Notes
This was inspiredby a couple of the old LJ kinkmeme prompts: (1) Daryl wakes up in bed married & (2) During the night Merle's on the roof, Glenn saying "This news'll sound better coming from his husband." The fic assumes that Vegas-style wedding chapels are a lot more common across the United States and that Marriage Equality passed before the Zombie Apocalypse.
No Shotguns But Plenty of Weddings
=Now=
"You can't be serious," Merle muttered, then repeated more forcefully. "You can not be serious! For all we know the twink is dead. We should be hitting the hills and finding people to grab supplies off of before they get their faces eaten in."
Daryl chewed on the thumb of his left hand, right propped up on the steering wheel. The truck was stopped, engine off, while the two figured out where to go and what to do. He didn't respond to his brother.
The silence was enough of an answer for Merle who punched the dash in front of him and turned in his seat to lean in and glare at Daryl, "We are not going into that city to find some chink twink you fucked-"
"We didn't fuck!" Daryl snarled, pushing his brother out of his face. His voice quieting as he returned his gaze to the road in front of them. It was still clear for miles, not a soul - dead or otherwise - in sight. "Told you that already. And it don't matter neither! He's family now! You gonna tell me you'll just leave family without even trying to make sure if they're dead or not?"
=Then=
Glenn woke with a splitting headache and thanked whatever luck he had that the curtains of the room he was in weren't open. He could see sunlight peeking in with long lines on the floor where the cloth didn't quite reach the carpet, but those weren't high enough or bright enough to cause him pain. A body moving along his other side brought his attention back to the bed and he had a moment of feeling pleased he'd managed to get himself laid before he turned his head and realized his bedmate was still fully clothed. Boots and all. A cursory examination of himself made it clear he was, too.
"Great," he murmured and went to roll himself slowly out of bed. His feet were just hitting the floor when he was grabbed by the shoulder and pulled backwards. The garbled yelp that escaped him was cut off by a hand over his mouth and whatever further protest he would have made stopped by the feel of the knife at this throat. Blue eyes framed by a weaselly face twisted with anger, confusion, and obvious pain (probably just as hungover as Glenn was) blinked down at him while the owner caught his breath. Glenn, for his part, just stared up with wide eyes and heavy breaths, hoping he wasn't going to die and silently cursing the luck that had saved him from the sunlight only to subject him to this.
Seconds passed into a minute and the only thing the young man could focus on was those eyes squinting down at him and the sound of his own heartbeat pounding painfully loud in his ear. Eventually the hand was lifted and the man questioned him with a soft hiss that he tried to hide he was wincing at (definitely hungover), "Tell me why I shouldn't kill you right now."
"I-" Glenn started to speak but his voice caught in his throat as his mind decided to blank out on him. Why shouldn't the guy kill him? They didn't know each other. If anything, the guy was probably trying to figure out how and why he was in bed with Glenn as much as Glenn was trying to remember the same.
It was probably the awkward fish mouth Glenn made as his lips moved but nothing came out that convinced the stranger to pull his knife away and shove him by the shoulder back to the other side of the bed with a mumbled, "shit."
Glenn took the opportunity offered and scrambled away, off the bed and onto the floor where he instantly regretted it, both hands going to his head while he groaned loudly, "Shouldn't have done that."
"Shut up, tryin' ta think," came the grumbled reply, followed by the man standing and throwing his knife into the far wall, "Ah hell no! Bullshit! This is bullshit! This is fucking bullshit!"
"Please stop," Glenn whined, his body curling up more tightly in a futile attempt to cover his ears even more. "Too loud."
"I thought I told you to shut up!"
"Stop yelling and I will." His answer was belligerent and likely very stupid when he already knew the guy was fast with a knife. He didn't really care. The ringing in his ears was bad enough that he felt it was worth the risk. Something he regretted a few moments later when a bucket of ice water was dumped very unkindly over his head, his shriek once again cut off by that calloused hand over his mouth.
=Now=
Merle rolled his eyes and slumped against the door, "You left dad."
"Dad was dead!" Daryl snapped, not in the mood to keep this up much longer.
"Yeah, I know," Merle muttered in as contrite a fashion as he was capable of, stretching and reaching down to scratch his crotch. "You shouldn't have let Jess do it. You should have done it."
It was Daryl's turn to be contrite, "Yeah. I know. If the chinaman's one of 'em, I'll do it."
The older of the two took a long, hard look at his brother, biting his right thumbnail the same way Daryl would bite his left.
=Then=
Glenn rubbed the towel across his shoulders again, trying to will himself dry while he watched the guy - Daryl - pace like a caged animal between the bed and the door. The pain and shock of the ice water hadn't stopped the hangover from being painful in it's own right, but he was more awake now. And if Daryl wasn't pacing, he probably would be instead. He understood the agitation now. If he'd found the certificate first he probably would have been cursing just as much as the other man had.
His husband.
And wasn't that a laugh? Glenn had gone to the casino as part of a bachelor party and woken up married. Not his own party, though, that would have been way too ironic. His roommate's. His roommate that had probably gotten just as drunk as Glenn last night but, equally probably, hadn't woken up married to some redneck asshole.
