summary: Rick, Merle and Tara take a trip to a junkyard, and something much more unpleasant is waiting for them back in Alexandria.
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Mess Is Mine
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Rick followed the car at a safe enough distance; hands tense behind the wheel, mind full of thoughts that kept straying away from the current situation.
Negan would be at Alexandria soon, demanding his payments. And Merle was still at Rick's side, which happened to be the passenger's seat. He was looking out the window as if he were admiring pretty scenery.
Rick's hand twitched out and onto his arm, and Merle looked at it with an interested smile.
"Well shit," said Tara. "You two really are…aren't you?"
Oh yeah, and Tara had almost caught them going at it about twenty minutes ago. Rick quickly retracted his hand.
Merle turned his gaze back out the window, lip curling into something resembling irritation.
"Why'd you invite Chambler along, Friendly? Ain't I trouble enough fer ya?"
"I'm no trouble," Tara insisted, and then leaned forward some more, eyes darting between them with childish interest. "Sorta explains a few things, though. Now I think about it."
Rick braked as the car in front stopped, just outside the greyed entrance gates of a dumping site. Nobody got out.
Merle looked reluctantly in Tara's direction.
"What 'things'?" he grumbled. He was holding his head, clearly indicating a hangover.
"Well. You know. All those 'supply runs' you two are always going on together? And damn, now I know you weren't gettin' me all those soda crates out the goodness of your heart, Dixon."
Merle looked affronted, but only for about half a second.
"You think I'd use that as an excuse to get me some action?"
"But of course you would," Tara said, not missing a beat.
"You cut me real deep, Chambler. Really hurtin' my feelings, here."
Rick snorted. "The only thing hurting you is your head."
He was tempted to add a pat to the shoulder, but it seemed a bit much when Tara was there.
And she was still watching him, with even more interest. "Guess I just never figured you were into guys. Either of you."
Rick swallowed an awkward feeling. "I didn't figure that either."
"Does anyone else know?"
"Daryl, Michonne-"
"This an interrogation, now?" Merle interrupted. "Don't recall it bein' anyone else's goddamn business?"
"Alright. Sorry," Tara sounded sincere, but a smirk still crept on her lips. She shrugged. "…welcome to the club, then. I guess."
Merle frowned. "Club?"
"Yeah, you know. The 'I didn't know I was kinda gay till it happened', club."
Merle's smirk was crafty. "Yeah, you'd think that, wouldn't you?"
Tara's curious face must have been catching, because it made Rick wonder too, and he hoped that she might ask Merle about it.
It was irrelevant a few seconds later though.
Rick raised a hand in short warning, as the car in front began rolling forwards again.
The gates opened into a dumpsite, and then the figure of Gabriel was getting out of the car. He was accompanied by another unknown figure, too far away to distinguish between either a man or woman.
"What's he doing?" Tara said, craning her neck between Rick and Merle.
Merle snorted.
"Hell knows. What do crackpot priests normally do?" he put his hand to the door lock and then looked at Rick, waiting for his signal.
Rick gave it a couple more minutes. The sky was already bathed in dawn, making the outlines of huge dumping piles just beyond the gates far more visible. Soon they'd be much more visible too. They'd have to play a stealth card or two.
"You got a weapon?" Rick asked Tara.
"'Course I've not," Tara said sarcastically. "Wait, we're actually going in there?"
"Obviously," Rick nodded in Merle's direction. "Stay close to me, both of you. And don't do anything stupid."
Merle rolled his eyes, as if he'd been told that line a thousand times before (he had).
"Yessir."
"Dumbest plan ever," Tara blinked at Merle. "You're with me on this, right?"
Merle shrugged as he opened the car door.
"Ain't my call. I jus' follow a dumbass plan an' hope for the best."
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"…yeah, that was a pretty dumbass plan…"
"Oh, nice to know you listen to me. Eventually."
Merle and Tara's conversational tones were in direct contrast to the stars Rick was still seeing, as he regained groggy consciousness. He couldn't even recall how he'd lost it, nor how it had even happened.
