Chapter Nine
"You sure you want this?" the boyish man asked Shane, seeming skeptical and concerned. And even though he was only a few years out of high school now, he looked much worse off, teeth going yellow and features sullen and defeated.
"I'm sure," Shane told him, taking hold of the baggie. "Thanks for comin' through for me. Short notice, and all."
"Anything for number 22, right?" the guy laughed brokenly. "The team's family."
"S'right," Shane said, "And by that, I take it you won't be mentioning this to anyone."
"Nah, man. Who I do and don't sell to's a private matter. You expectin' people to come askin'...?"
"No. Better safe than sorry though," Shane assured him. "Thanks again."
Shane headed out the door and in the direction of the single, lonely pub in their rundown town.
TWDTWDTWDTWD
When Shane spotted Daryl's truck in the parking lot, strewn haphazardly over three spots, he knew he was in the right place.
There was a man decked out in leather and denim, with a good three decades on him, that had pulled in just as Shane arrived. He was only a few feet from the door, and Shane jogged over to cut him off.
"Hey, man. Hold up a sec."
"Waddaya want kid?" the man asked gruffly.
Shane held up several twenty-dollar bills in front of his face. "Just a favor."
That seemed to ease the man's sour expression. He licked his lips lewdly, "Oh yeah, what kinda favor?"
"You got a cell phone?" Shane asked him.
"Mmhmm," came the affirmative grunt.
"Alright. Imma go inside right after you. Now there's a guy in there who might ask me to come back out here, and start some trouble. All I want you to do is call the cops if he starts a fight."
The man narrowed his eyes at Shane. "I ain't no snitch."
"And this ain't snitchin'," Shane assured him, "Just helpin' out a friend. A friend who just bought you one hell of a night's worth of drinks."
Shane watched the man pocket the cash. "Yeah. Alright, kid. You got a deal."
TWDTWDTWDTWD
Shane counted down from two-hundred before he walked through the weathered oak door. The paint was green and peeling, façade windowless and bleak. The old fluorescent lighting above the entrance which announced the venue as "BAR" now simply read "BA." And Shane read those letters again and again, forcing himself to breathe slow and deep.
He shoved the baggie up his jacket sleeve, gestured forwards a few times for practice.
Shane knew he couldn't fuck this up. No matter how badly he wanted to beat Will Dixon into the ground, fucking obliterate him, make him regret every time he'd ever laid a hand on Daryl, he had to keep himself together. Because Daryl was depending on him now, whether the younger boy knew it or not. He needed to do this right. He needed to do this smart. So that at the end of this fucked up night, Daryl could wake up with Shane next to him in bed. Daryl deserved that small comfort, at the very least.
When Shane finally quieted the buzzing of his blood, he stepped through the door to find Will Dixon as one of five patrons of the small establishment. Even on a Friday night, their town was small, and the population that might venture into a place like this was even smaller. Daryl's father was easy enough to spot, slumped over on a stool at the bar, with his jacket thrown haphazardly over the seat, and a shot of whiskey in either hand.
Will Dixon looked a mess, but Shane wasn't sure if that would make things better or worse. Trying to withhold the anger begging to be expressed, Shane took his time walking across the room. When he went to sit on the adjacent stool, he used Dixon's for leverage, being sure not to make too much of a show of it.
"You Will Dixon?" Shane asked, keeping his eyes forward.
The sorry excuse for a man beside him jumped a little, startled from his drunken daze.
"Whose askin'?" he slurred, throwing back the amber liquid in his glass.
"Just a friend," Shane replied tightly.
"Ain't no friend of mine," Dixon growled.
"I didn't say I was yours," Shane said slyly.
"What ya want then?"
"Came to pick up the truck," Shane explained slowly, calmly. "And to give you a ride home, as well. For the trouble."
"The fuck you mean you came for the truck. It ain't yours!"
"Yeah, but I think we both know it ain't yours either," Shane said in his most placating tone.
"Fuck if it ain't!" Dixon was getting riled now, but Shane kept his voice low.
"Look, the truck's coming with me either way. You really think Daryl wouldn't have a spare set of keys?" A lie- but what would Daryl's bum of a father know either way? "So you can either come with me now, and get yourself a ride home, or you can walk. I don't care either way."
With that, Shane hopped up from the stool and hurried towards the door. He heard the scrape of metal on wood when Will Dixon went to stumble after him. As Shane swung the door open, he allowed himself to look back once, and only once, to be sure the asshole hadn't forgotten his jacket. The man in leather and denim met Shane's eyes, and Shane gave him a curt nod. A call to action. Before Shane stepped outside, he saw the man reach for his cell phone.
