Thanks so much to all our reviewers! Sorry that it's taken us so long to update, one of us has been very busy with moving arrangements. Anyway, here goes...

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Part 8: Savior

Will the boys finally get a break?

Daryl groaned and slumped back when Merle reached for him again. 'Don't wanna...I wanna stay here.' He mumbled, looking ready to pass out again. Merle frowned, unable to believe that his brother actually wanted to stay here. When he knew perfectly well that the psycho was downstairs watching TV and could come back any minute making them pay for not packing fast enough. He'd assumed that Daryl could hear the TV blaring out too and would realise this but he hadn't taken into account that he was in shock and on the verge of passing out. Probably not even sure where he was or what he was saying. He shrugged his shoulders, putting it down to shock.

'Sorry but we can't stay here – he might come back.' He told him and glanced fearfully behind him. But their father was chortling along with the cheesy fake laughter from the sitcom he was apparently watching without a thought for Daryl and the state he'd left him in. It made him uneasy as hell. At least for the moment, they didn't need to worry about where he was. Unbelievably, he was behaving like nothing had happened - like he hadn't just beaten his eleven-year old son into a bloody pulp.

Daryl only groaned and his eye-lids fluttered when Merle brushed the bloody strands of hair away from his eyes. Both boys flinched when their father's bellowing voice came up to them all the way from downstairs: 'Are you having trouble understandin' what I jus' said to you, Merle? I said get yourself and that little shit out of here!' There was an ominous pause when they didn't answer. 'Better get a move on before I come up there with my fuckin' knife!' His voice rose almost to a scream and he wasn't laughing anymore but was deadly serious.

Their father's threat managed to bring Merle out of his daze and he snapped his fingers in front of Daryl's face to wake him. 'I'll take care of ya as soon as we're away from here.' He promised. 'Stay here while I get ya bag, and then we'll be outta this dump before you know it.' He knew that it was pointless telling his brother to stay, he probably didn't dare to move an inch – with Dad, that had always dragged out the beating. Besides, Daryl was clearly too hurt to go anywhere.

Still, he looked like he was about to protest, but Merle silenced him with a simple shake of his head. 'It'll be all right, promise. Stay.'

He rushed out like their lives depended on it. But on a day like this, he didn't dare put their father to the test because their lives probably did depend on him managing to get them out of there fast enough. He'd never seen him so angry before - not with his brother anyway, and that said quite a lot. He paused briefly wondering where the fuck were they to go? Sandy's? She always said her house was open for him whenever he felt like it. Of course when she said that, she had sex on her mind and not Merle dragging his kid brother along. With little time to waste, he shrugged his shoulders. They would deal with that problem when they had the luxury. What was important now was to get Daryl out of harm's way – he didn't think Dad would really do anything to him.

He was back at his side in no time, he only had to quickly drag out his bag out from under the bed and then they were leaving. Merle observed with concern at the way Daryl was forced to take tiny baby steps, one at a time down the staircase. Frowning, he suddenly stopped him in mid-stride by gently holding him back by putting a hand against his chest. 'Hey… come on, I'll carry you, what do ya say to that, baby brother?'

Despite the obvious pain he was in or probably because of it, he snapped back with his old fire, 'I ain't a fucking baby, Merle!' He shook his hand off and determinedly tried his luck again.

'Can walk by myself.' He muttered irritably but he only got as far as a few more steps before he was swaying weakly on his feet. He was lucky he had an equally determined big brother at that moment, who was right there to catch him in his arms before he fell down to add a broken neck to all the other injuries. Dad, meanwhile thankfully kept quiet, and they hoped that he had already passed out from the whiskey he was no doubt drinking by now on top of the exertion of beating the crap out of his little boy.

Merle rearranged the bags, and hoisted him up despite his fierce scowls and protests as he stubbornly continued to ignore the pain. 'Think you had enough of excitement for the day, don't'cha think?'

'Whatever' was his brother's sullen reply but he looked relieved, nevertheless.

'Let me carry ya, and quit whinin' about it. Won't even tease ya for it later.' Merle gave him a small smile of encouragement before he cut him off again: 'I said no whinin'! Jus' relax and enjoy the ride.'

