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Will is having a harder time separating thoughts from actions, is feeling guilty going to be enough to hold him back?

Part 3: Temptation

After they were sure they were safe and Dad wasn't coming back until he was wasted, Merle made them a bite to eat and they spent an uneventful evening in front of the TV. He was good at inventing new fusion dishes out of whatever scraps was left in their sparsely-furnished home. Sometimes he would mix stuff that didn't go together just for the hell of it, like mashed potato and blue bubble-gum or sausages and apple pie, causing his brother to dissolve in fits of laughter. Merle made sure to make him laugh at least once a day, knowing full well that he alone was the only person lately that could get a giggle out of him. If you didn't count some of his little brother's friends or on occasion, their father's buddies, especially Smitty or Mike. But he didn't like Daryl hanging around that crowd too much, they were a bad influence, not to mention high more often than they were sober.

He knew he had a hard time trusting anyone else to watch out for his little brother besides himself and that he needed to work on that. It had more to do with their harsh upbringing than anything else. The impulse to protect was always there, no matter where they were or with who. Eventually he knew he would have to ease up a little because it wouldn't do to carry on treating his brother like that once he started into his teens. Even though Daryl wasn't as vicious as he, himself could be when riled, Merle knew that he had a fiery temper of his own. Was not to be underestimated just because of his age and size.

Neither of the boys were awake when Will called the evening off, breaking his habit of passing out at the bar. Instead, he decided to return home early. Fresh air did him good and sobered him up and as he drew closer to home, he felt the familiar stabs of guilt in his chest when the flashbacks began to assault him. Of him standing over his sobbing son with his fists raised above his head while Daryl pleaded with him to stop. The boy had been scared witless naturally but at the same time, showed glimmers of that famous Dixon anger under the surface. Even when he tried to reason with his father who simply refused to listen. Remembering everything he'd done to him, Will felt full of , when he came to the house, he slipped in quietly and went upstairs to quickly check in on Merle who was lying on his back sound asleep. He knew nothing could wake that boy up when he was sleeping like that.

It wasn't long until Will found himself standing outside Daryl's door and taking a couple of deep breaths wondering what he would see when he went inside. Usually, whenever he lost his temper, he didn't realize how much he'd actually hurt him and it was always a shock when he looked at the results of his latest work up-close. This time was certainly no different. The little light that was still left on in the room by the bed helped Will to see. And it was like slap in the face. He moved in further into the room, closer to his sleeping son. He sighed, Daryl leaving the light on was a sure sign that he didn't feel safe in his own home. Will shrugged his shoulders, why would he? He was usually a cheap and not tolerant man when it came to the boys' usage of what he saw as unnecessary electricity, but this time, he couldn't find it in him to even bring it up.

When he finally reached his destination, he muffled a gasp at the bundle of bruises lying there.

Daryl's blanket had slipped off of him almost completely, leaving nothing of the damage inflicted on him to the imagination – his face was a swollen mess of blue and black bruises and cuts. Down his side, Will winced when he caught sight of more patches ofblue-black skin over his ribs where his pyjama top had ridden up. Merle had done a very good job of cleaning the blood off but he couldn't erase the signs of abuse and their father realized he'd gone too far this time. Much too far. Feeling disgusted with himself, he mumbled an ashamed 'Daddy's sorry' and got carefully behind the sleeping form to gently take him up in his arms.

He held him close to him for a while, marveling at how much heat the boy radiated.

Even Merle hadn't been dealt a beating that brutal at the tender age of 11. Almost overcome with the guilt, Will started mumbling apologies again in his ear while he took in his clean smell.

"I'm sorry, daddy's sorry. Didn't mean it, ya know I didn't. I jus' lost it." He whispered softly, closed his eyes and let his lips brush over the back of his son's neck. "Didn't mean what I said neither, of course you're my son, look at ya. Lookin' more like your mama every day." Will wasn't aware at first that his hand was traveling down along the side of his sleeping boy's body as if by itself before it came to an abrupt stop at his hips. He wanted to pull it away but he found that for some reason, he just couldn't.

He told himself that he wasn't hurting him just by touching, right? Besides, Daryl was fast asleep and didn't know what was happening.

