Top Posts Tagged with #patrick twd

Happy 8th of July!

When - we’ve jumped in time to the Prison Era, during that nice interim that for reasons I am making months long.

Genre - fluffy and fun. It’s the Fourth (Eighth) of July! You and Glenn want to make it a good one for people, then you enlist Dary-bear to help. He doesn’t realize it’s to set off fireworks, though. (Was that a double entendre? Might could be...read to find out :D )

Relationships - mangy hick be admitting something big to himself and it’s a huge step for him (Daryl x reader). As always, found family and slight adherence to Bechdel also means we focus on you and the gang! In line with your character, you have yourself an adopted younger brother, now, too.

Pronouns - neutral time, y’all

Perspective - I did the 2nd person you and 3rd person him thing again

TWs - just some casual crude language

Word Count - enough to explain why setting off fireworks is in fact a great idea

Plot references - the water pistols you found in Bad things happen*, you and Daryl discussing holidays in A f----n’ great Christmas, your medical skills (friend, they are increasing), T-Dog and Daryl’s growing friendship as has been hinted at (esp in It was a pragmatic cigarette.)

There are more plot references in the story to be found in the series, so click on this here link: The Masterlist. It’s got what you want, slowpokes :) And as always, feedback is savored greatly.

“This is insane.”

“We’d drive real far away, way beyond the three-mile mark — which means no kid walkies, we’ll need to use the police radio. And the booms wouldn’t attract nothing here because we’ll be settin’ them off so far.” You’ve got a whole list of reasons to convince him. “It’ll help us and the Woodbury group and all the new survivors bond with each other more.”

“No, I meant ‘insane’ as in I love it!”

Yes! You raise your hand for a high-five, which Glenn promptly returns.

“So, which direction?” he asks.

“North.” You point out in the direction of the old radio or maybe utility tower several miles in the distance.

“Okay, I’ll see about clearing out the north guard tower so people can have a better view. Dude, the kids are gonna love this.”

“I hope it makes people smile.”

His smile then changes into an unsure kind of grimace.

“Glenn?”

“What do you think Rick will — are our asses gonna get handed to us for this?”

“No, Rick’ll love it, too!”

Nah, Glenn’s unconvinced.

“I’ll shoulder the blame when — if — it comes to it,” you’re quick to assure him, adding with a shrug, “You know I get a moderate pass when it comes to him.”

After he scrunches up his nose in hesitation, he relaxes and elbows you. “Just don’t mess up the problem shoulder again if you do.”

You check the time on Dale’s watch. “Let’s leave to set it up at 3, Eileen’s appointment will be done by then and you’ll be off-duty. That’ll leave us plenty of time to go back to that house, go to the spots, set them up, and still grab supplies.”

“We can probably get, like, paper goods or maybe even salt packets from the Bojangles near it.” He closes his eyes to remember the area in a previous run there. “...And there was an office building across the street from the Bojangles, right? It looked fairly un-window-smashed, there should be some good supplies there. Toilet paper.”

“Yes! And offices tend to have pills and other useful medical stuff in the desk drawers.” Maybe another epinephrine injector to stock up?

“And there’s that crate of soda I forgot to take out of the Chevy last time, so we’ll bring that in, too. Make us look very productive.”

After another high-five, the plan is set, and you two stare out from the guard post. Guard duty is really boring when you’re just staring. Like, ooh look, another walker. Ooh look, cicadas.

Thrilling.

“I can fill up the water balloons at the stream if I rinse off one of the siphon hoses. Will you do the water pistols?”

“Surely can! If only we had…” your stomach grumbles almost immediately, “Hot dogs.”

“And burgers.”

“And marsh—”

“—Marshmallows!” he finishes for you. Sighs. He’s been wanting rice crispy treats since you’d first met him at the quarry. “Oh my God, I miss marshmallows. Carol told me she liked to make them from scratch.”

“From scratch? What can’t that woman do?”

“Dude, right? She said she’d show me how, but it uses a stand mixer.”

“Can’t you mix it by hand for her?” you playfully complain.

“It’d be so worth it. Beth would totally want to learn, too.”

Maggie’s voice pipes in from down the stairwell. “What’d be worth it?”

“Whiskin’ homemade marshmallow batter by hand,” you call back.

“It’s ‘mixture,’ Y/N,” Glenn snorts to you.

“What’s marshmallow batter?” Maggie repeats, now at the top of the stairs.