For a moment he wanted to ask Merle about that ambiguous comment he'd made to Tara. Something about not knowing you were gay until it happened, but apparently not...it seemed important and confusing for some reason, whilst his brain was still rebooting.
Then he blinked. Once, twice, three times, and Merle's and Tara's faces came into sharp focus at last. Both of them unsympathetic.
Yeah, it was a pretty dumbass plan.
As the edges of his vision cleared, he noticed statues standing behind them, decorating piles of trash; an arched cat, the vague idea of a human dancer, all made up of assorted wires and junk items.
In another world it might have been an experimental student art project. In this one…well, there was no telling.
"What happened-"
He was silenced by a flash of light to the face, and then silhouettes of people seemed to emerge, staring at the three of them like they might be a part of the strange art exhibit.
There was another flash, before Rick noticed the figure standing forefront to the rest of the group.
She was holding a polaroid camera, still taking avid photos of them.
"The hell is this-" Merle started towards her, before the end of a sharpened stick lined up with his head. The woman on the other end had an unflinching expression.
Merle halted, smiling at the point of the stick like they might be old friends.
"Hey lady, no need to get all hostile. Ain't very polite to point, y'know."
Rick waved a warning hand in his direction, and Merle moved back to his side with a begrudging face.
"Whatta you got us into, Friendly? Ain't worth that crackpot priest, that's for sure,"
"Shut up," Tara nudged him.
Rick clenched his jaw. The woman with the polaroid camera hadn't moved nor said a word, but her eyes were on him solely, as if she was sizing him up for something else.
He quickly scanned the surrounding group, realising he couldn't see Gabriel anywhere amongst them.
"They ain't got nothin' else worth tradin' for," Merle said, eyeing one of the sculptures with a bemused face. "Unless you take a fancy to some weirdass décor.'
"Please ignore him," Tara said, to nobody in particular. "Everything he says is absolute bullshit."
"Are you a collective or does one lead?" said the woman with the polaroid camera, ignoring both of them.
Rick hesitated, feeling both Merle's and Tara's eyes sliding, almost accusatory, in his direction.
Then a hand belonging to neither of them shoved him forwards.
"This," the stranger hissed.
Rick took a couple more steps forward, ignoring the obvious tension that rippled through the surrounding group.
He smiled shortly.
"Hi. I'm Rick. We came for our friend. The er, the crackpot priest."
And then the woman smiled back.
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"Quite the charmer, ain't ya, Friendly? She got a real thing goin' for you."
Merle's grin didn't let up the entire car ride back to Alexandria. Nor did Tara's, or either of their teasing.
Gabriel sat in the back of the car looking perturbed by it all, but perhaps too relieved that he was still alive to comment very much about it.
"She's not my type, actually," Rick considered, wanting to look at Merle. He kept his eyes on the road instead. "Can't say people who live in the trash really…appeal to me."
"But you're with…" Tara started, before remembering Gabriel was there, and then seemed to think better of it. She offered Merle a sardonic smile instead. "I mean…you've had relations with some trashy people, Rick. Surely?"
"Couldn't possibly comment," Rick said.
Merle returned a sneer, apparently disinterested in taking the bait.
He was much better at doing that these days, Rick noticed. Or maybe it was just because he got along well enough with Tara. Besides one fist to his mouth, he usually managed to keep banter with her on friendly terms.
Besides, everyone had punched Merle in the face at least once at this point.
"You really think they're going to help us?" Gabriel asked. He sounded more hopeful than doubtful about it.
Rick shrugged. "At this point we need all the help we can get. Can't afford to be picky, can we."
It was true, and since they'd come away from the dumpsite with a 'deal' of sorts, it seemed they could afford to be optimistic about it.
The woman taking the unnecessary polaroid pictures was called Jadis, and for a while it'd looked like she wasn't going to let any of them leave alive. A short fight with an armed walker (which had left Rick with a bloodied hand), and some negotiations later had secured them their support against Negan. All they needed were more weapons.
"I reckon we've been duped," Merle said. "They ain't gonna help us. More concerned with helpin' their own."
"I don't know. She seemed fairly convinced to me."
"She was convinced by your dumbass face."
Rick smiled shortly. "Or your dumbass threats?"
