How To Train Your Black Sheep Chapter 1: The Test, a walking dead fanfic

an: I just really wanted Merle to last longer, so this is my random fix-it scenario. Plenty of scene skipping and implied passages of time (I'm lazy) and crappy writing. Mostly just random scenes tagged together that I thought could be interesting (?). There is much plot deviation from the show and it all happens along the course of season 4. Not particularly shippy, but if you squint you could take this as implied Rick/Merle.

Chapter 1: The Test

The end of the world had brought with it a lot of uncertainties. But with that came a lot of certainties too.

Most of them involved gory deaths, higher chances of death, and even higher chances of reanimated death. Just a lot of death, generally.

But one very huge certainty, which (surprisingly) didn't involve death at all, was that Merle Dixon was an asshole.

"I'm gonna kill him," Rick said.

He pushed past Daryl and ignored Hershel's protesting but well-meaning words, whatever they might have been.

Asshole in question was slouched and listless just outside the prison, stabbing his boot into the dirt and watching walkers as if they might have been a part of the scenery (they kind of were). Michonne was nonchalant in a different way; back straightened and stony faced. Her katana was deceptively dipped toward the ground.

They stood side by side, and occasionally Michonne looked at Merle and he looked at her, but they never said anything to each other.

"You asshole," Rick said, eyes only on Merle. "I never told you to go through with it."

Merle grinned at him, arms out like he was waiting for a hug from an old friend.

"What's the matter, 'Friendly? We're back in one piece, ain't we? Samurai's all accounted for, no harm done-"

Rick swung a punch, hitting Merle square in the jaw. He went down like a dead weight, strewn out on his back. Nobody moved, except for Michonne.

She knelt down to him.

"He let me go," she looked at Rick with a guarded face.

Rick stared at her. "What?"

"We never even got to the Governor."

"So we're supposed to just trust him?"

Rick wasn't happy. Not that anyone really was when the world had gone to complete shit. But this was just adding to the ever-growing pile.

Daryl shrugged. "Might be an idea. He's still my brother, y'know."

It was an idea, but it wasn't a good one.

It was a bad one. A really, really bad one. And with stuff like the end of the world happening all around them (and showing no signs of quitting yet), it wasn't as if Rick could afford himself any more trouble.

But there trouble was; swaggering about the prison as if he'd always belonged there. Siding up to Michonne with what he thought was a charming smile (it wasn't, and she didn't buy it anyway), and talking to Carol as if they might be old friends, or exchanging (un)pleasantries with Glenn and Maggie. Oh, and then getting a good dose of the old moral fibre from Hershel.

"Got somethin' you want to say to me, 'Friendly?" Merle eventually noticed Rick watching him. Or maybe he'd finally got sick of it.

Rick grimaced and turned away. "Not worth my breath."

Just because Merle was Daryl's brother, it didn't mean Rick had to like it. Or him.

And anyway, nobody liked Merle. Only Daryl. Being brothers and all that. And even Daryl's alignment was pretty tenuous these days.

"I know he's an asshole. Just give him a chance, yeah? He is sorry, you know."

Rick wanted to believe him. He really did.

Three more altercations with Glenn, and two dozen drug-deprived shredded mattresses later were not helping Daryl's case, though. Daryl himself had even come to blows with Merle a couple of times. Something about previous plans, and a bitter remark about a father. Rick didn't want to know the grim details of the Dixon brothers family history.

He frowned past his shoulder, where sunlight was filtering in through the prison window. It silhouetted another figure that lingered there.

"He wants to come with us," it was Maggie. "On a supply run."

Daryl glanced back at Rick. He looked hopeful, or about as hopeful as Daryl's face ever got. "I'll go with 'em. Make sure he don't cause any trouble."

Maggie's scoff echoed about the prison walls. "You know he will."

"He needs somethin' to do. Hell, you can't keep 'im locked in here all the time. Asshole'll go stir-crazy."

"I thought he already was," Maggie's smile was sarcastic. She kept her eyes on Rick, as if he was supposed to be the voice of reason here.

Rick looked between the both of them.

"Better take Michonne too. She can handle him better than anyone."

The run apparently went without incident.

Daryl lead the group, and there was a modest aura of pride all about him as he dropped their supplies off at the prison gates. Merle, the probable and erratic subject of that pride, was talking endlessly behind him, and Michonne was watching him, her expression neutral and nothing else. Glenn and Maggie took up the rear, completely silent.

