crack in his heart shatters properly, but that's it. Nothing else shows on his face as he dies a little.
There's a delay where he can't make himself respond and then he stands up with an awkward lurch. The chair scrapes behind him, loud in the empty space. He doesn't move for the door immediately, he just stands there. Looming, unable to look at Jesse. He looks out the window, down at the empty street, the fingers of one hand fidgeting silently. ]
It don't work like that.
[ He's not sure he works at all, not like this, but he knows there's no one else. No one he trusts like this. No one he wants. He doesn't even really understand what Jesse's telling him to do. ]
[ Jesse's never really broken up with anyone. Most of his relationships hadn't been that serious, and those that were had ended in tragedy.
This doesn't feel any better, it turns out. Even if he's not sure if this even really is a breakup. He and Daryl had never gotten around to defining their relationship. It's not like dating any girl had ever been.
It's something, though. Something intense, and important, and his whole chest aches when he thinks of Daryl walking out that door. When he thinks of staying here alone in this apartment he'd gotten for the two of them, the one he'd meant - honestly meant - to fix up.
He hadn't fixed it up, though. He's barely managed to hang onto his job, let alone do any work on the side. All he's done is drink and smoke and go to the brothel to get fucked until he can't think anymore. Daryl deserves better than that.
He shakes his head, not understanding any more than Daryl does what the other is trying to say. He'll find someone. Of course he will. He's strong, and brave, and any inexperience he has in bed is far outmatched by his passion and assertiveness. Jesse, though? Jesse's a mess. ]
M'sorry.
[ But it's not a retraction. He's standing by what he'd said. A single tear trails down his cheek and falls, beading on the glossy varnish he'd applied so carefully to the table. Back before he threw everything away again. ]
[ For a long time it feels as though something is hanging there in the room with them, lingering and unfinished. Then Jesse apologizes and he knows that's it. It's done, whatever it was. Daryl's never known how to fight these fights and he's never wanted to. Never felt he deserved to. He'd let Jesse down, everything had gone wrong, and now here they are. Just like it always goes, he assumes.
He doesn't see the tear because he can't make himself look at him. He just nods, far too quickly after Jesse says his name, and swallows. The words take a little longer. They're finally pulled up from somewhere simple and vulnerable. ]
Yeah. Me too.
[ Just flat. Not bitter or angry, just empty. Like he should have known all of this was coming. Should have anticipated and avoided this conversation somehow. But it's too late to save any face. It's as honest as he can be. He's real damn sorry. Scared for Jesse, worried about the state he's in, knowing he's being asked not to care.
He doesn't run. He at least won't let himself do that. He nods again, slower this time, picks up his pack and laboriously lifts it and his poncho over his head to drape across his shoulders. He's stiff from having sat up the whole night. Dwelling on this.
Now that it's happened, he just feels tired. ]
Don't die. [ His worst fear for him. Somehow he feels guilty already. ] Whole thing really hurts.
[ And he just lets himself out, taking his time down the stairs and closing the door at the bottom quietly behind him. Hoping the kid knows enough to at least lock it after him. ]
[ It feels like his whole chest is constricting around his heart, squeezing the life out of it. A retraction is there, on the tip of his tongue. Wait. I'm sorry. Please, please don't go.
But it's too late for that. He sits there, unable to move, unable to speak, his expression crumpling into one of grief and despair. Daryl doesn't even see it. He picks up his things and plods out the door, each footstep echoing in the near-empty apartment. Then the door closes at the bottom of the stairs, the click clearly audible in the silence, and Jesse lets his head drop, a raw, ragged sob dredged up from deep in his chest escaping him. ]
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no subject
He snorts bitterly at the question, stumbling a little until Daryl grabs him, keeps him upright. ]
Th' floor.
[ It's not really what Daryl had been asking, but it's the answer that comes to mind. The floor of the apartment he still hasn't told Daryl about. He'd made some good progress on getting it all fixed up before he'd fallen hard off the wagon - there's a little table and two chairs in the kitchen, lovingly handcrafted during slower times at the woodshop and during his off hours. Dishes in the cabinets, silverware in a drawer, a chest full of blankets for colder nights. But the bed is still a heap of lumber in the corner of the bedroom. He kicks morosely at the ground, nearly losing his balance again. ]
Gotta finish...finish the bed.
no subject
The floor, sure, haha. Whatever. Clearly, this bender has been going on for a while now. Just how long ago had Jesse gotten back to town? But the bed? Daryl slows, trying to get a good look at his eyes in the dim light of the street. ]
What? What'd you take, man? You ain't makin' any sense.