"Hey, would've been way more effective if I still had the knife attached," Merle raised his arm, in piteous demonstration. "Don't trust no one who don't give me my blade back."
"You don't trust anyone, anyway," Tara said, and sighed heavily as she leaned back in the car. She looked conflicted and bit her lip, eyes darting back up at Rick as if she was afraid. "Listen. I might…I might know about another place."
Rick raised a brow, looking at her through the mirror. "What place?"
"Another…sort of 'army', if you like. They might be more useful than these Scavenger weirdos."
Merle looked round at her. "You been holdin' out on us, Chambler?""
"…maybe. It was when I got stranded a few months back. I ended up on this beach," she hesitated. "I came across this community of women. They call themselves Oceanside."
Merle whistled. "You went on a little seaside vacation and found yourself a goddamn army of women? Bet you thought you'd died n' gone to heaven."
Tara scowled at him.
"If you think being held hostage and almost freakin' killed heaven, then yeah, I guess so," She leaned forwards again, eyes harder on Rick. "Listen, there's a lot of them, and they're pretty capable and have weapons. But I promised…" she glared out the window. "I said I wouldn't tell anyone else about them. They've dealt with Negan before, and it wasn't a happy end."
Rick pursed his lips, pretending to consider it.
In truth, he'd already made his decision. Whether Tara liked it or not.
It wasn't like they had much choice. They needed weapons and they needed people, if they were going to beat Negan in any capacity. And beating Negan was the only viable option now.
Anything else didn't even cross Rick's mind, anymore.
He offered Tara a plaintive glance. "Maybe knowing what Negan's like will give em more reason to team up with us."
Tara looked away, brow furrowing. "I thought you'd say that."
They reached the road leading into Alexandria just a few minutes later, and the first thing Rick saw were the gates, gaping wide open. Then the truck parked just beyond them, and the gathering of far too many people within the town.
His hands curled round the wheel some more, and the pain in his palm was suddenly so much duller and insignificant than a few moments before.
"Oh shit," Merle said.
And perhaps that was the most accurate summation of what they were about to get themselves into.
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The shape of Carl in the mid-distance was the only thing that existed for a few moments.
He was standing with his hands behind his back and a gun pressed to his head, as if the deed was about to be done.
"…Carl-" Rick broke into a run, before a hand grabbed his arm, yanking him roughly backwards.
"Easy there, Sheriff," Merle said. "Likely gonna get real wild real soon, anyways."
There was a dismissive note of humour in his voice, but his smile was grimmer than Rick had imagined.
Then he remembered that Merle was in danger too, and soon Negan's grin was too close. Pearly whites flashing like a delighted crocodile between them, as if he couldn't decide which was the more satisfactory prey.
"Well, looky here. The prodigal leader and his ragtag sidekicks finally decided to show up."
A circle of Saviours fell into diligent place alongside Negan, all armed and poised for any sudden movements. It was pointless, since the majority of Alexandrians were slump shouldered with a general sense of foreboding.
Michonne stood to the forefront, alongside Daryl, as if they'd taken up the mantel of joint leadership in Rick's absence.
"We were-" Rick said.
"Hey now. Let's cut the bullshit beggin' part, Rick. Gettin' kinda tedious."
Negan moved with his usual swagger. It wasn't so intimidating by itself these days, but accompanying Carl and the gun pressed to his head, it held a significantly heavier weight.
"Let's see. First things first…recovering my lost property," Negan pointed the bat directly at Merle. "There it is. Boy have I missed you. And not even a kiss goodbye? Broke my heart, you leavin' like that."
Merle looked away. His stance was blank enough at a distance, but Rick noticed the clench of his jaw, and then the twitch of fingers that wanted to curl into a fist.
Negan noticed it as well.
"Aw. You missed me too? Sure as hell hope you did. We got a lot of catchin' up to do."
Rick cleared his throat.
"We don't need to-"
"Hey, now. What did I tell you about the beggin' thing? Thought we'd got a nice handle on that now, right?" Negan turned on the heel of his boot, addressing the rest of the Alexandrians with a wider smile. "Anyways, got a nice simple proposal here, and I think you good people are gonna like the sound of it. Wanna hear me out, Rick?"
