Part 18: Guilt Trip

Uh oh, what's Merle done to Mike? What's Dad going to say about it all?

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'You go on in there.' His father gestured towards the living room with his hand as soon as they reached the bottom of the stairs. 'I'll go and get the beer – think ya earnt it tonight, don't ya, Merle?'

Instead of beaming at the rare bit of praise he'd got from his Dad, Merle went deathly pale with guilt as he sat on his usual spot on the sofa. Trying to steel himself for the confession, not only about exactly how he'd made the man scream before he'd finished with him.

When Will came back it was with the best glasses from the cabinet, not the cheap ones he expected to see, and the beer was so cold the cans were practically giving off steam. Merle raised his eyebrows in surprise.
'Dad...' he started, sounding younger and more vulnerable than he had done in years, 'I hurt him bad...then I...he...'. His voice hitched when he tried to find the right words for how he'd tortured the man.

His father turned back to face him and put his hand up to stop him. 'Don't, son. Jus' don't.'

'But I...'

'Whatever ya did, ya did with my blessing. I know you weren't here to see it or hear the things he did to your little brother... Believe me, we did the world a favor by gettin' rid of that piece of shit...Not to mention to any other kids the sick bastard might hurt like that in future.'

'I know... But...' Before he lost courage, Merle was just about to open his mouth but his dad shook his head as he got up from his chair, interrupting him.

'Hold that thought, son.' He said. 'Let me pour us some drinks and you'll feel better after them, OK?'

Merle nodded hastily, Will was starting to sound dangerously pissed off at being kept away from his booze too long. 'Yes, Dad.' Merle replied with untypical meekness, not sounding unlike his brother as he slumped his shoulders and sank back further into the cushions. He blamed himself for all of it- he was afraid that it was all his fault for being so blind two years ago and not listening to his instincts then.
He had known what Mike was and done nothing about it. He should have told their father - recalling all the times he'd seen Mike and Daryl together then and how it had given him the chills. Especially, the way Mike had touched his little brother the last time they'd stayed over... He hadn't told his father about it, hadn't told anyone. In fact his sieve for a brain had forgotten all about it as soon as Mike stopped coming round. How his Dad would react to this revelation, he wasn't sure but he had a pretty good idea.

'Good boy.' Will said, mercifully interrupting his dark thoughts before he turned and went back in the kitchen again, probably to fetch them some chips.

Merle raised an eyebrow at that but did as he was told, thinking how ironic it was that he'd finally done something to win his father's approval. Something that made him sick to his stomach to remember now that the adrenalin and the rage with it, had passed.

He badly wanted to confess to his father what exactly he'd done to Mike for hurting Daryl, not only to get it off his chest, but because in some way he was proud that he was the one to get his brother justice. In some way Merle hoped that what he had to tell him would bring peace to Will.
But apparently what he needed most of all was his father's approval – most importantly, he needed him to say that he hadn't gone too far.
Yet Merle wondered if he would really have the guts to tell his father all the gory details.

A few minutes later Will came back in but not with snacks like Merle had expected but with a bottle of his best whisky saved for special occasions and he suddenly realised that was what those fancy glasses were for. Yet something about the way his Dad wanting them to celebrate made Merle break out in an icy sweat. Of course, by this time, the teenager had guzzled all his beer, he was so nervous. Yet his eyes didn't light up with excitement at the sight of the expensive drink, he only felt more guilty and uncomfortable as if he deserved punishment instead of a reward.

'What you lookin' like that for? You did something good tonight.' His father's eyes glittered curiously at him.

'But...but he was your best friend. Don't you care?'

'Can't say I do.' Will replied callously and grunted dismissively as he sank into his armchair before he poured out the amber liquid in two equally generous measures.
Merle could only gape at him in shock at his cold reply – he knew how close they'd been at one time when Mike had been practically family. How could he be so unfeeling about him even after the shit he'd pulled?To add to Merle's unease, his father started to add the ice he'd brought with him from the kitchen to the glasses to make it on the rocks.

