Chapter 30: Accusation
Sorry for such a long delay, we were both overwhelmed with work and life…it's not that we didn't want to continue with this story, life just got in the way. So we really appreciate you sticking with it (and us) and hope you enjoy this long-awaited chapter.
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Merle left home shortly for a job after their night out but his brother was used to it. Although he didn't much like him being gone for obvious reasons, Daryl knew it would do no good to mope about it. Besides, difference was this time that instead of hanging around the house, he spent the majority of his time over at Eric's when they weren't at school.
After the incident with Mr Rogers, he'd go there to escape Dad's endless questions and his suspicious and concerned looks. The tension in the house was unbearable, Daryl couldn't hide anything from him. His father always just knew. And he'd get it out of him eventually, it was just a matter of time.
But he didn't think about his father or his teacher when he was with his best friend who never gave him any hassle.
After dinner, with Eric's parents, their evenings were lazily spent mostly playing computer games without much speaking, except when they swore or cheered each other on. Watching dumb shows like The Duke of Hazzard on the TV was another of their favourite time-killers. Just as Daryl liked it – their comfortable silence gave him time to think.
Of course, the fact that Daryl was spending less and less time at home didn't pass his father by at all and he showed his displeasure moreeach time. Yet he didn't stop Daryl from going to his friend's, he merely scowled and snapped mostly whenever he spoke at his son. One particular evening after this had been going on for one or two weeks, Daryl came home from school only to grab his things to spend the night at Eric's, Will's patience finally snapped. Daryl found himself roughly grabbed by his shirt, preventing him from getting out of the door.
'Where ya goin', son?'
'Staying with a friend.'
'Girl or boy?'
'Why does that matter?'
Will gave him a little shake. 'Girl or boy?'
'Boy.'
Will rolled his eyes.
'Ain't it about time ya got a girlfriend, son? Merle was already ploughing his fields and sowing his oats when he was your age.'
Daryl grimaced at his crudeness - he didn't want that image in his head of his big brother even though he knew it was true. Merle had boasted about it enough and he'd heard the noises coming from his bedroom whenever he brought a girl back. Noises neither of them had bothered to keep down and even though part of him was disgusted that one of the participants was his own brother – and that was kind of sick; Daryl couldn't deny that he'd been a little jealous. One or two times he'd even felt his own dick harden when he heard his dirty talk to her clearly through the wall and the screams and moans of pleasure they never bothered to hide.
'What is it? You're a good-looking boy.'
Dad stroked his cheek then and leaned in closer where Daryl got a whiff of the cheap whiskey he'd been drinking. He fought hard not to draw back at the stench.
'Or don't ya like girls? That it? Ya a fag, boy?' Dad spat in his face and shoved him hard, suddenly changing tack.
'I ain't my brother! And of course I ain't a fag, I like girls.' Daryl snapped back even though he wasn't sure. He felt his face go hot. He didn't really feel like he liked either sex in particular - but hell was going to freeze over before he admitted it to his father. Well, he did like Andrea, but he knew that he wasn't good enough for her.
He was rudely interrupted in his thoughts again, by Will nudging him with his elbow. 'Well, prove it, then. Get on and fuck one already, will ya?'
'What's it to you?'
'Careful now, boy. Merle ain't home and ya know things could end up very badly for you if I have to punish you. So, don't make me.'
'Well…there is this onegirl I like but she's with Shane-shit-for-brains-Walsh.'
Dad shook his head and chuckled. 'You just show her what she's missin', then.'
Thankfully, his dad seemed relieved and drew back a little just enough so that Daryl felt like he could finally breathe again. 'Can't imagine she'd pass on a cute boy like you.' Will gently brushed the fringe out of his son's eyes.
Daryl couldn't help frowning when it seemed like his father's gaze lingered a little too long on his face for comfort, especially hovering over his lips but he dismissed the chills running up and down his spine as simple paranoia. Instead, he shrugged his shoulders and dropped his eyes. 'Whatever. I gotta go.'
'Where to?' Will asked again as if he didn't know.
'Eric's.' When Daryl saw his questioning eyes, he quickly added: 'We're gonna down a few beers and shoot some shit.'
'OK, son. But don't do nothin' I wouldn't do.'
