Humpty's glue

Skya POV

We were able to stop the bleeding, repressurize his lung and realign most of his ribs and his arm. He will have some brutal scarring and a truly miserable recovery. He is lucky, though, and apparently a tough customer. I look at his face and he is a mass of bruises, but under that I look at his strong, uneven jaw and his crooked nose with new stitches down the side. He is no beauty, certainly; he has imperfect but attractive features and an inner strength that draws one in. He has obviously been battered many times and I bet he has been on the giving end of many fights, from the plethora of scarring on his back and chest. Still, his brother is devoted to him, so he must have been a protective older brother, willing to put himself on the line for his family. I wheel him on the gurney to the newly set up infirmary cell just a few down from Hershel.

As we transfer him to a cot he is out of it but he moans and flails as we move him. Daryl sits with him holding his shoulders as he settles down. I ease him off of his injured right side, bracing him with pillows so he doesn't roll back over. I set up one of the few oxygen tanks someone found for him to ease his breathing for the first few days of his recovery. Daryl and I strip him down to his underwear for ease of caregiving.

Daryl smirks and mumbles something about him being bare ass naked and sleepwalking "Yeah, let's see how far you get this time, gimp; the neighbors are all dead and walking so they don't much care no more."

Daryl plops into a chair while watching Merle's face as he eases back into unconsciousness, watching him breathe painfully. I cover him up to keep him warm and sit down to talk to Daryl in order to learn more about my unexpected new patient. I'm not used to being a nurse. Although I've worked in healthcare for years I've always been a therapist but never a nurse. Still, I can help an unconscious person change positions and I can help them keep clean and monitor their vitals. He will wrestle with death here tonight and Daryl and I will hold life's leash for him.

So, time to interview the silent guy.

"Daryl, can you tell me something about your brother?"

"What do ya want to know?"

"His medical history for one and anything that is important for me to know"

"My brother is a tough son of a bitch; never sick a day in his life. He will screw anything with a hole and female and has a long history of the clap. He liked to party and sometimes got sick from drug use. He had to detox a couple of times but he usually could function well enough to get by. He has had some injuries from fights and doing stupid shit for fun. He's been through hell and back in the Marines while fighting in Granada. Fucking hero. Got shot through the side and was their best sharpshooter."

That got her attention, she raises an eyebrow. "Huh, I'm impressed. My Dad was a Marine and he even saw combat in WW2. He was really proud of serving with them."

"Don't be, it was waste of five goddamn years of his life actually, but that's typical of him. He aims high and has the skill but ain't capable of keeping his damn mouth shut and ruins everything. He was put in military prison for beating the crap out of an officer. They provoked him 'cause they hated him for being a loudmouth redneck. It done lead him to an eventual dishonorable discharge and stripped him of all the shit he accomplished. Ain't that a bitch. Dumbass. Still, he has the best aim I've ever seen, even now he only has one fucking hand".

"What is he like to be around?"

"Why don't you ask the others? They'll tell ya, he's an asshole."

"I don't care what they think. They don't know him like you do." She shakes her head shrugging.

"Well he is an asshole. He always likes to stir shit up to see what falls out. He's a selfish sonofabitch. Still he raised me and taught me how to survive and live in the wild. He hates weakness, never been a pussy a day in his life. You feed him a hammer he'll crap out nails".

I snort, Daryl doesn't seem like the kind for a sense of humor but I guess I judged him too soon.

"Ouch, doesn't sound very good for the digestion. If you guys are crapping nails; I would hate to see what you're eating for breakfast."

Daryl stops and looks at me like I grew a second nose, then shakes his shaggy head and laughs.

"Damn, girl, don't ya know that's just an expression? Ya got me. I'm just not good at explaining my dumbass brother. I'll do anything for the simpleminded shithead but he's always been a problem for me." He sighs and looks off into the night.

"So anything I need to know that you don't want me to do for him? Like what if he stops breathing? Should I pound on his chest to start him up again even if it means that I might break all of his ribs? How about food allergies or triggers that might make him freak out while unconscious? I mean, what kind of patient should I expect?"

"Well, of course I want you to try to save him. He will probably hate me for doing it but I'm not going to let him give in this easy. He has a bad habit of stirring shit up and then disappearing. He thinks he is so tough but he tends to run away rather than deal with the crap that he caused. Dying would be the easy way out. For once he has a chance to really be something, to change his fucked up life. Damn if I'm gonna let him find a way to escape this time."

I look at him as I stretch and change position. It's going to be a long couple of days for the both of us.

"What about food allergies or problems with medications?"

