Title: Let Me Leave This Skin
Rating: M
Pairing/Characters: Shane Walsh/Merle Dixon, Rick Grimes
Spoilers: None
Warnings: spoilers, language, violence, rape, non-con
Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Summary - prompt from livejournal's twd_kinkmeme: Merle/Shane, noncon, abuse. Merle was sexually abusing Shane (maybe he threatened to go after Lori or Carl if Shane didn't let Merle have his way). Unable to deal with it Shane just suppressed it/let it happen. Then Rick comes back and Merle was left behind (could be dead) and now Shane doesn't know what to do. His actions in season 2 are him acting out, trying to deal with the abuse. Somehow Rick finds out and goes all super protective over Shane, as he tries to help his best friend heal, and keep the group (especially Dale and Lori) who are ready to send Shane to the wolves (walkers) off his back.

Merle's a lot smarter than most people give him credit for. He's not keen in the sense of book smarts and his shoot-first-ask-questions-later attitude is abrasive, but Merle's not by any means stupid. Merle is resourceful and his brother isn't too far behind in that department; the two of them are extremely capable trackers and hunters, both skilled with guns and knives and apparently, in Daryl's situation, a cross bow.

So when the two brothers join their small assortment, Shane's hopeful in the aspect that they're now a much more able team than before. He'd been getting tired of walking the camp perimeter by himself and splitting watches between himself, T-Dog and Dale. T-Dog's okay in Shane's opinion; a bit shaky with a gun, but not too bad a shot. But Dale's not Shane; he's not trained to use a weapon and he's getting up on his years, so in Shane's opinion, he's a good shot but not anywhere near the skill set he needs, like he misses in Rick.

Daryl's a silent, cold-shoulder kind of guy who sort of just grunts and nods when you talk to him. Merle, on the other hand, is a talker, though not exactly in the most pleasant sense. He's a racist, sexist pig, but Shane can ignore that in the sake for their survival. Everyone else seems to have the same mentality, though they're a lot more vocal in their disapproval than Shane is. Lori and Carol are especially harsh and Shane understands because they both have kids who they don't want picking that kind of talk up.

Shane doesn't have many complaints about Merle because Merle helps offer them safety, even if it's through having to deal with his derogatory complaints and degrading jokes. That changes abruptly one humid summer night.

The air is warm. Shane's shirt sticks to his skin as he walks the camp outskirts one last time before he supposes he'll hunker down before his watch. Keeping the shotgun slung over his shoulder, he hears Merle spit behind him. Daryl had taken the other side of the camp with T-Dog. They always went out in pairs; better to be safe than sorry.

"S'fuckin' hot as balls out here man." Merle grunts and Shane chuckles.

"This ain't nothing compared to home," Shane looks over his shoulder and Merle's picking dirt out from under his fingernails with his knife. To Shane, he looks bored and he supposes they should be heading back soon, "Cynthia got so damn hot in these months, I tell you, you could fry eggs on her."

"Sounds like my kind'a gal," Merle snorts and Shane runs a hand across his brow, wiping away sweat. He stops, looking up to the moon and sighs, giving a roll of the shoulders. He hears Merle stop behind him and feels his eyes on him and suddenly Shane feels all the hair stand up on his body, his grip tightening on the shotgun, "S'you're used to this kind of heat, yeah?"

"Yeah. Don't miss it, though."

"You was a cop, wasn't you?"

"Yeah," Shane turns, figuring he'll start the trip back to camp and let the rolling unease in his stomach settle once he's back in his tent. Merle's body and eyes follow him when he moves past him, though he doesn't actually walk. Shane doesn't know why he finds this so unsettling and opts to keep talking, "For a long time. Since I was about twenty two."

"Good little law boy," Merle claps him on the shoulder and Shane doesn't like the weight of his hand, "Must have been hard," Shane shrugs and nonchalantly tries to dislodge Merle's hand, but it doesn't budge and Shane can't keep walking forward, "You have so many people you got to protect. That was your job. Still kind of is."

"I guess," Shane gives his shoulder a harder jerk to shake Merle off. He doesn't let go.

"Guess that just makes it easier for me."

