Merle was plunging his hands into Daryl's hair while his brother sat, head down, shivering in the tub.
Even though it wasn't even cold – a typical late Georgian Spring, he was washing his baby brother – old style, away from the prying eyes of the camp.
He'd persuaded Daryl – sick of seeing his greasy, lank hair, his stink. His stubble that Merle had recently razored away. Took him by the hand like they were children again and brought Daryl here, unresisting. To get clean, out in the fresh hair.
Had he even washed since they rescued him? Why hadn't someone showered him, cleaned him up? He felt another burst of anger towards the group and Rick, who'd not only allowed his baby brother to be used, abused and broken but had abandoned him to his fate.
After all he'd done for them.
Merle lathered the shampoo in his hands before a final rinse with clean water from one of the metal pails on the ground beside the tub. The water was cold but that didn't matter, the sun was rising and the day was growing warmer.
'Stand up.' He ordered Daryl quietly. He obeyed without murmur but when Merle tried to pull down his boxers – the piece of clothing he'd insisted on keeping on- Daryl grabbed his hands.
'No.' He said. Not normally shy around his big brother but then Merle didn't know that they'd stripped him roughly and laughed at the scars on his back from their father. Mocked the size of his manhood before they started to roughly grope him.
Daryl could hear their jeering laughter now. When Merle tried to remove his underwear, 'Thought ya'd be big like ya brother.' Even in his terror, he'd wondered how they knew how big Merle was. Or were they just bluffing? 'Who whipped ya? Was it ya Daddy?' They'd asked. 'Because ya were bad?
Merle rolled his eyes. 'Come on. It's only me. Not like I ain't seen it before.' He tried again.
'Don't.' His brother shoved his hands away his words coming out now more like a plea.
'OK, OK.' Merle sighed, raising his hands in surrender. 'Keep them on then. But ya gonna change all ya clothes when we get back.'
Daryl nodded obediently and slumped back down in the tub. Leaned back in relaxation and closed his eyes when his brother started to massage his neck and shoulders with the soapy sponge. Merle smirked smugly. While he was doing it, he paused now and then to trace the raised, bumpy lines of scar tissue lovingly with his finger – just above the skin's surface so that his brother didn't know what he was doing. He sighed, whispering into his brother's ear, 'Ya so beautiful, baby brother. Ain't no-one who could take that away from ya, not him, not them. No matter what the sick fucks do.'
When he mentioned 'him' and 'them', Daryl started trembling more violently than before as he let out a low whimper and Merle kicked himself. Daryl was getting better, the boy was tough and healed fast but he wasn't that better yet. So, instead of scolding him for being a pusssy like he would have done in the past, he shushed him. Tucked back his hair behind his ears. Stroked his back, letting his fingers glide over the scars lightly.
I'm the only one he let's touch him. None of the others. He grinned to himself. Daryl's mine again. Mine! He hated what had happened to him, he'd have died willingly if it had meant that his baby brother would have been spared what they did to him in Woodbury but this was the one good thing to come out of his ordeal. Daryl only trusted his big brother now. Had become distant towards even Rick and Glenn.
'Ya only trust me, don't ya, baby brother? Ya know that nobody is ever gonna be able to understand ya or love ya as much as I do.'
Daryl didn't answer but sighed in contentment as Merle's hands worked their magic, ironing out all the aches and pains from his tense muscles. As they moved lower and lower down his body. Who in the group would have expected Merle to be good at massage? They didn't know but he'd learnt a few tricks in prison.
The older Dixon was gratified to see that damn shaking stop.
'Only Merle can make ya feel this good. Ya know I can.'
Daryl gave small, weak smile and nodded without speaking or opening his eyes. It wamed his brother's heart to see it.
After a while, when the water was getting cold and Daryl's skin was puckering, Merle decided it was time for him to get out of the bath. Besides, he was started to tremble again but this time with cold.