Daryl sniggered inside at that. What the fuck was he talking about?
His dad must have sensed his obvious confusion because he made himself very clear in the next sentence as his eyes narrowed and Daryl sensed that he was skating on very thin ice once more.
'What I mean, boy...Is that ya better behave yourself. No son of mine gets fucked in the ass, ya hear me?!'
Shocked at his father's harsh words and not knowing where they came from, instead of signing his own tombstone by answering back, Daryl stormed out and slammed the front door behind him. He just had to get out the hell out of there as he made his way over to Eric's. He couldn't wait to relax – Eric's parents seemed pretty cool and didn't hassle them.
They also seemed to like him even though he was there more than he was at home these days. They liked Daryl for who he was, he never needed to put on airs and graces to try to be polite because let's face it, Daryl was no poster boy when it came down to table manners. He wouldn't know how to pretend, anyway. Still, they didn't seem to mind and it was like they welcomed him as a second son into their home.
Daryl was really pissed off with his father for implying that maybe he was gay. However, after a little time spent with Eric's normal family, he started to relax and whether people thought he was a gay or not suddenly wasn't important anymore. Even though they didn't live in San Francisco - not even in a large town where it was starting to become more acceptable - but in a backwards, hick village where even the suspicion of homosexuality gave the locals the right to beat the shit out of you and sometimes worse.
But Eric wasn't like that – he was a pretty easy-going guy actually and so were his parents who dressed like hippies and smoked weed at the weekends, even offering their son and his friend a spliff to share.
In fact, his folks couldn't be more different from the one parent he had left who he was stuck with at home even if they tried. Daryl was pretty positive that even if Eric came out to them gay tomorrow, they would accept it with barely a blink. Probably clap him on the back and tell him how cool that was and how proud of him they were for his courage to be himself.
They had never discussed stuff like that anyway – girls just never came up, didn't seem important. What was, however, was that they felt safe and happy in each other's company, especially as Daryl needed a refuge with no yelling or flying fists where he could flee to when things at home got really bad. Even now more than ever, not only because his anger and mortification at what his dad had just said to him but also because of the creepy way he'd looked at him when he touched him.
But all of this faded away when the Morellis told him he was more than welcome to stay the night with genuine smiles on their faces. This was followed tonight by a nice home-cooked meal of chicken stew put in front of him and then he knew there would be dessert that he looked forward to with excitement – some delicious Italian fruit tart made by Mr Morelli or some creamy pudding with red berries they called pannacotta. Daryl had trouble pronouncing those funny foreign food names and they laughed at him good-naturedly when he tried. They were always happy to give him a second helping, especially when it came to dessert. Mrs Morelli damn near prepared enough dessert for him to get a second helping without the need for Daryl to ask. She could easily tell when what was served was appreciated and when it was not. But Daryl always finished what he was served, no matter what. A few years later he would realise that they probably knew about his dad's abuse like everyone else and felt sorry for him. Still, they never raised the issue nor did they appear to obviously pity him or treat him any different from their son, even when his face was clearly bruised.
At school, Daryl felt himself getting stronger and able to face the creep in the classroom without many problems and the teacher, for his part, left him mostly alone. However, every once in a while, seeing him, remembering what he tried to do, not surprisingly, hit him like a tow-truck. He reckoned that the reason for his dad's concerned questions that never stopped was partly due to the shit he'd already been through. His attempt at putting on a poker face be damned on days like that.
Yes - Daryl was usually great at pretending everything was OK. Living with a ticking time bomb that was his alcoholic father had honed his skills at disguising his emotions and he was also quite talented in the art of thinking pretty quickly on his feet to come up with a convincing lie. These skills were literally necessary for his survival. But sometimes even a pro like him made mistakes and his acting crumbled to pieces as a result.
For example, after a few days of him staying at Eric's on and off – unfortunately he couldn't stay there all the time like he wished he could; Daryl got back from school to find his father had upped his tempo in order to get the truth out of him. Sick of the relentless interrogations, Daryl sometimes wondered if he should lay out everything that had happened to him on the table just to get some peace and quiet from his father's broken record of incessant questions. He was beyond tired of hearing it by now and sensed that it was going to all end badly, he was sure of it. Especially, if his father hadn't given up by now.