Maggie and Glenn didn't speak to Rick much for the next few days. It wasn't a sulk, but it was cool and distanced enough. They'd made their point, and Rick didn't blame them. He still wasn't sure he'd made the right decision, even if Merle had enough sense to keep out his way most of the time.

Most of the time.

"Did I pass yer test, 'Friendly?" Merle asked him one day.

He was leaning against a cell doorway, and his skin looked pale and slick with sweat, like he might be running a fever or something. Rick didn't care enough to ask about it.

"What test?" he said instead. He supposed he could humour him.

Merle's mouth stretched into a smirk. "Supply run. Think it went pretty well, considerin'."

"Considering what?"

"Considerin' your group ain't exactly playin' happy families with me right now."

Rick turned to appraise him properly. " And what did you expect? You've not exactly made a glowing first impression. Nor second. Or any other, come to think of it."

"Heh. Guess not," Merle seemed happy to agree. He rubbed a hand over his brow. "I'm good for runs, though. Shit, ain't nothin' else to do round here."

Rick considered Merle's roundabout offer with just a touch of appreciation. Only a touch.

Merle was still sneering at him, after all.

"What the hell were you doing? I nearly killed you."

Rick dropped his bunched up hold on the other man's collar, knife clattering out of his hand and onto the prison floor at the same time.

It was late; the sky pitch black through barred windows, and Merle's face was barred with it. He looked only a shade better than a walker.

His lip curled, as he seemed to find some bleary focus on Rick. He wasn't ill, not like the ones in quarantine. He stank of drink and smokes and he was just blind drunk.

"Kill me? Woulda been a small mercy, 'Friendly..."

He laughed and swayed on his feet.

Rick grasped his good arm and led him back to his empty cell, dropping him gracelessly onto the bed. Merle collapsed there with a soft groan.

He didn't protest when Rick shoved him roughly onto his side.

"Try not to choke on your own vomit, jackass."

"...I ain't never sick," Merle slurred, tilting his head. He squinted at Rick. "Ain't never..."

"Yeah? First time for everything."

Rick hung in the doorway. He wasn't sure why.

Merle shifted on the bed, pushing himself up onto his elbows. He looked like he was trying (and failing) to sober himself up.

"Was jus' lookin' for somethin' to take the edge off," he said. "You know how it is."

Rick blinked at the ceiling, resisting the incredible urge to roll his eyes.

"Yeah, I know how it is. In case you hadn't noticed, we could all use some of that. Ever since the world went to shit and all."

Merle smirked, and it looked wearier than usual. "Fair point, 'Friendly."

It was nothing like an apology, but it'd have to do.

Then Merle leaned forward a bit, blinking slowly in his intoxicated state. "You not gonna tell Daryl, are yer? He's already pissed at me a few hundred times over."

"I can't imagine why."

"Right? It's a damn mystery."

Rick snorted.

He wasn't sure, but it might have been a moment of amiability between them. Or maybe it was just the vague idea that Merle (even drunk Merle) might not be completely unreasonable after all.

A small miracle, maybe.

Merle started to laugh. "Anyways, you don't wanna upset your right hand man, do ya? That'd cut him up..."

Rick did roll his eyes this time.

"Goodnight, Merle."

A few days later, two infected and burnt bodies turned up, and all eyes were on Merle.

Tyreese gave him a black eye, and Rick banished him to C Block for a while, at the insistence of everyone else. Even Daryl didn't oppose the decision. Just looked disappointed.

Merle didn't deny any of it, but he also didn't admit to any of it either. Just sat there in his prison within a prison, talking to himself or staring at Rick whenever he decided to check up on him (nobody else would have done).

"You still think I did it, 'Friendly?" Merle asked one day, a tobacco-scarred arm reaching through cell bars, waiting for whatever food Rick might have brought him.

Rick shook his head.

He opened the prison cell. "Get out."

Merle looked curious, cautious even, as he wandered out the cell. Like he didn't trust Rick at all.

Hah, but wasn't that rich?

Merle stared at Rick. "You know who did it, then?"

Rick swallowed thickly. "It's none of your business."

Even if he knew that Merle wasn't the murderer, that wasn't the point.

