Chapter Text
Bathing Daryl is an experience Rick knows he’s not going to be forgetting for a long while.
The pack had all returned to their cells by the time they made it down the stairs, and without a group of people clustered around to stare and whisper, Daryl had been a lot happier. Rick knows none of them would have done that anyway, but the cub is so unsure of himself like this, so afraid of what the others will think when they see him acting so different from how he normally is. It tells the Alpha that he’s going to have to introduce the others slowly into Daryl’s new routine, because so far he’s shown no signs of coming out of this new headspace. If he’s going to be this way for a while, then they’ll need to take things slow with him. Everything he’s already seen has proven that much.
There’s no issue getting Daryl to the showers. He’s happy to keep his hold on Rick’s belt loop and follow him without complaint, Triumph tucked against his chest with his other arm and his thumb firmly at home in his mouth. He looks around the prison like he’s never seen it before, and Rick wonders if he’s ever let himself explore his home like this, or if he just hid in his room, too afraid of running into anyone else to risk it.
The problems start to arise when Rick tries to help him take his clothes off. At first, he tries to coax Daryl into doing it himself, but the cub just hesitates and sucks his thumb hard enough for Rick to worry that he’s going to aggravate the punctures, or cause new ones. Omegas have sharper canines that go along with their short claws and the rest of their animal characteristics. Alphas have their own formidable fangs, but those only come out when their emotions are strong enough or they're rutting. If Daryl’s already bitten himself hard enough to draw blood once, there’s nothing to say he won’t do it again.
“Do you need help, sweetheart?” Rick murmurs gently, laying the towel and the change of clothes aside and stepping closer. Daryl’s thumb finally comes out of his mouth, a blush staining his cheeks when he looks down and draws his shoulders up.
“Gots scars,” he whispers, even though Rick already knows that. “They’s… they’s real ugly. Don’ wan’ ya ta be grossed out.”
Rick pets the cub’s hair, running the dark chestnut strands through his fingers and admiring the color. He doesn’t miss the dirty blonde shade it used to be. It didn’t seem to fit Daryl, not in his opinion. This does, and it matches his ears and tail perfectly. “Nothing about you will ever disgust me, Daryl,” he promises solemnly. He needs his Second to understand that he’s not going to leave, no matter what. He swore to protect the archer when their pack truly formed – had sworn to protect everyone who chose to follow him. He’s not going to go back on that vow now, not for this reason or any other, short of Daryl trying to kill one of them. Since Rick is highly doubtful of that ever occurring, there’s nothing for the cub to fear.
Daryl chews his lip for a moment, his sharp little teeth flashing while he looks away thoughtfully. Rick watches as he puts Triumph on top of his clothes, far out of the way of where the water will splash, before returning to stand in front of the Alpha and slowly spreading his arms. Rick takes the request for what it is, crooning soothingly as he works Daryl’s vest off first and lays it to the side before coming back to unbutton his shirt and slip that off as well. There are bruises and a few scrapes that he’s not even sure the omega is aware of until Rick touches them gently. He doesn’t like seeing these marks of pain, but he knows what they’re probably from, and so he kisses each and every one of them as the shirt falls to the floor and leaves Daryl trembling from emotions he’s probably not sure how to convey.
“S’cold, Alpha,” his friend whispers, and Rick pulls him into a hug and rubs his palms against the scars that he can feel crisscrossing over his Second’s strong back. “S’cold. Wanna go ta bed.”
“And you will, sweetheart, once you’re clean and changed.” Rubbing warmth into the trembling skin, he gives Daryl a few moments to breathe in his scent and ground himself before taking a step back and looking at the next layer that needs to come off. “Do you want to take off your pants, little one, or do you want me to do it?”
Daryl is clearly fighting with himself, his uncertainty making him shake his head even as he lifts his arms in the air. His fingers clench and unclench, his ears quivering and his tail tucking between his legs, but there’s still so much pleading and hope in his eyes that Rick understands what he needs.
He thinks he’s always been able to understand – he just needed Daryl to accept it as well and ask.
The belt comes undone with a quiet clink and jangle; the soft hiss of leather against denim as Rick pulls it from the loops and lays it on top of the omega’s vest. He undoes the button with sure, steady hands, and Daryl’s blushing from nervousness and shyness, but he’s not trying to stop the Alpha.