He was proved right.
Knowing his father's feelings towards homosexuals, no different to most where they lived at that time, he knew that he couldn't tell him what had happened with Rogers, despite his assurances that he wouldn't be blamed. Not only that, Daryl still felt ashamed at how easily he'd been taken in by the teacher. As if Rogers cared about if he went to college or not! Which was a joke anyhow. And how blind as a bat, he'd voluntarily stayed behind to talk to him after class.
The feelings of anger and betrayal towards his teacher were still raw, but he intuited that his father would blame him for not seeing it coming. Turn the tables on him and twist everything that happened in his mind – maybe even convince himself that Daryl had somehow asked for it – for talking to Rogers - or that he'd led him on and then no doubt punish him mercilessly for it. He recalled Mike telling him that he wanted what he threatened to do to himdespite his protests, accusing him of leading him on.
Or more likely, he thought to himself, he'll kill the perverted teacher for what he did.
And if Rogers hadn't stopped when he was told to and gone the whole way with him, Daryl probably would have let him go ahead and do it.
But the teacher hadn't. Was still a creep though, in Daryl's book. Nevertheless, he'd dealt with it, put a stop to it like a man. A man that didn't need his Daddy to protect him anymore.
Like a man his father and brother were always onat him to become.
'Come on, Daryl. What's wrong with ya, son?' His father asked him softly.
'Nothing, Dad. I'm fine.' His eyes skittered to the side as often was their habit whenever he was with his father. It was partly true, he'd proven himself to be no victim. But even though he tried to deny it, nevertheless, he found himself still panicking inside a bit before and during each maths class, worse when it was over and he relaxed, false bravado be damned. But Rogers didn't ever know his effect on him, he made damn sure of that.
Yet his dad had somehow picked up on his inner turmoil and seized his chance once more to get the truth out of him. Daryl felt himself being pulled into a tight embrace and gentle fingers were soon running through his hair.
Daryl didn't resist him – that would have been a death sentence and besides, it felt nice. For a moment, he could pretend that everything was as it should be, that his father just held him like that to show him his love, not with a hidden motive that became painfully clear when he was asked once more who the adult was who had hurt him. Daryl didn't answer straight away.
'Tell me, son. It ain't ya fault – whatever he did. Ya jus' a kid.' Will persisted.
Right then, it hit him like a ton of bricks and he remembered the teacher kissing and groping him all over again. He hugged his father harder, taking up the offer of comfort, sensing that it was safe to do so.
'No, dad. 'Cos nothin' happened.'
'Last chance to tell me, son.' His father's eyes narrowed as his voice grew suddenly hard.
Daryl instinctively backed away because he knew damn well that he was now treading on dangerous ground in a rapid turnaround – his father was testing him in some way. Does he know? But how? Daryl asked himself. He knew there were rumours flying about him and Rogers, most of them spread by the good-for-nothing Walsh. Still, even if the little shit had told his own father the Sheriff about him and Rogers, Daryl was at loss to figure out exactly how it could reach hisfather's ears. Shane's and his father obviously ran in different circles and were about as civil to each other as their sons were. More than that, Daryl knew that if it was the other way around, his father would just smirk and not give two hoots about it getting back to Shane's father. He would probably simply stand back and watch things play out.
'Last chance. I ain't gonna ask ya again.' Will repeated, voice hard now as he glared at his squirming son.
Daryl barely had time to think Thank fuck sarcastically before he answered:
'Nothing, happened, Dad.' He replied firmly, deciding to take a gamble. Oblivious to how dearly he would pay for that one little white lie later.
Will looked like he didn't believe him, but he was finally let go and true to his word, he didn't mention it again but something had definitely changed between them. Daryl caught him looking at him coldly with high suspicion whenever he went to his friend's yet he would comment on it less and less. He knew that wasn't a good sign but all he cared about just then was that he wasn't forbidden to go. He had to get away from the tense atmosphere at home that was full of danger.
About 1 week later, his father came stumbling into his room more than a little drunk from the bar. Daryl was rudely awakened by his chair that usually sat in the corner of the room being dragged across the floorboards to his bed. His father turned it around and sat down, crossing arms around the back of it in silence.