Rick knew Merle was a ticking time bomb, and he also knew he couldn't afford to keep watch on anyone like that anymore. It'd been bad enough with Shane.

For a while he thought about casting Merle out, but it was getting more and more difficult. And whenever Rick looked at Carol and recalled the burnt bodies, he realised how hypocritical it was.

Besides, Merle talked a lot more. Well, he talked a lot anyway (oh jesus, but he could talk for all the states of America and then some), but now he talked with other people besides Daryl.

Passing remarks between he and Michonne had somehow evolved into actual conversation, and one time Rick had observed them on the prison courtyard, hanging out in between wasting walkers. Merle swinging Michonne's katana, and she was directing and instructing him with her own arms.

Strange stuff like that.

One time Rick caught Carl pointing at Merle's bladed arm, and Merle was grinning and waving it like some deranged pirate. Carl had looked amused.

Rick was not, and he'd quickly directed Carl away.

"It gets to you, doesn't it?" Carol said one day. Because nothing much got past her.

Rick didn't bother to deny it. "He almost got Michonne killed."

"But he didn't. And they both came back."

Rick gritted his teeth, on the edge of frustration. "I just can't trust him."

Carol looked up from the knife she'd been sharpening so diligently. "We've all done things, Rick."

Rick stared at her, tempted to voice what he already knew. But he held his tongue, and she went back to sharpening her knife.

"Take him on a run with you," she said. "Maybe you can figure it out then?"

Rick shielded his eyes against the bright morning sun, and squinted to see Merle leaning against the car door, just outside the prison. He looked cocksure as usual, and when he saw Rick he waved his bladed arm with an indulgent grin.

"Thought you was gonna stand me up, Sheriff."

"Was tempting."

Rick drove, and they sat in silence for only a short while.

"So. You plannin' on offin' me out here?" Merle asked conversationally. He kept his gaze out the window, but Rick could see his smirk wavering in the reflection of the glass.

"What gave you that idea?"

"Just a hunch. I keep getting the feelin' you don't like me or somethin'," Merle rubbed his jaw. "And I'm getting real familiar with some of your folks' right hooks."

Rick's mouth quivered, noticing the purplish shiner, courtesy of Tyreese, still clear on Merle's face (although Merle had dealt him a good one too).

"We ain't out here for nothing like that. It's just a supply run. The usual stuff."

Merle tilted his head away from the window, and his smile was sardonic when he looked at Rick.

"I ain't passed your test yet, have I, 'Friendly?"

Rick kept his gaze on the road.

"It's just a supply run."

The town was pretty much gutted; not much to loot, unless you were willing to dig a bit deeper and take a few (stupid) risks.

Of course Merle was very eager to do that, and always very happy about it too.

There was nothing respectful about his rampages, but then the world didn't seem to allow for much decency now, anyway. Rick was beginning to realise that people like Merle were made of the right stuff for this world, even if it wasn't the good stuff. Not by a long shot.

Rick almost found it entertaining; watching the way the Dixon kicked in a door frame, all gungho and fearless about it, busting through cupboards and whistling over food products he'd not seen in too many months or even an entire lifetime.

One of those things happened to be a dusty vintage wine collection.

"Ain't much for wine, but better than nothin'," Merle said, and began bundling some bottles into his bag.

Rick grasped his arm. "That stuff can wait till last. If we got room for it. Essentials first."

Merle bristled. "This is essentials. Somethin' to take the edge off this whole world gone to shit, remember?"

"So you can get drunk and shamble about the prison again? Remember that?"

They stood staring at each other for just a few seconds, though it seemed much longer.

"Was just one time," Merle said at last, his lip curling. He moved to pick up another wine bottle, but Rick kept a firm hold on his arm.

"Want me to tell Daryl?"

Another moment of imagined tension, in which Rick half-expected a punch. His hand twitched close to his holster, waiting for something to happen. And maybe it would be better if it did.

An easy way out of the problem. And a good excuse to get rid of their black sheep, at last.

Merle glared at him, and then pulled roughly away from his hold.

"You're no fun at all, Sheriff."

He stalked out the room, and Rick watched him disappear with an unexpected sort of relief.

He realised he wasn't afraid of a fight with Merle. He'd just been more afraid of it coming to that.

It wasn't the same thing.