"What?" Shane snaps and he's startled when Merle's grip tightens and instead yanks him back, "The hell, man?" He snaps and Merle gives him this toothy, dirty smile that makes Shane's skin crawl. He's expecting Merle to speak and instead, he just gets Merle's fist to his jaw. Shane immediately tastes blood in his mouth as his back hits the dirt. The shotgun skids in the dirt away from him. Shane's resilient and is already getting to his feet, even as his head spins with the force behind the punch.

"Rebellious little fucker." Merle says and Shane is tackled back into the dirt. He struggles. He's strong, getting in a good few hits of his own that bruise and bring blood, but Merle's strong too and fights dirty. A swift knee to the groin has Shane doubling in on himself and nearly vomiting. Shane is rolled over, face-first into the dirt.

"Get the fuck off'a me!" Shane snarls, scrabbling in the dirt. He bucks his hips back and Merle falters slightly, unbalanced. Shane uses the moment the try and drag himself forward for the shotgun not even four feet away. Merle snags a hand in his hair and drags him back. The cool metal of Merle's knife to his throat stills him and Shane goes rigid.

"Now, we're either gonna do this the easy way or the hard way," Merle says and Shane hears him spit again, "Easy way is you just lemme fuck you," It's almost casual the way Merle says it, laughs even, "Hard way is I take this here knife to your pretty little face and cut it up," Shane's about to tell him to do it, that he can go ahead and cut his whole damn face off it pleases him if it just keeps Merle's dick away from him, but Merle's next words run his blood cold, "Then I take it to your little girlfriend's cunt and make sure she doesn't have any more kids like the one bastard she's got. And then I make that little boy squeal, but not for too long, yeah? Because I'll cut his tongue out."

Shane is at loss for words as Merle's circle around in his head. He opens his mouth a few times and nothing comes out as Merle keeps his head pressed into the dirt and his wrists pinned above him. After a long, pregnant pause, Shane hears Merle laugh.

"S'what I thought," Merle chuckles and Shane bites his tongue hard enough to make it bleed, "Good little law boy."

It's hard and fast and raw. Merle doesn't prep him, just yanks his pants down and guides his cock in. Shane's too tight and clenching too hard for him to fit at first, but Merle slaps his hip almost encouragingly to open up and Shane wants to throw up for whole different set of reasons. The thick slide of Merle's cock burns and tears him and Shane feels the warmth of blood and precome drip between his thighs.

Merle talks to him; he croons to him like a lover before he turns, mocking him, degrading him. He repeats this, over and over until Shane buries his face against the ground and breathes in the scent of dead, hot grass. Shane struggles to keep quiet. He bites his lip until new blood is fresh from where Merle's fist had broken skin. Each thrust pushes rocks and sand deeper into his knees and palms until the skin there breaks open too.

Shane hates how Merle touches him. He hates how Merle runs his hands over his skin, like he owns it, tracing designs into the sweat. He hates how Merle squeezes his hips and pulls him deeper into his cock. He hates how Merle says his name, hates how it sounds in his voice. He hates the feeling of Merle's come filling him, hates how he moans in pleasure, fucking hates how he doesn't pull out even after he's finished and keeps him pinned down. He hates how Merle pulls out and shoves his fingers inside of him, covering them with his seed and Shane's blood and then shoves them into Shane's mouth and makes him taste it.

Shane hates him. He fucking hates him.

Glenn asks him why his lip is swollen and why his hands have grass burn on them the next morning and Shane tells him to fuck off – as politely as he can. Lori touches his hands and tries to clean them. He brushes her off harshly. He stalks past Daryl, trying his hardest to keep the limp from his step and Daryl has this strange, narrowed look that makes Shane feel like he can see everything.

"What the fuck're you looking at?" Shane snaps. Daryl looks him up and down and shakes his head, turning away.

"Nothin' man."

Shane goes down to the water later and behind the rocks, he scrubs his flesh until its red. He scrubs until the scratches on his palms and knees grow deep with the friction. Shane sinks below the rippling waves and listens to the blanket of silence beneath the surface. He open his eyes and the glimmering, emerald waters churn before his eyes.