[ He looks trashed, so maybe it's better not to assume he's getting an intelligible answer out of him tonight. He just has to get Jesse through this. Stay up with him. Take care of him.
This idiot. What is he thinking, making himself this vulnerable in this fucking place? ]
We gotta get you home. [ And since there's nowhere else that feels remotely like that right now, not that he knows of anyway, Daryl turns towards the boarding house. It isn't safe, but he'll stay awake if he has to. At least no one has seen a villager around in days. ]
no subject
Home, though. Home sounds kinda good, if Daryl's there with him. It's too quiet, mostly. It's why he's been spending a lot of time at the bar, surrounded by people, letting the noise and the activity drown out the buzzing, dark thoughts in his head. He lets Daryl propel him forward, but when he starts to turn right towards the boarding house, Jesse turns to go the other way, only Daryl's grip on him stopping him.
He turns to look at him, brow creased in confusion. That's not the way home. What's he doing? ]
No. 'S...the wrong way.
[ And he tries to tug Daryl to the left again, towards the woodworking shop and the little apartment near it. ]
no subject
What d'you mean? Where are we goin'?
[ He's still doing the heavy lifting of getting them where Jesse wants to go, but when he finally stops in front of the carpenter's place, Daryl just stares. What are they doing here? ]
C'mon, Jesse. What's goin' on? You need to lie down. Get some sleep.
no subject
When they finally reach the place and Daryl just stares at him, Jesse shoots him a look back, an are you an idiot look as he fumbles for his key. ]
That's what I'm doin'. Dumbass.
[ The last word is mumbled, as he finally drags the key out of his pocket and turns away to focus all his concentration on the challenge of sliding it into the lock and turning. It only takes him a couple tries, and then he's swinging the door open, half-climbing, half-falling up the stairs to the tiny second-story apartment he's been slowly fixing up. It's still only half-livable, dirty dishes on the counters but no real furniture to speak of other than the table and chairs he'd made, a few of Jesse's things tossed around haphazardly. And a few of Daryl's, if he spots them, piled in a corner as if for safekeeping.
He drops the key and then himself, all but collapsing onto a pile of blankets on the floor. A messy, makeshift bed, clearly where he's been sleeping since he'd abandoned the boarding house. ]
'M gonna sleep.
[ It feels important to announce that, so Daryl knows. ]
no subject
It's small and unfinished but he recognizes things inside the apartment. Jesse's things, some of his own. It's hard to miss them since it's so empty. It doesn't do much to lift his confusion and he's sitting on a hundred questions when Jesse flops down on his pile of used blankets (some of the earlier questions he'd had about where Jesse has been staying clicking into place the more he looks around) but he knows it's going to be a useless fight getting any answers out of Jesse tonight. He watches him curl up in the blankets on the floor, something sharp and sad tugging inside his chest.
What the hell is this place? How long has Jesse been crashing here? Are they even welcome? Daryl hadn't intended to spend the night sleeping but he certainly isn't going to now. Not without knowing they're safe, or as safe as anyone can be here. He'll let Jesse sleep, wait until the sun comes up to demand answers. But before long Jesse is snoring and the tension in Daryl's shoulders is releasing despite it all. Jesse is here, he's alive. It's a relief he can finally take hold of, actually appreciate. Leah seems to be gone, but some people are still here.
The view from the window isn't much. The dark, the street, all the way back up the way they'd come from, where the town is busier. It's as good a vantage point as any. He'll see anyone coming a few minutes before they get here. He moves some of Jesse's shit off of one of the chairs and brings it to the window, sitting and settling in. He's used to watches, to waiting. To being alone. He needs the time to sift through his own thoughts anyway and when dawn comes, he still lets Jesse sleep.
He's still sitting in the chair when Jesse finally starts to stir. ]
Mornin'.
no subject
Then Daryl speaks and it all comes flooding back. What fuzzy, half-formed memories he has of the night before, anyway. He opens his eyes, dropping his hands to stare at the ceiling, then slowly, slowly raises his head to look. Daryl's there. Sitting at the window in one of the chairs Jesse had carved. Here, in the apartment Jesse hadn't yet told him about, the one he was - he was working on fixing up, making perfect -
Clearly, he's been there all night. Keeping watch. Waiting for Jesse to wake.
Jesse drops his head to the floor again, squeezing his eyes shut tight. ]
Shit.
no subject
He thinks about lighting one of Quentin's dummy cigarettes but he doesn't. He wants a clear head and who knows what's going to happen the first time he tries one of those? ]
What the hell is this place?
no subject
Not this empty, half-assed space, abandoned halfway through. He looks around, seeing it through Daryl's eyes. It looks like someplace he might've broken into, a former crack house maybe, someplace to crash after one bender after another. And isn't that exactly what it is? He shakes his head, dragging himself up off his rumpled nest of blankets the floor, staring dully at the pile of dirty dishes next to the sink. ]
Nothin'.
