Chapter Eight
"Fuck, fuck Shane, someone's gonna see," Daryl hissed desperately, slamming his head back against the brick wall when Shane's tongue darted out to swipe over that spot that always made his head swim with pleasure.
"You best get off quick then," Shane drawled. His eyes sparkled with challenge as he sucked the head of Daryl's cock back into his mouth.
From just around the corner, the low hum of the cheerleader's midday practice could be heard clear as day. And yes, maybe they were skipping P.E. for perhaps the fifth time in the last few weeks to hook up for the third time that day. And sure, maybe their chosen locale on this occasion hadn't been particularly well thought-out. But that didn't mean Daryl was ready to have the whole school watch him get his dick sucked, or for anyone to find out just who was doing the sucking.
Shane's mouth formed a tight seal around Daryl's aching cock. The warm, wet, heat of his damp lips gliding over feverish skin had Daryl's knees buckling. And the fear of being caught made Daryl's heartbeat race like never before, one hand gripping Shane's shoulder like a vice to keep himself standing.
A group of girls walked into the school via the double-doors around the corner from where he and Shane were hidden. Their giggles and idle chit-chat rang out clear as a bell, and even though the wall Daryl was leaning against had no windows, and looked out onto an empty lot, he couldn't help but feel nervous. The panic of hearing their footsteps mingled with Daryl's arousal, heightening it.
He knew he was leaking like a faucet under Shane's expert tongue, but the older boy didn't seem to mind. Even more so, Shane didn't seem the least bit bothered by the openness of their position, nor the sharp clank of those double-doors slamming shut intermittently as teens shuffled in and out of the building. Risky summed it up best; but a risk that was well worth it.
And at the end of the day, "worth the risk" could have been the slogan of his and Shane's relationship, if Daryl were to pick one. They met up behind the bleachers, in abandoned bathrooms, and vacant classrooms. They made out in Daryl's truck, or Shane's. On nights when the temperature didn't drop below freezing, they laid out by the pond in which Daryl had so nearly drowned. And most every night, they slept together in Shane's bed.
On the few evenings that Shane's mother wasn't working the late shift, and therefore spending the night at home, Daryl would tell Shane he was going to sleep back at his place. He'd get in his truck and barrel on down the road in the direction of his decrepit neighborhood. But at the last moment, he'd veer off towards the woods, park on the side of the road, and sleep wrapped up in an old blanket across the truck's vinyl seating. He'd been keeping a few spare sets of clothing in the back of his truck for weeks now, and hadn't stepped foot in his house in much longer than that.
Maybe Shane didn't really understand why Daryl did the things he did. Certainly couldn't fully comprehend why Daryl refused to go to the police, or why he hid his scars like they were marks of shame rather than badges of courage. But Shane had been right about one very important thing: his home wasn't safe anymore. And even if Daryl still wouldn't admit it aloud, he knew better, now, than to willingly place himself in the line of his father's fire.
Instead, Daryl slept shivering in his truck, on those few nights where he couldn't stay at Shane's instead. The older boy had mentioned more than once now that he ought to just tell his mother about Daryl. His mother, and just her, so at least they wouldn't have to hide in Shane's own home. But Daryl turned him down firmly and repeatedly, fearing the slippery slope of that truth.
Rick knowing was one thing. He was trustworthy and solid, and even Daryl knew that Rick would never let their secret slip. But if Shane's mother found out, then this thing they had would be real and alive. If she objected, she might take away the one good thing in Daryl's life. And even if she gave Daryl and Shane her stamp of approval, happy lips run loose, and it would only take one absent-minded comment to bring his life crumbling down.
Shane's hand went to Daryl's nuts, rolling them gently in his palm and squeezing them up towards the younger boy's body as he plummeted towards release. Daryl was biting hard enough at his lower lip to make it bleed, trying his best to remain silent when every fiber of his being wanted to shout out his pleasure in a whimpering moan.
"Shane, Shane, I'm gonna…" he whispered hurriedly, fingers digging into Shane's shoulder blade.
The bell marking the end of the period rang out from the school and across the yard. And just on cue, Daryl went over the edge with a loud grunt, panting with his head thrown back as Shane swallowed him down. Shane continued to suckle at him, tongue laving every last trace of his seed until it all became too much and Daryl pulled sharply at Shane's unruly hair. Shane released him with a pop, grinning at the sweaty, sated boy victoriously.