He wonders just how easy it would be to take a deep breath and let it fill his lungs.

Shane wasn't sure what he was expecting to come out of this. When he looks at Lori and Carl, he justifies with himself that what happened was necessary. All he needs to do now is forget which should be easy, shouldn't it? Because Merle is a rotten, nasty little fuck who can't break him because it's going to take a lot more than that to break Shane fucking Walsh.

But then the next night, Shane's staring down the barrel of his own pistol as Merle fucks his mouth. He wakes the next morning with a sore throat and raspy voice that aches when he speaks. Lori touches his forehead, confused because there's no fever. Shane looks at her and again justifies what happened because he wants to keep Lori and Carl safe.

The night after, Merle comes to his tent where Shane thinks he's protected because he's alone and fortified – but a tent is really just a thin flap of material with a zipper. Merle fucks him face-to-face, holding his chin and forcing him to hold eye contact and tells him just how beautiful he is when he bleeds on his cock and that he's a good little slut when he squeezes. Merle laughs and spits on him when he's done and Shane lies on the blankets, unable to catch his breath. He can see the stars out of the top of his tent and when they begin to blur, Shane realizes he's crying.

It doesn't stop.

"You've lost a lot of weight," Lori says to him one day and Shane looks up, a brow raised. She looks slightly flustered and averts her eyes, "You haven't been eating a lot lately." Shane shrugs.

"Not been too hungry." He replies. Lori stops him when he tries to move around her. He won't look her in the eye, no matter how hard she tries to get him to.

"You've been talking in your sleep lately," She says quietly, eyes narrowed. Shane freezes and finds her eyes then. He can see that she's confused and part of him thanks whatever god is out there because he doesn't want her to ever know what he's saying because while he can't hear himself talking, his nightmares are enough to let him know what he's probably saying, "Is everything okay?"

"Peachy." Shane snaps and moves away from her hand when she attempts to touch him. He hates when she touches him. Her hand is so thin, almost skeletal, but it burns when they touch his skin. When anyone touches him – even Jacqui who is the kindest, most affectionate, loving person he's ever met – Shane recoils under the blazing heat of their fingers. It hurts.

"You'd tell me if anything was wrong, right?" Lori asks and Shane wants to tell her no, that he wouldn't because he knows how ashamed of him she'd be, how repulsed. He knows the worried look in her eyes would fade and become filled with disgust like he sees in his own reflection when he goes to the lake and bathes away the filth and grime from his skin.

"I would, but there ain't nothing wrong." Shane glares at her and again shoves away her hand before stalking away. Merle's eyes are on him, sitting across camp and Shane's stomach churns. He makes it to the nearest brambles of bushes behind the RV before he throws up.

Shane's tired. His body is a twitching mess. He's at a constant pace when he's awake. He can't stop moving. And when he sleeps, he's restless. He tosses and turns until the sheets twist around him and he wakes because he feels trapped. There's an endless headache behind his eyes and the nightmares are more vivid and sharp every night. He wakes in a cold sweat, trembling with a scream trapped in his throat.

He tries harder and harder every day to return "back to business". He fights to keep the smile on his face when Carl hangs around him. He struggles to keep his head all together when people bring him their problems and their questions and he does his best to answer them before he can't stand being so close to them, until he can't stand the fact he and the other person are alone together, one-on-one, and he fights the urge to vomit between his feet when his stomach twists in knots.

When the camp gets low on supplies, they send out a small group to replace them. To Shane's utter relief, Merle goes with them. It doesn't stop the nausea in his stomach. It doesn't cure the headache. The nightmares don't stop and he still isolates the rest of the group from him. But Merle is gone and that's all Shane's concerned about.

And then Rick Grimes comes back from the dead. Rick Grimes in the flesh, with hot blood and life flowing through his veins. And Merle does not come with him.

Shane feels a niggling happiness vibrate through his body, a sense of joy welling inside of him that he hasn't felt for a while. Rick smiles at him and Shane feels a smile touch his eyes for the first time in what's felt like weeks. But then Rick comes over to him, arms open to hug him and Shane feels a sense of panic well inside of him.

