Chapter Text
On day 24, Jesus had to help out at the store because Mister Rhee the intern needed to see the eye doctor. Daryl went on a walk with Tiger and took the bus at 8:27 AM, feeling positive and excited to spend the day with Negan. He thought of all the things they could talk about and smiled at the bus window when he imagined his owner sitting in bed, proud and confident, telling the nurse to scamper off and bring some of the really good medicine without any sugar or fat.
It was a nice day. He wrinkled his nose as he tipped his head back and glanced at the bright blue sky before he entered the big hospital building. A man went through the lobby with a ballon that said 'Get well soon'. He looked after him, wondering if Negan would like one, too.
He went into the elevator, pushed the right button and nodded shyly when a nurse wished him a good morning as if he was someone important.
The hallway smelled like a mixture of coffee and disinfectants and he rang the bell so the door to ward B-3 was opened. He even squeezed some of the sanitizer on his hands that was offered all along the wall in countless dispensers, because he knew Negan hated germs.
He reached for door number 16 and glanced up because it was already wide open. He froze on the spot.
Negan sat on the edge of the bed in his tie-back hospital gown, two nurses left and right trying to help him up, his face pale and contorted in visible pain. He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, his bare legs seeming weirdly thin. They were trembling and when he tried to put his full weight on them, he grabbed for the supporting hand of the nurse, almost as if he would be afraid to fall.
A wave of terror rolled through Daryl's chest, right before the door was shut in front of his nose and somebody asked him to wait outside. He blinked and walked towards the water cooler even though he wasn't thirsty.
"A new Johns Hopkins research suggests that a several-week-long stay in an intensive care unit causes substantial physical impairments and a 3 percent to 11 percent increase in muscle strength per day." A stout man in dark blue trench coat said, holding a half-peeled banana in hand. "Physiotherapy can help to reduce long-term damage and to get back faster to a fit state."
Daryl flicked his head to the side to get some hair out of his eyes, looking up at Eugene. "He'll be fine." He didn't know why he said it, but it sounded determined and Mister Porter seemed to agree, because he nodded once and then took a bite of his banana, trotting off to reclaim his place next to Negan's door.
----
Day 25 started badly. Paul had forgotten to set the alarm and Olivia waited for people to come and repair the tumble dryer, so all of Daryl's good pants were still wet. He put an old one on that had several holes and a motor oil stain on the left side. His hair looked like a mess no matter how often Jesus tried to smooth it down and just when he was on the way to the bus, Rick hollered for him to come back and help with a big delivery for the store. It took them almost forty minutes to carry all the boxes inside and when he was finally allowed to leave, through the store's back door this time, several people were busy unloading a smashed car off a big yellow tow truck.
Daryl didn't recognize it at first and just wondered why Simon gave the strangers instructions to unload trash on Negan's property. But on the second glance, he noticed familiar details. The brown tree-shaped air freshener that Paul had bought for one of his Dads, that smelled like leather. The readily packed swim bag with the APEX logo. The red, old blanket that Negan kept in the backseat for Tiger.
He wrapped an arm around his chest and made a step forward, then a big one back, his eyes fixed on the remains of the driver's cabin. Broken glass, bent metal, torn leather. The driver's door completely missing, allowing a free view on a crushed seat and steering wheel. Blood and chipped paint, metal splinters, something that looked like a rubber glove. A white one, stained with reddish-brown color, laying crinkled in the demolished legroom of the car. Of the Tahoe. Still black but not at all shiny anymore.
Daryl glanced back over his shoulder, unable to look away when someone came and led him to the front of the building.
"I'll drive you." Shane ruffled tousled hair, making the shell-shocked man wait at the curb. He unlocked his car and helped Daryl into the passenger seat. And they were halfway through town when he cleared his throat and shifted behind the wheel. "I've read the accident report. Do you want to know what happened?"
Daryl glanced at Shane and then immediately turned to stare out of the window. He didn't want to know. He had not wanted to see the Tahoe. But he nodded anyway.