Pretty classy for the Dixons.

'Listen to me, son. I don't know why the hell you feel so guilty about making that evil motherfucker pay. Like I already said, if you'd been here, you'd feel differently about the whole damn thing...'

'That's just it though, ain't it, Dad? I wasn't here, just off getting laid with two worthless whores who I'd never touch with a barge-pole if I was sober and thinking straight.' Merle took a big ungraceful swig of his drink grimacing at himself as he recalled the high pitched laugh one of the girls had, thinking that none of it had been worth it.

Especially not now.

Dad sighed. 'Don't blame yourself for bein' young, Merle. What I wouldn't give to be your age again. Of course, I wasn't much older than you when I got married to your mother. Then you came along and we had to work to pay for the house...then Daryl...Kids these days don't have any responsibilities - so don't feel bad about enjoying your freedom.'

Merle shrugged non-committedly.

'What's really eating at ya? That Daryl was all alone with that monster before I got to him? Ya think that if you had been here along with me, it would never have happened?'

'That sums it up, yeah.'

'Well, then let me tell ya something...Dear ole' Mikey would've found himself another way to get to ya brother even if you had. Anyway, Daryl knows you care. He'll know too what you did for him tonight even if you don't spell out the details.'

'I hope so.' For a second or two he stared at his own knuckles, bruised and sore before the burning question emerged from him without him even lifting his eyes. 'Dad...Don't you want to know what I did to him?'.
It came out as a half-hushed whisper.

Will took his third huge swig of the liquor then closed his eyes and held up the palm of his hand in front of him. He shook his head as he swivelled the mouthful of whisky around his mouth, delicately savouring the flavour. 'No. I thought I made myself clear before. I don't want to know what you did to him. So, don't tell me.'

'But...'

'As long as he's gone and there's no chance of Daryl seeing him again, I don't give a shit what you had to do. Just don't tell anyone – I'm sure folks around here wouldn't blame you... But word could get around, then before you know it, we got the whole fuckin' cop-shop bangin' at our door. Asking questions, wavin' search warrants to come in here... You covered your tracks, I presume? Got rid of those dirty clothes?'

'Yes, Dad.'

'I mean it, Merle. Don't tell a fuckin' soul even if you're dyin' to get it off your chest and you want to tell someone. Not even Daryl, if he asks, ya hear? 'Sides, the cops won't believe us, I'm warnin' you!'

'You don't know that, maybe we should have gone to them in the first place!'

'And have everyone around here know what happened to your brother?'

'I'm sure they all do by now. Your other buddies were here, remember?'

'Oh, them. But if it comes to that, nobody around here will tell the police anythin'. They trust them about half as much as I do.'

'Dad...I feel so...'

'Don't. I keep tellin' you that nobody could blame you! I thought you were tougher than this.' He paused as if pondering something before he swung his heavy gaze back at his anxious son. ' Judging by the way you're acting I'm guessing he's dead?' More of a demand for confirmation than a genuine question.
Merle gulped nervously and looked away before he took another swig of the comforting drink.

'Actually, don't answer that. I don't want to know... So, I'll just go right on ahead and assume he is.' His voice was suddenly hard as he eyeballed his eldest son in a silent challenge. 'He better be.'
Merle couldn't meet his eyes.

After a long pause, Will looked away too. Merle knew that his response or more precisely, lack of it, confused his father. Whatever the questioning look on his face meant though, Merle knew that his father didn't doubt the fact that he'd dealt with that sack of shit properly for Daryl's sake. Most importantly, he had done it without leaving any nasty consequences threatening to rain down on them later.

'Now, the next thing we do is make sure Daryl forgets this ever happened.'

'Yeah? And how the fuck do we do that?' Merle was sceptical of course.

Will put his nearly empty glass on the table as he pondered that difficult question. 'We make him happy, that's what we do. And we don't talk about it. Ever.'