Glenn is over there and kissing her before you can blink. Giving them privacy (it’s all relative), you promptly turn your eyes back to the fence and walls around the prison’s perimeter. Ooh, look, another walker.

“Y/N and I were talking about how Carol said she’d make homemade marshmallows,” you hear Glenn say.

“Ah, craving those again, are you?”

She joins you in staring out at the perimeter.

Still beaming, her smile back at him is so sweet that it’s probably got more sugar than a whole bag’s worth of marshmallows.

And you aren’t jealous by any stretch, that wouldn’t be an accurate word for it. You’re as happy as can be for them, you love them both!

You’re simply feeling that (annoying) longing to have that yourself, too. That must be you still feeling all hopeful following their wedding.

And you’re not slipping into thoughts about your redneck friend, nope nope. That would be...just don’t. His friendship is a blessing, you love him as your friend, leave it at that.

Besides, he doesn’t have an interest in you that way. He’s probably into Michonne if anyone; they’ve been out tracking a lot, she's drop-dead gorgeous, and they're both the silent, strong badass type with an underlying softness.

Or Carol, they’re buddies and a few times she’d made flirty-ish jokes with him to see his reaction.

And you're not slipping into more thoughts about how wonderful his growth as a person has been from how he was when y’all first met at the quarry and how insanely attractive that is, no way.

Caleb is more likely to house an interest in you, anyway, and you spend plenty of time with him training. There’s no reason for you to feel disappointed at that prospect. Caleb is a great guy and easy on the eyes, just like Dar—oops, there you go again.

“It’s too bad we haven’t done that inflatable pool idea yet,” Glenn comments, bringing you back topside.

Maggie shakes her head and grins. “We’ve been a tad busy.”

“We do got the kiddie pool. It’s passable for soakin’ your feet to cool off,” you offer.

“At least we found those water balloons.” His breath catches when he adds, “And kept that bag of mini water pistols from that day on the highway. They’re finally gonna get use.”

What a day that had been. Screw that day.

Sophia, rest in peace, little one.

But yeah, at least they were being used now.

Oof, you need to stretch your back and arms. Rounding your shoulders and bowing your head down, you take a deep breath as you feel the tension easing. Next, you stick out your chest and pull your arms back to stretch the other side. It is nice to not have your problem shoulder or rib acting up.

Then, it hits you. “Oh, Mags, since you’re here, this means my shift is finally over!”

“Why, got big plans?” she teases.

You share a look with Glenn, then peek back at her with a tiny grin. “Might could.”

“...What have you two been up to?”

“Scheming, Mrs. Rhee,” is all you say as you bound down the stairs and back toward the main hub.

But good Moses, it’s hot out today. Great for what you have planned later tonight, if the skies stay clear, but absolute torture during the day. One of those days where you don’t feel like eating even when your stomach is growling.

“Hello, Y/N!”

“Hey, Patrick!”

You see that he’s leaning against the cool cement wall in the shade, the water bottle in his hand almost empty. “Are you off guard duty now?”

“Mmhm, thank goodness, it’s so hot up there. What about you, y’all done with the pigs?”

“No, I still have to get them fresh water, I just n-needed some water myself.”

Yeah, you were thinking he looks a little queasy. The kid’s prone to getting heat-sick.

As you step up next to him, you reach out and feel his forehead just to make sure he feels normal or cool, not too hot. Heat stroke is no joke.

Okay, he still feels damp and clammy, and as gross as that sounds, it’s a good sign. His skin is pale and not red, another good sign.

“Let me refill this for you, you just rest here,” you tell him, having him finish the dregs in his water bottle before you take it. “I don’t want my favorite little brother passin’ out from dehydration, it ain’t fun.”

Overheated as he may be, he makes a bashful giggle. The shy kid gets that way every time you remind him that you consider him family.

Pat just looks so much like Shane did when he was a freshman in high school (tall, lanky, messy dark hair, Irish given-name) that you couldn’t help but adopt him when you were helping escort the Woodbury residents.

There are so many new faces as you make your way to the outdoor dining area that you don’t quite have the names down yet.

Well, Eileen and Sra. McLeod are easy because Eileen is pregnant and Mrs. McLeod is the only other resident of advanced age here other than Hershel.

You head to the water cooler and fill the bottle. Sasha is walking over, too, and by the looks of it just finished up clearing walkers at the fence. You reach for a fresh cup and fill it for her.