"We didn't have sex," he offered after a good half hour of pacing and silence.
Daryl yanked the knife from the wall and whipped around to face him, "What'd you say?"
Glenn's shoulders hunched out of instinct more than the actual belief that making himself smaller would help him seem less threatening. Daryl clearly saw him as a threat. Probably to his masculinity or something. He gulped, then slowly repeated himself, "We uh... we didn't have sex. We were, you know, both fully dressed when... when we woke up." He licked his lips, not really holding his breath, hoping the other man would relax. When that didn't happen, Glenn tried - and failed - to make a joke, "And my ass isn't sore, either."
Which was the wrong thing to say because Daryl was in his face before Glenn could register what had happened, "I ain't no fag, chink."
"I didn't say you were!" he replied a little too quickly, his voice high pitched with panic. "I was trying to lighten the mood a little. I mean, if we'd had sex, you'd definitely be the one on top-"
"Damn right I would! I don't take it like a prison bitch!"
"Right! Right! My ass would be sore and it's not! Okay! We didn't do anything. We just... got drunk and got... married."
=Now=
"Why's this so important? He ain't really family. So what if you couldn't get those papers filed in time? The whole world's gone to shit, baby brother," Merle tried to reason with him, his voice that semi-sympathetic tone that was as much genuine worry as it was him probing for a weakness. Something he could shove his verbal weapon in like a knife and twist around to get the response he wanted. "Make me understand."
Daryl shrugged, his face and voice passive, "I don't want no loose ends, is all."
Merle's eyes rolled again and he kicked the dash this time before leaning back and letting out a long, loud sigh to make sure Daryl knew just how generous he was being right then, "Fine. We'll go track his twink ass down. You got any idea where to start?
A folded piece of paper, wrinkled, but otherwise in good shape, was held out for Merle to take while Daryl started the truck up. The older Dixon opened it and started reading, his eyebrows raising in surprise, "They really just give you all that info just 'cause you're married?"
"Had to fill out paperwork," Daryl shrugged again, turning the truck onto one of the smaller streets that would lead them back toward what remained of Atlanta. "We both got copies. He knows were we live, too. Where we used to live."
=Then=
Now that his hangover was starting to fade and Daryl had stopped being as easily volatile (he was still growly but it was more of a 'sleeping bear' growly than a 'bear about to eat you' growly), the two were reading over the paperwork and legalities of the whole instant wedding deal. They had ten days to file a dispute of the marriage before it was considered legal in the state of Georgia. That wasn't a lot of time, but anyone backing out of the kind of marriage they had were probably going to file as quickly as possible. Who would want to wait that long?
Glenn didn't. Daryl didn't. But the problem was that neither of them had the money for the filing charge. Glenn figured he probably blew what little remained from his last paycheck on the drinks and the cost of the elopement the night before. And probably the hotel room. Though it was expensive enough, that that had probably been Daryl's contribution. And from how he pawed at his empty pockets, Glenn figured he was in the same boat Glenn was: either waiting it out until one of them got a paycheck (Glenn's was two weeks away so that was out of the question for him) or borrowing from someone. Those were about the only way this was going to happen.
"I know this guy," Glenn offered slowly, not really wanting to have to go back to the whole payday loan thing.
"No you don't," Daryl interrupted, sitting back in the desk chair, left thumb going to his mouth and running along the underside of his bottom lip.
"How do you know?"
The defensive way Glenn asked that was funny enough to get a small smile out of the other man and even a quick snort that wasn't quite a laugh, "You're shit at lying. I don't know you at all and I can see that."
"Maybe I just want you to think that. Maybe I'm so good at it that... that you've fallen into my trap," he offered with an obvious grin, relaxing enough to try his hand at another joke.
"And maybe you should stop thinkin' a pipe dream like that is ever gonna happen," his husband - husband. so weird - retorted, his own smirk growing a bit. "So who do you know?"
Glenn sighed heavily, shaking his head, "No one. I was thinking a quick cash loan. $75 for filing fee isn't terrible, but this far out from my paycheck, I'd be paying them another $200 or something on top of that once I actually do get paid. And that's pretty much my check. I'll have to take another one out just to pay my bills and then I'll be stuck in that cycle again. I only got out of it last time because my sisters sent me cash for Christmas instead of books or whatever and I was able to scrape by on ramen and mistake-pizzas for a month." Not that he was eating well, but the last few months he had been paying his bills on time without having to borrow anything. He looked up from the table, where his eyes had rested while he stared at nothing, and over at Daryl, "What about you?"
=Now=
"...ot go in... ta... afe... est...nyone that's made it out or was planning on heading in, you're welcome to come. Just give us a call, we'll guide you in. We're scanning all channels on the CB... If you're hearing this, do not go into Atlanta. The city is not safe. We have a camp a few miles northwest. Anyone that's made it out or was planning on heading in, you're welcome to come. Just give us a call, we'll guide you in... If you're-"
Daryl switched the radio off and pulled the truck to a stop, looking over at Merle. They'd planned to head into the city from the north since the kid lived on that side, but now...