Rick found Merle in the next door neighbour's house; lounging on a couch with his feet up against a coffee table, flicking through a yellowed newspaper. He looked shortly up at Rick.

"We got some company in the kitchen."

There was a thumping against the kitchen door. It sounded feeble, and the moans were weak.

"Just a kid," Merle elaborated. "Want me to do it?"

Rick stared at him. "You don't think I can?"

Merle shrugged. He put the paper down. "Didn't say that. Just thought you wouldn't want to, is all."

He stood up, bladed arm out as he approached the kitchen door, not waiting for Rick's answer.

There was nothing grim about his expression, nor was there anything remorseful about it either, as he punctured the walker's head in, and the small boy fell to the ground within a matter of seconds.

Merle looked back at Rick with an indifferent face.

"Coast's clear, Sheriff."

Rick opened his mouth, perhaps to say something contrary, because he didn't enjoy the easy way Merle looked at him. As if he had the right to believe he'd done Rick a favour.

But then there was another moan somewhere behind him, and a hand clawing on his arm. Rick whirled round just in time to see another walker, jaws reaching for his throat.

A bladed arm butted into the walker just as quickly as it had appeared, and Merle shoved Rick out of the way just in time. He finished it off with a triumphant boot to the head.

"Son of a bitch. Didn't see that one comin'," Merle started to laugh. "That was some ninja shit."

Rick wiped an arm over his mouth. He pushed past Merle and into the kitchen.

"You still find this stuff funny?"

"Sure, why not," Merle said, but he had stopped laughing.

They rummaged through cupboards in relative silence, though it wasn't entirely uneasy. Rick's heart was still settling with the walker attack, and every now and then he thought about the idea that Merle had just saved him. It was annoying.

This was getting harder to figure out.

"...shit," Merle said.

Rick looked reluctantly over his shoulder at him.

Merle was leaning against the counter top, pulling bloodied duct tape off his bladed arm with some difficulty.

"Does it hurt?" Rick heard himself ask.

"Nope," Merle said without hesitation.

He offered Rick the thin line of a sneer as he lifted his arm back up. It looked red-raw and nasty.

"You should clean it up," Rick told him. "It'll get infected."

Offering sanitation advice to the likes of Merle was probably a lost cause, and even stranger that he was offering it in the first place.

Stranger then, that Merle seemed to be considering it.

"You sound like my baby brother. Tryin' to be all sweet and look out for me."

Rick scoffed. "Just laying some common sense on you. Figured you could use a good dose of it."

"I'm touched," Merle grinned, and it looked halfway affable compared to everything else that'd happened. Maybe it was just becoming familiar, though.

He went back to taping his bladed arm up, all with another imaginative string of curse words.

"C'mere," Rick said, after a moment.

"...what?" Merle looked confused.

"Let me see."

Merle pulled a face, but walked over to him.

Rick took his arm, undaunted by the sight of it. He'd seen much worse at this point. He whistled, anyway.

"Really is gonna get infected if you don't change it when we get back."

Merle sneered at the ground. "You a secret doctor too, 'Friendly?"

"No, just pointing out the obvious."

Rick took his time about winding the duct tape back around the arm, and Merle stood still and wordless, not complaining or resisting at all. He kept his eyes locked on the ground, where the little walker boy still lay in the middle of the bloodied kitchen.

"I ain't mad about it no-more, you know," he said, after a while. "Kinda think I prefer the knife-hand."

He grinned, but it wasn't particularly pleasant.

Rick glanced up at him. "We came back for you, Merle."

"I know, I know. Baby brother likes to remind me of that every so often. Little shit. Think he's too sweet on you lot."

Rick finished up the bandaging with an attempt at a smile. He couldn't quite manage it. "And what about you?"

Merle extended his arm, as if he was testing out the work Rick had done on it. He shrugged.

"Guess I've been...influenced by association. Or some bullshit like that," he looked at Rick, and his smirk was careful. "So I'll probably stick around so long as the baby brother does. See how it all turns out for Officer Friendly and the extended family."

"Glad to hear it."

Rick found he was kind of curious, at the very least.

"C'mon," Merle said. He shoved past Rick. "Let's grab some more shit before it gets dark."

Rick stared at his back. "You actually talking some sense? Think I might be losing my mind, here."

"Smartass," Merle didn't sound annoyed.