Shane sniffed his nose, rubbing the back of his head when he stopped at red lights. "A woman lost control of her car and crashed into his. He was parking and on the phone. The last number he called was yours." He cleared his throat again, giving Daryl a sideglance. "He was unconscious immediately. There was no chance to get scared. He didn't feel the pain." He leaned a bit forward, unsuccessfully trying to create eye contact. "He heard your voice and fell asleep."
Daryl chewed his bottom lip, blinking his eyes but they welled up anyway.
"I'm sorry you had to see it." Shane sounded sympathetic. He started the car again, tilting his head to the side. "I'm sorry for it all, man. Not fair."
He waited on his chair in the corridor, drinking the 56th cup of lukewarm hospital coffee in the past 25 days, giving moral support to the brave young man entering room B-3.16 in the late morning.
Even though for the first time in 25 days it wouldn't have been necessary. Because the man in bed didn't look weak or scared, not uncomfortable or like he needed a doctor. He looked as if the entire room was rightfully his own. The bed, the two remaining monitors, the chair and the small table, the tv at the wall and the drip stand. The feeding tube was gone from his nose, just as the tie-back hospital gown. He wore one of his white t-shirts instead and wonderful grey pajama bottoms. His beard was perfectly trimmed, his hair not slicked back, but the white bandage was replaced by a smaller patch covering his right temple.
He had his eyes closed but was in an almost sitting position, his legs stretched out on top of the thin white sheet, his ankles casually crossed.
Daryl sniffed his nose and flicked his head to the side, every butterfly in his stomach noticing the faint smell of Olivia's washing powder and Khiel's body wash in the room.
"Come here. Lie down with me." Negan kept his eyes shut, enjoying the small huff of breath he heard, followed by a hoarse voice.
"The bed is gone." Daryl made a step closer, gesturing to the empty spot where his spare bed had been for more than three weeks now.
"Well fuck." Negan turned his head, squinting with one eye. "Guess I have to invite you to my bed then." He patted the mattress next to his leg, closing his eyes again. "Chop, chop. Shoes off."
Daryl lifted his shoulder to rub his ear against. He really wished he would have bought one of the balloons from the gift shop in the lobby because he more than liked the tall angry man so much. "Hm." He sat down on the floor in an ungraceful motion and unlaced his old boots, then put them neatly next to the IV pole.
Negan moved a few inches to the right and lifted his arm invitingly, his heart aching a little when his sub's familiar scent and weight melted against his side like a missing piece of a puzzle. He took a deep breath, rubbing Daryl's back. "Good job. Now rest with me."
Daryl tried not to blink. He knew the location of every bruise, wound and scratch on Negan's body and tensed when he was pulled even closer, sure he was causing immense discomfort with all the body contact. He glanced up anxiously to monitor Negan's face for any sign of pain and froze as soon as he witnessed a slight wince. "Are you hurtin'."
"Hm. Hurts like fuck." Negan took another deep breath and put a hand on Daryl's head, moving it to rest on his chest, then placed a brief kiss on tousled hair. "But you're making it better."
----
It was cold and rainy on day 26. And even though the patients of the Grady Memorial Hospital in Atlanta weren't really affected by the unsettled weather, nurse Irmgard in her knitted cardigan felt it was her duty to make sure that all her patients were adequately provided with hot tea and spare blankets, just to spread a bit of cozy comfort on this unpleasant winter's day.
She gave door B-3.16 a polite knock before she opened, and smiled at the scene she was walking in to. The blinds were down and the TV at the wall was on, showing some sitcom. Her patient was resting in bed, his eyes closed, a young man snuggled up to his side, while another one sat cross-legged at the bottom end of the mattress, busy with the game on his phone.
"Hey, Irmgard, what's up?" Paul glanced up with a bright smile. "Are you bringing more cookies to go with the tea?" He wiggled one eyebrow underneath his grey beanie hat, that perfectly matched the color of the 'I'm a Daddy's Boy' shirt that he was wearing.