Shane made his way outside and to the middle of the lot, a spot illuminated by a single street lamp. Turning back towards the bar, he squared off his shoulders as Daryl's father approached.
Finally out of earshot of the men in the bar, Shane's cool façade crumbled, and was replaced by a leering grin.
"You're a sick son of a bitch, ya know that?" Shane taunted him. Will Dixon stepped into the light, hands twitching.
"The fuck you say to me?"
"I said you're a son of a bitch. Pathetic. A worthless piece of shit."
Shane saw the man take several decisive steps towards him, face contorted in anger.
"Bet you're too big a pussy to even hit me, huh? You gonna put down that purse and fight me like a man? Nah, course y'ain't. Look atcha. You're fuckin' scared—"
Shane was cut off by Will Dixon's right hook. It was powerful. Practiced. Shane could see, in that moment, why Daryl fought so hard to hide what his father was doing to him. The force of Will Dixon's fists was something to be feared. But not anymore; Daryl wouldn't have to fear this bastard ever again.
Stumbling back a step, Shane raised a hand to his face, licked away the dribble of blood from his mouth.
"What, that's all you got?" Shane laughed. It was enough to set Dixon right over the edge. He took Shane down in a tackle, fists connecting with Shane's muscular frame without mercy. Shane was sure the man had every intention of killing him. He smiled wider, coughing up the blood pooling in his mouth.
Shane's eerie calm only seemed to stoke the flames of Will Dixon's wrath. The teen didn't seem the least big frightened. Wasn't cowering away like Daryl often did, or begging him to stop. The elder Dixon punched him with all the strength he had, furious.
It was only a few minutes that Shane had to lay there taking it before he could hear the faint echoes of sirens in the distance. Daryl's father didn't seem to notice, much to Shane's glee. He was too wrapped up in his fit of rage. And Shane had to hand it to him, the man had stamina.
Shane gurgled and spit a globule of blood into the seething man's face. "Fuckin' pussy," he spat, still with that sick smile.
Dixon slammed his head back into the ground, making Shane's ears ring from the impact. He opened his eyes to find his attacker illuminated by red and blue, face finally settling into shock. Before he could launch himself off of him, Shane pulled him in by the collar. He jerked his head towards the front door of the bar.
"Smile at the camera, bitch," Shane drawled smugly. Dixon followed the line of Shane's eyes, and finally spotted the source of the younger boy's crooked smile. Just under the fluorescent sign that currently read "BA" was a video camera. An ancient one at that, but the red light underneath it proved it was operational. And it was pointed right at them.
"Freeze! Hands in the air!"
Two cops pulled Dixon off of him. Another led Shane over to the waiting ambulance, trying to get the details out of him. Shane forced his lips to quirk downwards, quivering a little.
"He just attacked me!" Shane exclaimed, "He wouldn't stop!"
From over where Will Dixon was being cuffed, Shane heard one of the cops announce, "Well lookee here! This ain't your average amount of methamphetamine. Nah, looks to me like you've been sellin', ain't that right Dixon?"
"That ain't mine! That ain't fuckin' mine!" was all Shane could decipher before the man was shoved into the backseat of the cruiser.
Shane heard the bartender giving his statement, "Kid offered him a ride home. Guy was drunk off his ass anyways, always is. But Dixon flipped a shit on him. Ain't exactly a surprise."
The EMT sorted out Shane's mess of a face, and the handful of, what she put it as, "defensive wounds" on his hands. Another cop came over to take pictures of him just as Sheriff Grimes pulled into the lot.
"Shane?!" he called out, jogging over. "Jesus, are you alright?" He grasped Shane by the shoulders, grimacing at the damage.
"M'fine," Shane said softly. "I'm fine, I swear."
"What the hell happened?"
"Just came to get Daryl's truck back. Give his Dad a ride home, so he wasn't driving drunk. I thought he was gonna take me up on it too, when he followed me outside. But then he just lost it…" Shane trailed off, "It was stupid, I know it was. But that truck just means so much to Daryl and I didn't think he'd want his Dad dead and—"
"Shane, calm down," Rick's father said calmly. He looked the boy in the eye. "This isn't your fault, alright? I know you were just trying to help out your friend. Just wait over here, okay? We need to get a few more statements, sort out this crime scene, and then we'll both go back home. Talk to Daryl together."
"Okay," Shane said quietly, nodding his head. Sheriff Grimes stalked off, and Shane gave it a good ten minutes before walking silently over to the cruiser in which Will Dixon was cuffed. He slid into the front seat, waited for the man to meet his deadly gaze.