You weren't s'posed to be here yet.
no subject
But the thought of being left behind had stung. Bad. He'd sat with it most of the night, wondering, letting it weigh down on him. He still isn't sure that the worst case scenario he's already talked himself into accepting isn't true. ]
You gonna be straight with me? Or what?
[ He realizes his heart is pounding in his chest. He tries to sit very, very still. ]
You want me outta here?
[ Out of here, out of his face. Just away from him. Isn't that what Jesse had wanted before disappearing? Before running off? ]
no subject
He drops himself into the other chair now, leaning forward to press his face into his hands. Why had he ever thought this would work? Why had he thought it was a good idea? He's never built anything good that he didn't lose or destroy in the end. Everything from selling the box he'd worked on for months in high school shop class just for some weed, to watching Jane and Andrea die. Because of him. Even in his dream, the same thing had happened to Lottie. They'd had everything and then she'd bled out in his arms, killed because of choices he'd made, and Jesse couldn't do a thing to save her.
What had made him think he could build something here, with Daryl? He can't. He's never been able to. ]
...yeah.
[ It's so quiet he barely hears it himself. He sniffles, throat feeling tight. ]
You should get outta here.
Find someone...someone else.
[ Someone good for him. Someone who doesn't fuck up or ruin everything he touches, the way Jesse does. ]
no subject
But he can. He knows it before Jesse says it. Daryl inhales the tiniest bit through his nose when the crack in his heart shatters properly, but that's it. Nothing else shows on his face as he dies a little.
There's a delay where he can't make himself respond and then he stands up with an awkward lurch. The chair scrapes behind him, loud in the empty space. He doesn't move for the door immediately, he just stands there. Looming, unable to look at Jesse. He looks out the window, down at the empty street, the fingers of one hand fidgeting silently. ]
It don't work like that.
[ He's not sure he works at all, not like this, but he knows there's no one else. No one he trusts like this. No one he wants. He doesn't even really understand what Jesse's telling him to do. ]
Not for me.
no subject
This doesn't feel any better, it turns out. Even if he's not sure if this even really is a breakup. He and Daryl had never gotten around to defining their relationship. It's not like dating any girl had ever been.
It's something, though. Something intense, and important, and his whole chest aches when he thinks of Daryl walking out that door. When he thinks of staying here alone in this apartment he'd gotten for the two of them, the one he'd meant - honestly meant - to fix up.
He hadn't fixed it up, though. He's barely managed to hang onto his job, let alone do any work on the side. All he's done is drink and smoke and go to the brothel to get fucked until he can't think anymore. Daryl deserves better than that.
He shakes his head, not understanding any more than Daryl does what the other is trying to say. He'll find someone. Of course he will. He's strong, and brave, and any inexperience he has in bed is far outmatched by his passion and assertiveness. Jesse, though? Jesse's a mess. ]
M'sorry.
[ But it's not a retraction. He's standing by what he'd said. A single tear trails down his cheek and falls, beading on the glossy varnish he'd applied so carefully to the table. Back before he threw everything away again. ]
I'm sorry, Daryl.
no subject
He doesn't see the tear because he can't make himself look at him. He just nods, far too quickly after Jesse says his name, and swallows. The words take a little longer. They're finally pulled up from somewhere simple and vulnerable. ]
Yeah. Me too.
[ Just flat. Not bitter or angry, just empty. Like he should have known all of this was coming. Should have anticipated and avoided this conversation somehow. But it's too late to save any face. It's as honest as he can be. He's real damn sorry. Scared for Jesse, worried about the state he's in, knowing he's being asked not to care.
He doesn't run. He at least won't let himself do that. He nods again, slower this time, picks up his pack and laboriously lifts it and his poncho over his head to drape across his shoulders. He's stiff from having sat up the whole night. Dwelling on this.
Now that it's happened, he just feels tired. ]
Don't die. [ His worst fear for him. Somehow he feels guilty already. ] Whole thing really hurts.
[ And he just lets himself out, taking his time down the stairs and closing the door at the bottom quietly behind him. Hoping the kid knows enough to at least lock it after him. ]
no subject
But it's too late for that. He sits there, unable to move, unable to speak, his expression crumpling into one of grief and despair. Daryl doesn't even see it. He picks up his things and plods out the door, each footstep echoing in the near-empty apartment. Then the door closes at the bottom of the stairs, the click clearly audible in the silence, and Jesse lets his head drop, a raw, ragged sob dredged up from deep in his chest escaping him. ]