Daryl sighed in his arms and finally gave up but when they came to the bottom rung, the one eye he could open grew wide in fear and he shrank back to bury his swollen face into his brother's chest. No doubt it hurt like hell to do it but he gave no sign of it apart from gasping when Merle tightened his grip on him in reflex. This was the most dangerous part, and they were both wondering if their dad would really let them go because now Will had the focus his rage so close at hand. Both of them were waiting with bated breaths to see what he would do next.

He was sitting there, smack in the middle of the sofa, pointing his rifle at both of them as they moved further along the hallway towards safety. 'Just in time too, I was just about to come and see what the fuck was takin' you two so long.' He smirked across at them with a cruel twist to his lips.

Daryl whimpered and clung tighter to his big brother. Of course, the bastard heard it and sneered before he turned his face away in contempt. 'Brought it on yourself, boy. Should know when to keep ya mouth shut.'

'Don't listen to him.' Merle whispered to him. 'It'll be OK, I got ya.'

Unintimidated by the weapon aimed at them, he snapped back, 'He ain't doin' so good, in case ya wonderin'.

'I didn't want him to feel good – the very opposite, in fact.'

'Shut up, old man. Just be glad I didn't shoot ya for what you did.'

He turned and began to walk out, but paused at the front door when he suddenly remembered their father's other gun that was still in his bag.

'Fuck it.' He mumbled. 'Don't want to give him an excuse to come after us.' Somehow, with his arms full of Daryl, he got it out from where it was sticking out from the top of his bag and tossed it on the floor. It barely made a sound.

Daryl didn't react to any of this and Merle worried that he'd passed out again or maybe just phased out like he did sometimes when things got all too much for him. He wished he could do that too – pretend he wasn't there, that he was somewhere else better instead.

The last sounds they heard from their father was a chuckle and him muttering behind them with wonder almost full of pride, 'The fuckin' mouth on 'im…' and then Merle cut him off when he slammed the door behind them and they were finally free, breathing in the night fresh air.

Merle went right up to his truck, dropped their two bags in and opened the passenger-door while keeping a tight grip of his brother with one arm. Somehow he managed it without dropping him before he carefully put him down inside on the passenger-seat. Fuck knows how he'd carried their stuff as well as him. But then again, adrenaline and righteous rage gave you strength and besides, Daryl wasn't very heavy.

'Jus' hold on, little brother. Safe now.' He reassured him before he got behind the wheel and allowed himself a short breather. He hated to admit it, but it was a shaky one. He turned back to gaze at the house they grew up in one last time, half-expecting their father to come out with his damn rifle or the other gun Merle stole from him and shoot them both dead. He shook his head to clear his mind of the image and turned the key in the ignition. The gravel snapped under the tires and they were finally on their way.

'I'm gonna drive us to Sandy's and see if she's home. That OK with you, baby brother?'

Daryl shrugged his shoulders like it didn't matter to him where they went, which was probably true. Anywhere would be better than that hell-house they called home.

Sandy lived a mere 20 minute drive from their house, and truth be told Merle was pissed as hell when she told him no, but /
Carla was his second choice, but apparently he'd said something he couldn't remember last time they were together and she furiously slammed the door in his face before he could even open his mouth to say 'Hi.'

He got back behind the wheel and examined his sleeping brother with growing concern. He knew he had to find somewhere fast where he could patch him up and do some damage-control. But where? He wouldn't be surprised if he had concussion with all the heavy blows he'd taken – too brutal for such a small body. What if he died? An icy hand gripped his heart at that thought and squeezed it hard until he gasped. He shook his head because he knew Daryl was tougher than he looked.

He had to be.

Merle realized with regret that he had to wake his brother up, just in case he was in danger. He was no doctor but even he knew that you shouldn't let someone you suspected of being concussed fall asleep. Not at least until you could get them to a hospital and get them checked out properly.