“Wanna sneak away to the stream to cool off with me? I’m gonna fill up the water guns in a bit.”

“Water guns?" she repeats before taking a big gulp of the water and sighing. "The stream sounds perfect—hey, thank you for the drink.” She empties her cup in seconds and wipes the sweat off her upper lip and forehead. “But if I have to see one more biter within the next hour, I’ll scream, and you know we’ll see at least one out there.”

“Shower it is, then.”

“I cannot wait. Cold water!” She refills her cup and drinks it all down just as fast. “Oof, I’m smelly, too,” she murmurs to herself when she gets a whiff of her underarms.

You’re tempted to check yourself, but, you already know it won’t likely be pleasant, so you focus on scooping two spoonfuls of sugar into Patrick’s bottle, then add ¼ of a spoonful of salt, cap it, and shake it up.

“You look patriotic, Y/N.”

“It’s the Fourth of July!”

“It is?”

“Eh, the 8th. But we missed the 4th entirely and it rained the past two and a half days. Check it out,” you say, holding up your wrist so she can view the little date dial on Dale’s watch that states Jul 8. Giggling, you add, “Don’t worry, Hershel’s date book confirmed it.” She knows you tend to forget to wind it.

“Well, guess I gotta find me some red to put on.” She already had a white t-shirt and jeans on, so she’s ⅔ ready. “Y’all have fireworks planned?” she jokes, filling her cup a third time.

You don’t have a response at first.

She notices.“Y/N?”

“Fireworks would be great, wouldn’t it?”

She’s trying to look friendly but is nervous, it’s plain to see. “But it’s loud. If you set off fireworks near here...”

“Ah, but what if it wasn’t near here at all, but in fact far away?”

She raises her brows. “Oh my Lord. Did you and...” Finger pointed, she figures it out quickly. “Nah, it has to be you and Glenn if it were anybody.”

Your expression must look as awkward and guilty as it feels. “...Wanna help?”

“Far, far away from here? Like, far?” she repeats.

Finger to your lips, you whisper as loud as you’ll dare, “About 7 miles, I think?”

She’s shaking her head but smiling. “Now I know why your group calls you ‘troublemaker’ every so often.”

Nooo, not the nickname. Ugh. Before you can finish mumbling, “I ain’t a troublemaker,” she takes you by the arm back toward the entrance. “Who’s the drink for?”

The nickname for the little sugar-salt mixture was dubbed ‘redneck gatorade’ by Caleb, upon which you’d been quick to drawl in your thickest twang, “So it works just as good and costs ten times less. No dyes, neither!”

“Patrick got sun-sick again,” you let Sasha know.

“Heat exhaustion is the okay one, heatstroke the bad one, right?”

“Right.”

“Good. And I’ll go to the stream with you after I shower and decompress a little, if you can wait maybe an hour?” she offers.

“Yeah, Eileen’s got her check-up, anyway. How’s 1:45ish?”

“I’ll meet you at our usual table.”

Once you part ways and go back to where Pat should be waiting, you see that Caleb is with him. “Hey, Dr. Subs. I did two regular spoonfuls of sugar and about ¼ teaspoon of salt, are those ratios good?”

“He’ll take it, he just got sick.”

“Oh, kiddo!” you coo.

“It happens, Y/N,” Patrick groans, trying to sound upbeat.

You start to rub his back, mindful of the vomit on the grass near him. “See? We even both got kinda weak stomachs, Pat. Guess it runs in the family.”

“Relax in your cell for a while, okay?” Caleb instructs. “I want you to lay down for at least 30 minutes before you go back outside in the sun. It would be better if you slept. Have a snack and some more to drink, too.”

“Yes, Dr. Subramanian, sir.”

Caleb snorts. “You keep calling me ‘sir’ like that and I’m gonna have to start saluting, man.”

“Sorry, sir.”

The doctor blinks. You hold back a giggle.

Giving you a dry look of amusement and wink that you definitely are not expecting, Caleb then reminds you that Eileen is having a checkup and to be washed up and ready for it, after which he helps Patrick inside.

Meanwhile, you jog to your guard tower to wash up, set the egg timer so you can zone out read for 20 minutes, then pick through your growing stack of medical books. All the midwifery, prenatal development, and obstetric books you take, plus the Merck Manual and your notepad before you jog back down and across the yard to the doors.

