Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Glenn knows he’s in love with Daryl the moment Sophia steps clumsily, shakily out of the barn; as Carol collapses in his arms and pain distorts his face. It’s such a cruel and unyielding place for his stricken heart to proclaim love for a dying, sharp-edged man, especially as the heaviness of the shotgun cuts into his fingers. Yet, Glenn is lovestruck, in awe at the way Daryl does not hesitate to comfort, to shield; he’s a provider above all, and it gives Glenn hope that he could be a lover. But a wise man knows himself to be a fool, and Glenn recognizes his mental strengths.

He waits patiently after the whole ordeal has passed, biding his time by conversing with Maggie as her fingers fiddle with the buttons sewn onto her shirt. She’s shaken up mostly, and Glenn can’t blame her. After all, she just watched her entire family die once more, and he helped put them in their graves for the final time. But she’s still speaking to him, letting him subtly know she doesn’t resent him for his actions, but rather encourages it. She’s moving through grief with a high head and taut shoulders, and Glenn envies her for it.

“They had to go. It-It was the only humane thing to do.” Her drawl is quicker as she speaks, as if the words truly pain her, and she needs them out of her soul and mouth rapidly.

Glenn can only nod as he rubs his hands up and down the fraying fabric of his jeans.

Afterwards, they sit in silence for a few minutes. The only sound they tolerate is the creaking of the wood of their rocking chairs and the hurried whisper of Rick inside of the house. It’s eerily quiet, all the walkers shut up in a mass grave not too far off from the barn, and the two groups scattered about the farm. There’s a thickness in the humid Georgia air that feels too heavy to be dread, something more akin to guilt--a realization of their actions and the actions of others. It’s too much for Glenn to bear, so he inhales slowly, holds his breath for five seconds and exhales, hoping to clear his lungs. It helps only a little, but is worsened when Maggie places a hand on top of his.

“Thank you, Glenn.” She has that sparkle in her eye that says My words are a smokescreen; do you get it? , and Glenn is too smart for his own good, despite his fumbling, awkward tendencies. He knows she feels deeply for him, but he can’t bring himself to say, “I don’t reciprocate”. Instead, he smiles.

Maggie takes his smile as confirmation and continues to intertwine their fingers, her head laying on his shoulder. Glenn immediately shifts, uncomfortable, as he scans the grounds, but recalls Daryl scrambled madly off to the woods shortly after the last hole was dug. It doesn’t make the unwanted contact any easier, though. A little relief does not soothe the ache with which Glenn feels for Daryl; it’s a pain unlike no other, but he swallows thickly, for this secret, he shall take to the grave.

Days pass quietly except for the bustle of Hershel and Rick’s tense whispers. Glenn busies himself with maintenance work for the RV, foraging, hunting, and taking as many night watch shifts to avoid the searing heat in the day. And, of course, to avoid the sweet, country girl-next-door that ogles him with pretty brown eyes. 

Truthfully, if Glenn had any sense, he would go after Maggie. She’s so kind and pretty and smart, but she’s just not what he wants. Glenn wants carved muscle, wisps of grimy hair, calloused hands, leather scented skin. He wants everything Daryl is, and it’s hard to stare into the night sky and not lament over the fact they share it together, yet they’re so far away.

So, it’s a jolt when Daryl finally does appear, donned in walker ears and mud and blood. And, it’s even more of a jolt when Andrea clips him with a rifle bullet. Glenn’s heart immediately hits his feet, and he’s off running before anyone can process what he’s doing.

Luckily, the shot is surface level, but the hole that stretches to and fro in his sides needs stitches, and he goes on a special run just to find more antibiotics for his dawn. When confronted with this information, Daryl only grunts an, “Mm..Thanks”, turning on his side to show Glenn his scarred back. It is littered with grime and dried blood, and something twitches in Glenn’s fingertips.

“Of-Of course…” It’s a murmur when it leaves from his lips, fingers drifting towards the bowl filled with warm water and a washrag. Glenn swallows thickly as he squeezes out the excess water from the cloth and presses it against Daryl’s back.

“Goddamn.” Daryl’s breath is stunted, hisses of pain passing through clenched teeth, but he says no more, a heavy silence between the two of them.

There’s a shift.

“You, um…you have a lot of dirt of your back.” Glenn explains, running the cloth over tender skin. He explains it as if Daryl is his judge and jury, and he’s trying to squeeze himself out from under their gaze. It’s like he’s in the middle of a stage with lights searing into his skin, Daryl’s eyes the only pair in the audience. Yet, Daryl isn’t even facing him, just wincing in pain when the warm water produces a sting from a too-fresh wound.

