Paul wonders what he was doing ten months ago. Not a whole hell of a lot, really. Doing runs to give supplies to the Saviors. Keeping everyone at arm's length. Spending most of his time out on the road. And now... this. So much has changed in so little time that it's almost overwhelming, but even that short amount of time feels more like ages. Sometimes it's a little like when he was a kid, laying on the top bunk and staring up at the ceiling eight inches from his nose for hours instead of really sleeping. It would drag on and drag on and it always felt never-ending, like he'd fallen into some timeless abyss.

He's still paying attention to the road while he thinks but Daryl's touch almost startles him. Not quite. He watches and then nods, gaze flicking back to Daryl's face. He offers him a tense little smile before looking back to what he's doing. There's not much to talk about so he doesn't really, not even in his usual chatty and diversionary way. He loops back where they'd agreed, heading out another way through some confusing little back roads they'd found. It's not too bumpy, at least. It'll also mean that if anyone's trailing them they'll have to hold off because they'll be immediately found out from the sound alone.

At one point he flips down the visor to check his beanie for blood and when, yeah, it's gross now, he scowls and flips it back up. He loses more hats that way, really. Whatever, near everyone living in a real community can get blood stains out these days. Weirdo.