Did Daryl need a hospital? But then there would be awkward questions, maybe they would look at him askance and think he was the coward who did this to him. What was more worrying was if they might actually do their job for once and call a social worker - probably the cops too - even if Merle dropped Daryl outside the entrance and drove off. But Merle didn't want that. Even if the old bastard deserved being hauled down to the copshop and losing his son. Getting the authorities involved would have consequences – nobody would believe that he just fell down the stairs or got into a bad fight with some older boys – all those old excuses wouldn't wash this time, not with the way and the places he was hurt. Dad would be going to jail and as much as Merle wanted to make him pay, he couldn't do that to him. He was still their father after all, no matter what he'd done and some small part of him still felt love for him. Most importantly it would leave Daryl alone. He'd be placed in foster-care no doubt since Merle was still two years from turning 18. He shuddered, everyone knew that in most cases, they never cared if you pleaded with them to not be separated. It wasn't fair because he knew he could support both of them and that no-one could take better care of him than he could. Even if he wasn't technically an 'adult', he was in every other way except his age. Surviving life with their father kind of forced you to grow up fast.

Besides, when others – especially Dad's drinking cronies found out he'd grassed on his own father even if he hadn't, he would never live it down and there would be repercussions there too...In their neighborhood, talking to the police was one of the worst crimes you could commit. He'd have to leave for good no doubt...

But on the other hand, he couldn't really take his chances with his brother's life either...What if he was bleeding inside?

He just had to hope that he looked worse than he actually was. That with some care, he would recover. In any case, he promised him silently, they weren't ever going back home. He was never going to let their piece-of-shit father get his hands on him ever again.

Merle knew he should get going, start driving but where he had not the slightest idea. So he sat there, in the layby on the side of that lonely country road near Sandy's place, listening to the corn rustle on either side. It was a lonely sound, sad but lulling and he found his own eyes drooping until he forced himself awake.

How could he wake up his brother? Didn't Daryl deserve and need his rest after everything he'd been through lately?

The fear of touching him in a place he was already hurt and making it worse stopped him from checking him over. So he settled on what he'd done before, just brushing his hair back from his forehead instead. 'Hey, Daryl. Ya gotta wake up.'

'M'tired Merle…' He replied dozily.

'I know, you can sleep later. I just have to make sure you'll live first. Let's drive to Marty's, huh? I can see if he's got a spare room, and he can get you a doctor. He should be off work any minute now.'

Daryl's head lolled to the side as he was just about to fall back asleep, he noted while he changed gear. He snapped his fingers in his brother's face, feeling bad about it but the worry was getting to him. 'Gotta try to stay awake jus' a little bit longer until we get there, little bro.'

Merle stepped on the gas to try to get there faster. When they arrived, he went straight to the back of the bar and walked in where usually only the staff were allowed to enter. His family and Marty the bar-owner went way back, and Merle thought of him as an older brother more or less. He didn't see him anywhere though, but he did notice their father's best buddy Mike sitting at the bar, chatting with a couple of hunters from the village.

He greeted Merle with a smile and the others nodded and moved off in silent understanding as Mike waved them away. His cheerful mood didn't last long when he noticed the younger man's uncharacteristically downcast eyes and anxious expression.

'Hey, son, what's wrong? Ain't lookin' too good there, kid.'

'Dad kicked us outta the house. If you think I look like shit, ya don't even want to take a look at Daryl.'

'What do you mean?' He stood up from where he'd been sitting in alarm.

'Well, see...' Merle hesitated, looking around to see who was watching or listening but nobody was before he said in a low voice, 'Dad's been hittin' him again…gave him the worse beatin' yet. I…I ain't sure if he's got a concussion or what, but he ain't doin' too good. I don't know what to do, there ain't none of the bitches who will take us in for the night until we can sort ourselves out…God damn heartless skanks…' He whispered angrily and banged the table with his fists in frustration, drawing a few curious looks. 'I told 'em what had happened to him but none of them gave a shit...They said their places were too small for the both of us (he'd asked around a couple more of his 'girfriends' on the way). ' He added a bit louder this time. 'Dad really crossed the line this time, he's never been this bad before, and I don't know if Daryl needs to go to hospital or what.'