Letting his hand rest casually on his son's hip, he looked down to smile tenderly at the boy who would usually do just about anything when awake to get a small token of approval like that from him: "You'll always be my special boy, ya know that, don't ya? No matter what I say or do."

He turned Daryl over onto his back then, carefully, to not wake him. He just sat there, looking at his son in silence, stroking his cheek with his thumb and taking expert care to avoid the worst of the bruising. He gave in to the temptation after only seconds of looking at those swollen, cut lips and pressed a light kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Daddy's sorry, I'll make it up to ya. Don't ya worry."

With that, his son's eyelids fluttered open as he sleepily took in the form of his father next to him on his bed. "Dad?" He drawled with a voice heavy with sleep.

"Shh, it's alright. Just checkin' on ya."

Daryl's eyes suddenly filled with panic and he looked just about ready to get up from the bed and run once he'd shaken off the worst of his drowsiness.

But Will stopped him, pushed him back down onto the bed. "Sh...sh...No need to run, boy. I'm sorry for what happened today. How ya feelin'?"

When all the answer he got was Daryl's eyes glazing over with confusion and still with a hint of panic, Will shook his head reassuringly towards him. "Hey, it's all right. I lost control. Ya hurtin' pretty bad, son, huh?" When he saw Daryl chew on his split bottom-lip while he thought of how best to answer to avoid even more pain and punishment, Will brushed away some of his hair from his forehead.

When his son leaned into his touch, a wave of tender feelings washed over him. When he didn't flinch or cringe back for once, even though he was the very person that caused him all the pain he was experiencing now. "Hurts a lot, don't it son?"

"Mhm…" He mumbled, clearly wanting to go back to sleep.

"I know. Ya want something for that?"

"I'll be fine. Don't worry, Dad.'

Will guided his son so that his back was against his chest again, holding him close in a bearhug. "Ya just go back to sleep now, son. It'll be a bit better in the mornin', I promise."

Will was annoyed over how much this scene kept replaying in his mind over the few weeks that passed, the feeling of Daryl's smooth and warm skin under the palm of his hand. Not to mention when his lips were pressed to the corner of his son's mouth. Then, the way he had leaned into him, wanting more affection. He found himself drifting off into space several times a day reminiscing all of it, and it always happened whenever Daryl was there in front of him.

….

The day came when he lost it big time – him going even further than he did when he forced his youngest son to take that savage beating. It all started when he opened the bathroom door. He quickly forgot what he'd gone to get from there in the first place because the vision of his eleven year old son standing there made his mouth drop in astonishment. Daryl was in the shower, oblivious to the fact that he had an admiring audience.

Right then, he looked like a huge, soapy foam-ball before he rinsed the shampoo off with slow movement senticing Will, who traced the shape of his slim body with his eyes like he was licking it with them.

Will already knew that his youngest son was going to be differently built than him and Merle, both of them naturally had more bulk. Strong bones. Sure, he was just a boy, but at this age Merle had started to not only toughen up mentally but physically, too.

Daryl's graceful movements reminded him of a lithe cat and like a feline, he was just as highly-strung. To put it succinctly, to his own father the boy simply looked good enough to eat.

Will clenched his fists at his sides again, cursing himself inwardly. Why was he getting aroused at seeing his own son in the shower? What the hell was wrong with him?

He suddenly felt the old, familiar anger begin to rise again inside him, that misplaced rage towards his son who dared to make him feel this way. Full of rage now, he stepped out from his line from sight knowing that Daryl would soon be done showering. Will walked with determination towards the living-room to get his belt. After he picked it up, he squeezed the buckle in his hand hard enough to break his own skin before he positioned himself outside the bathroom waiting for Daryl to emerge. He would only be wearing a towel and that suited Will's intentions perfectly.

Meanwhile, he felt a few lingering seconds of doubt over what he was about to do to spoil the boy's mood when he hadn't really done anything bad to deserve it. He listened to him singing softly – an old folksong his Mama had taught him, meaning that he was happy, relaxed. Will had been taken aback when he heard it because it reminded him of her and of better times and he almost left the boy to it. But when he heard Daryl turn off the shower, the knowledge that he was naked and his modesty would soon only be covered by a little white towel was too exciting to resist. So, when Daryl opened the door and left the bathroom, he found himself in a steely death-grip.