Happy Friday!

Chapter Eleven

Daryl's boots had survived hundreds of hunts, multiple fights with Shane, and dozens of beatings from his father. They'd made it unscathed through snowy winters and balmy summers, muddy creeks and brimming rivers. His boots had survived more than a year and a half as Merle's boots, kicking ass and taking names and otherwise just causing a ruckus.

But one misplaced nail, and Daryl's reliable old boots were done for.

He glared at them in dismay. The rotting scrap of metal had pierced straight through the sole, and ripped it away from the binding leather when Daryl had attempted to take his next step. It was about as destroyed as a boot could get, and it pissed him off to no end.

Daryl hopped into his truck with crossbow in tow, figuring that while this was an annoying problem, it was one he knew good and well how to fix.

TWDTWDTWDTWD

The first sign of concern came from Rick, leaving voicemails for Shane, and both his parents respectively, asking where Daryl had run off to after school. They'd developed a pretty firm routine in the few weeks since Daryl had moved in permanently, one that the younger Dixon hadn't deviated from even once. So when Rick waved goodbye to Daryl in the school parking lot, only to find himself sitting alone at home two hours later, he started to worry.

And when dusk rolled around, then dinner time, and Daryl still hadn't returned, worry became blatant panic. Sheriff Grimes sent out a notice to all the on-duty cops in his district, with a description of Daryl and his truck. And Rick's mother was on the phone, calling just about every parent from the high school, when Shane burst through the front door still in his football gear.

No one had seen Daryl. No one had heard from him. Aside from the handful of books and discarded t-shirts in his room, he had all but disappeared.

Shane called Daryl's cell just about every fifteen minutes. Every call went to voicemail, and Shane left him messages just as often. They varied wildly from distressed to angry to pleading, depending on the athlete's frame of mind. But they were consistent in that they all begged Daryl to come home, call home, anything.

The quartet stayed up all night. Rick and Shane took turns rolling around the neighborhood, sometimes shouting out Daryl's name as if he were a stray dog, only needing the proper motivation to find his way home. Sheriff Grimes bounced back and forth between the house and the station. He checked the local hospitals. The morgue. His cop's brain told him that it hadn't even been 24 hours yet, and that Daryl wasn't missing, per se. But his parent brain overrode that knowledge, driving him into a frenzy as he listed out for himself all the ways he'd failed Daryl Dixon, and all the horrible things that could be happening to him right now.

The night was filled with the sound of Sheriff Grimes' radio scanner, and his walkie-talkie going off intermittently for updates. No one slept; and after a while, no one spoke much either, unless it was to offer another locale where Daryl might have been hiding out.

Early the next morning, the rumbling groan of Daryl's beat-up truck never sounded so sweet. The family went clambering out of the house in a dash, stopping in their tracks when Daryl jumped out of the vehicle covered in dirt and blood. Shane was the first to collide with him.

"Jesus, what happened to you?" Shane said in a rush, "Are you hurt? What the fuck, Daryl? Where were you!?"

There were more questions, all coming at once but resonating the same. Daryl stared at them all, baffled, as Mrs. Grimes finally put a stop to it and quickly ushered him inside. She stepped in front of him, honing his attention.

"Daryl, I…" she choked on her words, seeming fairly close to tears in a way that had Daryl even more confused than before. "Are you alright, sweetheart? Are you hurt?"

Daryl looked down at his ensemble, making the connection. "Shit, no. S'not my blood—"

"Are you in trouble?" Rick's father interjected, "Because you can come to us with that, you know you can—"

"I'm fine!" Daryl very nearly shouted, "Christ, I ain't in trouble, what's—?"

"Daryl," Rick interrupted him, "Where have you been? We've been looking for you all night, man. We thought something happened to you."

"Why the fuck didn't you pick up your phone?" Shane growled.

"Or tell anyone where you were going? Where were you?" Mrs. Grimes reiterated.

Daryl blinked twice in bewilderment, eyes darting between the four angry, relieved, confused faces.