Rick didn't move or say a word. He could only brace for something terrible, as tended to happen the more gleeful Negan became.
And it didn't matter, because Negan seemed more satisfied with the non-response anyway.
"Alrighty, that's good. We're all still on the same page here. I like it."
He swivelled the bat for a couple more indulgent seconds.
"So, how 'bout this; the sassy redneck in exchange for keepin' your boy from goin' six feet under today. An' in a few pieces, I'm thinkin'."
The pit of Rick's stomach flipped.
"...I..."
Of course the answer was obvious, but he was still unable to say the words, or even nod his head in coherent answer.
Negan raised a brow.
"Y'know, this is a one-time kinda deal here, Rick," he looked back round at the rest of the Alexandrians, as if he was doing an airy power-point presentation. "Not an unreasonable exchange, is it? Pretty lopsided, really. Given that you stole my sassy redneck in the first place."
Rick opened his mouth and his throat tightened again with it, stuck with the words he didn't want to say.
Merle took a couple of steps forwards, saving him anymore trouble.
"Okay, fair deal," he said.
Rick caught his wrist.
"No…"
It was an instinctive and very stupid move. Rick knew it as soon as he saw Negan's smile extend, into something more interested.
And then the way he watched Merle's arm, lingering in Rick's hold.
"Don't pay no mind to Rick," Merle said, pulling his hand away. "He jus' got hit on the head one too many times, lately. Ain't that right?"
He looked back at Rick, and the curve of his mouth was the sort of grin Rick might've wanted to punch out in years gone by. And yet he still couldn't speak or nod. Or do anything at all.
Merle frowned at him, then turned back round to Negan.
"See. He's pretty out of it, I reckon. So we got us a deal or what? Thought we was cuttin' through all the tedious bullshit today."
Negan laughed loudly.
"Oh boy, I have missed you. Ain't lost none of that salt of the earth spunk, have you?" his expression darkened, and then he placed a gloved hand on Merle's shoulder. "Kneel down, then."
Merle barely hesitated or even flinched as he knelt, not that Rick could gather much of his expression.
There were murmured sounds all around them, and Daryl separated himself from the crowd, tensed and eyes like tunnel vision on his brother.
"Awesome as shit," Negan said. "Now. Take your shirt off."
The order was noticeably abrupt, and Merle looked up at Negan with an indignance that couldn't be hidden this time.
"What? I ain't-"
"Ain't a request, Dixon," Negan interrupted, then nodded behind him, to where the gun was still pressed severely to Carl's skull. "Unless you wanna have Grimes junior's brains decoratin' your back in a couple of minutes."
Merle's glare fell away all at once, replaced with something resembling a sneer.
"…okay."
His arms looked unsteady as he raised them, and then he was pulling his shirt up and over his head in an awkward and jerking motion.
The afternoon sun made his bared skin look warmer. It also highlighted the scars that were already there.
Of course Rick had seen them all before, but he'd always been able to turn away. Usually too caught up in some lustful intimacy to dwell on them for very long.
But now he couldn't look away, and everybody else could see them too, in the starkness of daytime.
It was like a violation, and he couldn't do anything about it.
"Oh shit, someone's been to work here, ain't they?" Negan said. He hovered his bat bare inches over Merle's back. "Who the hell did you piss off, Dixon?"
Merle tilted his head to the side, as if he might be seriously contemplating the question.
"Uh. You want a list?" he asked eventually, more like a drawl.
Negan laughed, and then pressed the bat to the nape of his neck.
"You're still good at pissin' folk off, I notice. Lucille ain't too happy right now, for example."
Merle's back jerked noticeably, but he levelled Negan another smile.
"Tha's my specialty. Love pissin' folk off. 'Specially big ol' assholes like yourself."
Rick shut his eyes, waiting for the bat to swing.
He could already see Merle as another black mark against his name. Another in the ever-growing line of bodies, against the likes of Abraham and Glenn and Lori and...
"…and you're the little brother, right?"
But Negan was speaking again.
Rick opened his eyes and saw that the bat was lowered, and Negan was looking at Daryl.