Daryl drowsily became aware of his father sitting there, not saying anything, just staring at him with an unreadable expression written on his face.
'Dad, what's wrong?' He called out anxiously, heart starting to thump with panic in his chest. His father leaned closer to him and his automatic reaction was to back away but his father stopped him by cupping his jaw gently with his big hand.
'Sh… Ain't gonna hurt ya, son.'
Once again, his father's gaze lingered a little too long on his face, as if drinking him in with his eyes. This didn't escape Daryl as he fought the impulse to squirm away, but he didn't dare to. It also didn't escape him how much his dad was slurring, bad enough that he was almost incomprehensible. Needless to say, it didn't make him feel any better.
When his father actually licked his lips, Daryl brushed it off as a trick of light or that he still was feeling sleepy. He must still be dreaming. It was such a weird thing to do.
He shook his head to clear it and that was the trigger for his father to let him go.
No, he wasn't dreaming – how he wished he was - and his dad was very drunk.I have to wake up!He ordered himself.
Daryl knew he had to keep his wits together otherwise he could end up badly hurt tonight. He was under no sweet illusions that he wouldn't be.
So, he braced himself.
As if sensing his thoughts, his father repeated, 'I said I ain't gonna hurt you.'
But Daryl knew that him saying that was more of a habit than anything else and it in itself was a red flag.
Especially when he'd been drinking and had time to stoke up his ever-present rage.
In other words, his dad's assurances didn't mean shit
Daryl realised he should have been expecting it. After all, his dad had barely laid a hand on him since Merle left and that meant a beating was in the works.
'Sh...Don't be scared. Come 'ere to Daddy.' He leered over him, his stinking breath almost choking him.
Daryl shrank back as far away from him as he could, even though he knew the risk he was taking. But he just couldn't help himself, he was unable to stomach this close proximity to his father in his drunken, unpredictable state as well as the weird way he was currently speaking to him.
Will didn't seem to notice him do that, but when he tried to grab his son's jaw again, Daryl twisted his face away from his hand.
'What? Ya don't like me touchin' you?' Will slapped his teenager so hard that his head dashed against the wall making him see stars. 'But ya like others to, don't ya?'
Daryl struggled to fight the faintness. 'W…What?'
For a moment of dazed confusion, Daryl didn't know what he was talking about, then he remembered their conversation earlier that day. Strange when practically the same question had been barked at him every day for weeks.
'Ya lied to me.'
'What? I don't know what ya talkin' about!'
He sneered. 'Ya sure?'
'Yes, and I do knowI didn't lie to ya! I told ya, I don't know what you're talkin' about!'
'Well, if ya don't know, I sure won't be tellin' ya what I heard.' With that, Daryl was dragged out of bed and shoved hard up against the wall.
'What happened to ya, son? I noticed somethin's ain't right with ya lately. Merle seems to know somethin' but he won't tell me. Did you tell him?'
'Would you stop askin' me that already? Keep tellin' ya nothin' happened!' Daryl insisted and tried to push his father off of him, but he barely budged. Instead Will's fist met his stomach, knocking the air out of him. Gasping for breath, Daryl reflexively leaned forward and almost sank to the floor until he was grabbed and yanked back up-right painfully by his hair.
'Ouch!' He instinctively grabbed at his father's hand, desperately trying to make him loosen his grip.
But his father didn't. Will shook him like a dog instead. 'Not until ya tell me what's goin' on with ya, Daryl!'
'There ain't nothin' to tell!' No way was he going to tell him the truth now even if he'd thought about it before. He knew his father would kill him if he did, the mood he was in.
'Lyin' little shit…' He snarled and punched him full in the face. Daryl slid down against the wall, dazed. Will took advantage of his son's weakened state to grab him by the ankles and haul him towards him across the floor. And before Daryl knew it, his father was straddling him, his voice trembling with rage as he hissed at him, 'I know!'
'Know what? What ya want me to say?' Daryl put his hand to the left side of his throbbing cheek without even knowing he was doing it.