'Fuckin' bastard! I told him not to...' Mike hissed before he put down his glass of beer, attracting even more stares of interest from the other male and female patrons – unfamiliar faces who were clearly new in town.'What the fuck ya starin' at? I got two heads or somethin'?' He snarled at them in challenge and they hurriedly went back to talking to each other or nursing their drinks. Despite the fact he was worried sick over Daryl, Merle smirked. Mike was a powerful man and although he was a drunk, he never seemed like one. He took care of himself, looked good and generally radiated authority but like most of the village folk, he also had a mean and nasty foul mouth.

'Fuckin' dead-beat morons.' Mike grumbled and shook his head before he gave Merle his full attention. 'Don't worry, you boys can stay at mine as long as ya need to.' He finished finally. 'Let's get him back to my place and see what's what.'

'Thanks. I appreciate this, I really do.' Merle's tense expression eased a little at this. But only a little. Then, without even asking, he grabbed Mike's glass, raised it in a mock salute and downed what was left of it in one huge gulp. Mike just smiled and waved goodbye to his buddies sitting across the bar.

Once they were outside, Merle immediately raced ahead and was soon back to his nervous self when he saw that Daryl had failed to keep his eyes open while he was gone. 'God Damnit, Daryl!' Without thinking he yanked the car-door open. This of course made his brother cringe back from his abrupt and rude awakening, his eyes wild as he tried to take in his surroundings and work out where he was.

'I had to make sure you weren't unconscious. Sorry I was gone so long but I brought Mike with me.' Merle explained.

Daryl didn't reply, just guardedly shifted in his seat. Mike put a hand on Merle's shoulder, silently telling the older brother to take a step back and relax before he took over and approached the open car door.

'Now, let's see the damage, son.' He addressed Daryl gently and crouched down next to the small boy. When he saw his face, he had to fight the impulse not to bite down on his knuckles and bellow in rage at the sight in front of him. He knew it would only scare him and the kid had been scared enough, judging by the looks of him. Deciding not to say anything else that would remind the boy of his obvious injuries, he cleared his throat. 'Daryl, it's uncle Mike. Ya awake there, kiddo?'

He stirred a little again but didn't seem to have the energy to reply.

'You and ya brother are my houseguests for the time-being, that sound good to ya?'

Daryl simply nodded. 'I don't feel so good.'

'Yeah, I know. We'll fix you up once we get back to my house, me and Merle will. How about that?'

Merle didn't know how they could all fit in the three-seated truck, Mike was larger than life and all pure muscle to boot. It was a tight fit, but with Daryl taking up practically no space at all, they made it. A little further along the road, his little brother was leaning against Mike, probably not even fully consciously and clutching the man's t-shirt with one small fist. Merle knew he did that to make himself feel safe. Mike had always been their favorite amongst their dad's drinking buddies – seemed decent and self-respecting, somehow. He drank but never enough to completely lose it.

'That's it, kiddo. Safe now.' Mike told him as if reading Daryl's mind.

Mike's little house wasn't far away from Marty's of course and after he brought the truck to an abrupt stop, Merle took care of the bags while Mike carried Daryl in his arms towards the house. When they reached his front-door, he fumbled for his keys while keeping hold of Daryl with one arm, just like Merle had done, causing his breath to hitch in his throat. Merle didn't know why he had reacted like that – Mike was much stronger than he was, wasn't like he was going to drop him or anything.
He knew that he was just being overprotective again, if there was anyone apart from him who could keep Daryl safe from harm, it would be this man.

Soon the door swung open and Mike hurried in to gently lay Daryl down on his back on the sofa, trying to cause him the minimum of pain while Merle kicked the door shut behind them.

Daryl was now semi-conscious and thrashing around weakly. Merle was right by his side in a shot when he saw his brother's obvious /
'Sh...' Merle whispered. 'I'm here.'

'Merle…' Daryl breathed out and reached blindly for him in thin air.

'Yeah, it's me. Sh... Ya safe now.' Merle soothed and reached out to brush the strands of hair from his forehead once more so that they could see the bruises and cuts on his face better. He was gentle but even so, his little brother winced.