"Tell me if I got it wrong. Man, I am just lousy with remembering names and shit like that. I'm pretty sure you two are related, though. Hell, what am I saying? You're a redneck, you're all related. I just need the confirmation."
Daryl blinked away, and apparently that was confirmation enough.
"Great," Negan said. "Now then, do me a favour and take your belt off, little brother."
Daryl's eyes hardened.
"What?"
"Belt," Negan repeated. "C'mon, I know you ain't that simple."
He directed his bat in the vague direction of Carl.
Daryl seemed to understand, in the same way Merle did.
Slowly, he unbuckled and withdrew his belt. He hung it out in Negan's direction, like a repellent offering.
Negan shook his head.
"Nah, nah. C'mon," then he gestured back at Merle. "Teach your brother a lesson with it. He's waiting."
The implication seemed to reach the two brothers at the same time. There was a long pause between them, some wordless stare that didn't give away either of their thoughts.
Then Merle smiled at Daryl as if he'd told him something wonderful.
"Alright then. Let's get it over with, baby brother."
Daryl shook his head, lip curling in disgust.
"No…no, I ain't doin' that."
Negan rolled his eyes. He poked Merle in the hip, with the tip of his bat.
"Wanna remind your little brother 'bout the penalties here?"
Merle's smile stretched, undaunted. His eyes didn't leave Daryl's.
"C'mon, baby brother. Thought you'd a' grown a pair by now."
Daryl's jaw clenched, along with his hand on the belt.
"I…ain't doin' it. No way-"
"Don't be a little bitch about it," Merle interrupted, and his voice was suddenly a cruel but apparently familiar taunt. It matched the snarl on his mouth. "Little pansy ass. Turned out jus' like the old man said you would…"
"Shut the hell up, Merle."
Daryl's growl was like a warning, and Merle's mouth cracked into a pleased grin.
He tilted his head to the side.
"Oh, you better make me, boy."
Daryl's eyes widened a fraction.
"…what?"
"Make me. Make me wish I didn't leave you all on your lonesome with that asshole all them years back…"
"Shut up…"
"-make me wish I gave a shit when you was havin' the shit beat outta you-
"-Merle-"
"-make me wish I gave a shit when the house burned down an' ma-"
"Shut the hell up!"
The belt snapped through the air along with Daryl's arm, vivid and dancing against bright blue sky for a micro-second.
Then it ribboned down, cutting off the rest of Merle's venomous words, and hitting skin with a terrible crackling sound.
Merle was laughing, though.
"…can do better than that, baby brother…old man'd be laughin' at you..."
"Shut up!"
Another crack, then another. And then another.
Rick looked away. The nausea had already hit his throat; it'd been there the moment he'd realised the Saviours were in Alexandria. But now it was lurching and trying to reach into the back of his mouth.
He stared past the snapping belt, letting repressed, choked sounds fade out into white noise within his ears for a while.
He looked at Carl instead, because Carl was worth this nightmare, oh yes he was.
Didn't mean it wasn't going to hurt like a bitch, though.
"Man, I always hate getting mixed up in family domestics. Awkward as shit."
Negan's voice eventually pierced the fuzz, and when Rick blinked again everything looked sharper.
Negan's hand was raised in a halting gesture, and Daryl dropped the belt with an anguished sound.
Merle was bent much lower to the ground, propped on his knees and elbows, head entirely bowed. The tremble on his back was barely noticeable.
Rick was almost relieved he couldn't see his face. He couldn't deal with knowing his expression just yet.
"…you done with us?" he heard his own voice, brittle in his ears.
Negan looked at Rick as if he'd forgotten he existed for a while.
"Oh yeah. I guess so," he approached with a Cheshire cat grin, and then spoke close to Rick's ear. "Better have your bit of redneck on the side ready for next time though, Rick. Gotta pay off some more of them dues, I reckon."
Another wave of his hand relinquished a Saviour's hold on Carl, and then the rest of them began to disperse, leaving the site a quiet and despondent aftermath.
Rick didn't see Negan leave, nor did he really hear the gates close again. He vaguely heard Tara saying something soft and uneven at his side, and then arms were slinging all around him.