"Nah. More like a drug problem. He likes them all way too much if you ask me. I think meth and coke are his favorites. He was clean in Woodbury though, first time in twenty years. I wish he would get sick on them actually. I don't want him to turn into a druggie again. He needs to have as little as possible or he will wake up with one hell of an addiction and be your worst nightmare as a patient. I don't even know you and I feel bad for you already. My brother is a drill up the ass on a good day."

"Is that one of those colorful Southern expressions?" I smile through a giant yawn. Giving blood always makes me sleepy.

"Nah. It just describes how difficult he is to get along with. Whatever you do, don't let him see how much he bugs you. It amuses him and he will just keep on doing it. He has the mentality of a junkyard dog. You either gotta ignore him or kick him in the head so he will respect you. Either way show him that you won't tolerate his crap. He ain't allergic to any food that I know. He likes meat most, but will eat vegetables if he has to. Likes berries and any sweet shit, ya can find. He'll eat anything you put in front of him; got an appetite of a damn goat."

Daryl starts fiddling with a piece of wood from his pocket, his limited social skills expended for the time being. He eyes me at first, shrugs as I nod with a small smile, burying myself deep in my thoughts; I have much to ruminate on.

I stare off into the night, silent for a while, considering. This could be my price of admission into this group. But damn what a high price. I've never seen injuries this bad not even when I was a therapist. Most people don't survive stuff like this. He's either really lucky or really unlucky. Or maybe karma owes him some pain. But what the hell did I get myself into? And here I thought I was going to give some blood, be a good little type O- universal donor. I wasn't prepared to be in charge of his recovery along with Daryl. Still I took an oath of beneficence as part of my medical training. It's interesting that it still holds true for me even past the end of the world. I must be crazy. Yet it may end up saving the lives of my kids if it causes the group to realize that we are worth keeping around for my medical skills. I'm not sure I want to be responsible for him. I've noticed that people really seem to hate him for some bad stuff he did and, from what I can figure out, the only reason he is being tolerated is because Daryl is his brother.

I watch my kids sleep in our borrowed cell. They are worth any annoying patient and damn me I've had a few annoying patients in my time. At least he is not old and demented. Those tried my tolerance the worst; they were like freaking Groundhog Day, same shit every five minutes. The good thing with the end of the world is I don't have to be politically correct or moderate my despicable potty mouth anymore to function. I can really say it like it is and tell them that I know how to help them heal and if they don't want to do it, it's their freaking problem not mine.

I look into the faces of my beautiful kids and see the world of possibilities limited by the horror of our new reality. I can't do things on my own anymore. I must depend on Daryl's goodwill and the challenge of helping Merle heal the best he can. If he lets me I can also help him adapt to his increased limitations, but I doubt he would do that. Something tells me that he is not used to respecting women in positions of authority. I need to accept that his being an asshole may just be Merle being Merle, not really a personal offense. We might be both learning how to depend on others for once. I look into his face and see that we might have some similar lessons to learn.

I turn back to ask Daryl about what Merle's interests are, and find him leaning against the wall next to his brother's bed sound asleep with his mouth hanging open, his arms slackly dropping off his lap, snoring gently. In the relaxation of sleep his expressions look the same as his brother. It's interesting that the two of them, who don't look all that similar in feature or body composition, can have the same expressions. It was true for my sister and I too. We weren't raised together, and we looked very different, but for some reason the cast of our expressions were the same even though our features weren't.

I can see how much both brothers have been through in the last two days. Obviously Merle has been through hell but he didn't think it through as one would expect of someone with military training. Desperation will do that to you though. I guess he was desperate to give his brother a chance. I look in his face under all the damage and I see it there. Lines. Scowl lines and laugh lines, smile lines and lines of crushing fatigue and stress. I see his strong jaw, pale skin and a full head of curly light brown graying hair, an Irish cast to his features, and pale skin completely unsuited to the harsh Georgia sun.

Daryl's face relaxed in sleep is unguarded. There are the deep set eyes, long nose and narrow face, and an olive tinge to his skin so unlike his brother, but then the eye color I noticed earlier is exactly the same. I see Daryl's fatigue in the bags under his eyes, of many sleepless nights and the worry of almost losing his brother again and permanently. Two brothers so different but so intertwined were so unlike anything at all in my experience. I see a conundrum and a challenge and my greatest flaw other than the obvious cussing and over the top personality is curiosity and loving a good challenge. I am truly and fully hooked; I couldn't say no if I wanted to. Karma, after all, is a wily and snarky bitch and I am a curious bitch who is unable to resist the right temptation.