Hershel, on his way there also, holds the door for you and for Maggie after he notices her hurrying down to join you. Carol is most likely already there, she always beats y’all to it. You personally may or may not have a minor competition going with her, but dang it if she doesn’t always seem to arrive first.

Fast forwarding, the check-up is boring and uneventful, exactly as you all want the check-ups to be; mother is good, baby seems good, all is as it should.

And it’s 1:45. You need to fill those water guns at the stream with Sasha, grab lunch, then it’ll be time to head to the cars!

Him

Still didn’t find the bastard.

Michonne and him shared their usual disappointed sigh and choice of cuss word before turning around to head home. He lit up a cigarette, as usual. She declined his offer for a puff, as usual.

They had a good thing going, minus the part where they still hadn’t found that psycho pirate sumbitch.

Y/N came a few times a week on days when, you know, there weren’t baby checkups for the pregnant chick or Judith, or other medical stuff or regular duties conflicting.

Sometimes, he felt this stupid feeling almost like jealousy when he saw them together, Y/N and the new doc. Which was dumb, because Caleb was teaching Y/N all sorts of important stuff and they’d become friends with each other in the process.

And Y/N and Daryl were good friends and had been for a while, so what was the problem? They sometimes had guard duty together, too, so...

Maybe it was more of a want-type of thing, he didn’t know. Not that he was lonely, but sometimes he felt this weird kind of…loneliness.

It’s just — he heard Y/N mention once that the doctor was “nice lookin’.”

Sure, Caleb was a fair-looking dude, he guessed. Seemed real decent, he’d spent some time with him, too. But...nah, ain’t nothing, I’m being dumb.

With a glance up at the sky, he added T-Dog, can it.

Anyway, the days when Y/N came along or when they went on a hunt for food or to forage together, those days were always nice. He enjoyed those days a lot. Less quiet, generally, but there were a lot more smiles. It was better with them.

“Why are you lookin’ all happy?” Mich asked. “I’d love a good reason to smile.”

“Just how Y/N reminded us to wear red, white, and blue.”

Y/N tried to convince him to wear T-Dog’s red Dawgs shirt. He said he’d put it on it after he got back. Didn’t want to rip it or nothing.

“Well, I’m still loving rockin’ these socks Y/N tossed me.”

He had to snort a little. Yeah, Mich had on one red and one blue sock, both ankle-length and worn over her pants to show them off.

“I heard ’em mention it was your favorite holiday?” she said, inspecting the edge of her sword-thing. ‘Cabana’ or something, right?

“Yeah, used to be.”

She sheathed it and started walking faster to the car, waving him to pick up the pace, too. “Too bad we can’t hit up the beach, light some sparklers.”

He matched her pace, feeling the disappointment kicking him in the nuts again. “That or light a firecracker up the governor’s ass.”

You

“Mischief managed, mothafucka.” He’s holding his hand up for a victory high-five.

“Mischief managed, mothafucka.” And you return it enthusiastically! “I’ll grab the police radios when I bring Mr. Greene the yarrow we found. I’ll drop one radio off with you before Daryl and I leave, ’kay?”

“Cool, and Maggie and I will check out the north tower.” Glenn then awkwardly tries to follow this up with, “It would be nice to have another private place — oh, um, to, like, c-clean together and hang out.”

Why did that sound so awkward?

You don’t intend to blurt out, “Ohh, you mean y’all gonna have sex in it first,” but you do in fact blurt that out.

And he probably doesn’t mean to make that goofy, I-just-got-caught laugh in response before elbowing you with a very lame, “Shut up, dude.”

Either he’s suddenly sunburned or he’s blushing.

Groaning, you call back “Just name your first baby after me!” as you go to check on Judith. She should be waking up soon. Beth has had her most of the day today, she's due for a reprieve.

Time to give baby Lori dinner and bring her to see her mom.

Him

“Nice shirt, Dare. It’s been ages since I’ve seen you not in a cut-off. You’ll get you a nice farmer’s tan.”

He turned around to wave hi when — lil’ asskicker’s here, too? Shit, he needed to put out his cigarette ASAP, you can’t just smoke around a baby, that’s a trashy-ass move.

“We’re upwind, you’re cool, man. You’re still working on cuttin’ back.”

“Exactly.” He dug that thing into the dirt until the smoke was gone.

