Daryl opened his eyes in slits, and tried to focus on the figure in the door. He was hazy, and large, and Daryl was sure for a moment that his dad had come back for seconds. He'd bleed out this time, for sure. There was already a hell of a lot of blood pooling around him, and he was having trouble staying awake.

"Jesus," the figure whispered.

"M'sorry," Daryl mumbled brokenly. I didn't mean to get blood everywhere. I'll clean it up, I swear.

But before he could form the words, the figure was crouching at his side, moving slowly as not to frighten him. It didn't work though. Daryl flinched back on instinct, cracking his head painfully against the tiled wall. He was slumped over the off-white tub of their bathroom, fighting to keep his head aloft.

The figure was moving towards him again, incremental and slow, spewing a slew of soothing words that Daryl was having a hard time understanding.

But then the pounding in his head subsided, and he could finally hear clearly.

"S'alright. S'alright, m'not gonna hurt ya," the man drawled. The voice sounded familiar, but the world was still swimming around him, and Daryl just couldn't place it. He felt, rather than saw, the man cup his cheek gently, examining the blackened lump above his right eye where his dad had slammed his head into the wall.

"That's it, Daryl. That's good. Just lemme help ya," the man soothed, and Daryl found himself relaxing at the familiar tone. It wasn't his dad, at least. His dad hardly ever spoke to him by name. He was just boy or asshole or fuck up.

His eyes were slowly adjusting to the scene around him. Daryl could see the outline of the pool of blood surrounding him. He could see the small droplets of red he'd left in his wake as he'd crawled to the safety of the bathroom. The man moved a hand towards his torso, and Daryl startled, hissing in pain at his attempt to put distance between them.

"Hey, it's alright, baby brother. Ain't gonna hurt ya."

Daryl squinted hard as the man's face came into focus.

"M-Merle?" he rasped.

"Yeah, it's me. I'm here," Merle immediately answered.

"I…watcha doin' here?" Daryl slurred.

"Got out early. Good behavior," Merle informed him, and let out a relieved sigh when Daryl smirked in response. The kid wasn't dying, at least.

"Yeah, right. Betcha broke out. Gonna have…SWAT teams…rainin' down on us…any minute," Daryl huffed back, struggling to pull in a full breath.

"Reckon we've got a bit of time before they show up," Merle said. Then after a beat, "He do this to you?"

Daryl frowned at him, "Who else would it be?"

"Just thought…" I thought he only did it to me. Thought you'd be safe here, without me. Fuck. Merle started again, "C'mon, baby brother. Let's get ya cleaned up."

He reached towards Daryl's tattered shirt, but the boy shook his head vehemently, squirming to get away. "D-don't," Daryl stuttered.

Merle slowed his movements, but didn't stop them entirely. He undid the buttons of his flannel slowly, taking care not to brush against Daryl's marred skin. "They broken?"

"A couple," Daryl confirmed. Merle had to bite back a gasp when he got Daryl's shirt open. His abs were all shades of purple and blue and green, colors that skin should never be. But in truth, the beating wasn't the part that was worrying him. There was a worrying amount of blood soaked through the back of Daryl's shirt, and staining the floor around them.

Merle fought to catch Daryl's eye. "Think you can sit up?"

Daryl stared hard at the ground. "…No."

Merle's stomach seized painfully. "Daryl, how long you been in here?"

Again, the boy refused to look at him. "Was light," he mumbled, "Passed out a while…think, yesterday maybe…"

Had Will Dixon been in the house, Merle would have killed him right then.

"Couldn't move…" Daryl explained, "Tried, but…"

Merle swallowed the bile in his throat, and fought to keep his words calm. "Alright, baby brother. Ya lost a lotta blood. Gotta see to those cuts on your back."

"M'fine," Daryl mumbled, but neither of them believed it.

"No, dumbass, you're not. Now I'm gonna help ya stand up, getcha over to your bed and layin' on your front. Alright?"

After a moment of hesitation, Daryl nodded mutely. Merle wrapped two strong arms around him and lifted his brother by his armpits. Daryl fought to regain some footing, but realized quickly that it was a lost cause. In the end, Merle half-dragged half-carried him back to their shared bedroom, and carefully laid Daryl on his bed, helping him to find a position that didn't press too much on his middle.

The back of Daryl's shirt was in ribbons, and it took almost no effort at all for Merle to rip it off of him. Merle had known as soon as he'd seen the state Daryl was in what their dad had done to him. So when he looked down at his brother's back, he wasn't surprised. The guilt, though, that knocked him on his ass. That, and the anger.

"S'bad," Daryl mumbled into his pillow. New blood was distorting the scars that were already present, but he knew nothing could conceal them entirely. He'd never let Merle see his back before.

"No worse than mine," Merle assured him, and that seemed to placate Daryl. If Merle had survived their dad's lashings, then he could too. "Imma go out to my truck, getcha some stuff. You stay awake now, kid. Y'hear?"