He hopped easily to his feet, helping Daryl to put himself back together. Just before they rounded the corner to head back to class, Shane thought better of it, and shoved Daryl back against the brick wall, melding their mouths together. Daryl tasted himself on Shane's tongue, and found that the slightly bitter taste wasn't nearly as bad as he would have thought. He allowed Shane to pin him there for a moment more. And then with a buck of his hips and a nod of his head, Daryl indicated wordlessly that they ought to get going.
Shane smiled softly at him again; his hand in Daryl's hair migrated south to run gently over his neck in the gesture of affection he and Daryl so frequently used these days.
"Go on, then," Shane murmured, allowing Daryl enough room to push past him. He waited a few seconds more before following him inside.
TWDTWDTWDTWD
Shane had football practice after school today, and a game after that. And even though Daryl had been putting off a trip home to retrieve the clothing and books he'd left behind, he knew there was no better time than when Shane was fully preoccupied.
But still, he wasn't going to be a dumbass about it. Daryl drove by his dad's garage first, noting that his battered old truck was sitting in the dirt lot outside. And when he arrived at his childhood home, he moved swiftly. Daryl shoveled clothing into his bag without looking, ears at constant attention.
He was reaching under the couch for the Algebra book he knew had to be under there, when Daryl heard his father's truck roll up behind him. He jumped to his feet, startled. And when the front door slammed with far more force than was necessary, Daryl figured his father had been sent home from work for showing up drunk. Again.
"Well look whose finally showin' his fuckin' face," his father drawled when he saw him. And that probably surprised Daryl more than anything, because in no stretch of his imagination did he figure that his dad would notice his absence.
Daryl remained silent. Over the years, he'd learned that that was the easiest way.
"Been seein' your truck across town, boy. You finally gettin' your prick wet? Been fuckin' some stuck-up rich bitch? Bet she thinks it's a real rush, getting down and dirty with the likes of you. You know you're just a fuckin' piece 'a charity to her. Some pity-fuck for the poor, dumbass redneck. Ain't no rich bitch who'd ever give a fuck 'bout a worthless piece of shit like you," his father spat. A bottle of southern comfort dangled precariously from his left hand, and he raised it up to take another long draw.
"You answer me when I'm speakin' to you, boy!" his father abruptly shouted. "You finally gettin' that sorry excuse for a dick wet?"
Daryl shook his head, arms crossing protectively over his chest. He wanted to tell his dad that things with Shane weren't like that. Shane cared about him; he knew that much for sure. It wasn't about pity. Shane wanted him, really fucking wanted him. Daryl wanted to say all those things.
Instead, he looked his father right in the eye and said clear as day, "Fuck. You."
Daryl tried to memorize the outraged shock on his father's face, tried to hold onto that spark of pride and satisfaction for what came next.
TWDTWDTWDTWD
Daryl didn't remember much about the walk.
He remembered stumbling a few times. Being brought to his knees, only to heave himself forward, drawing upon strength he hadn't known he'd possessed. He moved on auto-pilot. Unthinking, aside from the brief moment when he bitterly mused that he was leaving one hell of an obvious trail.
It was dark, and Shane's house was even darker. Shane wasn't picking up his phone, and when Daryl rapped his knuckles on the back door, the windows remained dark, and no one answered.
Daryl wasn't so sure how he ended up at Rick's door next. But he was lucid enough to register the horror on Rick's face when he answered on the fourth ring of the doorbell.
"Jesus, Daryl what happened?" Rick asked in a rush, "Did Shane…?"
Daryl stared down at the ground blankly, but shook his head. No, not Shane.
"I…I d-didn't know where to go," Daryl mumbled at Rick's feet, "Just…need someplace to stay t'night."
"Christ, Daryl, of course you can. Just get inside, alright? C'mon."
Rick thought better of reaching out to physically guide Daryl in. Alternatively, he stood aside, allowing Daryl entry. The hunter followed Rick sullenly into the kitchen.
"Just wait here a second, okay?" Rick asked him. He didn't get a reply, and he was gone a minute later.
Daryl finally allowed himself to collapse onto the floor, pressing his side into the cabinets and letting his eyes fall shut. He must have been more out of it than he thought, because he didn't register three sets of feet trekking back into the room until they were crowded around him, leaning in.
He jumped when Rick's mom went to touch him, cowering away from her and further into the corner.
"Daryl, we just want to help you. No one here's going to hurt you, alright?" she told him in a low, soothing voice.
They stood all around him, caging him in. And Daryl knew he was trembling noticeably now, but he couldn't get a hold on it. Maybe it made him a pussy, but he couldn't take this. Not now.
"M'fine," he tried to mumble, surprising himself when the words came out slurred. Must have lost more blood than I thought, he considered vaguely. "Just…just need Shane." He looked to Rick, "Where's Shane?"