He’d been down to only five a week, ain’t that something? Then…T-Dog and Lori died. And then he’d found his brother again only for Merle to get killed by that eye-patch wearing asshole, same as Andrea.

Merle was really gone. It was all over, then.

Daryl smoked over half a pack in one go and had taken down almost an entire bottle of vodka before Carol and Y/N found him and brought Hershel. That was one hell of a night. Real hell of a morning after, too, fuck.

Anyway, sometimes he shared a smoke with T-Dog at his grave. It was more difficult to know what to do at Merle’s. A lot of hurt still, he guessed.

Y/N visited the graves every day. Generally, they’d bring Judith while feeding her. They’d sit and just hang out, read, or if the baby was with them they’d do that ‘tummy time’ thing and practice having Judith stand.

Carl was usually with them, too, but water balloons and water guns had appeared out of nowhere, so he was having fun with the other kids. Surprising, but good that he was acting like an actual kid, at least for today.

Call him soft but he loved all that. Judith growing strong despite how she made it earthside, Carl getting to do more and more kid stuff.

Except how the part where seeing ’lil ass-kicker grow and change kicked into gear that weird feeling of want. And it got so much damn stronger when she was with Y/N.

Shut up, T-Dog he ordered the memory in his head.

“Michonne said today you found evidence of somebody havin’ camped out in a car wash?”

“Could’ve been anybody, though.”

“Could’ve been that unhinged, one-eyed sex abuser, too.”

For what he almost did to Maggie, Y/N saw red. Hell, he himself saw red about that kind of shit, who wouldn’t?

Their voice sounded gentler when they told him, “So don’t lose hope, Dare. We got us a cell with his name on it ready to go.”

That damn feeling twisted in his stomach when they’d placed their hand on his arm.

Okay, maybe he actually did need a long drag from his smoke.

He curved to the side, quickly lit up again and took a nice, long inhale…okay, he felt better.

…Actually, he didn’t feel better, he felt more nervy. He put out the cigarette and pulled the neckline of his shirt forward and back to get some damn airflow. It was balls-dripping hot outside.

Then, he stole a peek over at Y/N as they began to burp Judith, regretting it almost immediately because that damned feeling surged through him again. He swallowed, hoping to tamp down the understanding he wasn’t sure if he could put the name to yet.

But he also wanted to talk to them. “Mich and I also checked out a liquor store. Other than peach schnapps and Natty Lite, guess what we found?”

“Capri Suns, mm,” flew out of Y/N’s mouth almost immediately.

He laughed. “Two shotguns and a pistol.”

Their eyebrows went up. “Where in the store were those hidin’?”

“Under the register counter.”

“All three right under the front register?”

“Plus a taser and a knife.”

Making an oo with their mouth (don’t stare at their lips, come on), Y/N tutted, “Pity the soul who tried to rob those guys.”

“Mmhm.”

When Y/N moved to start feeding Judith again, he held out his arms to take her instead.

It’d been like three days since he fed her, way too long.

That feeling tugged at his chest again, but he didn’t mind it so much, not when he had the little girl in his arms.

“Hey, Daryl? We need to do a thing tonight, okay?”

A thing? “What thing?”

“A late run.”

“What d’you mean by late?”

“We should oughta leave around 8:30…”

“…Why? Out in the dark’s no good,” he reminded them. He jiggled the bottle in Judith’s mouth to get her to start drinking again, she’d gotten distracted.

“Non-disclosure agreement. Can’t say.”

“I’ll be on board if I know what we’re doing, weirdo.”

Their first reaction was a smile, but the next second it was as if it blew away in the breeze. That had been their big brother’s nickname for them. Hearing it from somebody else got to them every now and again.

“Sorry,” Daryl apologized. “Troublemaker?”

He got a playful whine out of them for that one. Not their favorite nickname either, even though Dale had been the one to give it to them.

Maybe, maybe he’d bug them with the dumb thing he’d called them that time...“Slowpoke?”

At that one, Y/N looked down and smiled. Then, in a smooth, slow motion, leaned forward and kissed the baby’s head, even though they had to lean over him to do it. “Your Uncle Daryl’s a mangy hick.”

You

You’re almost there, you can make out the first set. You lightly tap Daryl’s shoulder and signal for him to pull over.

He stops the bike, puts the kickstand down, and turns his head back to face you as he pulls down his bandana.

“Gonna tell me what we’re doin’ in the middle of nowhere?”

