He hisses sharply, covers his face with both hands and pushes them through his hair. "I don't want to not need anybody! I just don't want to lose--!"
Maybe a little time in the woods would help. Sure. Why not. That doesn't soothe the yawning (roaring) feeling between his ribs. Quentin doubles over with a curse, head between his knees and nails scraping up either side of his neck and spine. He means to come back up, refreshed from expressing something, energized by anger instead of despair.
He doesn't come up. Just--cracks in the throat. Sobs.
He's not like you, Daryl. A stark fucking reminder. And a strange relief-- he's come to the point where he knows how to deal with crying people. Even a year ago, he'd have been at a loss, but he's lived with Lydia, now. He can make a guess. Nothing too familiar, he doesn't pull the poor kid into a hug. Just a hand on his shoulder, lighter than it should be. Daryl's always been a soft touch, in every sense.
He makes a hushing noise he hopes is soothing, and says, "just 'cause you lose, don't mean nothing good's ever gonna happen again."
His ankles and wrists cross, elbows and knees fit together. He's tightwired enough that even the delicate touch (maybe especially the delicate touch) makes him flinch like a mouse trap. His fingers knot together, catching the ends of his hair. He shakes. "When is--when anything good supposed to h--hoo--happen? When the fuck are we supposed to see anything good, Daryl, I just--"
For the sake of breathing deep enough to get a grip, he jerks his head up, fits his chin hard against his wired knuckles. He can breathe and talk as long as he keeps his eyes open, that's good. Just keep them wide open. "I'm so fucking sick of losing people. I'm so fucking tired of it, I'm not like you. I need people. I need people, I can't keep losing them or I'm gonna fucking lose my mind, Daryl."
I'm not like you, I need people. Daryl stares into the sunless sky, and lets his eyes catch the uncaring stars. They're probably fake. He tried navigating by them once, and he ended up spinning in circles. Nothing makes sense, here. None of the old rules, from when the old world functioned, apply, and half the rules from the world of the dead are pretty near useless.
"How long you been here?" And then Daryl remembers how little patience Quentin has for leading questions. "World ended-- where I'm from-- near on ten years back."
He remembers Sophia, the farm, hiding on the edge of their group, worrying and feeling dejected.
"What you're feeling-- everybody's feeling it. Just-... I felt it ten years back."
As for good things, well. He knows better than to try and convince someone as young and angry and desperate as Quentin that good things are happening, will continue to do so. That's something the kid's get for his own self.
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no subject
Maybe a little time in the woods would help. Sure. Why not. That doesn't soothe the yawning (roaring) feeling between his ribs. Quentin doubles over with a curse, head between his knees and nails scraping up either side of his neck and spine. He means to come back up, refreshed from expressing something, energized by anger instead of despair.
He doesn't come up. Just--cracks in the throat. Sobs.
no subject
He makes a hushing noise he hopes is soothing, and says, "just 'cause you lose, don't mean nothing good's ever gonna happen again."
no subject
For the sake of breathing deep enough to get a grip, he jerks his head up, fits his chin hard against his wired knuckles. He can breathe and talk as long as he keeps his eyes open, that's good. Just keep them wide open. "I'm so fucking sick of losing people. I'm so fucking tired of it, I'm not like you. I need people. I need people, I can't keep losing them or I'm gonna fucking lose my mind, Daryl."
no subject
"How long you been here?" And then Daryl remembers how little patience Quentin has for leading questions. "World ended-- where I'm from-- near on ten years back."
He remembers Sophia, the farm, hiding on the edge of their group, worrying and feeling dejected.
"What you're feeling-- everybody's feeling it. Just-... I felt it ten years back."
As for good things, well. He knows better than to try and convince someone as young and angry and desperate as Quentin that good things are happening, will continue to do so. That's something the kid's get for his own self.