Daryl grunted his response, and Merle was gone. His eyes closed without his consent, and a moment later, he was rudely awakened by the sting of alcohol hitting his exposed back.

"Told ya to stay awake," Merle barked. He began to methodically remove the caked on blood from his brother's back, and clean out the wounds. And Daryl was surprised by how gentle he was about it, reeling back and letting his brother adjust each time he'd hiss in pain. Whenever he had a hand free, he'd run it through Daryl's hair.

"That's good," Merle kept murmuring to Daryl as he pet his head, "Doin' good brother, almost there."

But eventually, Merle reached the worst of Daryl's cuts. It was deep, but the top layer of skin had already healed, trapping pieces of fabric and dirt inside. He'd need to re-open the lash in order to clean it, then stitch it back up. And Daryl wouldn't be able to take that kind of pain. Hell, no one could.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out an unmarked bottle of pills. He shook two out into his palm and held them out to Daryl.

"Take 'em."

"No."

Merle's expression hardened. "Daryl, take the damn pills."

"Don't do drugs. Ain't you," Daryl spat back. But Merle saw right through his feigned anger. Daryl was hurting, hurting badly, and some part of him believed he deserved it.

Merle dropped to his knees next to the bed, letting his fingers run reassuringly through Daryl's hair. "Brother, you're hurt. Need you to do this for me, alright?"

He watched the wheels turn in Daryl's mind. "What's it?"

"It'll make everythin' feel good, baby brother, I can promise ya that." And when the look of tension left Daryl's face, Merle helped him to take the pills, then finish off a bottle of water. He wasn't sure whether Daryl had tried to drink at all, during the day he'd been barricaded inside the bathroom, hiding from their dad.

Merle knew it would be a half hour or so before the pills started to work, so he plopped down at the end of the bed, with his leg next to Daryl's head.

He watched his brother slowly relax. With the kid's eyes closed, he could really examine him. Daryl looked older now. Most sixteen year olds still looked like children to him, but Merle knew well how years of fear and pain could wear on you, seeping in your skin and aging your eyes. Daryl was battle-worn, but still a good-looking kid. All soft skin and even softer hair where it counted.

Merle was still petting him, and it reminded him of the last time he'd done this for Daryl. The boy had been six, or thereabouts, and they'd come home after school to find their mom drugged-up and bleeding out in the bathroom. Merle had stopped the bleeding best he could, laid her out so she wouldn't choke on her own vomit. Then he'd retreated to their bedroom, and held Daryl's sobbing form for hours.

That was the last time either of them cried for their mother. And when the house burned down a year later, with her still inside, it was hardly a surprise.

"Y'aint stayin' here any longer, brother," Merle rasped.

"Nowhere else to go," Daryl mumbled.

"You're comin' with me."

There was a pregnant pause, before Daryl rasped, "You sure?"

"Ain't leavin' you again," Merle said with finality.

After a while more of Merle scratching lightly at Daryl's scalp, the boy slurred, "Feel weird."

That was as good a sign as any. Merle took his time in removing the swatches of fabric from Daryl's back. The kid was already asleep by the time he was all stitched up, and Merle simply stretched out beside him, dozing with just enough awareness that he could defend them both if need be.

TWDTWDTWDTWD

When Merle awoke, he was alone in bed, and immediately on his feet. A quick look outside told him that their dad hadn't returned yet, though judging by the position of the moon, the night was far from over. Their house wasn't large, and in the end, Merle found his brother easily.

He was back in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet in a new shirt and boxers. And he was hard as a rock.

Daryl flinched when Merle burst through the door, and refused to look him in the eye.

"The hell, brother? Can't just go disappearin' on me."

"Couldn't sleep," Daryl mumbled at the ground, "Couldn't…" get rid of this.

Merle chuckled lightly, "Side effect of those meds."

The information didn't make Daryl feel much better.

"How come y'ain't takin' care of it yerself?" Merle asked him.

Daryl shrugged, "Dunno how…never really done it…"

Merle scoffed at that. Daryl was a teenager, for fuck's sake!

"What the hell, kid? You sayin' you've never jacked it before?"

Daryl bit at his lower lip, then mumbled, "Ain't safe…here."

The smirk fell from Merle's face instantly, but he refused to entertain what Daryl might be implying. He held on to the might. Instead he asked him, "What 'bout girls? They ain't been takin' care of ya?"

"Nah…" Daryl mumbled, "Scars." A single word, as if it were explanation enough.

"Aw hell, brother. Chicks love scars," Merle drawled.

But Daryl shook his head, "Not the kind I got. Not the…way…I got 'em."

Daryl met Merle's eyes then, icy blue orbs connecting across the thick air of their confined space. Unspoken words piled up in the back of Merle's throat, threatening to come pouring out of him. But what good was another apology? What's done was done.

"C'mon brother," Merle eventually said, "Don't gotta hide nothin' from me. Let's getcha back to bed."