This touch carries on for minutes far beyond what it needed to, and Glenn knows this, the dried blood and grime washed away from tender skin. Yet, he can’t let go as if there’s magnets beneath Daryl’s skin. As if there’s truth serum leaking from his pores and Glenn is still a criminal.

“I wa…want th--” The words are out before he can bite them into bloodied members, only stopped by Carol entering the room once more to check on a man she fancies more than Glenn would like to admit.

“Oh! I just came to do the same thing.” Her smile is tight, unspoken words woven into it. “Thanks for taking over, Glenn, but I think Dale needs you to fix somethin’ on the RV.”

Glenn can only nod while his throat works to swallow against a dry mouth. He places the cloth into the cold water and slips out of the room, only awarding himself a glance towards Daryl whose eyes are glazed over with tender tears.

Chapter Text

Glenn and Daryl never speak of the interaction again, even as the farm goes up into flames, sweat slicking their brows. Devastation hangs onto the skin of every survivor that made it out of that dreadful place. Their steps are heavier and a piece of their psyche breaks once more.

It isn’t until they clear the prison yard that hope blossoms a little more, especially in Glenn’s chest. He feels like strutting along the main highway like he’s in a parade, a strut of defiance. But he doesn’t, he just gnaws on some bird Daryl caught for the rest of them. 

They’re in a circle--everyone that survived: Rick, Lori, Carl, Hershel, Beth, T-Dog. Maggie, too. Though, there’s hesitation to name her, as she lays her head on Glenn’s shoulder, singing some song her dad taught her when she was younger. She’s become clingier, more affectionate, and Glenn can only blame himself, kissing her out of compulsion a month after her home burned to ashes as they all watched. It didn’t mean anything, but he was scared. Afraid. He didn’t want to lose more, but she took it to heart, and Glenn cannot, for the life of him, sever their ties.

Off towards the gate, Carol rubs her thumbs into Daryl’s shoulder. They share light giggles, as if to say that this could become something more. It burns so deeply in Glenn’s chest, he doesn’t even notice Rick pacing the grounds, hand on his revolver. He doesn’t notice Lori getting up to console him, wobbling the entire while. She’s incredibly pregnant, ready to give birth any moment. It’s troubling to everyone--bringing life into such a violent world. But the prison has walls, Glenn reminds himself. He could be safe here--they all could.

Despite the way his skin crawls, Glenn squeezes Maggie’s hand tighter. He holds it until he drifts to sleep, the warm June air caressing his skin. But it still feels awfully like healing calluses.

Glenn sticks by Maggie’s side all throughout Hershel’s amputation, mainly by compulsion, partly by Rick’s words: “You need to be there when it happens.” 

They were so sure of his death, especially Maggie, who made Beth cry incessantly as everyone handled the rest of the prison. But he lived, breathing shallowly in his first few days. 

More hope blossomed in Glenn’s chest, only shattered by the loud blaring of the prison alarms. Walkers swarmed him. He felt suffocated, terror ripping holes into his lungs. But he ran, ran until he felt as if he could die. He kept on living, kept on running until Carl and Maggie emerged with new life in their hands. Yet, they stunk of death.

Glenn immediately went to Maggie, not out of compulsion this time, but out of sorrow, of knowing they lost once more--Lori, T-Dog; and no one knew where Carol was, but they presumed her dead because that was easier. It was easier to say they had lost her to ripping teeth and fleshy nails than to say they had lost her at all.

It was becoming normal, this loss. It felt normal. Glenn settled in a little deeper as he watched Rick collapse on the ground, unfathomable grief shaking his entire being.

He collectively felt their entire psyche break a little more, but Daryl spoke loudly, taking charge in place of Rick, an ax in Rick’s hands as he broke. Glenn could hear the thick slice of blade into flesh even as he ran towards the car, Daryl and Maggie alongside him.

They tossed up ideas--Piggly Wiggly, CVS--but they settled on a daycare just a few miles down the road. Maggie offered to ride with Daryl, but Glenn refused. He felt a little fondness for her, and was kidding himself if he didn’t; they shared grief, and, in a way, shared parts of each other.

Daryl could only glare at Glenn. His eyes said words in ways that his mouth never could.

“I’ll hold down the fort here,” he turned to Maggie, “so please, please stay safe.” 