Merle had to agree although it sounded far-fetched and near impossible. Although the image of Dad sitting holding his little brother like that in his bedroom hadn't made him the slightest bit jealous like it would've in the past. Merle would have given anything not to have Daryl go through that at such a young age but at least something good was coming out of it because Dad was acting like a real Dad now.

Speaking of the devil, Merle watched him down the last of his glass with a tired sigh and they only needed to lock eyes without speaking to communicate the despair they both felt over what seemed an impossible task. Make him forget? They both knew Daryl had been through something real bad – that things were going to be very different from then on. Merle knew without asking that they'd be no more hitting coming from their dad for a long while; maybe an occasional lashing but only from Dad's tongue in that house from now on. They both knew that Mike had punished Daryl enough for a lifetime and that was without even getting to do everything he wanted to him.

The older brother took a deep breath when his mind insisted on peppering him with images of Daryl in their father's arms mere hours ago, how vulnerable and small he had looked then. It would no doubt be a long way to full recovery if ever, but Merle vowed silently to do his very best to help his brother through it. He was almost 18 now, no naïve kid and he would do his best to make everything up to him, starting with all the times he'd never been around. But his silent promises paled into nothing as soon as his father's piercing eyes suddenly found his again.

'I saw the look on your face before. When I asked if ya could believe he could do something like that to him and ya hesitated and looked away. Now would be a good time for you to spill.' His father's glare was merciless and his eyes as cold as ice and Merle knew he had nowhere to run.
He was his flesh and blood and he knew him through and through.

'I wasn't sure, that's why I never did nothin' about it. Thought I was imagining things after I got him away from him and besides, he backed off after that. So I let it go. And the reason we left him had less to do with you than that fucker actin' more creepy by the day. Touchin' him all the time and shit, ya know? I thought they were getting' too close in a weird way, ya know?'

'And you did nothin'? Why the hell didn't you tell me about it?' Will's voice rose in the anger he couldn't contain as he suddenly reached for his hunting-knife that was lying conveniently close-by and Merle would be lying if he said he didn't flinch a little at that. He recalled fun times with it and his Dad when he was younger and the older Dixon boy even half-expected him to use it on him again now. More than that, Merle even had half a mind to let him too, feeling that he deserved some kind of punishment for failing in his duty to Daryl.

But instead of taking out his frustration onto him, Will stabbed the sharp point of his hunting knife right into the grain of that ancient wooden table so hard that it shuddered as his voice grew even louder in his rage.
'Do you know what he nearly did to him and you never even warned me!' He roared at him. 'The disgusting names that bastard called ya baby brother...?'

'I know I should've said somethin' at the time!' Merle yelled back but shrank back even further. 'I'm sorry, Dad. I'm sorry, alright!'

Will kept on twisting the knife in literally as well as metaphorically, creating a large ragged hole in the good quality timber while Merle just stared in dismay. Will continued to rant, 'I heard him call him a tease! My boy a fuckin' tease? He hit him too when he fought back...I heard him! That fuckin'...' He yanked the dagger out and stabbed that table again and again with so much force that Merle just knew that his father was imagining that it was Mike he was stabbing.

Merle couldn't blame him but that piece of furniture had been faithfully passed down from Will's mother's grandmother's mother and it was a crying shame to ruin one of the few things that was still nice in their house. His actions told him that his Dad was the angriest he'd ever been in his entire life and that Merle could understand. He'd do the same if he could even though he'd let Mike already have it and then some. Merle had no problem imagining he was stabbing him in his face, his eye-balls, hands, then his other balls ….even his cock ...especially all those body parts that he'd tried to hurt his little brother with...all over, that was if the bastard was still conscious.

However, Merle's vengeful and vicious train of thought came to an abrupt end when he glanced up at his father's face. To see something that he'd never witnessed before - not even when his mother died.

His father was close to tears. 'Stupid asshole...Why did he have to do it, huh? Right in front of me, in my own house, with my own son? Make me...'