When Rick hugs him, Shane resists the urge to scream and kick. It's an awkward hug, not at all like the deep, strong embrace it should be. Rather, Shane forces his body as far as he possibly can from Rick's when Rick wraps his arms around him. It's too hot in Rick's grip and Shane feels like he's burning up. His breathing speeds up and the hug ends when Shane steps back before he loses his mind.

"Good to see you again man," Shane says, trying to keep his hands from shaking. Rick tries to hug him again and Shane lies about having to take a piss. Instead, he goes back down to the water and wades in, knee deep. His clothes stick to his skin and Shane forces himself to breathe.

The silence encompasses him and when he opens his eyes and looks at his own face in the water, Shane hates who - what he sees. He hates the wide, scared eyes that are ruptured with abuse and the thinning frame that disgusts him. He hits the water, breaking his reflection. He hits it again, water showering around him. This time, he yells when his palm slaps the water, soaking his shirt and face. His appearance does not change, no matter how many times he smacks the surface, but he goes until he exhausts himself and heads back towards the camp.

"Something's wrong with him," Lori says, curled against Rick's back and Rick glances over his shoulder at her. His skin is still warm from the shower that Jenner had so graciously let them use. He'd seen Shane take the clothes Jenner had handed him, keeping the man at an arm's length away with a quiet grunt of thanks before disappearing into his room. The snick of the lock sliding into place makes Rick's stomach drop.

"I know," Rick says quietly, turning back over. He's seen how Shane jumps when someone gets too close or he's too late in realizing they've approached them. He's seen how Shane isolates himself, even during meals, mostly keeping to himself. He's seen how he pales when anyone aside from Carl or Sophia touches him, even if it's as brief as touching the shoulder. He remembers how Lori told him that Shane has been talking in his sleep and some nights, when Rick lies awake, he can hear him. There's a haunting franticness in his voice that Rick can hear that makes him shudder.

"You've got to do something, he could be dangerous," Lori whispers and Rick hates how she says it, almost bitter and bitingly scathing. He wants to tell her to shut the fuck up. He doesn't.

"I know."

"He raped me," Shane says in the car because he can't hold it anymore. It hurts so much and the nightmares won't stop and he can't fucking touch anyone and as much as he isolates himself, being alone makes his heart pound. He needs the release, needs to say something because it's too painful to keep inside. It was so much harder to say than he'd thought, to the point where Shane thought he was going to pass out because he couldn't breathe.

Rick slams on the brakes so hard, Shane is jerked forward in his seat. From the back of the car, Rick hears Randall kicking in the trunk.

"What?" Rick looks over at Shane who is touching the freshly opened cut above his brow. The fight had been intense and they'd said and done things they hadn't meant to. Rick had come to him with a serious concern in his face as they'd stood at that four-way intersection that stretched on forever in both directions. Rick told him he was threatening the group, compromising them with his actions.

Since they'd left the CDC, Shane had become worse. He knew it in himself, and hated himself further for it, but with little sleep and little appetite, it's wearing him thin. He takes it out on everyone around him. He snaps at them, practically tears their head off because the boiling, searing anger of what happened to him, of what Merle did to him is bubbling over and sputtering. The nightmares are painfully vivid and the constant headache is worse now, throbbing angrily from the moment he wakes until he lies his head back down. His decisions are rash, sometimes irrational and nearly cost them all their lives and his own at different points. He's trying to deal with what's happened on his own, and it only makes him more frustrated with himself when he can't because Jesus Christ, why him?

Shane had just stared at the ground and when Rick told him to look at him as they'd stood on the road under the autumn sun with the dying fields around them. When they'd locked eyes, he'd wanted to say it the, to explain himself but he's too chicken-shit.

But here, bloodied and bruised, Rick fuming and confused, Shane finally lets it come to a head.

"Merle," Shane says, looking out the window and his throat is suddenly thick. There's a long silence and Shane can feel Rick staring at him. He doesn't speak, not for a while because he doesn't know what to say next, "Before you came back, he would…" Shane tries to act it out with his hands and is unable to. Shane looks over at Rick who is staring at him, brow furrowed and to Shane, he looks appalled but Shane's not sure if it's at him or if it's at what happened.