The nurse pulled a package of gluten-free oat cookies out of her pocket and put it somewhere between the three teacups on the nightstand, raising a secretive finger to her lips. "Ssh." She knew by now that her handsome patient didn't approve of all the treats the nurses tried to feed to Jesus and Daryl. But that didn't mean that she wouldn't try anyway. She smiled, checked the IV bottle and quietly left the room.
"Sweet." Jesus bent in an adventurous backward-sideways position to reach the sweets on the nightstand without having to unknot his legs.
"Don't even fucking think about it." Negan didn't open his eyes but accurately hit the back of his boy's head anyway when he slapped him with three fingers. "I said one is enough."
"Ow." Paul rubbed his head. "I thought you were sleeping."
Negan cracked his eyes open, just enough to support his reproachfully arched eyebrow. "You disobey me while I sleep?"
Every hint of playful banter disappeared immediately from Paul's features. He looked at Negan, shaking his head. "No, Sir." He said it quietly but meant it, and gave up on his cross-legged posture to shift around and lie down between long legs. "I'm sorry."
"Better." Negan closed his eyes and got comfortable again, putting a hand on Paul's hair.
----
On day 27 in the late afternoon, the automatic doors to ward B-3 swung open and a group of serious looking men entered, all clad in black leather.
"Ma'am."
Nursing student Catherine Schuster made a startled step to the left when a tall, muscular guy with full red beard tipped his leather cap in her direction before the three men in his company politely did the same. She mumbled a perplexed 'Hello' in return and watched with open mouth as they knocked on door 16 and vanished a moment later in the room. It was against the ICU policy for a patient to have more than two visitors at the same time, and even then just close family. But ever since handsome Mister H. had occupied one of the rooms for private patients, the hospital's strict guidelines got a little bend and altered. For a moment she pondered whether she should go after them anyway, but before she could gather up enough courage, the door opened again and a young man came out, wearing a yellow 'Daddy Issues' shirt to his grey knitted beanie. She knew him well. His name was Paul, but he had offered her two weeks ago that she could also call him Jesus or Ninja-cookie, whatever she felt like.
"Oh hey, Cathy!" Paul spotted a nurse in the hallway and approached her immediately. "The executive committee of the Atlanta leather club came for a visit and I was wondering if we could get some of the awesome coffee you make?" He flashed his cutest smile, blinking his eyes at her. "I mean just if it's okay, we don't wanna cause any trouble."
"Oh no, that's alright?" Catherine giggled and tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, blushing a little as she gestured towards the nurse's room. "I was just on the way to make a pot." That wasn't the whole truth because she had been on the way to the locker room, as her shift was over since 17 minutes. But making coffee or baking a cake for Jesus was really no trouble at all. She could just take the next bus.
"Aw, you are awesome!" Paul kissed the girl's cheek, "Thank you, Cathy." and went back to one of his Dads and his visitors, because the Gentlemen of the leather club were always a lot of fun.
----
On day 28, Negan decided to leave his room. He had ordered his sub to bring him a pair of sweatpants and some sneakers, enjoyed the view while boy number two put the latter obediently on his feet, and took a nervous Daryl confidently by the hand to prove that he was actually able to walk, even outside of the safe hospital room.
Daryl sniffed his nose, holding on with ten fingers to Negan's big hand as he followed through the long hospital corridors. They walked slowly, past a small coffee kitchen, a waiting area with scattered magazines on a brown table, a group of doctors with clipboards and stethoscopes, and a nurse pushing a metal food cart that smelled rather strange. But he didn't even notice any of his surroundings. His eyes were fixed on the very beautiful man firmly leading the way. He had forgotten how tall Negan really was.
"Careful, Sir!" Jesus jumped in front of Negan, putting a hand on his chest to stop him, while he held his smartphone out like a tiny weapon, pointing it in the direction of a certain spot in the corridor. "I got it! It's just a Jigglypuff!"
----
On day 29, Negan arched his brows in a warning as he held a fork with mashed potatoes out. Lacking butter, seasoning, and most of all the right consistency. "Fucking open I said."