“I know I’ve said it already, but you’ll feel much better once you’re clean and in dry clothes,” Rick says gently, keeping his voice low and soothing as he starts to rumble again. It helps Daryl stay calm, helps him not be so afraid, and that’s worth more than anything when Rick finally peels the wet jeans down along with his Second’s boxers. He has to stop when he realizes that Daryl’s still wearing his boots, and he doesn’t say anything – just kneels down to unlace them and lets the archer steady himself with a hand on his shoulder as he works the left boot off, then the right. The socks follow quickly, and he helps Daryl shimmy out of his wet things before dropping them off to the side away from everything else.
“You’re doin’ so good for me, sweetheart,” he praises, and Daryl blushes and relaxes and wags his tail, giggling and wriggling like he’s not sure how else to express his happiness when Rick tells him he’s done a good job. It’s so adorable to see the cub so unrestrained, no need for him to hold back like this. It makes Rick feel like he’s doing something right as well, to see his omega trusting him with such a big thing. Daryl follows him to one of the stalls, fingers hooked in the waistband of his jeans this time, so pliant and sweet and trusting when Rick encourages him to stand beneath one of the shower heads and reaches up.
Daryl makes a quiet sound, his thumb resting against his lower lip but not pushing in yet. “S’cold,” he mutters plaintively, his eyes dropping and his shoulders curling in like he’s expecting to be scolded for being nervous. Rick rumbles a little louder, pressing the side of his face against a strong, firm bicep and nuzzling until he senses his Second calming down just as much as he sees it.
“I’m right here, Daryl. I’m not going anywhere. Okay?”
After a moment, he’s given a small nod and a soft, “Okay.”
Rick feels bad, because the water is cool and there’s no way for him to warm it up right away, but at least they got the generators for the bathroom working. Hot water is available; it just takes a little while to heat up sometimes. Daryl shivers as soon as the first droplets spray against his skin, his ears flattening and a noise of discomfort slipping from him as he hunches and looks miserable. Rick doesn’t want to drag this out, and he knows the cub is going to need some distracting until the water is warm enough, so he grabs for the shampoo and squeezes a dollop of it into his palm before rubbing his hands together.
“Tilt your head back, baby boy. I don’t want this goin’ in your eyes.”
Daryl obeys, almost purring when the water finally warms up enough for him and Rick starts to massage the shampoo into his hair. He works carefully, minding any tangles and smoothing through them until his fingers don’t snag. He even rubs some lather onto the omega’s ears, chuckling fondly at the way he looks when they twitch in surprise and a few specks of foam fleck against his nose. His eyes cross as he tries to look at it, and Rick wipes them away and pecks a quick kiss to the tip. Daryl giggles and does another full-body wiggle, his tail wagging hard enough to thump against the wall. He doesn’t seem to notice, too busy enjoying Rick’s fingers rubbing against his scalp to make sure everything’s clean and tangle-free before he gently tips the cub’s head back and rinses out the suds. Daryl lets himself be moved with no sign of reluctance, his eyes closed and his tail still wagging as the foamy bubbles run down his body and swirl down the drain.
Maybe this should feel like a sexual thing, but for Rick it doesn’t. He’s not hard, and Daryl isn’t either – there is nothing going on here but an Alpha taking care of an omega; a Dominant taking care of his little, even if before tonight Rick had never even known such a dynamic existed in the world Before. He’s watched his fair share of porn, both before marrying Lori and even afterwards, late at night while she was sleeping. Sometimes he found himself wandering away from the more vanilla videos, looking up things decidedly kinkier than normal, sweet missionary sex, but he’d never stumbled across anything like what Glenn had described.
He wonders if Daryl has been like this with anyone before – if someone ever got to wash his hair like this, or turn him slowly and lather up their hands again to make sure his tail is clean too. It lays unresisting between his hands, still and well-behaved just like he knew his cub could be.
“Ready for me to wash the rest of you?” he asks once he’s worked the dirty suds from his Second’s tail. As soon as he lets it go, it starts wagging again. Daryl turns to face him, his cheeks still faintly pink, but overall he’s a lot more relaxed now. He’s even playing with some of the bubbles that have splattered against the half-wall on either side of him, slapping his hands against them and giggling as he makes the foam splatter from the impact.
“Yes p’ease!”
“Glad you’re havin’ so much fun, cutie.” Rick can’t help but tickle his bare sides, and Daryl squeaks as he tries to wriggle away – pouting and whining and looking at the Alpha with the biggest, saddest eyes Rick has ever seen.
“S’not p’ay time, silly!” he chides, and Rick can’t stop the warmth spreading in his chest if he tried – and he has no reason to want to. Daryl looks so happy, his ears up and his tail wagging and his grin so big his tiny fangs aren’t even hidden. There’s no threat in the display, no hint of anything but joy, and he laughs as he grabs the washcloth and the bar of plain soap, working it into a lather before he starts cleaning every inch of Daryl’s skin.