"I'm sorry," Carl mumbled.
Rick wasn't sure why he was. He hugged him back.
"I'm just glad you're okay."
Of course it was true, but he felt winded and detached as he blinked over Carl's shoulder.
Daryl was knelt down next to Merle and saying something indistinct, and Merle was just shaking his head and batting a hand away, as if it didn't matter at all.
He winced as he arched into a more upright position, then he said something else that made Daryl stand up.
The younger Dixon walked away with a distraught face.
Rick wanted to do something, but his feet were rooted to the spot, literally trying to tether himself to something that felt more real.
He watched instead as Michonne reached Merle. She held her hand out, pulling him to his feet. Her hand stayed close, hovering around his back but not touching it at all, as they turned and began walking back toward her house.
Not even an incline in Rick's direction. As if they were supposed to.
"…and we need to…"
Oh yeah, Tara was still talking.
Rick couldn't look away from Merle's back.
"We need to go to Oceanside," he realised. "As soon as fucking possible."
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"It isn't your fault," Rick reiterated more than a couple of times, in the hour after.
Carl just fixed him a frown that suggested it wasn't true. Then he'd left the house and Rick was left to sit in a silence he couldn't stand anymore.
They were lucky, really. Carl was safe. Nobody had died. Nobody.
By Negan's standards it was a win, but in some ways it was much worse.
Because Rick didn't know how he was going to be able to look Merle in the eye, or look at him at all, and pretend it really was a win after what had just happened.
He found him a couple of hours later, lounging and laughing about something meaningless on the couch with Tara. She was perched on the armrest, trying to hide a smirk behind her hand, whilst Michonne seemed to be doing her best to ignore or occasionally chide the both of them.
Her attention was mostly set upon the map that was laid out on the dining room table.
Rick cleared his throat and stepped properly into the room. The laughter faded, and Merle looked at him with a fainter smile.
"Hey there, Friendly."
"Hey," Rick said, and walked the rest of the way over to the couch.
He stood floundering for a few seconds, wanting to do and say too many absurd things at once. And Merle just sat there looking up at him with a bemused face, which didn't help at all.
"Hey," Rick repeated dully, to the rest of the room.
Michonne looked over at him.
"Tara filled me in on Oceanside. We're just running over the layout options. We need to figure out a good way to approach the site."
Rick nodded and walked over to her on a vague autopilot. He scanned over the map and discussed tactical ideas in much the same mode.
Michonne obviously noticed, and when Tara and Merle were busily talking shit to each other again, she lowered her voice, so that only Rick could hear.
"I think he'll be okay, Rick."
Rick blinked, eyes flitting away from scribbled routes and calculated distances, to try and gage Michonne's expression.
"I need to be sure," he said, and it was more of a realisation to himself
Michonne nodded.
"I know."
"What d'you know?" Tara asked with interest.
"Nothing very important," Michonne said quickly. She folded the map up and pointed it at her. "Come with me. I need your help with something."
Tara frowned.
"What help…?" she trailed off, looking between Rick and Merle with all the subtlety of a car crash. "Oh. Yeah. Right."
Michonne lingered, and walked over to the couch.
She put a hand on the back of the seat, but close enough to Merle's shoulder.
"You okay, dummy?"
Merle tilted his head back to look at her, and his sneer eased into something that might have been appreciative.
"Don't need t' worry 'bout me, darlin'."
"Don't worry, I never do," Michonne returned, the corners of her mouth moving into a vague smile. She patted a hand shortly on his shoulder though.
Then she nodded at Rick and pulled Tara out the door with her.
Rick didn't move, hardly breathed, until the door was shut, and they were completely alone at last.
He thought he was doing alright. That he had enough composure left to spare, but apparently not.
He rushed the rest of the way to the couch, and pulled Merle into a rough and disparate embrace.
"…Christ…I'm so sorry..."
The words didn't mean anything in his ears, and they didn't compare at all to the searing edges of guilt, still creeping around in his chest. Much heavier on his heart.
Merle pulled away and shrugged with an air of annoyance.
"What're you talkin' about? Ain't your fault, dumbass."
"…I should've done something."
