Chapter Text
Daryl would never admit it to anyone else, but Jesus was pretty amazing.
They’d gone out on a regular supply run, just the two of ‘em, and of course they had to run into some shit. They’d just finished quietly picking their way through a couple of untouched stores, stuffing anything of worth into their bags, when the groaning and shuffling started.
“C'mon, let’s get the hell outta here.” Daryl grunted roughly in Jesus’ direction, throwing his bag over his shoulder and grabbing up his crossbow.
Jesus just nodded in response, shouldering his own bag and following closely behind, calm but alert.
Daryl had to admire that about the guy. There was no point losing your shit at the mention of trouble. It’d just get you killed.
They quickly made their way through to the front of the store, pausing to crack the door open and check if the route back to their car was clear.
“Shit.” Daryl cursed through gritted teeth.
The whole street was teaming with those decomposing bastards. There was at least five of ‘em surrounding the car and about ten more stumbling around nearby. They had no way of distracting them either, at least not without attracting more and potentially trapping themselves inside the building.
“Judging by the cute little scowl on your face, I’d say we’re gonna have to fight our way out. Am I right?“ Jesus sighed, coming to stand beside him, inspecting his knives.
Daryl scoffed, but nodded. "You worried your hair’s gonna get messed up, Rapunzel?”
“Just make sure you’ve got enough arrows, Robin Hood.” Jesus smirked.
Daryl rolled his eyes and tamped down on his own grin. He didn’t need to check his arrows, he always made sure he had enough. Ever since he’d gotten his crossbow back he’d been even more careful with it. He did swing the bag of supplies more securely onto his back though and load an arrow up, ready to fly into the nearest soft skull. He expected Jesus to do the same with his own bag, but as he turned to give him the signal he found him stuffing his leather coat into it, pushing it towards Daryl with his foot as he rolled his sleeves up.
You’re fuckin’ with me right?“ Daryl asked, eyes narrowing to a glare.
Jesus lifted his head, eyebrows raised in amusement as he caught sight of Daryl’s incredulous look.
"I can’t very well fight with that on my back, Daryl.” he replied as if it should be obvious, nodding his head towards the bag.
“An’ I can?”
“Put those big strong shoulders to good use.” Jesus winked, turning towards the door.
Daryl grumbled angrily. Now wasn’t the time to get into it with the other man. “Asshole…” he muttered under his breath, ignoring the grin Jesus sent his way.
He swiftly pulled the second bag onto his back, getting used to the weight and caught Jesus’ eye, holding three fingers up and silently counting down before pushing outside, crossbow raised.
-
The first arrow flew the short distance into the eye of the nearest walker, flooring it immediately. Daryl ran by, pulling it up and out before thrusting it under the chin of the next body he came across. He hadn’t heard Jesus following behind him, but he could hear bodies dropping. The extra weight on his back slowed him down a bit, but he still managed to manoeuvre out of the way when grasping hands tried to pull at him. The next walker went sailing into the wall as he struck it with his crossbow, before sticking his knife through its temple.
As the next one came at him, he kicked it’s leg out, thoroughly snapping the bone in half and laying it out, giving him enough time to raise his own leg up and bring the heel of his boot down on its face.
He deftly pulled another arrow out, intent on moving on to the next ugly mug, only to see that none of them were anywhere near him. He quickly looked to his left, where the rest of them were riled up in a group, only to stop in his tracks.
It took him a minute to realise what was going on, but when he did he almost couldn’t believe it.
Jesus was in the middle of the remaining walkers, moving like a shadow, light glinting off his knives and Daryl could only stare, eyes wide, as he tore through them with ease. It was like his body was in constant motion, graceful and deadly as corpses fell at his feet.
When the last body dropped, Daryl’s jaw almost followed it.
Jesus was surveying the pile around him, wiping his blades off as he did and it gave Daryl enough time to get his expression in check. Jesus was amazing, okay, he could damn well admit it. He didn’t need to go and tell the other man that though. His beard was big enough, he didn’t need an ego to match.
“You okay?” Jesus asked as he made his way over to where Daryl still stood, rooted to the spot.
“Huh?…Oh yeah m'fine,” Daryl managed to reply. “You alright?”
Jesus chuckled under his breath. “Yeah, I’m good.”
“Good.” Daryl parroted back awkwardly.
“So…” Jesus began. “You’re pretty good with that thing.” he motioned towards Daryl’s crossbow with a nod of his head.
“…Thanks man,” Daryl muttered, scuffing his feet along the ground. “That whole ninja thing you had goin’ on was pretty…decent too.”
Daryl cringed at how fuckin’ stupid that sounded.
“…Thanks.”
Chancing a look up at Jesus, the other man was back to grinning, but he was rubbing the back of his neck and looking off to the side, like he was embarrassed.
After another few seconds of shared silence and general awkwardness, Daryl sighed and hoisted his crossbow up onto his shoulder, taking a step towards their car.
“Hey, so…maybe you could give me a lesson on how to shoot that thing some time?” Jesus blurted out, voice suddenly loud in the dead silence of the street. He was looking at Daryl’s crossbow, some of his usual confidence back in his voice.
Daryl paused and glanced between Jesus and his weapon of choice.
“You think you could handle it?” he teased.
Jesus raised his eyes, narrowing them playfully.
“I know I could.”
“Oh yeah?” Daryl pressed, stepping closer and swinging the 'bow down into his hands.
“Yeah.” Jesus breathed, taking the next step, putting him toe to toe with Daryl.
Their eyes locked and both of them refused to be the one to back down first.
Sometimes Daryl couldn’t believe this was his life now. Standing in the middle of a street, surrounded by dead bodies, having a staring contest with a guy who called himself Jesus.
Out of his peripheral he could see that Jesus’ hands were moving towards his. He allowed it for a second. Let him believe Daryl would make it that easy.
At the very last second he stepped away, taking his 'bow with him. He watched as a look of disbelief and amusement washed over the smaller mans face, then turned on his heel and walked to the car, smirking to himself.
Jesus’ smile widened at the obvious double meaning and unspoken challenge in their exchange. He watched Daryl walk away and chuckled internally.
“I’ll get my hands on your 'bow one of these days, Daryl Dixon.”