There was desperation in Glenn’s voice, and it could be mistaken for love, but it wasn’t. It was pure despair. He could not lose someone else, could not bear it amidst this horror. His words were echoed loud enough that he hoped Daryl took them to heart too, for Glenn could not also bear to say them directly.

With a too-sudden kiss from Maggie in front of Daryl, Glenn stood alone as the engine of the bike roared. They sped up, leaving nothing but kicked up rocks in their path.

After ensuring Judith’s survival, the days passed by in a blur for Glenn. The sun rose and fell in a pattern he found reassuring. He greeted the loss of his people in a productive manner, even as he knew he was also losing old parts of himself. He could not find it in himself to miss those parts. Instead, he looked at each day as something to shape, rather than something to survive. 

Eventually, Rick’s mind found itself again, and he adjusted the prison into something worth living in. It took long, grueling months, Rick, Hershel, and Glenn creating a new and safe home for everyone. It took even more hands to practice the upkeep of the place once Rick decided to start ushering new people in until it bloomed into a well-off town. It was home, for all its rusty pipes and stale air. It kept people safe, kept them secure in a way that made them hopeful again, and Glenn could not ask for more.

Except, he did.

He groveled, pleaded to a God while on his knees to find the space in his heart to love Maggie in the way he needed to. Of course, Glenn loved Maggie for everything that she was--but it was love born of necessity, grown up into love of familiarity. There were no romantic inclinations to it, but she clung to him anyway, smothering his face with kisses and sinking down slowly onto his cock. Glenn did not object, but found some form of pleasure in the motions of making love; he was pent up just as much as the next man, so he seated himself deep within her and swallowed the bitter taste of guilt as she came.

Glenn was a terrible man; he recognized this. He used others for his pleasure, yet that pleasure was hollow and unfulfilling. He mused that it made it worse.

Careful to not wake Maggie, Glenn slid from under the covers and threw on some clean clothes. They smelled faintly of homemade soap, nothing artificial like the old detergent he used in college. A pang of remembrance hit him; he swallowed hard. 

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” Beth greeted Glenn with a cheerful smile as she bounced Judith on her leg. “Rick’s down at the pens with Carl. He said to come meet ‘im whenever you got up.”

“Thank you.” Glenn offered her a smile he hoped did not show his exhaustion. Beth was a kind girl with a heart too big for this world, so he tried his best to keep up appearances for her. She had grown significantly since the farm, but Glenn could only see the scared little girl he knew was rooted inside of her.

“No problem.” She smiled even bigger then turned her attention back to Judith.

Glenn sauntered out of the prison block and out into the yard. The January air was crisp, biting at his ears, yet it still retained some of the Georgia heat left over from the summer. He looked around to see everyone like cogs in this great machine, turning and turning to make it run smoothly. He saw Carol manning the outdoor kitchen, grilling some deer meat to serve to everyone for breakfast. He popped his head in quickly to grab a piece with his bare hands, earning a swat from her tongs. Her smile was light and mischievous and Glenn found himself returning it, genuine for the first time in forever.

Glenn had found some kind of refuge amongst Carol after she had been found. It seemed something within the both of them had broken, and they looked to each other for guidance. Glenn had even come clean to her about his deep ache for Daryl; the fear of her rejection did not phase him. But he was pleasantly surprised, for she hit him on the back and smiled a wild smile. She urged him to take what he wanted and Glenn had looked at her in pure confusion. 

“You-You aren’t…in love with him?” He had asked.

“Oh, God no. I find him adorable like you find a teddy bear adorable. More than anything, Glenn, I find him reliable, so don’t worry.”

Now, they simply nodded knowingly as Glenn made his way down to the pens. Rick met him with a charming smile, clapping a hand on Carl’s shoulder to usher him away. Which Carl did, comic books in hand Michonne had no doubt snatched for him. 

“Mornin’.” Rick’s drawl was slower these days and it reminded them all to take their time.

“Morning. Beth said you needed me?”

“Yeah. We’re runnin’ low on some pills. Bob mentioned there was a veterinary clinic about 60 miles west.” Rick shielded his eyes and he shifted his weight to the side, Glenn following the movement.

“What all do we need?” 

“Hershel wrote up all these, but I can hardly read the damn thing myself. I reckon you and Daryl could grab what we need. Bob and Tyreese will accompany y’all.”

Excitement spread down and around Glenn’s body at the mention of Daryl. It had been awhile since they had gone on a run together, cooped up in a stuffy Honda Civic with shitty AC. It was Glenn’s favorite thing, though. To be able to smell the cheap cigarette smoke and leather from Daryl was something made of dreams—even if it meant Tyreese and Bob would be there in close proximity as well. 