Daryl wrinkled his nose, moved back an inch and then hesitantly opened his mouth. He really didn't like Negan's hospital food. It tasted like school lunch just without fat and salt.
"You don't wanna go home for lunch, you'll have to eat what they serve here." As soon as his sub had swallowed, Negan put three baby carrots on the fork. At least he tried after the hospital kitchen had cooked them for approximately six hours. He sighed when the slightly pale, mushy vegetables fell off the tines back to the other overcooked pulp on the plate.
"Hey." Rick knocked once as he pushed the door open. "Should I come back later?"
Negan shook his head, flinging the fork onto the beige plastic tray. "No. Come in."
"How are you?" Rick smiled faintly, putting the bag he had brought on the foot of Negan's bed, then placed a kiss on his cheek. "You look good."
"I know." Negan handed the tray to Daryl. "How's the store."
Rick ruffled Daryl's hair when he brought him a chair to sit next to Negan. "It's all good. Glenn is back and the new clothes range goes really well." He fought with the tight pocket of his denim jacket and got two phones out, one of them with a severely cracked screen. "Is it the one you wanted?"
Daryl watched as Negan examined both of them carefully. It made his stomach clench and turn. He knew exactly why the old phone was so horribly broken and unwanted pictures shot through his head, of a destroyed Tahoe, bloody rubber gloves and paramedics trying to save Negan's life on a silly parking lot. And of himself sitting impatiently on the loading dock, greedy for a vacation at the ocean, like some spoiled brat.
"Boy!" Negan snapped his fingers for the third time, then patted the sheet next to him. "Sit." He handed his distraught sub the broken phone. "There are two little cards inside. Get them out and put them in the new one."
"Why." Daryl didn't look up and sounded grumpy because he hated smartphones so much.
Negan didn't lose his casual tone. "Because all your reports and pretty puppy pictures are on them and I want to fucking keep them."
Daryl sniffed his nose and started to pick at the scratched phone case with his thumbnail. "Okay." He hadn't known that Negan was keeping his reports. He sniffed his nose again, shrugging with his eyes down. "'can send you a report tonight."
"You will. And a pic of my other pup."
"Hm." Daryl nodded and moved an inch closer to the commanding man in bed. It took him almost thirty minutes to take the phones apart, find the card slots and put the battery back in. He needed another ten to get the new phone to work. And when it finally did, he leaned back against the raised head of Negan's bed and curled up underneath a strong arm, as he listened to a deep voice talking to Rick, while the screen of a brand new Samsung Galaxy S9+ came to life and filled with all the familiar things he loved so much. Folders marked with 'Daryl' and 'Paul'. Pictures of hotel rooms in Washington and huge white cruise ships. Information about Tiger. Work schedules for the leather factory. It was all still there, inside a newer, even better casing.
----
Day 30 at the Grady Memorial Hospital was peacefully uneventful, spent quietly in bed in front of the TV, with motorcycle shows and a documentary about service dogs. On the bus ride back home to the most spectacular building on Peachtree Street, Daryl tucked his head in and sniffed the collar of his black hoodie. It still smelled like Negan. It let his stomach tingle. It made him ridiculously happy. And the feeling increased tenfold when his phone beeped and a message brightened the small screen.
NEGAN
❤️
02/02/2018, 7:11 PM
He smiled, warmth spreading evenly through his chest and wrapped around his thumping heart. It didn't even matter that the young lady sitting opposite from him gave him a very contemptuous glance before she looked back at her glittery iPhone and noisily typed a message with her long, pink plastic nails. No matter what she typed and whoever she talked to... it couldn't be better than the wonderful message he had received. And nobody was better than Negan.
----
On day 31, Simon had offered to take Daryl to the hospital, along with a square brown leather bag that contained an essential piece of Negan's life: His laptop. And as soon as it had made its way into room B-3.16, Daryl was confronted with a very familiar picture. Ten fingers on the keys, brown eyes flying in high concentration over endless texts, a small frown creasing dark brows. It was comforting at first. But after 14 minutes, Negan grimaced, after 21 he massaged his temple, after half an hour he squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't stop though and instead opened a new e-mail, just to answer it a moment later because it was important.