"Rick, I wasn't going to let him," Shane struggles to explain and it's getting harder because his breath is getting shorter, "But what he said he'd do to Lori and Carl if I didn't," Shane fumbles for words, trying to explain himself and Rick is still quiet and Shane's not sure if that's good or bad, "I swear to fucking god, I'm sorry," Shane suddenly apologizes when Rick's been silent for far too long, "I'm so sorry Rick, I didn't-"

Rick suddenly has him by the front of his shirt and drags him in, embracing him. Shane struggles at the sudden contact. He violently stiffens and kicks and pushes. But Rick doesn't let go. Rick holds him tight without words, keeping Shane pressed against him until little by little with each passing minute, Shane's body grows more and more slack. Slowly, hesitantly, Shane's arms come up and hold Rick back. Rick can feel them shaking and suddenly, Shane is crying. He's sobbing into his shoulder and Rick just holds him, hand at nape of his neck, keeping him anchored.

"You're gonna be alright," Rick says quietly and wants to be sick himself. And to think he'd let himself be talked to by Dale and Lori and the others that Shane was slowly slipping into mindlessness in a world that was dead and insanity. But no, here, in reality, Shane had been hurting and suffering with no one to talk to because no one would listen, "God Shane, god," He chokes out, feeling the tears sting at his own eyes and he's angry; he's angry at himself for not seeing and he's angry at Merle and he hopes that the fucker is dead because if he ever sees him again, heaven help him, "Jesus Christ."

Shane just cries, bawling into his shoulder, raw and sore and suddenly so much more weightless.

Shane follows Rick like his shadow around the farm after that. Rick lets him because he knows it's crucial to the recovery. Rick always keeps a hand free, touching Shane always gently. He feels Shane jump and tense and he can see how Shane struggles not to pull away. When he doesn't, Rick smiles. Shane returns it.

The first time after their tryst in the car that Rick takes Shane aside and tries to get him to talk about it, Shane's mouth is clamped shut. Shane looks physically sick each time Rick takes him out to the roof of the RV after Herschel's served them dinner, but he comes anyway, a sign of improvement in Rick's eyes. Steadily, like a leaky faucet, he gets Shane to talk. He doesn't necessarily have Shane describe in detail what happened because that's not the point – he's getting Shane to acknowledge what happened, not deny it, to rid him of his guilt and help him heal.

Rick doesn't suppose that Shane will ever be Shane again, but he's accepting of the fact of just helping him get better. He feels an extreme sense of over protected-ness fill him when he has Shane by his side. When the others give him questioning looks, he ignores them. When Dale scoffs something, while Rick doesn't take his head off, gets very close to. And when Lori does the same, again Rick doesn't stand for it. None of them know what happened and for the sake of Shane and what's best for him, he's going to make sure it stays that way.

Shane won't sleep alone any longer either or go many places either, usually attached to Rick which is something else they work on. At first, Rick lets Shane follow him and stay by his side. At night, Rick listens to Shane's nightmares and is there for him when he wakes. Night by night, as they sit by the fire with just each other and talk, Shane's sleep becomes less interrupted and Rick works on weaning Shane off of him. He starts slow, staying in the same room and telling Shane to get something from across the room. Then he stays in one room and tells Shane to get something from the other room. Soon, he tells him to get something from across the farm.

Rick doesn't mind the sleeping together though, cherishes it actually. He likes how Shane rolls into him when he sleeps. He likes that Shane's trust is back in him again and that's it's spreading to the others. He's glad for it. He likes feeling the weight of Shane pressed to his side; it's comforting and real and lets him know Shane's okay and it's all going to be okay.

Shane's maybe not one hundred percent the day they are forced to leave the farm when the herd of hundreds of walkers storms the farm. But when Rick watches the dying flames in the rearview mirror, heart pounding with wet blood still on his face, Shane leans his head onto his shoulder, Carl asleep in his arms. Rick feels something warm swell inside of him as he realizes that though the move is small, Shane initiated the move first and he's proud.

Rick places a kiss to Shane's temple and heads for the highway.

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