With Merle's help, Daryl walked slowly back to their bedroom, wincing noticeably at each small movement. When Daryl paused at the edge of the bed, eyeing it helplessly, Merle took the lead by lowering them both to the flimsy mattress. With Daryl's back to his front, Merle got them both sitting on the bed, Daryl placed awkwardly between his splayed legs.

Daryl was panting lightly, either from the exertion of their walk or from his misplaced arousal. But then a thought occurred to Merle, a flicker of something that might forgive his transgressions. Or at least take a stab at starting to.

Merle guided Daryl's hand to Daryl's own cock, steering him to massage his bulge rhythmically. Already, his brother's breathing was picking up, and Merle smirked at that.

"Merle?" Daryl whispered uncertainly, but his brother only shushed him gently.

"Gonna show you how, baby brother. Can't have your balls fallin' off from lack of use. C'mon then, take yerself out for me."

And maybe it was the drugs, or the relief of finally having Merle back at his side, but Daryl obeyed him near-instantly, slipping his boxers down his body until they pooled at his feet.

Merle immediately guided Daryl's hand back to his throbbing length, showing him how to stroke himself with just enough pressure to make his toes curl. With Merle's hand over his own, Christ, Daryl had never felt anything this good before. His body was trembling from the stimulation, and already he was relaxing back into Merle's chest, pushing his mouth into the crook of Merle's arm to try to suppress his moans.

"See, that's good, ain't it?" Merle softly cooed. Daryl could only nod, biting his lower lip hard to stifle another groan.

"That's good, baby brother, just like that."

The first time Merle showed him how to twist his hand at the head, Daryl whimpered and bucked violently up off the bed.

"Shh, Daryl, dontcha go hurtin' yourself," Merle chastised lightly. The kid might be flying high and feeling no pain at the moment, but he'd regret it in the morning.

Daryl continued to moan breathily into Merle's chest, eyes clenched tightly shut. Merle could see the moisture at Daryl's reddened head, how it beaded with every downward stroke.

"Ya ever come before, brother?"

Daryl was grateful his brother couldn't see his blush in the low light. "Only…when I was sleepin'," the boy admitted truthfully. Daryl had woken up to it more than once, waves of pleasure overwhelming him as he ground his cock into the bedspread. It happened on its own, every so often. Years of pent up sexual frustration that refused to be ignored.

But this was different. And not just because he was awake for it. Now, every stroke was better than the last. The combination of Merle's hand pressing against his and Merle's breath against his neck and the solidarity of being encased by Merle's strong arms and hard chest, it was too much.

One of Merle's hands was on the crook of his neck, rubbing soothingly. But then it travelled south, and guided Daryl's own hand to his nuts, showing him how to cradle them gently. The small motion left Daryl a wreck, now shuddering with every small thrust into his fist, and Merle's.

"G'wan," Merle urged him, "G'wan an' come."

Merle removed both hands from Daryl's body, and braced them against the bed, letting Daryl take charge. But Daryl's eyes shot open at the loss. This wasn't what he needed, not at all. He needed Merle. And he was close, so fucking close, but he couldn't do this on his own.

Daryl's hand slowed down, and he whispered brokenly, "Merle…"

How do I even ask him? He'll beat me for it, I know it. Call me a fag. But Christ, I need it…need it to be him…please…

"What's wrong, baby brother?"

"I…I need…" Daryl rasped.

"What do you need, Daryl? You can tell me. G'wan," Merle assured in his even, soothing drawl. And Merle would give it to him. Anything, for his baby brother. Anything to make him hurt that much less. But judging by the way Daryl's hand was slowing on his touch-starved cock, Merle thought he knew what his brother needed.

Merle's hand rejoined Daryl's, and he helped the boy to stroke himself, increasing the pressure just enough to have him moaning outright and bucking into their grasp. The poor kid hadn't even noticed the hardness pressing into his back, or the ragged nature of his brother's breathing. He was too overwhelmed at the moment, being pushed closer and closer to release for the first conscious time.

"That's good, brother. Like that," Merle told him.

Daryl was lost to it all, pleasure shooting down his spine to the tips of his toes and then back again. The feeling was intense, bordering on frightening. Daryl's panting was joined by little mews of want, growing louder with every whispered piece of praise that reached Daryl's ears. Merle held his brother's trembling form steady, showing him the way.

"C'mon, Daryl. That's good. Thatta'boy."

"Feels good, don't it?"

"G'wan. G'wan an' give it to me."

Daryl came hard. His cock pulsed, and he spurted onto his chest with a whispered "fuck" and a low moan. Daryl's back arched, but Merle held him tight, letting them ride out the unfamiliar burst of pleasure together.

Eventually, Daryl slumped against him, sated and exhausted and finally secure enough to relax. Merle cleaned him off with a discarded shirt, then helped him to lay back on the bed. They fell asleep near simultaneously, knowing they would both need the rest for the following day.