"Like gettin' your kid's brains bashed in? Cos that's how it woulda gone down, right?"
Rick blinked, hardly noticing the burn that'd reached his eyelids.
"…it's still my fault."
"Ain't."
The childishness in Merle's smirk should've riled Rick up, especially considering the circumstances. As it was, he was only happier to actually see it.
He pulled him back into his chest, kissing him with ferocity on the top of the head.
"…jackass," he grumbled.
Merle didn't resist; only tilted his head up in time to meet Rick's mouth with his own.
Rick kissed him deeply, drawing out a moan that turned into a gasp when Merle pressed back against the couch.
"…shit…"
"You alright?" Rick said in a rush.
"…uh, sure," Merle's grimace became a sheepish smile as he leaned forwards, hand testy on his back. "…might hafta…be on my belly for now, though. I mean, if you're feeling frisky and wanna…"
"Merle."
"What?" Merle looked amused. "I'm just sayin'."
Rick sighed, drawing a hand through his own hair.
"Just…just turn around, would you."
Merle blinked, smile twitching.
"Okay."
He shifted, body twisting round awkwardly and slowly. The faintest sounds of uneven breathing following it.
He took a moment, shoulders rolling with a rougher exhalation. It allowed Rick to notice the lines of muscles, rippling close against the shirt fabric that covered his back.
Then he started to lean forwards and onto his elbows, his good hand moving down toward his belt buckle.
"No, no…stop," said Rick, realising his intent. "Not that..."
"I thought we was…."
Rick moved his arms the rest of the way around, to meet at a taut stomach. He began easing him carefully back up again.
"…just stay still. Please."
The beat of a pulse pounded at Rick's palm for a few seconds, before he slid his hands down, catching at the fraying fabric at the bottom of Merle's shirt.
He began dragging it up, revealing a slice of bared flesh.
"The hell are you-" Merle jerked forwards a bit.
"-it's okay, it's okay," Rick said, breath bating. "...not gonna hurt you."
He waited for Merle's response, but he didn't say anything. Only lowered his head a little.
It seemed like a gesture of consent, but Rick paused anyway, hands hovering around hips.
"Not gonna hurt you," he repeated, more quietly.
The tips of his fingers lingered a moment longer, before slowly peeling the shirt the rest of the way up.
The extraction was awkward enough, and Merle swore as his bad arm caught against the fabric. It hardly mattered a couple of seconds later.
The shirt was discarded and forgotten along with everything else, as Rick looked upon the mess that criss-crossed Merle's back. There were threads of blood, still stemming slowly down and creating terrible patterns with it.
Rick reached out, fingers barely brushing a shoulder blade. The skin quivered, along with Merle's protest.
"Don't."
"…sorry," Rick quickly retracted his hand.
He'd half expected a startled reaction, but he wasn't so prepared for his own.
He swallowed the hard lump in his throat and stood up.
"Gonna get some water. Stay here."
He didn't wait for Merle's reaction, and hurried out the room.
The thing was, he'd almost gotten used to that sort of guilt in recent months. Oh, but he'd had to.
Thinking about what could have been, or what should have been, to prevent all the deaths that had already happened was a torturous business. If he dwelled too long on any of them he thought he might go mad.
Sometimes he had, and he'd taken it all out on Merle. But it'd never helped, he realised that now.
He'd just been burdened with another terrible guilt, too.
He returned to find that Merle hadn't moved from the couch at all. He was slumped and turned away, his glare directed at the floor. He didn't even turn to acknowledge Rick as he sat back down behind him.
"Ain't your boy gonna be wonderin' where you're at? Amongst other things."
Rick shook his head. "Doubt it. Carl's sick of the sight of me. Think everyone is."
He hesitated, and then pressed a towel to exposed flesh. Merle didn't protest, but he did take a shorter breath.
"…I mean, he's gonna figure what's been goin' on with us. If he don't know already. He's a smart kid."
Rick considered the words. Merle was right, and the idea of them being found out by Carl was still mortifying, but he found himself smiling at the other comment instead.
"Yeah, he is smart," he pressed the towel down again.