"Saw what you did to Daryl," Shane began. And when Dixon's mouth quirked in what was almost a smile, Shane felt that rage burning underneath his skin again. He swallowed it down. "You're never gonna touch him again, you understand me? Never gonna see him again. As far as I'm concerned, you don't know a Daryl. He ain't your son. Got it?"
Dixon chuckled roughly. "You can't keep me away from him. He's my blood. The boy needs me."
"No," Shane said with a dark smile, "He needs me. You, you're just a shitty memory. And soon you'll be even less than that. I'll take good care of Daryl, don't you worry."
It was all Shane was willing to say on the matter. He'd made a promise to Daryl, and he wouldn't break it. But the vague flicker of understanding and outrage on Dixon's face was satisfaction enough.
"I hope you die in prison," Shane said, before slipping out of the car and heading back over to Sheriff Grimes' cruiser.
TWDTWDTWDTWD
It was the sound of his own truck pulling into the driveway that startled Daryl awake. He was up with a jolt, searching frantically in the darkness for Shane and coming up empty. Rick was still perched on the chair next to his bed, fast asleep. Daryl shook him roughly.
"Where's Shane?" he questioned desperately, feeling unreasonably panicked.
"He ain't back yet?" Rick mumbled, still half-asleep. And that had Daryl immediately on his feet. He rounded the corner into the living room just as the front door opened, and the sight of Shane stopped him in his tracks.
Shane was instantly moving towards him, speaking lowly to try to calm his panic before it started. It took a few seconds for Daryl to decipher his words.
"Daryl, I'm fine, alright? Everything's gonna be fine. Just sit down a minute, we need to talk."
Sheriff Grimes flicked on the light and sat down on the couch opposite them. Rick's mother emerged from the stairway in a bathrobe, to sit by his side. Rick sauntered in as well, and Shane guided Daryl down to the loveseat.
"What's goin' on?" Daryl mumbled, looking between Shane and Rick's father. His eyes trailed over Shane's injuries, and he bit his lip hard enough to split it. "My Dad do that to you?"
Out of view of the rest of them, Shane placed his hand on Daryl's hip, rubbed gently. "I went to get your truck, and offered him a ride home. He…well, he snapped."
"Daryl, your father is going to prison," Rick's Dad explained. "One of the bar patrons called 911 when he saw the fight. There was a security camera outside, so we have the entire thing on film. And when he was picked up, he had a hefty amount of methamphetamine on his person. We're talking aggravated assault of a minor, and possession with the intent to distribute. Any one of those things alone could means 20 years inside. But your father decided to plead down. He's going to serve the terms concurrently; 15 years with the chance of parole."
The room went silent, all eyes on Daryl as he slowly processed the information.
When he finally spoke, his voice shook. "So when are they coming to get me?"
Sheriff Grimes' brow furrowed in confusion. "Who?"
"Social services," Daryl replied. "My Dad and Merle were the only ones…and they're both inside now. So I gotta go to a home. Do I at least get tonight?"
"No one's coming to get you, son," Rick's father said soothingly. "At least, not unless you want them to. What my wife and I wanted to talk to you about was the possibility of you staying here, with us."
Daryl stared at them both blankly. "You…want me to live with you?"
"Yes, dear. We really do. But of course, only if that's what you want," Mrs. Grimes added.
Daryl worried his lower lip. "But…why? Y'all don't even know me."
"We know you deserve a chance," Mrs. Grimes said gently.
"And if our son vouches for you, then we can too," the Sheriff finished. Daryl looked to Rick, who was only smiling encouragingly. He leaned just a little more of his weight into Shane.
Daryl swallowed hard. "Y'all are sure?"
"We're sure," Mrs. Grimes assured him with a smile. "So what do you think? Do you want to stay here?"
Daryl glanced down at his hands, then back up at the room. "Yeah," he breathed, "Okay."
The Sheriff shot him a wide smile, "Great. We can talk more about the details in the morning. For now, you boys need to get some sleep. It's been a hell of a day."
He took his wife by the hand and headed up the stairs, with Rick just behind them.
Daryl was still sitting on the couch, wordless, processing. So Shane took him by the arm and guided him back towards the bedroom.
Shane stripped off his clothing economically, wincing a little as he stretched his sore muscles. But before he could lead Daryl over to the bed, the younger boy had pulled him into a tight hug, face buried in his neck. Shane could feel him trembling, just barely.
"It's okay, man," Shane murmured, "I'm fine, everything's fine. Just like I said it'd be."
Daryl pressed his forehead to Shane's shoulder, and pulled in a shuddering breath.
"Sorry," he muttered, but Shane wouldn't have that.
"Got nothin' to be sorry for, man. Today's fuckin' sucked."