They separated for a short while, and in that time Rick backtracked to the house with the walker boy in the kitchen.

When he reemerged the sun was fast-setting, and Merle was waiting for him against the car. A couple of bags were already loaded and his expression was impatient as a child's.

"What kept ya, Sheriff?"

Rick waved the bag of wine bottles. "Just picking up some last minute essentials."

Merle grinned at him, and it wasn't unpleasant this time. Rick kind of wanted to return it.

The sky was blood-red and so was Merle, when Rick finally did return a grin, although Merle didn't see it.

Rick had been busy spending much of the afternoon trying not to worry about a supply run that hadn't come back yet.

Michonne squeezed his shoulder. "They'll be back soon. Don't worry."

"What if the Governor-"

"Nobody's seen him for months. You know the trail went cold."

It was supposed to be an assurance; and for all accounts it seemed to be true. Michonne and Merle had taken to tracking down the Governor together a few times now, but had come up with nothing. Still, they couldn't know for sure. And sometimes Rick recalled Merle's words about the Governor with all the intensity of awaking from a nightmare in the middle of the night.

The sound of gravel spitting up against tire alerted him, and he ran outside to see the car pull up at the prison gate.

Glenn got out, accompanying Daryl, who cursed and rushed around to the other side of the vehicle.

Rick pulled open the gates and spotted blood sodden seats before anything else, and then Merle was swaggering out the car as if he'd been on a lethal all-night bender.

He was laughing, and there was blood pouring rapidly out of his shoulder.

Maggie emerged from the car too. She looked pale and upset.

"What happened?" Rick demanded.

"Somebody-" Glenn started.

"Jus' a little shoppin' spree that got a bit wild," said Merle. "Nothin' to worry 'bout..."

Then he promptly collapsed at Rick's feet.

Rick knelt down to him, to clutch at a sweat-slick and blood coated arm. As if that was supposed to help anything.

"Somebody shot at us," Glenn explained. "Merle was a pretty good diversion."

"Saved our asses, you mean," Daryl said, his voice venomous.

Rick kept his eyes on Merle, piecing together what he'd done for them. "You got a death wish or something?"

Merle's gaze momentarily fixed upon him, lips curving up. "...jus' tryin' to keep things interesting round here, 'Friendly..."

Then his eyes fluttered, and he passed out.

Rick baulked. "Jackass."

He started to grin, before realising how redundant and inappropriate it really was.

He looked up at Daryl.

"Help me get him to Hershel."

Of course Merle was going to be fine, but Rick still went to see him anyway.

Standing awkward in the cell doorway, waiting for the right moment to fling out a casual thank you for saving my family sort of thing, when the likes of Hershel and Daryl were finally out of sight.

"You not bought me any flowers, 'Friendly? That breaks my heart."

"You feeling better?" Rick asked him.

"Feel like shit," Merle sat up, and flinched with the effort. "Man. You look like shit, Sheriff."

"You're not looking so good either."

It was true; Merle looked bled out and weary, even when his teeth shone a wolfish grin in the dark. Rick wondered how tiresome it must be, pretending it didn't hurt.

But Merle was still grinning, as if he knew exactly what Rick was thinking about.

"It wasn't the Gov'ner, 'Friendly. Just ain't his style."

"Huh?"

"The Gov'ner," Merle repeated. He tipped his head, to gesture to the bullet wound that was still blooming through his bandaging. "Anyways, I shot that guy dead. Just to be sure it wasn't him."

His grin didn't disappear, but his eyes hardened a bit.

He'd probably enjoyed doing that too, Rick reminded himself. The end of the world just suited people like Merle.

"Well. Maggie's grateful to you. And so is Glenn."

Maybe he'd offer his own thanks another time.

When Hershel was killed and the prison fell, everyone scattered; lost or presumed dead.

Rick also died for a short while after that, or at least he felt like he had.

He had dreams that always turned into nightmares. Recalling Judith and her empty carrier. Hershel and his bodiless, soundless head. The usual clichéd waking from fever for a few hours, and Carl yelling and crying and acting out, as every teenager was supposed to do.

Rick really couldn't blame him for it.

The world was a blur for a few days; holed up in a house that was defended by a rebellious teenager and a couch wedged tight against the door. Rick slept and slept, and had a lifetime of nightmares there.

Then one day there was a knock at the door, and he finally woke up.