You’ve gotta take off your helmet before anything else, ugh, it’s so hot in there. Then, you click on the radio to let Glenn know you both got there safely.

“Hey, we’re good. Made it,” you murmur into it.

Then, you look up at Daryl and try to look innocent and casual as you explain, “Please drive slow for the next quarter-ish mile, then once we’re at the spot, I’ll tell where to park the bike. We need to do the thing, then head up that way,” you detail, pointing up toward the radio tower.

Okay, and maybe you might could’ve not actually told him was going on just then, but…you don’t want him to get huffy or not help, is all.

He says nothing, only squints at you.

You copy it.

He grumbles.

And instead of copying that as well like you usually might, you bite your lip and point to the first set of fuses.

Why are you getting all nervous? He’ll be cool with it.

He squints again, but this time because he’s actually trying to see what it is. “Y/N, what the hell is all that?”

Him

Whatever they responded, he couldn’t hear.

“Huh?”

They repeated it.

Fireworks.

Fireworks?

What the fuck. No way.

He kicks down the stand, hops off the bike and stalks over to what they’d gestured to.

Fireworks, holy damned hell. Glenn had to have been in on this, too. This had those two written all over it, hot damn…

“Y/N,” is all he said because he didn’t know what else to say as he slowly steps toward them.

“Yes?”

He cleared his throat, reaches them again, and spreads his feet, hands on his hips, fully expecting (and proven correct) that they’d just stand up and mirror his stance.

“Y/N.”

“Daryl.”

And before he could say anything else, they held up their finger and stumbled their way through a whole lot of explaining.

“We’re seven miles away from the prison, so the risk to them is minimal.” They took a deep breath. “The, the set-ups are every 25 feet headin’, um, heading north. The wicks Glenn and I attached get longer the further back we go. So: the plan is to light the wicks, run to the next set, repeat. We made sure to make it safe and give plenty of time to light up and light out, so to say.” A gulp for air. “Then there’s this paved path that leads up to that radio tower where we’re gonna speed for when we’re done, on the bike. But the final set up of fireworks is way far away over there with real, super long wicks, or, um, ‘fuses,’ w-whatever they’re called.”

They next pointed opposite of the utility tower. “That way the final boom will get any walkers drawn towards the noise and lights to get shufflin’ in that direction, away from the tower and the road. That way, after a spell, we,” Y/N pointed from themself to him, “can just mosey on home without them following us back like baby ducklings please don’t be mad!”

Well, that was a whole lot at once and his friend was out of breath and nervous twittering like a ’lil bird.

Truth: he hated when Y/N got nervous with him, especially when it involved their little stress stutter.

“Don’t be mad, friend, it-it’s your favorite holiday!” Y/N went on, a hopeful smile replacing the nervous expression on their face. “And our new people need a pick-me-up, you remember how awful it was to lose the quarry, and, and the farm? They just lost their homes and loved ones, so...”

How his chest was tugging toward them.

“Ohp, he’s started smiling—hey guys, Dary-bear is smilin’!” they called out next because, yeah, he couldn’t help it. In a softer voice, Y/N checked, “You ain’t mad?”

“I ain’t mad,” he decided to grumble. ‘Decided to grumble’ because on the inside, he was actually so fucking stoked for this, oh my God. Fireworks!

The excitement that bubbled up out of Y/N made him feel that same weird but good feeling in his chest, even though he should probably be feeling dread or worry or telling his friend “no way in hell” or “this is batshit insane” or something.

But fuck that, it’s the 4th of July!

Or, um, the 8th.

“Come on, I’ll show you the route, we’ll put to rest any walkers we come across — oh, speak of the devil.” There was one stumbling down the road as if on cue. “I can do it.”

“Nah, I got it,” he said. Y/N still counts them, even after all this time, so he tried to get them first when he could.

He set up a bolt and aimed his crossbow at the geek…done.

Together, they begin to walk to the body to get that bolt back. “Thank you, Daryl.”

“So, when are we gonna start this thing?” he asked, secretly pumped completely resigned.

“I think when the lightning bugs come out,” they reply, closing their eyes to pull the bolt out of the skull for him. “Won’t be too much longer.”

You

It’s getting darker and darker.

This is gonna be awesome! Minus the all bugs, and the amount of insect spray you’ve inhaled. Daryl lit up a cigarette to deter them, too.