“Yeah, we can get it done.”

Rick nodded, “Good. Now go check out your gun and head to the car. Daryl’s got it warmed up.” 

Glenn mumbled an affirmative and head back into the prison to shuck on some more reliable gear—boots with a knife slid onto it, gloves, thick jacket. Afterwards, he checked out a nine millimeter and some bullets, which they were getting far too low on. Making these runs were shredding through their supply, so Glenn made a mental note to find an armory somewhere near the clinic.

Just as Rick had said, Daryl was standing by the car, the engine thrumming as he smoked a Camel Crush Menthol. The sweet, heady scent curled around Glenn’s brain in tandem with the visualization of all that Daryl Dixon was. He was a hardened man, cut of rounded edges, and his appearance sure reflected that. 

Warmth bubbled in Glenn’s chest. Arousal flooded his groin. 

“Y’ready?” Glenn felt his cock thicken at Daryl’s gruff voice. 

“Always.” And he meant it.

“Good, cause yer drivin’.” 

Daryl threw Glenn the keys, turning on a heel to slide into the passenger seat. Glenn could only bring the keys to his nose, sniffing the cracked leather of the ignition key. It smelled of tarnished metal and warm flesh, as if it had been encircled in a palm.

Glenn savored the scent of Daryl’s flesh, mind so fuzzy he didn’t notice Tyreese and Bob in the backseat, exchanging knowing glances.

Chapter Text

Daryl was used to the overwhelming smell of gas--it invaded his senses in a way Crank never did. It was sickening. It was full of bitter indicators that made his mouth water and his stomach churn. He wasn’t fond of the smell, but he was familiar with it. And just like all things he was familiar with, he attempted to ignore it. But it swarmed him every few miles--sometimes light enough to twitch his nose, sometimes heavy enough for him to manually swallow.

Eventually, the smell was too much, and he urged Glenn to pull over, which he did, a puzzled but trusting look on his face. Daryl could only offer a nod as he exited the Honda Civic. It was beginning to run hot, pushing the pungent scent of gas and oil and coolant into his throat.

He stepped aside. Pulled a cigarette from a crumpled carton in his vest.

In another moment--Glenn was next to him, muttering, “No one needs to be alone.”

It was one of those weird, double-layered things Glenn said sometimes that made Daryl feel like his head was tied into a tight, double knot. Was he reading too much into it? Or was it meant to be read that way? Truth was far stranger than fiction--Daryl had known that since he was knee-high--but worrying was like a rocking chair. You sat and rocked and fiddled with your hands until the sour taste of vomit faded. So why worry? Matter of fact, why wish?

Wishful thinking was a death sentence. Maybe not for big-city boys with painted nails, but it was for small-town hicks that smelled of meth and cigarette smoke. It was for Daryl, who was surrounded by Klan members with roaming hands--who nearly killed him when they found out he had kissed his boy best friend at fifteen. 

Merle had saved him that day. But Daryl still had to pay the price with his innocence. He was desecrated like a forgotten God; his name recited like a prayer, but only to damn him to Hell. His body was worshipped, but only to ever be crucified. 

Lost in thought, Daryl grunted as he inhaled menthol, palms burning. Tyreese and Bob began to slide out of the backseat. Their bones cracked, popped while they stretched. 

Bob was the first to speak aloud in the last ten miles, unsurprisingly. 

“How many miles we got left?”

“Around twenty-five.” Glenn replied as he kicked at some leaf debris. “Shouldn’t be much longer.”

“Goddamn. That’s like thirty extra minutes.” Tyreese groaned, sliding hands over his face. 

“Might as well go piss if you hafta.” Daryl pushed another cigarette into his mouth after crumbling the previous one up. He lit it, inhaled it, and pushed out a cloud of wispy smoke. Glenn’s eyes lingered on him.

“Aye, aye, Capt’n.” Bob saluted and Tyreese followed, stumbling into the woods behind.

“Don’t wander too far. We regroup in ten.” Daryl’s commanding voice was met with murmured confirmations. 

Glenn’s eyes were still on him, sending a chill up his spine. Daryl hoped Glenn blamed it on the crisp January air.

“Why you starin’? You want one or somethin’?” 

“If I did, would you give me one?” There was hopefulness in Glenn’s tone, but it didn’t sound as if it were directed as the squished carton of Camel Crush Menthols. 