Sunlight streamed against the front window, and the two figures there were obscured by it, but not enough for Rick to be unable to recognise them at once. His heart hurt in his chest.

"It's for you," he said to Carl.

Carl opened the door, and Michonne and Merle were both standing there. Rick had never been happier to see either of them.

"You look like shit, bro," Merle said, his eyes on Rick before anything else as he walked into the house. He patted Carl on the shoulder. "Hey, Sheriff."

"How're you doing?" Michonne sat with Rick, her eyes flashing concern all over him. "We thought you were dead."

Merle stood to the side, detached from a sentimental moment, his arms folded like a lax military guard. He didn't look very concerned for Rick, but he was concerned about something.

"You seen my brother?" he asked at last.

Of course.

Rick shook his head. "We lost everyone at the prison."

Merle stared up at the ceiling, as if debating the answer in his head. Then he looked at Rick again.

"You see Michonne do that number on the Gov'ner? Pretty badass-"

"Merle. This isn't the time," Michonne said, like a warning. "Check out the other houses," she held her katana out to him and he took it with a nod, as if they'd done that a million times before. Perhaps they had. "We need some more medical supplies for Rick."

"I'll go too," Carl said. He glared at Rick before he could begin to protest. "I want to help."

Rick stared between Carl and Merle, and Merle was already heading out the door, as if he knew Rick so well, and knew exactly what Rick thought of him.

It was enough to make Rick change his mind.

"Alright. Fine. You can go."

Merle froze in the doorway, and looked back at Rick in obvious surprise for a long moment. Then he nodded at Carl.

"Better get movin', son. Before 'Friendly changes his delirious mind."

Carl slung a bag over his shoulder, already weaving out the door. Merle followed.

"You take care of him," Rick called after. "Merle..."

Michonne's mouth twitched a faint smile.

"They'll be fine, Rick."

"Yeah?" Rick rubbed his hands over his brow, trying to ignore all the doubting twinges in his body. "I hope so."

He guessed he was putting his faith (or whatever was left of it) in some strange things, lately.

Or maybe Merle was right, and he really was just delirious.

It was different on the road; no closed quarters to retreat to after argument or discussion. Everybody was together, noticing the intricacies within each other, for better or worse.

Merle still talked too much, but he often lagged behind too, or disappeared for a while. Then he'd come back with a frown and no explanation. Sometimes Michonne tailed after him.

"He's still looking for his brother," she informed Rick.

Rick wasn't surprised.

Sometimes Michonne and Merle walked ahead with Carl, and somehow made him laugh. Rick watched them with interest from a short distance; an odd trio balancing down the train track. Something picturesque about it, that could have resembled a pieced-together family. Rick was just happy to see Carl happy for a few moments.

A smile or a laugh was such a rarity now. Maybe that was why Rick found himself looking at Merle more often than he used to.

"What?" Merle noticed it one day. "You think I'm gonna run off or somethin'?"

"I dunno," Rick admitted. "Your brother's gone. Ain't no reason for you to stick around, is there?"

"Brother ain't gone. Just missing. An' he'll come back."

The certainty in his voice was admirable, and Rick could have latched onto it. He couldn't quite, though.

"Yeah, but he's not back yet, is he?"

Merle looked ahead, where Michonne and Carl were still balancing on the rail tracks. "You want me to leave, Sheriff?"

"Do you want to?"

"I asked you first, 'Friendly."

Rick looked at the ground.

"No, not really. You're handy. In a world-gone-to-shit kind of way."

"Hah," Merle said. "'Handy?' Just gonna assume that was an unintentional dig."

Rick actually laughed. "Didn't even occur to me."

It also didn't occur to him until a few hours later, when the sun had set and the sky was dark blue, that Merle hadn't answered his question.

It didn't really matter, he supposed. If Merle planned to leave, there wasn't much they could do to stop him.

"I'll keep first lookout," Michonne said. She glanced at Merle and he nodded.

"Wake me in a while, then."

That was the more telling response, perhaps.

They were ambushed that night.

Amongst random silver linings, tiny moments of happiness, Rick often thought about what Hershel had said to him; about every breath being an uncertainty. Every day, every hour, every minute, every second...

He thought about all of that now, embittered and with a knife pressed to his throat. There was a threatening voice close to his ear, muttering something about slow death and other morbid things, all of which paled in comparison to everything he saw in his dreams these days.