Rick crouched down beside him, and Daryl jolted away again, hissing in pain unwittingly.
"He's got an away-game tonight, remember?" Rick told him slowly, "I left him a bunch of messages; he knows to come here as soon as he gets his hands on his phone. But Daryl, you've got to let us help, okay? You can't see yourself right now. Wherever the blood's coming from, it hasn't stopped and—"
"No. No," Daryl insisted, his voice coming out much shakier than he intended, "Just need Shane. Just find Shane, Rick. Please."
Rick looked back up to his parents, lost and distressed, and his father motioned for the two of them to give him and Daryl some room. He crouched down to Daryl's level, keeping a healthy distance between them.
"Daryl, we need to know what happened," Rick's father began. "You're hurt, you understand? And if you don't tell us where, and how this went down, then we won't know how to help you."
Daryl peeked up at him from beneath his sweaty bangs. "You're the sherriff," he mumbled.
"I am. And I'm going to help you, Daryl, I promise."
"You can't."
"I will, Daryl. I promise I will. Let's start with what happened. You say it wasn't Shane. Did you get in a fight with someone else? Kids from school?"
Daryl glared dourly at the ground, fighting to breathe regularly. Rick's father was watching him closely, as if his battered body was providing all the answers.
"Did it happen at home, then? Your dad?"
Daryl couldn't bite back the way he flinched at the memory, still too raw and too recent. He shouldn't have felt such honest surprise that Rick's father had guessed so easily. Will Dixon's drinking problem was no secret around town, and he had a temper with or without the help of the bottle. Still, it hurt to hear it out loud. In such obvious terms that Daryl had to wonder why no one had put it together before. Or if they had, why no one had stopped it.
"You can't say anythin'," Daryl bit out in a rush, "Please. Please don't call it in. I'll mow your lawn for a year if I've gotta. But ya can't tell no one, okay? Don't do that to me."
"Hey, hey, calm down," the Sheriff said gently, "Does it look like I'm calling anyone? You don't need to worry about that right now. All I need is for you to tell me what he did, so we know where you're hurt. Do you think you can do that?"
But Daryl had already shut back down, eyes trailed on the floor and face expressionless.
"Just find Shane," he mumbled to no one in particular, "M'sorry I came here. Didn't know…where else to go. Just need Shane. Just…just get Shane."
After that, Daryl drifted. There were a handful of markers that helped him keep track of the time. First, when Rick asked him how he'd gotten over here to begin with, and Daryl had haltingly explained that his dad had taken his truck, so he'd been forced to walk. Then, when Rick's mom sat by him for a long while. We won't call the cops, she told him, and no one will touch you, so long as you drink some water, Daryl. Just drink the water, and take these painkillers, sweetheart. They'll make you feel better. We don't want to see you in so much pain.
And Daryl remembered when Rick's mom gave him some towels to sit on, and he suddenly realized how much blood had seeped onto the floor around him. He stuttered through a frantic apology, not quite awake even then, only remembering what his dad had done the last time he bled out on the kitchen floor.
It couldn't have spanned more than an hour, maybe two. But the next time he was startled into consciousness, it was by Shane bursting through the front door, shouting his name. The relief he felt when Shane came into his field of view was palpable. He still had on most of his gear from the game. He was covered in sweat, eyes wild. But when he fell to his knees by Daryl's side, the younger boy fell into him just the same, sighing out his name like a benediction. "Shane."
"I know," Shane murmured into his hair, "I know, man. It's okay." He was being careful not to touch Daryl's back, and when Shane pulled back to look at him fully, Daryl could see Shane was as close to tears as he was. "We've gotta get you cleaned up. You shoulda let them help."
Daryl nodded, eyes still trained on Shane's. "Didn't want 'em to see."
"I know," Shane sighed. "I know."
His hand was on Daryl's neck, and the younger Dixon had the brief thought that the Grimes family had to know now that he and Shane were…something. But he didn't have the energy left to be embarrassed, not when Shane's arrival had so abruptly righted his world.
Shane was working to get him to his feet now, with Rick's help. And Daryl kept thinking all the while that he'd never had anywhere to go, before, when things got bad. But now, Shane was willing and ready to put Daryl back together, physically and otherwise. And Daryl wasn't so sure how to cope with that. If he were in better spirits it might have made him uncomfortable. Right now, all he could feel was intense gratitude.
As Rick and Shane dragged Daryl over to the bathroom, Mr. and Mrs. Grimes caught sight of his back for the first time. The shirt was in ribbons.