Daryl sniffed his nose on his place on the floor on the left side of the bed where he was kneeling in perfect posture. "'m hungry." It wasn't really true and he mumbled it just quietly, but his busy owner registered it anyway and blindly reached out to cup his cheek.
"It's ten AM." Negan scrolled with one finger, looking through some pictures of product samples. "What did Olivia make for breakfast."
"Hm." Daryl shrugged, nestling into the warm palm. "Oatmeal 'n blueberries."
"Mhm." Negan singled one of the images out and saved it to discuss it with Rick later. "You wanna go and buy an apple downstairs?"
Daryl sniffed his nose for the third time, furrowing his brows when Negan took a deep breath and blinked his tired eyes. "Can I with you." He held on to Negan's wrist with two hands.
Negan cursed something slightly obscene because his internet connection broke down just when he was about to send a message to Simon. He sighed, "May you take a walk with me to the gift shop?" looking at the man next to his bed. "You forgot the way?"
"Hm." Daryl gave a small nod. He didn't really forget the way but he really wanted Negan to stop working. "Yes."
"Hh." The tip of Negan's tongue poked out to wet the corner of his mouth as he gave his sub a suspicious look. He squinted one eye, smirking when Daryl got nervous under the scrutinizing stare and broke eye contact. "Go get my fucking shoes."
----
"Uuuh, who's he?" Jesus lifted his left eyebrow in appreciation when the door of Negan's hospital room opened on day 32 and a very attractive man stepped in, looking an awful lot like somebody he knew.
"Hm." Daryl shrugged, feeling a bit intimidated by the visitor. He looked like Negan. Just not as mighty and beautiful.
"Maybe they are twins," Jesus suggested, whispering into Daryl's ear. "Separated at birth."
Daryl sniffed his nose, seeking comfort near Paul's shoulder as he watched the two men interact.
"Hh." Negan poked the tip of his tongue against his lower lip. "What the fuck are you doin' here."
The visitor arched his brows, bending backward as he gestured in slight annoyance. "Visiting you, obviously? Thought you got hit by a god damn bus."
Negan smirked, sucking his upper eyetooth noisily. "Car. Don't be overdramatic."
"Hff." The visitor waved two fingers at the IV pole and the remaining monitors near the bed. "You're the one putting on a show." He ignored Negan's chuckle and nodded towards the two men standing speechless by the window. "What are dwarf and tousle doing here. Need bodyguards now?"
"Paul, Daryl." Negan leaned back into his pillows with a sigh, holding an arm out in the visitor's direction. "Meet my fuckin' cousin, Lance."
----
On day 33, Daryl had wanted to stay at the hospital. He had asked for his spare bed to be brought back. He had begged for an hour more. He had pretended to be unwell and then missed his 7 PM bus on purpose, blaming it on a crowded elevator when he went back to B-3.16, just to have a little while longer in the company he craved so much.
He didn't miss the 8 PM bus, because a tall man in luxurious Hugo Boss sweatpants and black leather factory hoodie accompanied him personally to the bus stop, a firm hand wrapped around his fingers. He had almost cried when the bus doors closed behind him, and he didn't even know why.
Back at the factory, it got worse. Jesus was at the Eagle to work with a new Go-Go dancer and Olivia had taken Tiger overnight because she wanted to spend some time at home with Joseph. The apartment smelled like furniture polish and a saffron risotto that had been prepared for dinner. Daryl didn't like any of it and didn't even go near the very empty bedroom when he searched for a place to sleep. Instead, he took a heavy leather jacket off the coat rack and went downstairs. After Rick had taken the jacket to the dry cleaners it didn't have blood stains anymore, but it didn't smell like Negan either. Just leather and something Daryl didn't know. He covered himself with it anyway, enjoying the familiar weight and texture as he curled up on a grey couch in a dark basement office, staring at his phone and all the wonderful photos he had saved in there.