Besides, only one single thing mattered in that moment.

Carl was being held by one of the attackers (Rick thought he recognised them, but he couldn't be sure) and though it was dark, he could see where dirty hands was wandering, and what was as going to happen to his son.

It couldn't end like this.

He saw red, and then tasted it, all hot and raw in his mouth. Flesh flying through the air, and then blood spurting with it.

The red didn't let up; and Rick didn't stop hacking at flesh, until there was a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back.

"Easy, 'Friendly," said Merle's voice. "Think they got the message."

Rick blinked; haze lifting. But it wasn't with relief.

Carl came back into focus, and his face was sheet-white. He wasn't looking at the bodies, all strewn about the ground. Just Rick.

Everybody was looking at him.

On better days, it was oddly easy to forget that the world had gone to shit, and that all their lives were in constant and relentless danger. Tonight had just been a small reminder, Rick realised.

"Shit, man," said Merle. His hand still clutched at Rick's shoulder.

"Hey. Baby brother's back. Told ya he would be."

Rick looked up. His head was still ringing, and there was blood still covering his hands. They were still shaking, too.

"Hey," Merle said again. He knelt down, waving a bladed arm in front of Rick's face. "You hearin' me, Officer Friendly?"

Merle's expression wasn't like anything Rick was used to.

He looked worried. Maybe he usually reserved that face for the likes of Daryl, or the realisation that his drug stash was all out, but it was interesting to see, nevertheless. Even when Rick's head was still buzzing, and he wasn't sure he could get up anymore.

"I'm okay," he said. "I'm okay..."

He wasn't.

Merle seemed to hesitate, then he sat down at Rick's side; bones cracking, and a wincing sound accompanying them.

Rick spared him a look, and noticed the fresh blood staining Merle's dirty white shirt. His only hand pressed against his chest with another grumble.

"We gonna have to come up with a new nickname for you, 'Friendly. After whatever the hell that was last night."

Rick cleared his throat, tasting copper in his mouth.

"...you said Daryl's back?"

Merle nodded. "Yeah, man. He's with Michonne and the kid right now."

"Carl-"

"Kid's doin' fine. More worried 'bout you."

Rick blinked. His face felt wet, and he wiped his eyes to see a line of blood streaking across the back of his hand. He must have looked horrific.

Maybe that was why Merle was watching him like he might be the wild animal for once.

It would have been kind of funny, if the circumstances weren't so awful.

"How's bitey suit ya?" Merle said. "Fer' a nickname, I mean."

Rick spat blood out his mouth. "Shut up, Merle," he said weakly.

Shockingly, Merle did as he was told. At least for a little while.

There was such a small, unfettered silence, in which Rick could hear nothing but the distant sound of birdsong. Some fragile reminder that a scrap of the old world still existed around them. It would have been easy to bask in it, and to forget everyone for a while. Or even forever. That was tempting.

"I wasn't just gonna leave yer, y'know," Merle's voice, full of indignance, shattered the daydream very suddenly.

Rick wiped his eyes again. His vision was clearing, along with some of his fragmented thoughts.

He looked at Merle properly.

"You weren't?"

Merle shook his head. He was scowling at the ground, as if it'd insulted him. "Ain't gonna leave no-one who looks out for my baby brother, am I?"

Rick was taken by the words, of all things. Then he noticed Merle was still holding his bloodied chest, but not in a way that suggested it bothered him much at all. His eyes were settled on Rick, suggesting that strange concern, again.

Rick reached out a hand, very tentative, to pat his shoulder.

"Well, I'm glad you stayed with us."

Merle just stared at him. His brow creased with conflict, but Rick had expected that.

He'd also expected the way Merle shrugged and quickly staggered to his feet, as if to rid himself of something far too intimate.

Still, he extended his good arm out to Rick.

"Does this mean I passed the test, then?" his smirk was more like a smile.

Rick grasped his hand.

"You passed it ages ago, Merle."

It was a realisation more than a remark.

He guessed this was just one of the more surprising certainties at the end of the world.

end

a/n: I wonder about continuing this. Maybe if I get some interest I'll continue into season 5? I accidentally started shipping Rick and Merle as I wrote, because this always happens when I write anything at all. oh dear!