Shane stripped himself and Daryl out of their clothing while running the water for the bath. There was a light knock on the door, and Shane opened it a crack to retrieve gauze and ointment from Rick's mom.
"This is gonna hurt," Shane told him, before pulling Daryl along with him into the bath. Daryl actually huffed out a laugh, at that. What didn't?
He didn't flinch much as Shane cleared away the blood, careful with the soft sponge, and intermittently kissing Daryl's shoulders and neck. Those painkillers Rick's mom had given him must have been heavy duty. That, or his body's meter on pain had run out for the evening. Daryl heard Shane mutter some curses as he revealed the damage.
"What happened?" Shane asked him eventually. "What…?"
"He didn't stop," Daryl whispered, "Usually he does, if I pass out. Ain't so much fun if I don't react, I guess. But he…he didn't stop. I thought he was gonna kill me this time. I really thought he would."
Shane wrapped his arms around him as best he could, without putting any pressure on Daryl's back. "But he didn't. You're here. You're alive."
It took a while for Shane to see to Daryl's back. Afterwards, he left Daryl sitting on the edge of the tub for a few minutes, on a search for some clothing for the both of them. Mr. and Mrs. Grimes had come in as he rifled through Rick's drawers for a shirt that could stretch over his impressive physique.
"Shane, we want Daryl to stay here tonight. We want the both of you to stay," Rick's mom began.
"Alright, thanks," Shane said, "I appreciate it. And Daryl ain't much of a talker, but he does too. I know he does."
"Tomorrow, we're going to have to talk about what to do next," Sheriff Grimes explained.
"He ain't gonna want to do that," Shane said pointedly, "Honestly, if he's feelin' at all better by morning, I'd bet money he'll be out the door before y'all even wake up."
"We hoped you would try to convince him not to do that," Mrs. Grimes said gently, "We won't force him to report this. And won't go and do it behind his back, either. But please, Shane. Make sure he understands that he's welcome to stay here. That we want him to stay."
"I can do that," Shane said with a sigh. "I'll figure something out."
"Shane, do you know how long this has been going on?" Sheriff Grimes asked him.
"Since he was a kid. Seven or eight, I'd guess," Shane explained. "I'mma get back to him. Thank you both, seriously."
"Of course, sweetheart," Mrs. Grimes murmured, kissing him on the cheek before leaving him be. Mr. Grimes gave him a curt, understanding nod.
The Grimes had a spare bedroom downstairs, which was lucky, because Daryl was in no condition to go much further. Shane got him into the room and onto the bed, laying on his front with his face towards Shane.
"We're gonna stay here tonight," Shane told him. "And I don't want you runnin' off in the mornin', neither. Rick's folks are good people. They ain't gonna rat on you, if that's what you're worryin' about. So you and me are gonna stay here. Where you're safe. Alright?"
"Alright," Daryl mumbled, already half-asleep from a combination of exhaustion and the painkillers. "Thank you, Shane."
"Don't gotta thank me, man," Shane murmured, "S'what I'm here for. Just get some sleep." He carded his fingers through Daryl's messy locks, and it wasn't long at all before Daryl was out like a light.
As soon as he was sure Daryl wouldn't wake up, Shane tip-toed out to the living room. Mr. and Mrs. Grimes had already gone to bed, but Rick was sitting up, waiting for him.
"Is he gonna be okay?" Rick asked.
"Yeah. He's a tough sonofabitch. And he's been through worse, I'm guessin'."
"I didn't see it," Rick sighed. "Known him for years, and I never fuckin' saw it."
"Yeah, me neither. Not 'til me and him were already…look, I need you to sit in on him for a while. Just an hour or two."
"Where are you going?"
"His dad took Daryl's truck, right? I'm gonna go get it. He ain't gonna sit still tomorrow if he wakes up and it's still missing. And his dad might be a sick fucker, but I know Daryl wouldn't want him to die in a car accident tonight. Better that I take that thing off his hands before he gets himself killed."
"Do you even know where to find him?"
"Well, there's only one bar in town. Figure it's my best bet."
Rick rubbed the palms of his hands over his eyes. "I….yeah, I'll watch him. Just be careful, Shane. Alright? Don't engage him or nothin'. Just get the keys and get out of there."
"I'm always careful," Shane said, shooting Rick a half-hearted smile. Fortunately, it was just convincing enough. Rick headed to the back of the house to sit vigil by Daryl's bed, and Shane trotted swiftly out the front door, features set in determination.
Rage had been bubbling through his system since Shane had listened to the first of Rick's frantic messages. Will Dixon wouldn't get away with this. Not again.