“You’re right, it’s not. So how about you stand still like a good boy and let me finish cleaning you?” He tickles the archer’s sides with the cloth just to hear him giggle and squeak in that adorable way he does, his cheeks darker pink and his hands batting at Rick like that will dissuade him at all. He’s more alive now than the Alpha has seen him ever be, even when they took the prison as their own. Plenty of things have made him content, but he’s never seen his Second happy like this before. It’s refreshing, and it makes him just as happy to see his friend let himself be free like this.
After a head-to-toe scrub, Rick lets the shower water wash away the scummy suds until Daryl is pink-skinned and clean and smiling sleepily at Rick as he sways on his feet. “Alright, little cub, time to get you out and dried and dressed,” the Alpha chuckles. He steps back so the omega can come out onto the chilly cement floor, and before Daryl can shiver too much or protest being cold again, he picks up the towel and starts drying the cub off. Daryl whines in protest and flails his hands a little – Rick can think of no other way to describe it – and when he gently towels his dripping hair and leaves it a fluffy, damp mess, he can’t stop his crooning rumble at just how adorable and tired Daryl looks. His eyelids are getting heavy and his jaw is set in a stubborn pout as he fights the sleepiness with everything he has.
“Arms up, sweetheart,” Rick coos, and when his Second obeys and raises his arms straight up, he’s quick to pull the too-big shirt into place. It hangs just about mid-thigh on Daryl, which is far more precious than it really has any right to be, and even his broad shoulders can’t keep the wide collar from slipping to one side when he tugs on the white fabric and looks down at himself. It’s even easier to get him into the boxers, and Rick eases them up the omega’s long legs and settles them into place without the slightest feeling of awkwardness – like this is something completely natural that he does every day.
“Ready for bed?” he asks as he snags Triumph from where Daryl has put him and hands the bear over. Daryl takes him carefully and hugs him to his clean shirt, nuzzling one soft-looking ear while his own twitch and droop tiredly. Even his tail is finally still, hanging behind him and swaying slowly only when he moves. Rick sees him stick his thumb in his mouth to try and hide the yawn, and the sight is too goddamn sweet for words. He wonders what Daryl would do if he tried to pick him up and carry him, but right now he’s not sure how well that would go over.
“M'not s’eepy,” the cub whines, even though he clearly is when he can’t help but rub at his eyes before hooking his fingers in Rick’s belt loops and stumbling after him. The Alpha goes slowly, keeping a close eye on his Second when it looks like Daryl is falling more and more asleep with every step they take. He’s not sure how he’ll manage to get him up to his cell, and to be honest he’s not eager to let the omega out of his sight just in case he has another nightmare.
That really only leaves one option, and Daryl makes a tired noise of confusion when Rick moves toward his own cell instead of the stairs. “Alpha, s’goin’ on?”
“Thought you might be more comfortable here, just in case,” Rick replies quietly as he quickly strips out of his damp clothes and pulls on clean, dry things to sleep in. Maybe he should feel uncomfortable or nervous about getting naked in front of his friend, but considering the circumstances and what he’s already done for the omega, he just wants to get changed and get Daryl in bed as quickly as he can, before the cub falls over on his own.
The room is a bit more open than he’s gotten used to; Judith’s crib is gone, but he can hear her little snores coming from Carol’s cell, and he silently thanks the Den Mother for having the foresight to take his daughter for the night. Daryl is looking between him and the bed, nervousness trying to overtake his exhaustion, and Rick isn’t about to let that happen. He sits down and pats his lap; coaxing Daryl closer until the archer is sitting on his thighs and curling into his chest, his thumb in his mouth and Triumph tucked securely under his arm and against his side as Rick hums.
“Sometimes, having someone else there scares the bad dreams away,” he whispers against soft, clean-smelling strands of dark hair. Daryl’s ears flick, his tail wagging, and it seems that he needs no other motivation than that, because he doesn’t squirm or protest at all when Rick lays them back and situates the cub so that he’s tucked between the Alpha and the wall, his head resting over Rick’s heart and Triumph squished between them.
“Gonna s’eep too, Alpha?” Daryl mumbles around his thumb, and Rick nods as he pets down his Second’s shoulders and spine, feeling him become a little more boneless with each pass until his head nuzzles under the man’s chin and he sighs out a slow, soft huff of air.
“Even when I do, I’ll protect you no matter what, sweetheart,” he promises, and Daryl gives one more little tired wriggle as he presses closer and tucks his nose against Rick’s Adam’s apple.