'Easy, Dad.' He reached over to stop him. Will let him take the knife out of the old oak table with a remorseful sigh, finally realizing what he'd done to the precious family heirloom.
'Here, have another drink.' Merle turned soliticious and got it for him. While he was there, he also got himself another glass even though he wasn't sure if he had permission.

It didn't matter, Will looked like he couldn't care less if Merle drank the rest of the bottle as he barely glanced at the good measure his son plonked down before him. 'Neither of us could have believed it...he used to be good to us! The fucker could have won an Oscar! ' His son did his best to console him.

'Yeah. Now I know why. Fuck knows how long he's been after your little brother.' A silent reproach, but he might as well have planted the knife in Merle's heart and twisted it, his harsh words stung him so.

Merle's face flooded with red. 'What could I have said? You would probably just have been pissed at me for letting my imagination run wild, thinkin' up sick shit like that about your best buddy.'
Will grunted in agreement, giving him an inch at last. After all, he'd struggled with the truth and he'd heard it for himself.
'I...I thought... I could protect him.' Merle actually stammered.

'I know ya did, it's OK. I just hope you made him suffer.' Will replied when things clearly weren't anywhere near OK and likely never would be again.
'Aw...don't look like that, Merle.' He patted him comfortingly on the shoulder. 'I forgive you for lettin' Mike get to him, son. For not warning me about him, I guess ya just wasn't sure. Hell, he even fooled me.''

As his father spoke, it reminded Merle of the solemn way a Catholic priest might sound at confessional although the only times the Dixons had seen inside the walls of a church was for the rites of life's passage. Not birth (obviously) but marriage and death.

There was a tense silence while Merle stopped focusing on how strange and not himself his father sounded, but on his words instead. He was forgiven, well, close enough anyway. Yet he bowed his head as he tried to figure out exactly how much he was actually to blame for what had befallen Daryl but his mind refused to work and he couldn't put it all down to the whisky.
'What the fuck do I tell him, dad?' He blurted out. 'He's gonna ask about him, ain't he?'

'Jus' tell him you made him scream.'

'I did, Dad.' Merle's feelings of guilt suddenly disappeared and his eyes got a cruel, sadistic gleam in them as he recalled how in the end, Mike writhed in agony, clutching himself trying to stop the flow from the places on his battered body where he was bleeding from the most. His pathetic pleas to Merle for mercy that was not with-coming, his cries seemingly endless because in the end, Mike got about as much mercy and compassion as he'd shown Daryl. Besides, what his father had told him about what had gone on only helped to lessen his self-doubt and remorse and suddenly he felt a whole lot better.
No, he realised with a sense of great relief, he hadn't taken it too far, far from it, in fact.
More than that, all he had to do for his stomach to turn was think about how close Mike had been to reaching his goal – that his Dad only got there just in the nick of time to save Daryl his innocence.

Well, most of it anyway. That thought made him feel sad. Would his little brother be irrevocably changed by his bad experience? Would he stay like that forever?

'Things'll get better over time, son. A few weeks from now you'll feel nothing but pride over making him pay for your brother. You'll feel just as proud of yourself as I am of you now.' Dad read his mind.

Merle gave him a small, hopeful smile as he drained the rest of his whisky and got up. 'I'm tired, going to bed.' Truth be told, he wasn't tired, he just wanted to check on his brother, see the extent of the damage if he could.

'Sure thing, that's no surprise, is it? Good night, Merle.'

Night, Dad.'

Despite all that had happened, a childish part of him couldn't keep the smile off his face as he climbed the stairs when he thought about his Dad calling him 'son' for the first time in many years. Multiple times. In fact, he was like he used to be before their mother died and his heart right along with her. Merle even dared to hope that maybe something good was going to come out of what Mike did if it meant that Dad didn't hurt Daryl anymore.
Tonight, his father had praised him, approved of his way of dishing out justice to Mike and getting rid of him, even though he didn't want to know the details. He'd also given him some of his most prized best whisky. Merle's heart was almost bursting with happiness, only the thought of Daryl could dampen his bliss.
Tonight, his dad had acted like he loved him almost as much as he loved his little brother.