At 10:08 PM he tapped the only numbers he knew in the right order. At 10:09 PM the most wonderful voice answered. Deep and smooth, so comforting that his heart ached.
'What do you wanna say.'
He closed his eyes, tucking his head deeper underneath the heavy leather of Negan's jacket. "'miss you." It wasn't what he was supposed to say, he knew that, and he hated hearing his own silly hoarse voice. But what he said was very true.
Negan seemed to like it. 'Good job, telling me the truth.'
Daryl didn't answer, just huffed a breath that came out a bit shaky. He really wished he could get a raisin.
'You think the big fellow found a solution by now to clear the Sanctuary of all the fucking Undead, so Puppy and Paul can play in the yard again?'
Daryl sniffed his nose, the instant picture of a huge factory surrounded by awesome Zombies popping into his head. It was true, that had been the part where the story had ended last time Negan had told him about it. "Hm." And he had a pretty good idea how Eugene could save them all. "Yes."
'Mhm.' Negan closed his eyes, loving the audible curiosity in his sub's voice. 'Tell me what he came up with.'
"Noise." Daryl was sure, pulling his legs up to his chest to fit better underneath the jacket. "He can use music 'n lure them away." Certainly from Paul's vinyl collection.
'Sounds like a good plan.' Negan chuckled quietly. 'Fucking smart puppy.'
A smile of pride spread over Daryl's face. He was really smart. And he listened to a soothing deep voice for almost twenty minutes, telling him about a real drone with attached iPod and Paul's favorite Metallica classic guiding herds of undead people away from the wonderful factory, so everyone could go outside again for a fucking big BBQ with grilled corncobs and chicken. His phone slipped out of his fingers when he fell asleep, on a grey couch, surrounded by the scent of warm leather.
----
On day 34 after the accident, on a rather cold morning in February, a young man sat on one of the Leather Factory's loading docks, waiting impatiently for Rick to arrive and take him to the hospital. He had a surprise for Negan. And just the thought of it made his stomach tingle in excitement. Jesus had helped him to order a brand new pair of Ray Ban's online. The mailman had delivered them in a nice box and Olivia had offered to wrap it like a present with red paper and a bow. But Daryl didn't want that and just held them in hand. He would hide them behind his back once he entered the hospital room.
He sniffed his nose and craned his neck. Rick was late. Thirteen minutes already. And when after the fourteenth minute finally a car pulled up, it wasn't Rick's silver Volvo, but a taxi. After a moment a man got out, flinging the backdoor shut. He wore sweatpants, sneakers and a small white patch on his temple. He ran a hand through his dark hair and shouldered the duffle bag he brought along. Then he walked towards the red door as if it was the most normal thing in the world.
Daryl got up, wrapping an arm around his chest.
Negan patted the loose pockets of his sweatpants down, sighing when he realized he had no key. He dropped the bag on the black doormat and looked to the right, a slight smile tipping the corner of his mouth up. "You have a key, boy?" He didn't receive an answer and pursed his lips as he approached his perplexed sub, who stood in the middle of the driveway as if he had seen a ghost. "What do you wanna say." He stopped right in front of him, tugging the zipper of a black winter jacket.
Daryl flicked a strand of stray hair out of his eyes. "Hello."
"Hi." Negan smiled. "Where are you goin'."
Daryl didn't know what to say, staring up at the most beautiful face he had ever seen. Dark eyes, sharp cheekbones, and a perfectly trimmed beard. There was a faint bruise still visible on the left and the remains of a healing cut on the right. But it didn't matter at all when he huffed a soundless breath and held a pair of black sunglasses up as an explanation. "'s for you."
The smile on Negan's face dimmed down and softened his features as he studied the young man's face for a long silent moment, before he blindly accepted the shades he had asked for 34 days ago, and leaned in, pressing his lips on a pale forehead. "Good boy."