Daryl let out gasp of a laugh. "No. M'sorry he did that to ya."
Shane sighed, one hand on Daryl's neck. "Wasn't your fault. You know that."
He let Shane pull him over towards the bed, but when Shane sat down on the edge, Daryl was abruptly on top of him, lips melded to his. True to form, Shane's dick responded before his head caught up, hard in half a heartbeat and barely concealed by his boxers. Daryl pushed him roughly onto his back, and began kissing his way down Shane's torso just an ounce too hard. But even the sting of it had Shane panting, moaning with every other breath as Daryl's tongue descended lower and lower.
When Daryl pressed a kiss to Shane's rigid length through the thin fabric of his boxers, two things happened at once. Shane's cock jerked in interest, and Shane pushed Daryl away in a rush, grabbing the younger boy by either arm.
"Fuck, Daryl, stop," Shane groaned, trying and failing at sitting up.
Daryl frowned at him like he'd grown a second head. "Why the fuck would I do that?"
"Cuz we ain't never done that, and—"
"You've done it plenty," Daryl pointed out, "S'just me that ain't given it a try."
"You're hurt," Shane said petulantly.
"So are you. Bet this'll make ya feel better. Just 'cuz I ain't never done it…"
"And you don't have to," Shane insisted, "I know you don't want to, and I'm alright with it. Just 'cuz today was fucked don't mean you gotta—"
"Don't tell me what I want," Daryl growled. "I don't do shit I don't wanna do, remember? Just like you. And right now, I want you to shut up and let me suck you off."
Even in the low light, Shane could see the way Daryl blushed at his own words. His resolve wavered, cock hard as ever at the prospect.
"Yeah?" Shane asked him breathlessly, "Why don't you get up here and kiss me with that filthy mouth?"
Having some direction seemed to help, as Daryl instantly complied, carefully holding himself over Shane as they kissed. He pushed the older boy back against the pillows, propped up slightly to watch, and hastily moved back down to kneel between Shane's legs. He pulled away the boy's boxers, then stroked his cock up and down, a familiar motion.
Daryl settled on his stomach in front of Shane, with the older boy watching him fixedly, and tentatively swiped his tongue over the reddened head. More satisfying than Shane's muffled gasp was the fact that Daryl really didn't mind the taste. He lapped at Shane with kitten licks, enjoying the way his cock would jump each time.
"Fuck, Daryl…" Shane groaned, "You feel so good."
With that little bit of encouragement, Daryl pulled back and swallowed Shane's cock as far down as it would go. Shane choked out a surprised moan, both hands going for Daryl's head and gripping his hair hard. He bobbed slowly at first, dragging his tongue along the length of him the way Shane always had. The older boy moaned again through closed lips. Daryl could tell he was trying to stay quiet, but the fact that Shane simply couldn't had Daryl glowing with pride.
Daryl began to grind against the sheets in the same slow rhythm that he worked Shane's cock, both embarrassed and surprised that he was just as hard as Shane was. The jock's hands on his head didn't push, but noticeably twitched each time his cock met the back of Daryl's throat.
"Jesus, Daryl," Shane moaned, "Wanted this for so long. M'not gonna last."
And Daryl believed him. It was obvious enough from the way the boy was writhing, entire body rocking up to meet Daryl's mouth. Shane was making noises Daryl had never heard before, needful whimpers and groans. And the fact that Daryl had done that to him had the younger boy pulsing with want. His hips canted faster against the bed sheets, growing desperate.
"Love your mouth," Shane was moaning, "So good, you're so fuckin' good."
Daryl brought a hand up to follow the trail of his lips. He swirled his tongue around the head, tasting the salty bitterness.
"Gonna come," Shane announced with a gasp, "Fuck, Daryl…gonna come, gonna—"
He cut himself off with a moan, Daryl's lips leaving him just in time for Shane to shoot all over his own chest. And Shane was still coming in rough waves when he pulled Daryl up by his armpits, grasping his come-slick cock and stripping over the feverish skin once, twice, before Daryl was coming hard, back arching in orgasm as his whole body quaked.
He collapsed half on top of Shane, face pressed into the older boy's neck as his own cock ceaselessly twitched of its own accord. Daryl was asleep before Shane had even managed to clean himself off.
It too much longer than that for Shane to quiet his racing heart. He closed his eyes and relived the day's events, trying to search out that spark of guilt. But none came. If anything, the only thing he regretted was lying to Daryl. And even then, it was a lie by omission. A lie to keep him safe.
Shane reached with his free hand and fingered the raised lines peeking out from the hem of Daryl's shirt. They were all the reminder Shane needed that he'd done what was right. He was still tracing them when he drifted off.