He taps you on the arm and points. “Hey, I see a firefly over there. We gonna start?”

You click on the police radio and hush to Glenn back at the prison. “Ready.”

That delicious sensation you get while a roller coaster approaches the first drop starts to spread through you as you pull out your wooden matches from your satchel. “Got your lighter handy?”

He rummages through his pocket. Pulls out a Zippo.

And surprising you, he full-on giggles, “Alright, slowpoke, let’s do this!”

Him

The two of them lit the fuses, sprinted toward the next set, lit them, and kept going like that as the booms and whistles sounded from behind them. He felt like a little kid again, it was so…this was damn fun!

Y/N and Glenn had found a shit ton of fireworks!

One thing he’d forgotten was just how fast Y/N was, how quick they could sprint. He had to push to keep up the pace.

And he was having so much fun as he and Y/N sped off on the motorcycle toward the last setup, the one far in the opposite direction of the radio tower, that he almost didn’t notice their hands wrapped tightly around his waist instead of on his shoulders like they'd always done before.

But once the two of them lit the final, very long fuses together and zoomed off toward the radio tower, that Y/N’s arms were squeezing his middle was suddenly all he could think about.

He liked it.

A lot.

And he wasn’t good about physical touch, most people knew that pretty quick about him. But Y/N doing that didn’t feel like too much. It felt good.

Safe.

Natural.

T-Dog, shut up, he again thought in his head, tossing a glare up at the sky as he pressed down the kickstand and turned off the bike.

You

After pushing aside this silly desire that popped into your head which told you to keep holding onto him, you hop off his bike and book it for the radio tower stairs, climbing the stairs and then ladder as fast as your legs will carry you.

You don’t want to miss the finale!

“Pick up the pace, dude! Here I thought I was the slowpoke,” you call down to Daryl. (Is it very prideful that you love being able to sprint faster than him?)

Rushing up the ladder only made your ‘problem’ (read: previously injured and re-injured and now permanently funky) shoulder pinch a little and you didn’t even feel it in your rib.

At the top, you reach back into your pocket to take out your stick matches and light the final firework duct-taped to the railing—but you discover that all the excitement’s rendered your hands and fingers tingly and shaking and you can’t quite seem to grip it well enough.

“There’s another?” you hear Daryl pant. He takes the last step up the ladder with a groan as he stands up and joins you.

“This one’s to let Glenn know we made it to the top okay. Just havin’ trouble here, my hands are all wobbly.”

“I got ya, let me.”

His hands are shaky, too, you notice. Must be all the excitement catching up to the two of you.

Him

The firework had a very short wick and shot up just a handful of seconds after he’d lit it and ducked.

With a high-pitched hee, the green flare soared before it fizzled into a small shower of sparkles.

He’s just glad he had a Zippo so he could light it in the first place; his hands were shaking.

Shaking! That shit didn’t happen to him.

If he didn’t have what T-Dog told him that time chasing around his thoughts all afternoon, he would think it must’ve been solely due to all the running around and adrenaline.

But when Y/N took his arm and pulled him to the other side of the radio tower, staring expectantly into the distance, he couldn’t help but accept how it felt right.

His friend had touched his arm before, he’d casually touched theirs, too, no big deal (anymore). They’d hugged him before. Gave him a massage, hell, he did that for them when they had migraines or when their messed-up shoulder was causing them grief. The two of them had even danced together before.

T-Dog. This is your fault. Merle, you, too.

Pretty much all Merle had asked him in the woods that day was if he’d turned “All soft for the square?” And when he didn’t answer the right way, his big brother had snickered, “Shit, I guess findin’ another prude is what finally done it for you.”

But it’s what T-Dog had said to him that kept poking through his memory.

“You know what the word for it is just as much as I do, man. Now, I ain’t gonna say the word out loud, though, I think that’d be too much for ya. But I’m looking forward to the day you own up to it. Y/N is worth it. So are you, brother.” Then he’d cracked up and added, “And obviously I’ma want y'all to name your first kid after me. Theodore, Theodora, it all works.”

So, he tried not to look at Y/N.

Not that he didn’t want to look at them, but fuck, man, it was getting real. He wasn’t gonna be able to ignore this much longer.

He wouldn’t even want to ignore it anymore, and that was the scary part.

Until he realized that it didn’t feel scary.

Not when the finale began and Y/N squealed and flung their arm around his while doing a little victory dance.