'Bastard.' Mike clenched his hands into fists as he growled out the word. He'd grown up with their father and they were best friends, but even he couldn't stomach looking at the boy's bruised and swollen face.
'Looks like he's had ten rounds in the ring with a fuckin' bull-dozer and lost. How could he? What was he thinkin'?' Mike blurted out, shaking his head in disgust.

'Is he gonna be OK?' Merle asked anxiously.

Mike didn't answer straightaway, and that more than anything scared the bejeezus out of him.

'I need to check him over.' Was all he said.

Mike started pulling Daryl's pyjama shirt over his head but the boy shuddered and stopped him.

'No...Go away...' He mumbled dreamily. Sounding like he was zoning out again or most likely, losing consciousness.

'I have to check, Daryl.' Mike replied patiently and tried again.

This time, Daryl jerked away. 'No, I said get off me!' He hissed at him.

Mike sighed and backed off. 'Fine.'

'Daryl!' Merle was aghast. 'It's only Uncle Mikey. You know him, he ain't like Dad...He ain't gonna hurt ya or nothin'...'

Daryl rolled over on his side. The others stared at him.

Merle looked over apologetically. After all, the man had taken them in when no-one else would. 'Sorry...Maybe he's concussed or somethin'...Don't know what he's sayin'.'

'Forget it. But talkin' of that...that's what we really need to check for, even if he won't let us see nowhere else. I need to see his eyes.'

'Daryl, turn round.' Merle ordered.

He ignored him or maybe he didn't hear him.

'I said turn the fuck around, Daryl! We have to do this.'

Daryl reluctantly turned back to face them, arms crossed defensively over his chest.

'Let Uncle Mikey look at ya eyes.'

'No!' He fought them as Merle pinned him down as lightly as he could by his wrists. Even so, he flailed his head around and kicked out at them with his legs – he was remarkably strong infact and Mike had to jump out of the way.

'Didn't want it to be this way, but ya makin' it hard for us...' Merle hissed down at him in frustration.

'No, Merle, I said don't let him!'

'Shut up!' Merle snapped at him, regretting it instantly when he recoiled. 'Look, just lay still, OK?'

To their surprise, Daryl obeyed but he still cringed away when Mike leaned over him.

'Sh...Jus' wanna check ya eyes...it ain't gonna hurt, promise.'

Mike got a pen light ready from his desk to look in both eyes and examine the size of each pupil as it reacted to the stimulus.

Mike started with the one that was fully open before he moved to the one that was swollen shut. Merle saw what he was about to do and put his body in the way between them as he hissed. 'Can't ya knock him out with somethin' before ya fuckin' do that?'

'No can do, not if he's concussed. Sorry.'

Merle could only stroke his brother's arm to try and distract him. 'Be brave.' He told him.

'Sorry.' The man repeated again to Daryl while the boy grit his teeth to hold back a whimper of pain when Mike gingerly lifted the black and swollen lid up.

Merle stroked his arm but he was brave until the end, seemed to lie there like he was frozen in resignation until the ordeal was over.

When he was finished, Mike looked back at Merle and shook his head slowly.'His head's OK – no concussion that I can see but I don't know about the rest of 'im. Could have internal bleedin' though.' He mouthed at him silently over the boy's head.

Merle didn't answer his urgent, silent question, planning to check Daryl over himself once he was asleep. 'Ya got anythin' to give him? For the pain, I mean.' He asked.

Mike nodded and went upstairs to his bathroom cabinet and came back with a bowl of water, washcloth and a clear transparent baggie of white pills. Trust him to have a remedy for every sticky situation - even if it wasn't quite legal, the older Dixon thought to himself. He eyed the bag with suspicion /
'What are they?'

'Jus' downers – nothin' too heavy. They'll just make him sleep and take away the pain.'

Merle frowned, not quite convinced by this, despite what he'd said earlier. He didn't much care what he chucked down his own throat, but Daryl's? He didn't want to start his baby brother on that shit – once you started, it was hard to get off it. It didn't matter that he himself was the biggest junkie around, he was nearly fully-grown and could handle it. But not Daryl. The last thing he wanted was to start him on that rocky road to be his junkie companion.