Merle swore under his breath. "…sure as hell don't take after you, Friendly."
"Haha."
"No, I mean it. What was that dumb Scavenger plan about, anyways? Just waltzin' in there like you own the joint…balls gettin' a little too big these days..."
"You never usually complain about that."
"Hah. You know Jadis ain't gonna help us, right?"
Rick smiled thinly. "Oh ye of little faith."
He carefully brushed along the line of another wound, and then waited, chest constricting, before Merle's breath steadied again.
"Ain't you the optimist, Friendly. Countin' all them chickens…way way before they hatch."
Rick shook his head. Redundant, since Merle couldn't see him.
"You still don't believe we can beat Negan."
"I'll believe whatever the hell makes you happy," Merle's tone was wry. Probably not to be taken too seriously.
It still touched Rick, though.
"You always got my back, don't you, Dixon?"
Merle scoffed, and his shoulder blades jutted out with the sound. "Yeah, and you got mine now, don'tcha?"
Rick's breath caught with the words, hand freezing near a particularly nasty looking welt.
"...wish I had, then this mess wouldn't've happened."
Merle shook his head. "Bunch of old scars, Rick. Them new ones barely broke through."
"You just tryin' to make me feel better?"
"No. Just wishin' you'd shut the hell up about it."
Rick felt himself smirk, however half-heartedly. He supposed it was the best version of 'I'm okay' he was ever going to get out of Merle Dixon.
As if he'd ever tell him that he wasn't.
"Is Daryl gonna be okay?" Rick decided to ask instead, through the tiny silence. "I mean…after that."
"…ah, he will be. Baby brother jus' a little too sensitive, is all."
"You mean he cares, dummy."
"Needs t' grow some bigger balls, then. Hey, maybe he could borrow yours."
Rick rolled his eyes.
He might've reminded Merle what a jackass he still sounded like sometimes, but it was difficult now. Because even though Merle was still being a jackass, he was also just sitting there; skin bared and head bowed, in the most shockingly permissive gesture Rick had ever known.
He dropped the bloodied towel and leaned slowly forwards.
"Dammit, Merle, you are a jackass…"
Then he closed the gap, pressing his mouth delicately to marred skin.
He kind of expected this to be the moment that would bring a fist to his face. He was even braced for it.
Instead, flesh shivered and rippled in front of him, in time with the softest and most pliant moan he'd ever heard.
Rick smiled against skin, before kissing it again. And then again.
He could have done it forever; just watching the shape of Merle's shoulders roll and slacken in little waves. Skin arching and reacting to his mouth, all in a way that suggested such gentleness and affection were completely alien to him.
And hadn't Rick always sort of known that about him, anyway?
He pressed another kiss into the curve of a shoulder, and Merle leaned heavier against him.
"…I'll come with you to Oceanside," he murmured. "Best backup you got. One handed or not…"
"It won't come to that."
"You don't know."
"I know that I want you to stay out of trouble," Rick sighed, around a gentler kiss.
Merle barely flinched as he arced back, all with an involuntary moan. Because other things were, quite literally, more pressing right now.
"…Rick," he said, and it sounded like an impatient plea.
Rick massaged a hand gently around his stomach.
"...you sure?" he asked, even though he already knew the answer. "…don't want to hurt you."
"…nothin' hurts me, Friendly."
Rick blinked, unsurprised by the reply.
He watched the lines on Merle's back. It was bleeding again.
"Bullshit, Merle."
Those scars were like a torment shared between them now, he realised. Like looking at too many messy reminders of too many messy mistakes he'd already made. All those terrible vices and bad decisions. Every cruel and unfounded judgement that had come back to bite them all in the ass, refusing to die but continuing to bleed.
Rick followed the slight tremble of a hip with his hand, careful about where he placed his weight, as he shifted a bit.
One day he'd tell Merle that he didn't have to bleed so damn much anymore.
"Are you sure?" he asked again, instead.
Merle tilted his head around, to look at him.
"…soft ass," he sneered, but his eyes were softer too. "Sure I'm sure…"
Then he leaned in, kissing Rick urgently on the mouth.
Yeah, one day Rick would tell him that he didn't have to bleed at all.
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