"I uh…I just…I needed new shoes," Daryl finally said in a faint voice. He paused, and the tension was palpable. "I ain't got a lotta money, but there's this guy I know up in Senoia, who'll pay me for meat. Took all night to track down the buck, and dress it. Came right back here after I made the trade."

Daryl looked helplessly between their faces, watching understanding belatedly reach them. He curled his arms into his chest protectively, biting at his lip. It figured that he'd managed to fuck this up too, and quick, like he was an expert at it or something. Staring down at his feet, Daryl braced himself for whatever type of pain was bound to follow.

"M'sorry. I didn't mean to…didn't think you'd…" Daryl cut himself off, at a loss for words, or any kind of explanation.

Mrs. Grimes was the first to recover, moving abruptly to sweep him into a tight hug. Daryl froze at first, expecting a blow far more than something affectionate, but eventually allowed himself to relax into it, and process the words flowing from her mouth.

"Oh, sweetheart. We were so worried. I'm so glad you're alright."

She repeated the words over and over, all variations of just how happy she was to have Daryl home safe. Because she wouldn't yell at him for this. Not now, when the teen had made it so painfully clear that he believed not only that they wouldn't care if he didn't come home one night, but that they wouldn't notice. Her heart clenched painfully at the thought, and she squeezed him tighter, ignoring his slightly muffled grunt.

When she finally released him, Rick's father stepped in to clap a hand to Daryl's shoulder.

"Son, I know that we haven't been the best about setting ground rule for you, and part of that is because they haven't seemed necessary until now…but you need to understand, if we don't know where you are, we're going to worry. A lot. It's part of the territory. And it's fine if you want to go hunting or go over to Shane's, but you need to tell us first."

"I…I can do that," Daryl mumbled.

"And Daryl, please don't ever hesitate to ask us for things. If you needed new shoes, you could have just told us, and we'd have given you the money. I know it's not…what you're used to, but it's the way things are now. Okay?"

Daryl nodded with his lip between his teeth. "Yeah, okay."

Rick's parents shared a soulful look, before Sheriff Grimes announced. "Alright, you three. It's been a long night. Let's all get to bed."

Later that morning, before drifting off, Daryl lay with Shane curled possessively around him. He could feel the tension radiating off of the older boy's body.

"I didn't think they'd…"

"Yeah. You didn't think," Shane spat, before taking a deep, calming breath. "Man, I know you ain't used to people givin' two shits about you, but that ain't the way things are anymore. You got people who care, and you can't be fuckin' around with us like that."

"S'hard," Daryl whispered, "Keep remindin' myself, but…"

"I know it is, man. It's bound to be."

"I didn't mean to make y'all mad."

"Not mad. Worried."

"That too."

"Yeah, well, I figure you've learned your lesson. Right?"

"Mmhmm," Daryl mumbled in the affirmative, burrowing further into the pillow. "I'm…m'tryin'. Swear I am."

"I know you are," Shane murmured into his neck. "It's fine. It's all fine now, just get to sleep."

TWDTWDTWDTWD

With no school that day, Shane woke up sometime after noon, hard as a rock from the growing warmth of the sleeping boy next to him. Ever since Daryl had come to live with the Grimes', this was the part of the day that Shane liked best, the part where he had Daryl all to himself.

Shane pulled his arm out from underneath Daryl's body, figuring it would wake him. But when it didn't, Shane grinned as an idea struck him. He reached an arm slowly around Daryl's waist and palmed the younger boy's morning wood through the thin fabric of his boxers.

Daryl let out a fast gush of breath, still very much asleep, and Shane had to fight not to moan aloud. It wasn't often that he woke before Daryl, and even more seldom that he managed to touch him without Daryl waking with a start. Feeling confident, Shane pushed his hand into Daryl's boxers and wrapped his fist around the hot length.

Stroking slowly, Shane pressed open-mouth kisses over Daryl's shoulders and neck. The boy was already wet, leaking over his hand, and hips moving in small motions to seek out the incredible friction. But it wasn't until Shane started rocking along with him, grinding his throbbing member into the soft globes of Daryl's ass, that Daryl came awake with a low, confused moan.

