AN: Um... this is a welcome-to-fanfiction present to my insane friend Choctopop. Cracked as all hell.
I apologize in advance.
And... and I disclaim everything.
-Shazzy
-Out of the Night-
They brought him back from Woodbury.
He was alive, barely.
Unconscious with wounds that seemed worse than they really were.
Glenn fought it. He wanted to leave him outside the prison wall, to let him get eaten by walkers. Rick shut that idea down when Daryl was ready to kick the smaller Asian's ass six ways from Sunday.
They put him under lock and key.
They waited to make sure that everyone else was all right first. Rick insisted that Daryl be taken care of before they even thought about helping their new guest.
Hershel offered to sit with him, keep an eye on him. It was mostly to make sure that his wounds weren't worse than the old veterinarian thought they were.
Daryl argued, but a quiet word from Hershel assured him that everything was going to be all right. No one could argue for long with the man, they usually just gave in.
"You don't have to pretend to be unconscious, I ain't gonna tell them you're up," Hershel said quietly as he settled himself into the chair by the cot on the wall.
"I wouldn't mind catching a few more minutes of rest before I start havin' a fit," The answer drawled, husky and teasing.
"You're not going to 'have a fit,'" Hershel replied calmly. "You're not in the mood to get thrown back out into the night."
"How can you be so sure?"
"You haven't got a weapon on you anymore," Hershel explained calmly. "And don't start tellin' me that your entire body is a weapon. That's a crock of shit and I'm not in the mood to argue."
The chuckle barely registered. Hershel huffed a sigh, but somehow he couldn't help but smile.
Merle opened his eyes, staring up at Hershel from where he lay in the cot.
"Well, hey there, Sugartits." Merle drawled, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "You are definitely not what I was expecting to wake up to, and you're definitely an improvement to the medical staff in Woodbury."
Hershel shifted uncomfortably in his seat and narrowed his eyes. "I'm sorry?"
"Yep, definitely an improvement." Merle's grin widened. "Less talkative, and that's a bonus. Far handsomer, and with a much nicer beard."
"Flattery won't get you extra painkillers." Hershel said, his voice cracking.
Merle laughed again. "I don't need painkillers." He replied, arching his eyebrow suggestively.
"As your physician, I don't think that I can, with good conscience, prescribe any of... ah... that... for you in your current state..." Hershel stammered.
Merle smiled and scooted over in the small cot. "C'mon, Doc." He offered, patting the small mattress as he made space for the other man. "I don't bite... unless y' ask me to."
The next morning dawned bright and cold and Hershel didn't want to get up from his spot, under the blankets with Merle's arm draped protectively across his chest.