Because Daryl was better than that.

'One's enough for him. He's small for his age.' Mike declared expertly.

Merle only stared doubtfully at the white pill in the man's big hand, but one more moan of pain from his brother as he shifted, trying to get comfortable but clearly unable to, convinced him. Mike could also tell that his pain was increasing. It was getting to him even if Daryl didn't say anything. He went to the kitchen to fetch him a glass of water as Merle tried to coax his brother to sit up. 'Ya gotta sit up, little bro.'
Daryl groaned and it seemed to the two men when the other returned that incredibly, he was perking up a little. Apparently, he didn't remember the scene before when they pinned him down. Neither of them were going to bring it back up, it wasn't important.

'My head hurts...Hurt all over.' He groaned, seeming to really notice how much pain he was in for the first time.

'Come on, sit up.' Merle helped him. 'Jus' take this medicine...It'll make ya feel better.' He was now more or less fully awake but still a little /
Daryl half-opened his good eye. Even so, it didn't look pretty either...He'd have a black eye to go with the swollen one he couldn't even see out of in the morning.
'I know ya hurt. But the pill'll take all that away. Right, Mike?'

'Yeah, ... it will. Promise.'

'Uncle Mikey?'

'I'm here, Daryl.' He crouched down again in front of him so that they were at eye-level. 'Jus' do what ya big brother says, OK?'

'Uh...OK...' He agreed.

Mike went out to the kitchenette again and came back with a bowl of ice and a towel. Daryl took the glass from Merle gratefully and swallowed the pill that he put in his hand.
'Good boy.' Merle said, realizing too late that he sounded like their father when he was in a good mood and approved of something Daryl had done – rare occasions indeed. Luckily, his brother didn't react so there was no damage done, Merle could only wish he hadn't said it in the first place.
'Let's get ya back down.' He helped him to settle on his back, before he sat himself down next to him.

Didn't take long before Daryl crawled closer to him and rested the least battered side of his face in his lap. It was clear that he wanted his big /
Merle sighed at Daryl's neediness, yet he couldn't really blame him, he'd been literally pummeled into the ground. He'd been pretty fucking brave about it too though. Hadn't cried about it once it stopped,, only said that he hurt. He put his hand on Daryl's shoulder reassuringly, letting him know that it was OK, that his sigh didn't mean anything bad really. He was just dead tired himself after the drama of the day and badly needed his sleep. He could only imagine what it was like for him, Merle thought while he looked down at the tussle of dark chestnut hair in his lap.

After a while, when enough time had passed for the drug to take effect, they knew they could get to work. Merle could tell by listening to his breathing that was now deep and regular that Daryl was really out for a count.

'That's it – let him stay there close to you. Now that he's under, I'll clean up his face and we'll work our way down after that.' Merle nodded at Mike's words and just steadied Daryl's head on his lap.

'Look at him… God damn it….' Merle exhaled shakily, as if he hadn't understood the full extent of the damage inflicted to his face before.

'This ain't right. Ya Dad's gone too far this time and I'll say that even if he is my best friend. What makes him turn into such a monster, huh?'

'Hell if I knew…It was all my fault. I got high and broke down that shitty bathroom door but Daryl's the one who paid the price.' Without him aware of it his hand went back to his brother's hair, running his fingers through it while Mike cleaned the dried blood off his face as gently as he could. This made him look better – but not much.

'Damn it! It's all my fault...' He blurted out suddenly, racked with guilt.

'Somehow I doubt that.' Mike said as he padded a cracked eyebrow and fixed it back in place with one of those funny-looking butterfly-band aids.
'But ya know how ya dad gets when he's drunk – maybe there's a lot of him in you and I would think twice before getting shitfaced and high on top of it. Ya know that ya usually do something stupid, Merle.. As for ya father, there's no excuse, he knows that he always goes looking for a fight, wants to use his fists on someone after a few drinks... He should try to control himself when he's got a kid in the house.'

'But sometimes the booze mellows him out...' Merle protested despite himself. Lord knows why he was defending the asshole.