“Thanks for takin’ care’a me, Daddy,” he coos, and then he’s asleep and Rick is suddenly wide awake, his body relaxed and his hand still petting down Daryl’s back as he rumble-purrs deep in his chest, using that to soothe his omega into peaceful dreams while he stares at the bottom of the bunk above him and his mind whirrs.
The sun is already starting to lighten the sky by the time Rick falls asleep, and he knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that he might already be in this a little bit too deep. He also recognizes that he has no problem with that, not with Daryl curled so trustingly against him and snoring softly, his fingers holding onto Rick’s shirt like he’s unwilling to let him go even in slumber and his ears twitching as he dreams. The Alpha cranes his head up a little to look at the man sleeping almost completely on top of him, his hand resting between Daryl’s strong shoulder blades, and then he relaxes back against his pillow again and closes his eyes.
He's not entirely sure how this has become his life, but he can’t even really say he’s that distraught about it – not when Daryl’s so sweet and so genuine. Not when he’s finally happy in a way that Rick has never seen before. Even the softly-whispered Daddy in a voice that was more asleep than awake rouses his instincts in a way that is leaning firmly toward protect the cub.
Like this, Daryl is a cub. He’s a cub, and Rick’s Second; his trusted omega friend. He needs someone he can trust, someone who will take care of him, and he has chosen Rick to be the one to do it. To Daryl, there was probably never any other choice.
Knowing that, knowing what he can be for Daryl, what he wants to be for Daryl, settles Rick in a way he wasn’t expecting, and he falls asleep with a smile on his face and his hand keeping the cub close.
--
No one tries to come and wake them up. When Rick finally cracks open his eyes, still feeling exhausted but otherwise wholly content, the first thing he sees is Daryl’s wide, pale eyes peering at him from beneath the soft tufts of his bangs. In the light of day, with no long shadows to hide in or make him harsh, he truly looks like a cub. He looks light and innocent and happy, his lips curling into a smile around his thumb as he sucks on it. As soon as Rick looks at him, he wiggles and his tail wags.
“Hasta potty,” he whispers around his thumb. So not a wiggle then, more of an uncomfortable squirm. He’s still smiling, though, still looking so painfully young even with his beard and moustache scraping the side of his hand when he turns it to get his thumb at a better angle.
“Is that right, sweetheart,” Rick coos. He sits up slowly when his Second scoots back, and Daryl climbs over him and off the bed to stand beside it. His ears are flicking back and forth, his attention caught between Rick and the sounds of the others as they move about beyond the curtain that someone – probably Carol – has pulled shut for them. Reaching out, he cups Daryl’s sleep-warm face and presses a kiss against his forehead, feeling the closest ear quiver against his cheek before he pulls back. “We should take care of that then, shouldn’t we.”
Daryl nods, squirming again, and takes his thumb out of his mouth to hug Triumph tightly to his chest. Rick has a feeling he’s going to go very few places without that bear, and he’s pleased by that thought. The cub clearly adores his little friend, and he can’t even imagine what it must have been like for Daryl to have to hide so much from them – how much he must have suffered to do so because he thought that this was a secret no one would ever accept.
“Come on then. We’ll go potty, and then we’ll find ourselves some breakfast. Sound good to you?” Rick hums. He sees the nod as he turns toward the door, and fingers slide into the belt loop on his left side rather than clinging to any of the back ones. It makes the Alpha smile to think that Daryl is already becoming braver about his wants, like he’s settling into what’s comfortable for him. There’s still the hesitation, but that dissolves a little faster each time when Rick shows no reaction to anything other than pressing another quick kiss to Daryl’s hair before pulling back the curtain and looking out into the Block.
His pack continues to go about their days as though nothing is the matter, although he can smell the excited spike of their scents when they see him step out of his cell with Daryl. The cub is fidgeting nervously, his head bowed forward, so he doesn’t see the look Rick gives Carl when the adolescent tries to rush over. The young Alpha falters, rocking back onto his heels and frowning.
“Mornin’, dad,” he tries, his frown turning into a smile when Daryl looks up and peers over Rick’s shoulder from where he’s moved a little bit behind him for a sense of protection. Not that he needs protecting, not from his family, but Rick can understand how nervous and overwhelmed he must already feel to be around so many others like this for the first time. “Mornin’, Daryl.”
“Hi Carl,” Daryl says softly – Cawul this time, and his son looks even happier than he had when he’d first seen them as he bounces on the balls of his feet. His scent is thick with happiness, smelling like wildflowers and cedar, and Rick can hear his Second’s tail thumping against his leg a little bit.