'It ain't about what I want ya to say! Somethin' happens and ya should tell me! Not go runnin' off to another boy's folks. Ya been pourin' ya little heart out to them 'bout it, ain't ya? '
Daryl realised with a start that his dad was jealous. Probably worried about what he'd been saying about him to them, too. But Daryl had never spoken a word about him to anyone – except Eric, of course, even though the truth was often written all over his face – literally.
'That the reason I barely seen you these last few weeks, ain't it?' His father snarled at him.
His voice rose in rage and Daryl knew that he was working himself up. He cowered back then, really scared. An angry father he could deal with but not with one who was delusional and making up stories in his head. What could he possibly say that wouldn't be taken wrong?
'I ain't told 'em nothin', cause there ain't nothin' to tell! 'Bout you or anyone!'
His dad got off him then and stood up and for one split-second, Daryl believed that that was the end of it and thought that he'd got off lightly. That his dad was as tired of hearing the same old answers as Daryl was of answering his dad's same old questions.
That he'd finally given up.
Given up? Punishment over?
Boy, was he wrong about that. It became clear to him when his father didn't leave his room but drew back his foot, clad in his steel working boot (for some reason even though he hadn't done a day's work in years, he liked to wear them about the house) and delivered a mind-numbing pain to Daryl's side. He bit his tongue, trying to keep quiet.
'Why did ya lie to me?' He delivered another hard kick in exactly the same place.
Daryl blinked back tears that sprang to his eyes both from the pain and the terror that began to sink in when he realised that his dad seemed to know something he wasn't supposed to.
Yet he still stubbornly refused to cry out.
'What do you think you heard?' He croaked, holding his hurt side.
'Rumours about you and a teacher.'
'What? From who?'
Daryl was relieved when his dad didn't answer but pulled him up off the floor. At least he won't kick me again,he thought thankfully to himself - his side was burning agony.
However, Will slapped him hard across the face then with the back of his hand, splitting his lip. A simple slap. Nothing in comparison. Daryl was just glad that right then he wasn't using his fists or his steel-toed boots on him.
'Does it matter? Is it true?
'No!'
'Why would someone make somethin' up like that?'
'That depends on who told you.'
'Don't get smart with me, boy.'
'I'm not. Who told ya?'
'Someone down at the bar. They sure gave me all the gory details before they realised who they were sitting next to. Next second, he was no longer on the stool when I taught him good not to spread filthy lies about my son. But now I'm not so sure they were lies – seein' how you been lyin' to me along. Ya protectin' him, and lying about it 'cos ya like it, huh?'
'They were spreading shit aorund! You know how rumours start – all he did was give me detention a few too many times, I guess some asshole with nothin' else to do spread it about and made more out of it.'
'I ain't buyin' it. You've been actin' all funny lately, too. Like you were after…after…' He looked away then, seemingly tongue-tied and shifty. Not like him at all.
Will sighed then and grew calm. Even looked almost apologetically at his son. 'Maybe it ain't ya fault…', He mused. Before his face darkened.
'No! Don't you try making me feel sorry for you!You lied to me!' He yelled suddenly and grabbed his son by the upper arms and shook him hard.
He'd lost it again. Daryl knew that was the worst thing about his dad – his unpredictability. He never knew what was coming next – a hug or a punch.
Daryl was startled. 'Let go of me!'
'Tell me what fuckin' happened, boy! What's his name? 'Cos I'm gonna fuckin' kill him for puttin' his filthy paws all over you!'
'What does it matter who it is? I already told ya it was nothin'.'
'It's still goin' on, ain't it?'
'What? No!'
'Liar!' He screamed.
'I ain't lyin'!'
'I know something happened, it's up to you what happens next. What's he done to you? Did ya let him?'
'Are you crazy? I swear...I told 'im if he tries anythin' again...'
He sneered down at him and Daryl kicked himself mentally when he realised his stupid mistake.
'So that means that somethin' did happen, then?' His dad crowed triumphantly. 'Why didn't ya just go ahead and say that in the first place?'
'It's not like ya think!'
'Cos you got somethin' to hide, that's why!'
'No, I felt ashamed, that's why I didn't tell you. Ain't told no one.' Which was the truth but someone obviously knew. Daryl couldn't imagine Rogers broadcasting his exploits with underage male students. Then again, there were the rumours. But had someone actually seen or heard them? He didn't recall hearing any door closing or footsteps.