“Naw. Too stingy.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Why not?”

“‘Cause,” Glenn paused as if he were searching for the right words, “you give too much of yourself to everyone in the group.”

Daryl didn’t miss a beat. He was used to the weird, sentimental shit the group gave him. It was suffocating in its own right, but especially when a pretty city boy--who would probably look good in nail polish--said it.

“Could say the same for you.” Daryl began shuffling to go lean on the car, cigarette still in mouth. 

It put some distance between the two of them.

“What do you mean?” Glenn took the bait. 

Daryl sighed. 

“When Rick says jump, you don’t even ask “How high?”. You jus’ do it.” Daryl chuckled darkly, a little envy settling into his voice. “Anytime anyone needs anything, you’re there. Don’t matter what it is, ol’ Good Boy Glenn is on the scene.”

Glenn’s red cheeks brightened, a feverish red spreading down his neck. Daryl wondered if it was as soft as his fingertips when they grazed his back that one humid evening.

“Are you…jealous of me?”

“Don’t kid yourself. I ain’t jealous of no one.”

A thick silence followed, but it didn’t bother Daryl. He needed this. He needed Glenn further and further away so he could clear his thoughts. Matter of fact, he needed Glenn gone--gone from his skin, gone from his mind. He invaded every facet of Daryl like he, himself, was made with Glenn in mind. Like they were crafted for the sole purpose of each other.

Jesus Christ, the righteous fucking bastard, was cruel like that.

“Give me one then.” Glenn said with irritation. 

“What?”

“Give me a cigarette if you’re not a self-absorbed, tightfisted jackass.” 

Daryl chuckled darkly again, handing Glenn one of the straighter cigarettes from his pack.

“You don’t even know how to smoke one of those.”

“I smoked weed all throughout college. I know how to smoke a cigarette.”

“Oh, so you’re not a prissy, stuck up virgin like I thought.” Glenn flared again, and Daryl could only think: Yes, yes. Hate me. Hate what I spoon feed you. I’m a horrible, hateful man. 

But Glenn did not say anything; instead, he slid the cigarette into his mouth. He waited silently, eyes pointed towards Daryl. So, Daryl, fished out his lighter and began to hand it to him.

“No. Light it for me.”

“Are you smokin’ some shit right now? I ain’t your fuckin’ butler.”

“No, you’re just a jackass. Now be generous and light my fucking cigarette, Daryl.” 

There was something commanding in Glenn’s voice that pulled Daryl right back in after pushing him away. His cheeks and nose were so soft and red, bright with irritation and cold. His eyes were sharp and pointed, his mouth chapped and slightly puckered. 

The sight of him made Daryl shiver again, so he raised the lighter, heat dancing across his exposed fingertips. He just wanted this over with.

“Not like that.”

“You’re a needy fuckin’ bastard, ain’t you? What way?” Exasperation flew out of Daryl. It sounded desperate in a way, and they both knew it.

Before Daryl could ask any follow up questions, Glenn leaned forward, eyes never leaving his. With his cigarette butt, Glenn touched Daryl’s, pushing him back into the car.

Electricity surged through Daryl. Waves of lust pushed him back, his head dipping under. All he could do was succumb. 

Glenn pushed further into the cigarette, head tilting to the side as his sharp eyes became clouded. His lids sagged, revealing pieces of blown out pupils. 

His hands entrapped Daryl, gripping the cold metal of the car beside his hips. He slid his burning body into Daryl’s, grinding lightly. His head tilted again, tongue licking around the filter, miming as if he were kissing Daryl.

Daryl went up into flames. His mind turned into a muddled mess. He couldn’t fight back--didn’t want to fight back. His cock grew thick in his jeans. He was painfully hard, just from… What? An indirect kiss? What the fuck was this?

Once Glenn saw his cigarette grow with red and orange, he pulled back and inhaled deeply. Without saying anything, he blew the smoke in Daryl’s face and stubbed the cigarette on the ground. He slid behind the driver’s side just as Bob and Tyreese emerged from the frost-covered woods.

Without a word, they all piled into the car. Daryl curled in on himself in the passenger seat, far away from Glenn. His eyes watched the frosted trees pass by in a blur. His mind felt similar.

Daryl was so sure of himself all of the time. He was so sure he held the upper hand and bit back harder than anyone could bark. But what just happened made him falter. He not only let Glenn bite him, but he let Glenn sink his sharp teeth into his skin and pull. How much longer until he devoured him?