“We’ll be back in a little bit, okay bud?” Rick turns toward the entrance of the Block, not trying to brush Carl off but knowing that he needs to get them to the bathroom before there’s possibly an accident. He wouldn’t mind having to clean Daryl up again – he’d enjoyed seeing him so unhindered and happy while the Alpha washed him. He knows the cub will be the only one distraught by it, even though he doesn’t need to feel ashamed, nor should he – not like this.
“Can we eat breakfast together?” Carl asks, failing to hide his eager hopefulness at the thought, and Rick has to smile at the sight of his son so eager to show Daryl just how accepted he is. There’s an ulterior motive there too, probably, but nothing malicious. Carl is still so young, so eager to hold onto the cubhood he’s only just left even if he pretends otherwise. With the world being what it is, and the threats they stumble into around seemingly every corner, there was no other alternative than to grow up fast and fight, or die. Now, Carl sees a way to get some of that innocence back, and Rick wonders what it would be like to see his Second and his cub playing and laughing like there’s nothing in the world that’s more important than just being young.
It's a nice picture.
“I don’t see why not, so long as Daryl’s okay with it.” He glances back, and Daryl’s nose twitches slightly, his ears forward and alert. He smells a little nervous, looking to the Alpha for a cue, and Rick smiles gently at him. “There’s no pressure, sweetheart. No one will be mad, no matter what you decide.”
Carl goes back to his task, sensing that his friend needs time. He’s a very intelligent kid, and Rick feels a swell of pride as he leaves with one last smile over his shoulder, his eyes wide and earnest behind the wild tumble of his own bangs. He might need a haircut soon, but right now Rick has another task he has to complete, so he resumes his postponed trek to the bathroom with Daryl pressed as close as he can get, the omega’s fingers curling tightly around his belt loop and his face tucked into Triumph’s soft, fuzzy fur. The few pack members that see them call out quiet greetings, but all of them hang back for the moment, knowing that crowding Daryl never worked in their favor when he was the man they all knew.
This Daryl, this cub with the trembling ears and the wide eyes and the tail curling between his legs when he looks around, is a Daryl they are not used to, and none of them but Rick and Carol know the rules yet. The only one who looks a little impatient is Glenn, and Rick wouldn’t doubt that it has something to do with the fact that he’s really the only one who knows anything about age play thanks to that Psych class. At least, he was the only one, until Rick spent the night learning first-hand from Daryl. There’s still a lot he doesn’t understand, but he has a feeling that’s going to change very quickly.
“Alright, little one, you think you can get it from here, or do you want my help?” Rick asks once they’re safely within the walls of the bathroom. They’re in the same wing as the showers – one large room divided by a half-wall. The only privacy is that at least the stall doors close. From where they’re standing, Rick can see that someone – probably Carol again – has taken Daryl’s dirty clothes away to be washed. At least that reminder is gone, and he looks at the cub while Daryl shuffles from foot to foot and his ears flatten.
“Can do i’ m’self,” he mumbles petulantly, and Rick can already see where this is going. His Second is embarrassed, because it’s a private thing, but he’s looking between Rick and the toilet with such a lost, pleading expression, and the Alpha croons soothingly as he unhooks the cub’s fingers from their hold and moves to stand Daryl so that he’s in front of the toilet and Rick is pressed comfortingly against his back.
“No hiding, sweet boy. Not from me,” Rick whispers. He presses a kiss to the base of Daryl’s left ear and feels how it quivers as the cub presses back against him, seeking comfort and acceptance and still too afraid to outright ask for it. He’s squirming even more now, clearly uncomfortable, and Rick doesn’t wait for him to ask permission. He figures Daryl has already given it, considering the situation they’re currently in.
Reaching down, he quickly pulls the shirt up and grabs the waistband of his friend’s boxers, pulling them down out of the way and barely pulling him out in time before what little control he had left shatters completely. He’s whining and hiding his face in the Alpha’s throat, his cheek hot from his embarrassment, and that won’t do.
“Good boy,” he whispers, and Daryl shakes his head just slightly, squeezing Triumph so tightly it’s probably a good thing that the bear isn’t real. He’s trembling just a little bit, but his tail is trying to wag where it’s trapped between them. “Such a good boy, Daryl,” Rick adds, letting his omega tell through scent and tone of voice how pleased the Alpha is with him. It must be so hard for the cub, to be standing there with his penis in someone else’s hand while he pees, but this is part of what he needs, and Rick has already decided – perhaps even before now, back when he first let Daryl lean on him and showed his Second that he’s willing to take any weight he’s given if it will make it easier on the archer – that he’s determined to give Daryl whatever he needs.
