'Every moment, every event of a man's life plants something in his soul...'

(Takes place after chapter 11, Merle's POV.)

The pain in his thigh was a dull ache, nothing compared to how it had seared when Cassidy and his brother cauterized the wound, Merle Dixon was far from a pussy but even he would be fucking glad if he never had to go through that pain again.

After they had bandaged him up his baby brother had quietly asked Merle about his stash, slipping him some heavy duty painkillers, they'd done it behind Cassidy's back – It had been the only way to get Merle to take them, he wasn't gonna appear weak in front of no woman.

What pissed him off was the fact that his head was a blur and no matter how he tried, Merle couldn't even sit up straight in the seat of the truck without the whole world spinning. The fifth time he'd tried it Cassidy had looked about ready to strangle him, instead she had slid down beside him and told him he'd lost a lot of blood, he had a fever and the only way for him to get his act together, was to get some sleep. She may or may not have squeezed his hand after that, running her thumb over his skin, Merle wasn't sure, things had been hazy.

He'd kicked her out of the truck all the same, verbally at least, cussed her out something fierce and it had the desired effect, she got out and slammed the door shut. He was no weakling, he was a fucking Dixon, didn't need no coddling.

That had been the beginning of the hell that followed, Merle would wake up sweating, delirious and searching desperately for something that wasn't there. Daryl had had to restrain him, the ruckus they caused had been loud enough to get the other group antsy.

He couldn't remember what it was he was searching for, he only knew that it wasn't there and it was driving him insane, finally Merle had slipped into unconsciousness once more, the fever sinking it's clutches deeper into him.

During his stages of fading in and out of consciousness, there was one thing that stuck, one thing he remembered. Every time he came to, every time the dread filled him it only relented once he saw her face – Cassidy.

Relief would flood him and Merle would remember why he'd dreaded not seeing her, in his dreams she was being torn apart by walkers, her blood coating the asphalt and she'd looked right at him, looked at him with those gray eyes of hers, they haunted him.

The fever broke not long after it had surfaced and his head hadn't been as fogged up anymore.

He kept quiet about the terrors in his dreams, though Merle knew his baby brother probably had it figured out, Daryl was quick to put two and two together, always had been. Daryl would probably be the only one who wouldn't be surprised about the fact that Merle was feeling guilty about what had happened, that he cared.

He'd cared about people, his ma, drinking buddies, hell even a woman or two he could stand. But it wasn't the same, what he was feeling, what gnawed at him was uncomfortably close to how he felt about his brother. When ever something happened to Daryl, it would gnaw at him the same way.

It was worse then how he'd felt when those bastards back at the motel got their hands on Cassidy, then it had been rage surging through him, mostly. This had been worse, because what had happened at the motel hadn't been his fault, this, this shit was.

So he gritted his teeth and suffered through it, Merle knew he'd been close to dragging Cassidy down with him, how close they had both been to dying out on that highway, all cause he'd lost his temper – About the fucking heat of all things.

The damn woman went and made it worse when he woke up one time and found himself laying with his head in her lap, her fingers gently trailing through his hair, tears dripping down from her cheeks on his face. It unsettled the hell out of him, nobody did that, nobody cried for him.

He was a Dixon for fuck sake, a no good Dixon brother – Bitch was messing with his head.

And yet he couldn't muster the anger, couldn't open his mouth and be cruel to her, cause it felt nice, felt nice having somebody care about the likes of him and if that made him a selfish prick – So fucking what.

It hit him the third day after the events on the highway, when he was sitting clenching his jaw and fists together as Cassidy changed his bandages, the woman had never let him down, had always had his back, even in the beginning. She wasn't blood, wasn't kin. But damn if she didn't treat him like he was her friend.

She wouldn't spread her legs for him, called him out on his bullshit and could be a real fucking bitch to be around seeing as it didn't fly with her, but she was alive and damn if he wasn't thankful.

And didn't that say it all.

I don't own The Walking Dead universe, I just play in it.

This is the first one-shot from my main story 'The Night Has Eyes' it will follow that storyline, give or take. It won't be updated weekly, sorry about that, but it will contain snippets from the main story, things I felt didn't fit into the flow or just parts that were to short. That being said I hope you will all enjoy and feel free to let me know what you think, also! A very varm thank you to Brazen Hussy, this one is for you! :)