He held the towel he'd been warming on a sun-warmed rock to him. 'Come on. I promise I won't look, ya little girl.' He smirked but true to his word, turned his head away as Daryl pulled down the dirty boxers and stepped out of them, leaving them lying on the ground. Merle wrapped him up in the warm towel then and used it as an excuse to embrace him. Holding onto him a bit longer than necessary because he was enjoying this closeness. Because it was just like when he'd used to give his brother a bath when they were kids because Mama was passed out or whatever.
He held him like that, pinning Daryl's arms to his sides until he started to thrash around and panic crept into his eyes.
'Let go of me you fag. I ain't a baby.'
Merle laughed and released him. Glad to see him get some of the fire back in his eyes.
'At least ya don't stink like a pigshit now, little brother.' He teased.
Daryl secured the towel around his waist, picked up the dirty boxers in one hand and gave his brother a playful shove. 'Who says you always smell like you just fell into a bed of roses? Ya stink even when ya just washed.'
That night, while Daryl was stumblingly telling his story with his big brother's arms tight around him, Rick forced himself and everyone else to listen. He felt sick with guilt and pity even though Daryl was deliberately being sparing with the gritty details but their minds filled in
whatever he didn't say.
The worst thing was that they had left him behind unknowingly. It was all his fault because he hadn't been able to persuade Daryl to stay – couldn't fight the hold his big brother had over him.
Blood was blood and the group were nothing against that bond. Yet, Rick had seen how they younger man appeared to visibly shrink in his brother's shadow.
And the way Merle touched him, spoke to him made the leader's skin crawl. Something about it...but he couldn't put his finger on it. Even though it was clear that Merle deeply loved and cared about Daryl. Besides, he knew that as soon as he could, Merle would be plotting how to get Daryl away from them so that he could have his little brother all to himself.
Rick vowed he wouldn't let him.
When Daryl became more or less incoherent as he swigged more and more from the vodka bottle, the tears and snot streaming down his face, Merle decided it was enough. Embarrassed for him, he'd got him up and dragged him back to their tent. Rick watched them go with a deep frown of concern written on his face.
He turned to the others, many of them who were crying now but hadn't in front of the hunter out of respect for him – Maggie, Carol, Beth and even Glenn. They knew how Daryl hated people to feel sorry for him.
He wanted to say something hopeful, comforting but he didn't know what because the truth was, there wasn't anything he could say. It had happened to Daryl and nothing they could do could undo it. He couldn't erase the feeling of collective guilt they shared that they'd unwittingly left him behind either.
They could only help him heal.
Worse – he was sure that Merle would use their terrible mistake to persuade his brother to leave them once and for all.
Merle got his sobbing brother into the tent. Stroked his hair soothingly and put one arm around him until Daryl leaned into him and finally calmed down enough to sleep.
'Let's get ya into bed.' He pulled he's shoes off just like he was a child again, and arranged the covers around him. He only needed a couple of light ones – the warm sleeping-bag for camping would have been too much this weather.
Daryl wasn't long in falling asleep. Merle hoped that he wouldn't have too much of a throbbing headache when he woke up. Or be mortified that he'd told them too much about what had happened.
When he was safely sleeping, Merle gazed down at his face. Daryl's skin was smooth, the lines less visible. He looked at peace with the world, boyishly young even.
Merle leaned forward to breathe in his brother's scent. It was like his own – musky.
It reminded him of their father and unwanted memories threatened to crowd his mind. Mainly of that bastard's heavy body pinning him down – he'd had the same scent as theirs only always mixed with whiskey or beer – whatever he had decided to drink that day.
'Fuck off.' Merle growled. 'I ain't nothin' like ya. I never hurt him.'
And it seemed like he could hear their Daddy in his head, laughing that bitter, dark laugh of his. Mocking Merle's pathetic attempt to lie to himself.
He reached down and kissed his brother's forehead lingeringly. Drew back after and listened to Daryl's breathing and when he was satisfied that he wasn't going to wake up, laid a quick peck on his brother's lips.