Once the cub is tucked away and put to rights, his boxers in place and the shirt billowing around his thighs, Rick presses another kiss to the side of his head and rumble-purrs happily. “Such a good little cub,” he praises, and when Daryl turns to bury his face in the older man’s chest, one arm still clinging to Triumph while the other wraps around him and a hand fists the back of his shirt, Rick soothes him with gentle murmurs and slow pets until the faint trembling stops and those blue eyes peek up at him.
“Thankee fer takin’ care’a me,” Daryl mumbles. His smile is so painfully shy, a hint of the embarrassment still lingering until Rick grins and tickles his sides. It gets the desired reaction – Daryl squeals and tries to squirm out of his reach, but there’s only so far he can go with walls on either side of him and Rick blocking the doorway.
“I’ll take care of my little cub for as long as I possibly can,” he coos, grinning at the omega, because he’s not trying nearly hard enough to get free; wiggling and laughing loudly and without restriction, batting at the Alpha’s hands as always, but when it comes down to it, Rick knows he’s too happy that he’s allowed to be so free to ever try and get away from it.
When he finally decides to be merciful, he stops tickling Daryl long enough to cup his sides and feel how they heave from the force of his joy. The cub is beaming, and even in the moderately well-lit bathroom, the Alpha can see his Second’s almost ethereal glow. It’s brighter than even the sunniest day, more beautiful than any field of wildflowers, and he’s already tipping his head to press a kiss against the smooth, untroubled forehead when Daryl looks up at him and slips his thumb into his mouth.
“Didja mean it?” he whispers, still too happy and hopeful to let the nervousness cloud his mind. Rick can see it gathering at the edges, though, threatening to creep back in and block the sun like persistent storm clouds. He doesn’t have to ask what the omega is questioning – he’s pretty sure he’s got an idea what this hesitancy is about.
Cupping the upturned face, he presses their foreheads together and rubs their noses against one another in a playful eskimo kiss. “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it, sweetheart. You’re my good, sweet little cub. I’m so proud of you, and I’m so happy that you trust me enough to take care of you.”
“Don’ twust no one else,” Daryl lisps around his thumb, still sucking it slowly. His smile is all in his eyes, the bright blue so clear and dazzling that it reminds Rick of undisturbed ponds dappled by sunlight. His voice is still so young, still so soft and sweet. The Alpha’s instincts croon in response, surging with the same desire they’ve been cycling since the second Daryl looked at him last night and everything about the archer had screamed cub.
Protect the cub. Protect him always. Make him happy. Nothing else matters.
“You can trust them. They’re your family.” Stroking through the shaggy, soft hair, he rubs one flicking ear between his fingers and marvels again at just how soft and silky it is. “None of them would ever do anything to try and hurt you, Daryl. They all just want to help.”
“Don’ twust ‘em wiff dis,” his Second clarifies quietly, and Rick’s Alpha brain reacts to that with a pleased, possessive rumble.
My omega. My cub. No one else’s.
“To take care of you?” Stepping back, he holds out his hand and waits for Daryl to take it – not that he has to wait long. The cub grabs for him quickly, squeezing Rick’s fingers and giggling around his thumb. Triumph is tucked close against his chest, right where he belongs, and the Alpha looks his friend over quickly before nodding and turning to lead the way back to the Block.
“Iunno. None’a dem is wight. Don’ feel wight. Don’ feel wike-” He stops there, making a quiet sound that Rick determines to be shyness. With him facing away from Daryl, the omega doesn’t catch the small, fleeting smile that passes over his lips. He can’t say for certain, but he’s pretty sure he knows exactly what Daryl was about to say before the sunlight and his alert mind had cut him off, not quite ready to take that last step without the safe shroud of exhaustion leaving him compliant and unfettered.
None of them feel like Daddy.
Breakfast is an interesting affair, to say the least. There are no moments of panic, no fear-scent or anything alarming, but it’s clearly uncomfortable for Daryl when he sits down beside Rick, pressed close to the alpha’s side, and clings to Triumph like someone is going to try and take the bear as soon as he loosens his arms. He’s looking at the rest of the pack with wide eyes, and he’s not sucking his thumb, but he is chewing his lip so hard the surrounding skin is white.