'I wouldn't gamble on that. More often it makes him worse, I'm tellin' ya. I know him – we grew up together and he's always been the same. But this is one time too many.'

'I know.'

'Hold his head up while I take off his shirt would ya? I think it's safe to do it now, fuck knows why he wouldn't let me before.' Merle did as he was told but he thought he knew why Daryl made such a fuss but he said nothing.

Mike discarded the bloody shirt onto the floor and he and Merle both hissed at the patchwork of blue and purple bruises their eyes were met with almost simultaneously.

The older man turned him over to find more of the same along his sides.'Jesus!' He exclaimed. 'He could have killed him!'

Merle went pale and nodded, his eyes taking all the marks of their father's brutality in.

''Why did ya old man do this to him? Because you broke a door?'

'Partly. It's a long story, but was uncalled for. Wasn't nothin' he did, that much I can tell ya.'

Mike worked his way down Daryl's chest now and was just about to remove his pyjama pants but stopped just as his fingers was about to undo the knot on the front of them. 'Hey...What's that on ya arm?' Merle followed Mike's finger to where it was pointing at the small circular marks on his forearm while he still stroked Daryl's hair soothingly.

'He put his cigarettes out on ya?' He demanded.

Merle nodded like it had been no big deal even though that was a lie. He remembered all too well how their Dad used to extinguish his Lucky Strikes on him. As if he could ever forget with his body littered with permanent reminders. Some were in the shape of perfect circles while others spread out sloppily from the stubs being pressed too deep into his flesh and kept there.

He knew the pain of being used as his Dad's human ashtray - he used to think it was the worst in the world at one time. He recalled Daryl's high-pitched shrieks of agony just before he burst in the room earlier tonight in sudden contrast to the stubborn silence he'd maintained even while Will had been beating him within the inch of his life. He'd apparently kicked him as hard as he could too, judging by his heavily bruised torso.
The asshole hadn't worked for years but those industrial quality boots still came in handy when he wanted them to, Merle thought bitterly.

He was relieved that Daryl was lying on his back again right then, concealing his scars from the whippings. God knows what Mike would have done if he'd seen them. He was looking more furious each swollen bump and bruise they worked over with the ice and Merle cursed aloud when he saw the small, angry red looking fresh blisters from the bastard's fags. Really, how could he hope that Mike would miss them, not know what they were? They stood out like snow in July for fuck's sake and just as he feared he would, Mike finally lost it.
'Those what I think they are?' He dropped everything without warning, his face slowly reddening with rage as he stood up and rapidly strode out of the room, not giving Merle time to answer.

'Hey! Where ya goin'?' Merle would have followed and tried to stop him but he didn't want to dislodge Daryl - not when he was getting some desperately needed rest after finally being allowed to. Merle knew that getting up wouldn't wake his brother - Mike had said he would be dead to the world at least for the next six hours. Even so, he didn't want to leave him here alone. He'd freak out if he found himself in a strange place without him there, even if they'd been here before. Part of him knew it was useless, but Merle tried one last time to call him back: 'Hey, Mike! Where ya goin'?'

The big man didn't answer, not that Merle needed one, he already knew where he was going and who he was going to pay a visit to. He tried one last time to try to reason with him, to get him to see it from their point of view. 'Leave it! It'll only make things worse!' Merle finally got his answer when the front door slammed shut with a bang.

Instead of stressing over something he had no control over, he sighed in exhaustion and slumped back against the sofa. He knew that he badly needed to sleep but he felt too wound up by recent events to just drift off. Without a second thought, he reached over for the baggie on the coffee-table. He popped three or four of those fuckers, swallowing them down with the rest of Daryl's water just as he heard Mike's car roar to life outside. So what if he'd already been taking stuff and drinking? He needed something to calm himself down.
With that thought, he gently yanked his peacefully sleeping brother closer to him so that his head was now lying on his stomach, much more comfortable for them both. Merle was glad the pills worked their magic fast on him and gave in to them quickly by leaning his own head back against the wall.

Soon, he was snoring loudly, joining his brother in sleep.