Not when Y/N stopped jumping and relaxed, moving their arm from around his shoulder to around his back as the last of the fireworks shot up and lit the night sky.

Not when his arm wrapped around Y/N’s shoulder as together they watched the lights fizzle away.

Everything about Y/N felt safe.

Cheers began sounding through the police radio on Y/N’s belt along with a louder voice that was Glenn’s, although nothing was coming through clearly with all the background noise.

He could feel Y/N breathing heave up and down against his side, could feel them giggling as the last of the rush wore off. Their head leaned against his chest for a moment, then pulled back and unhooked their arm from around him.

But he didn’t want that. He wanted them to stay that way.

Fuck.

If he had any balls, now would be when he would kiss them.

You

If you weren’t so careful and if you thought he’d want it, now is when you’d probably kiss him. But, that’s just the adrenaline and the longing talking.

“So, good news,” you stammer, a wide smile stretching across your face. “The house Glenn and I got all that from? There’s more fireworks in there. The folk who lived there must have sold illegal fireworks on the down-low or bought in bulk to stock up or some such,” you chatter. Adrenaline.

You angle your head up to see if he’s happy about it and to hear what he thinks, but he’s just looking at you.

He’s not looking you in the eyes, though, but lower. By your chin? You don’t have soot on your face, do you? You brush off your mouth and chin just in case.

Likewise, you brush away the idea that he was staring at your lips. It’s adrenaline and longing, calm down, Y/N.

“M’sorry, what’d you say?” he asks, then blinking a bunch of times and stepping back.

Oh, got it, he must not have heard you. The booms were noisy, you suppose. Must be tired, too.

When you repeat what you’d said, his eyes crinkle and he makes that shy smile you love where just one corner of his mouth peeks up. “Next year, I want in.”

“Awesome! I almost asked you to help this year, but figured a surprise was better the first time around. Y-you told me it was your favorite holiday, and you’ve been havin’ kinda a rough go of things…”

Him

“You know what the word for it is just as much as I do, man. Now, I ain’t gonna say the word out loud, though, I think that’d be too much for ya. But I’m looking forward to the day you own up to it. Y/N is worth it. So are you, brother.”

His hands were still tingly. His stomach may have floated away, he wasn’t too sure. He was sure about one thing, though. Finally owning up to it in his head, at least.

That his friend that he loved and was goddamned in love with was standing there smiling and chatting away while he couldn’t seem to find any words at all.

“We can probably go home in like 10 minutes, what do you think? And do you want me to drive us back? You seem a little out of it. You’ve had a long day, I don’t blame you. Plus, I ain’t ridden in like two weeks, I’d be cool with it. Oh, and we gotta use the secret side entrance. I’m being silly about keepin’ Rick without concrete proof about whodunnit — and don’t worry, it’s my head on the chopping block. You and Glenn are safe from the guillotine, as it were.”

After a very deep inhale and a shake of their head while they exhaled, Y/N then apologized. “I think I’m still jittery from all the excitement, sorry for gabbin’ on. On that topic, when we get back, I think we should have beer. I,” Y/N shrugged, “I hid three in my tower, one for me, two for you. You once said that ‘hot dogs, fireworks, and a shit ton of beer’ were what you liked about the Fourth. Two beers ain’t a lot, I know — but you know me, dude, m’kind of a square. I worry about your liver.”

Y/N then crossed their arms and relaxed on the guardrail. He had enough brains at that moment to lean next to them, arms crossed just the same, his shoulder close to touching theirs.

“What did you and Merle do on the 4th of July? Lots of good ’ole American fun? Your Uncle Jess must’ve been there, too. What about your, um, your father?”

“What about you, with your brother and sisters, foster siblings, nephews? Must’ve been a damn powwow. Carl was prolly there, too, with Rick and Lori? Grandma Jean?”

He wanted to keep hearing them talk, to look at their smile and not need to think about anything other than Y/N.

He didn’t want anything other than Y/N.

All of the fireworks that night, yet the thing that was giving him the biggest thrill was the person standing next to him.

He barely took notice when “Happy 8th of July!” got shouted particularly loud over the police radio.

Pausing mid-sentence and still smiling bright, Y/N lifted the radio between them. “On three, yeah?”

Daryl wondered what it would be like to kiss them right then and there.

But instead, he nodded and held up three fingers, counting down.

Three, two, one:

“Happy 8th of July!”

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