“Good morning, Pookie.” Carol is the first to say anything, her eyes warm and gentle and her tail twitching happily behind her as she sits across from them with her bowl of reheated stew. Rick eyes it and wonders if Daryl will even eat something with chunks of meat that size when he’s in this headspace, but before he can try to puzzle out an alternative, Maggie carries a pot of grits into the common area and sets it on one of the tables. Usually they don’t make such drastically different options, but clearly he wasn’t the only one uncertain of what Daryl may or may not choose to eat now.
“Want me to get you a bowl, Daryl?” the woman offers. She stops what she’s doing long enough to come over and run her fingers through his hair, going slowly so as not to startle him and cooing low in her throat when she pets his ears. Rick watches them twitch with a pleased smile; watches Daryl’s tail start to wag a little as he pushes his face against the back of Triumph’s head and looks up at his packmate. She coos a little louder, the sound sweet and melodious, and the omega looks at Rick. The meaning isn’t lost on him, and when he looks at Maggie she’s already waiting for him to answer for his Second.
“Do we have any honey to put on it?”
“I think we just might,” his packmate replies. She can’t seem to resist petting Daryl one more time before she goes to fill a bowl and grab a plastic spoon. The cub leans against Rick, breathing calmly while still eyeing the others like he’s expecting someone to turn around and start shouting at him or throwing things. Aside from a few smiles and one or two murmured good morning, guys, no one reacts to their presence. It’s almost as if this is an every-day occurrence for the rest of them – seeing Daryl dressed in nothing but an oversized shirt and boxers, clinging to a teddy bear. Maybe Glenn is watching him a little too intently, but there’s nothing threatening about his curious stare or the smile on his face.
Maggie sets the bowl in front of Daryl, steam rising in pale wisps that dissipate well before reaching the Second’s face. He looks down at it, his nose scrunching and twitching as he sniffs the air, and Rick wants to tell the cub that he’s supposed to eat his food, not stare at it, but then Daryl is turning to look at him and squeezing Triumph’s sides nervously as he sits the stuffed animal on his lap.
“S’got no honey,” he whispers, and his expression is almost too adorable for Rick to handle.
“You’re right, it doesn’t,” the Alpha agrees, looking up at Maggie and winking when she giggles. The sound draws Daryl’s eyes back to her, features hopeful and searching.
“Can I have da honey, Maggie?”
“You absolutely can, sugar,” she giggles, and she pulls the bottle from where she’d been hiding it behind her back with a flourish and sets it on the table right beside the bowl. “Don’t overdo it though. Don’t want you gettin’ a tummy ache.”
“Don’ wan’,” Daryl agrees solemnly. Rather than grabbing the squeezable bottle himself, he looks at Rick again and waits with quivering ears. When Rick just smiles indulgently at him, waiting, his lower lip puffs out in a pout and he whines softly. “Can has honey on da food, Alpha?”
“Yes, little cub, you can.” Kissing the top of Daryl’s head quickly, he watches the dark, silky tail wag happily as he pours honey over the grits. When he hears his Second make a quiet sound, he recaps the bottle and puts it to the side before mixing the honey in so the flavor is blended as evenly as he can manage. Sitting the bowl directly in front of the omega, he leaves the spoon in it and leans against the table slightly, glancing over at the two pots that contain breakfast and trying to decide what he’s in the mood for. He’s distracted enough that it takes Daryl tugging gently on his sleeve for him to realize that the cub hasn’t started eating yet.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
The archer bites his lip and squirms in his seat, looking between Rick and the bowl. His shoulders tense slightly, hunching up toward his drooping ears, and one sharp little canine digs hard enough into the flesh that Rick’s afraid he’s going to draw blood. He brushes his thumb against Daryl’s mouth, gently freeing the abused lower lip.
“S’hot,” he whispers bashfully, flexing his fingers and scratching at Triumph’s jacket with his claws when they curl against the material. “Can’ eat ‘f s’too hot, Alpha.”
“What if you blow on it?” Rick suggests, scooping up a spoonful of the grits and bringing it up to his own mouth to demonstrate. He has no doubt that Daryl knows how to blow on his own food to cool it when he’s in his adult mindset, but his Second isn’t an adult right now. He’s a cub, with a cub’s mindset, and Rick recalls all too well innumerable mornings reminding Carl to do exactly this and watching his pup burn his mouth because he was too impatient to listen.
Daryl watches him with a focus that is surprisingly intense for such a mundane action, his nose twitching when he sniffs and his body shifting closer. His eyes flick from the spoon to Rick’s face, and then back. He presses even closer, until they’re touching from their shoulders down to their ankles, not even a slip of paper able to fit between them. When the Alpha motions like he’s going to hand the spoon back over, the cub responds by opening his mouth.