"I think we should head to that camp," Merle said with none-too-kind smile. "Set ourselves up there, make nicey nice. Get us some help filling up our supplies."
"We're still looking for the chinaman."
Merle inclined his head in agreement, "Sure. Sure. But it'd be better to have a place to go back to at night once we're done searching, wouldn't it? Spend a few days up there, base of operations and the like. And when we're done, we take whatever supplies we need for the two of us-" A quick glare from his brother had him amending himself, "or three if we find the chink alive. Less work for us on the scavenging end and a place to keep what's ours safe while we do our best to honor those vows you don't remember taking. What were they supposed to be again? In sickness an' in health..."
=Then=
Glenn flopped himself into one of the plush chairs in the lobby. They'd only paid for one night and at 11am the staff had promptly called to remind them of that fact. They also happily informed them that if they were not gone within the hour, they'd have to send a bill for a second night to the addresses on file if it could not be paid for. That got the two of them out of there fast.
He rolled his head to watch Daryl as the man threw the room keys on the counter and yelled at the manager for the staff being rude. There were more than a few racist slurs and physical threats of violence thrown in before security jogged over and Daryl retreated toward him. Having studied the man for a couple hours now, Glenn decided his face wasn't so weaselly after all. Just that, when his sight had been filtered by fear of death and the pain of a hangover, everything tended to look worse. Daryl had a decent face.
The man slapped Glenn on the shoulder as he passed, giving a harsh, "Get the hell up. We're getting gone, chink."
"Korean," Glenn corrected with a sigh even as he got up and made to follow his husband. Husband. He didn't think he'd be able to get used to that. And he hoped they could get the money so he wouldn't have to.
=Now=
Glenn trudged up the road back toward the camp, the afternoon sun beating down hard. He was wearing too much to be comfortable. And all he was wearing was jeans and a baseball shirt, but it was still too much. Summer in Georgia didn't suck any less just because the zombie apocalypse had started.
The sound of the truck rumbling up behind him was more than easy to hear and he moved off to the side, turning to walk backwards as he waved. It wasn't a vehicle he recognized, but he knew the others were constantly on the radio trying to get in contact with whatever other survivors remained. These guys, whoever they were, had probably heard the call. Worth waving down and seeing if he could get a ride up.
The truck pulled to a stop just ahead of Glenn and he jogged up to the passenger door with bright smile, "Hi! Thanks for stopping. You heading to the quarry camp?"
"We sure are," the older man who leaned out the window said in a patronizing tone Glenn recognized right away. The kind he'd heard from both racist assholes and wealthy fratboys looking have fun at his expense. His own smile faltered a little at it, but he tried to pass it off as the sun bothering him by raising his hand up to block the light that his hat couldn't keep out of his eyes.
"We heard your invitation on the radio. Mighty kind of ya'll to offer to share your space with those that need it. Mighty kind," the man continued before looking over his shoulder at the driver, "Ain't that right little brother?" Glenn couldn't hear the reply or see the other man from where he was, but the one he did see was nodding and turning back to him like he'd been given a 'yes'. "We all that far down the road?"
It was a little too late for Glenn to pretend he didn't know what the man was talking about and ended up shaking his head, "About two miles more. But the road is tricky, it splits three more times. I could show you if you give me a ride back?" The last was a question and he made it only because he figured he might as well.
The man considered his request for a minute, rubbing his right hand across his chin, where his stubble was sure to be scratching it lightly. He turned at a noise from the driver's side and rolled his eyes, then gave a quick jerk of his head that way, "Go on. Get in. Round the other side."
Glenn was already walking as the the door creaked loudly open and two boots landed heavily on the gravel of the road. His head was mostly down when he came around the side and went to step around the driver. He didn't even really think about looking up before he climbed in, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. He looked up automatically, squinting against the sun.
=Then=
"Again? You couldn't wait one goddamn week before you get your ass back in jail?" Daryl yelled before quieting back down as he realized the whole restaurant could hear him. He hunkered down, holding Glenn's cellphone and his own head close to the table as he continued in angry whispers. Glenn couldn't hear most of it, but he didn't really want to. Daryl had asked if he had a cell phone so he could call his brother and Glenn had no reason to say no. That had been two hours ago. Daryl had ended up calling a good half dozen people before he got the number to the Fontana Police Station. Glenn had no idea where that was, but at least they'd let Daryl talk to the man.
Glenn realized the conversation was over when the phone was tossed into the corner of the booth on his side. Not breaking it, fortunately. He winced and looked back at Daryl, "No luck?"
Daryl was leaning back, shoulders slumped and looking moody enough that if anyone decided to come over and talk to them they'd have to have a death wish. Or the water with lemon they'd ordered. He shook his head, "I'll have to get him out 'fore I can get money off him. Only other person I can ask is-" He hesitated before shaking his head, "I'll ask around. We got ten days. We can take a few ta try figure things out."
=Now=
Merle. His brother-in-law's name was Merle. And the man just could not shut up. The whole rest of the way back to the camp all he did was laugh.