His train of thoughts was rudely broken when he heard himself say; 'Maybe somebody—' The rest of his sentence was blocked off by a full force head-butt. He felt the blood gushing down from somewhere near his forehead, some of it going into his mouth. The taste of iron was sharp.
'So what did he do? Ya dug yourself a hole, boy, might as well keep digging.'
'He came onto me. Groped me and shit…'
'He did WHAT?!'
'Weren't no big deal, keep tryin' to tell you...'
'And what did you do when the bastard did that?'
Daryl tried desperately to hold back the blood that was practically flooding down from his split eye-brow thanks to the head-butt out of the blue. 'I told him to stop and he did!'
'No, I bet ya did nothing. You didn't even put the bastard in hospital! Merle would have done it in ya place! Fuck knows how many boys he's done it to since you… You like him, that it?' Will couldn't help but think of Mike and his last pathetic plea to him to save him from Merle before he was dragged off.
Daryl wondered if his dad had really lost it, expecting him to do something like that when the man was no longer a threat. 'But I told him if he ever did it to another boy, I'd make him pay!'
'I'm sure he believed you.' Will mocked and drew back his fist threateningly.
'Dad…' Daryl stretched out a bloody hand to his father. 'Please stop. I felt ashamed, that's why I didn't tell you! You have to believe me!'
Will pounced on that one word but lowered his arm. 'Why you use that word? 'Ashamed?' The cogs started turning in his head. 'Only fags and women use it…when they've been…been...abused…Oh Fuck…Why did you say that? Only pussies and fags say that. Dixons don't let anyone make them feel ashamed – they'd kill them before they even have the chance.'
'Dad …please…' Daryl pleaded. He didn't know what the hell his crazed, drunk father was going on about.
'You used it because he did do something to you or at least you did something to him…just like the other bastard made you…'
'No I only meant I felt ashamed that I was so fucking blind to not see what he was, that's all!'
Daryl would have tried to escape then but he was too hurt to move – he thought he probably had bruised ribsand his dad was blocking the door. He didn't know how much he could take of his father's crazed and drunken ramblings, let alone any more beatings.
'After all, you've done it before. Guess he didn't have to teach you much if he did make you do something to 'im.' Will taunted cruelly.
Daryl was in too much pain and too distracted to notice that his father licked his lips at himagain.
But he wasn't too distracted to not get angry at his father for mentioning what he'd been forced to do. 'Shut up' slipped out of him before he could take it back.
As angry as he was with him, Will couldn't bring himself to say in words what Mike made his son do. It was still too painful for them both. He knew he'd done his best to fix the damage his missing - presumably dead best friend had done to his son when he kept him home from school after it happened, but he should have known better. At that age…such an impressionable age…There's no helping...
Will finally admitted the truth to himself. Daryl was a fag. Daryl hadn't fought back. Most significant of all, Daryl refused to give him the pervert's name.
'You let him use you. One way at least – maybe...maybe... the other way as well. All those detentions alone together in the classroom…' Despite his revulsion, Will felt himself grow hard at the image.
'Please, dad. I didn't do nothin' with him, ya gotta believe me! I didn't want to tell you 'cos I didn't want you to lose it and kill him!' Then his bloodied face fell as he realised he'd made another dumb mistake.
'Why you protectin' him for, huh? You like him, and you liked it, admit it!'
'No! There was nothing to like!Why would I act allweird like you say if I liked it?I stopped him, why aren't you listening?'
Will shook his head and looked down at him with such great disappointment. He seemed calm now and Daryl thought he was finally finished with the punishment now he'd got the truth out of him. That was until he spoke again.
'Ya ain't no son of mine, no Dixon either.' He spat down at him with unconcealed contempt and hatred before he started raining blows all over his body, alternating the punches by kicking him as hard as he could with his steel-capped boots. Just when he thought he couldn't take anymore they kept oncoming.
Even worse than that - those words – what he'd called him, his father had never looked at him so coldly before like he didn't exist, not even during the severest punishments and they'd been plenty of those. Daryl knew he was finally going to kill him and there wasn't one thing he could do to stop it.
I'm dead. His last thought was of Merle before he thankfully lost consciousness. I want my brother.