For a moment, Rick is too stunned to do anything but stare, and Daryl’s ears start to droop. He leans away, blue eyes darting off to the side, and the Alpha recovers swiftly enough to save the situation before everything goes downhill. Crooning, he gets that nervous attention back on him and rumble-purrs as he slips the filled spoon into Daryl’s mouth and watches the omega’s pale lips close around it eagerly. There’s no hesitation anymore, no fear of rebuttal. Daryl is happy to eat what Rick is giving him just like this, and only when the spoon has been licked clean does the nervousness begin to brew.
“Think you’ve got it from here?” the Alpha asks with a smile, and he doesn’t miss the way his Second’s shoulders slump just slightly. The thumb Daryl prefers to suck on presses against his lower lip, his uncertainty making him look so painfully young. He’s still so afraid to ask for what he wants, even though Rick has tried his best to show that he’ll give Daryl anything he asks for if it is within his power to do so.
“S’too hot,” the omega murmurs, plaintive and sullen. His eyes are pleading again, his tail still and his ears trembling. He’s hugging Triumph to his chest like he’s afraid someone’s going to try to take the bear away, or he fears that maybe Rick will have tired of this new him and demand he go back to the way he was before.
It’s not going to happen, and Rick doesn’t care if anyone is watching them, because none of them care either. Every single member of the pack only wants Daryl to get the happiness he struggled to find for so long, and so none of them will ever deny him anything that makes him smile or light up like the sun after a storm they never thought would end.
“Don’t want you to strain your neck,” Rick says, and maybe it’s not the best excuse he could come up with, but he’ll do better next time. When Daryl looks at him with the kind of innocent confusion only a cub could have, the Alpha smiles and turns himself a little before patting his lap. “Come here, sweetheart.”
Daryl’s eyes widen, his ears flicking forward and straining like he’s trying to hear something that’s far away. He sucks harder at his thumb, looking around at the others and seeing that no one is paying any unnecessary attention to them. The only one looking is Carol, and when the cub looks at her she smiles tenderly and returns to her meal, the tip of her tail twitching back and forth as her scent conveys her contentedness.
“Can feed m’se’f,” he says very, very quietly, but he’s squirming just a little, his hips wiggling against the bench and his eyes constantly darting between Rick’s face, the bowl, and the Alpha’s lap. He wants to, that much is clear, but his fear is holding him back – the last of his pride fighting tooth and nail even though there is no need for him to keep any kind of guard up. Not while he’s here, not with his true family.
“Maybe I like doing it,” the Alpha counters, and Rick already knows he’s won when Daryl’s breath hitches in surprise and his pale blue eyes get even wider. Just like that, the battle is won. The cub’s thumb pops out of his mouth and he climbs onto Rick’s lap with a soft giggle. It takes a bit of rearranging for them to both fit, but finally Rick has the omega curled against his chest, sitting sideways on his thighs with his feet braced on the bench beside them and his tail wagging against the Alpha’s leg.
He doesn’t ask again; doesn’t try to insist he can do it himself. The last of his hesitation bleeds away and he opens his mouth without prompting for Rick to feed him. His head is resting against Rick’s shoulder, and Triumph is a soft, squishy comfort pressed against Rick’s belly. He takes great pains in making sure no food drops on either of them as he spoons the grits into his Second’s mouth and waits for him to swallow each bite before offering more.
If someone had told Rick when he’d first met the wild spitfire of an omega that they would ever get to this point, or even anything close to something so obviously trusting, he’d have thought they had stolen some of Merle’s cocaine. Now that he’s here, though, with his omega – his omega, his loyal and trusted friend – sitting on his lap and chasing the empty spoon a little each time Rick takes it away, the Alpha still almost can’t believe it. Daryl had insisted that he didn’t need anyone for so long, even as he clung to those who had showed him just how much they needed him. He’d longed to find a place, and had accepted his rank in Rick’s pack with such painful eagerness and wary hope warring within him that it was clear no one had ever thought he'd be worth anything like what he’d been offered by the Alpha.
There’s no battle now, no constant fight between should be and want to be. Daryl is happy to curl up on Rick’s lap, his head tucked beneath the man’s jaw and a soft, satisfied purr vibrating from his chest as he finishes the last few bites of his sweetened grits and licks the spoon clean. He’s a cub, a precious soul that is still so strong it’s breathtaking, and as Rick strokes up and down the long, relaxed curve of his Second’s spine, he vows to himself once again that he will never let anyone take this from Daryl.
He’ll rip their throat out himself first.