The moan quickly became a whimper, and when Shane sped up his hand, Daryl gasped and shook. He'd never woken up this close to coming before.

"You like that, Daryl? You like it when I touch you?" Shane was immediately rasping in his ear. "Does that feel good? I make you feel so good, don't I Daryl?"

Sensing how close the other boy was to losing it completely, Shane clamped his fist tightly over the base of Daryl's cock, prompting him to groan deeply.

"Not yet," Shane whispered against the back of his neck, "Turn on your front for me."

He felt Daryl's body tense, but only slightly. "Why?" came the younger Dixon's response, after a beat.

"Trust me," Shane urged him, rather than disclosing his plans.

But true to form, Daryl begrudgingly rolled to his front, relaxing to some degree when Shane began to slowly kiss down the length of his back. When he reached his prize, Shane pulled apart the firm mounds of Daryl's ass, breath scorching over his puckered entrance.

"Shane?" was Daryl's immediate, distressed whisper.

"Trust me," Shane murmured again, smiling when his exhaled breath had Daryl shivering from head to toe.

The first lick was anything but tentative. Shane may not have done this before, but between the videos he'd seen online and the fantasies rolling around in his head, he had a pretty good idea of where to start. Shane swiped his tongue long and forcefully over Daryl's entrance, once and then again, before swirling the hot, wet muscle in circles. It didn't take long at all before the tension eased from Daryl's body, and Shane was able to slip inside.

But when he did, the younger boy keened a sinful sound Shane had never heard from him before. Somewhere between affronted and aroused, but desperately curious. Of their own accord, his hips ground down against the bed sheets, and back against Shane's tongue. Abruptly, Shane pulled him up onto his hands and knees, never stopping his sensual assault. The change in position allowed Shane to delve deeper, and Daryl only moaned louder, oblivious to anything but the pleasure shooting up and down his spine.

Daryl's cock was an angry, throbbing red underneath him. Bobbing with the slow movements of Shane's tongue and begging to be touched.

"Shane, please…"

But as soon as the words left his lips, Shane's torturous touches vanished.

Daryl let out a frustrated groan, "Shane, why'd you—?"

He was pulled to the side before he could finish the thought, Shane's head back on the pillow and hands attempting to manhandle Daryl into some god-awful position.

"What?" Daryl huffed, and Shane's eyes glinted something dangerous.

"Sit on my face," he demanded a bit breathlessly.

Daryl frowned at him. "The fuck? No. I ain't doin' that."

"You liked it. I know you did," Shane reasoned, reaching over to Daryl's erection and thumbing the slick head. Daryl's thighs shook, as did his resolve.

"M'not like that, m'not…"

"What ain't you like?" Shane murmured, "You don't like it when I touch you? Don't like it when I make you come so hard you can't see straight? Now we both know that ain't true."

Daryl whined in frustration, bucking against Shane's teasing digits.

"Lemme make you feel good, Daryl. Lemme give that to you. It's just us," Shane reminded him, "Now get up here before I make ya finish yourself off."

Still glaring at Shane indignantly, Daryl allowed the older boy to maneuver him onto his chest, propped precariously on his knees and feeling unduly self conscious. Fortunately for them both, when Shane's tongue resumed its attack, Daryl's reservations left the building. He moaned and dropped forward, suddenly very aware that from this angle, he could easily be laying face first against Shane's cock.

And since at this point it wasn't Daryl's first rodeo, he didn't have to think much before pulling the throbbing length into his mouth. What he lacked in finesse, Daryl made up for in enthusiasm. And soon it was blatantly obvious that Shane was about as hair-trigger as he was. Daryl picked up the pace, taking Shane deeper and flicking his tongue over the sensitive head. Shane's response was electric.

The jock moaned high and long, rocking up to meet Daryl's mouth in desperate little motions. But the vibrations of Shane's moans are what did Daryl in. The tongue stroking inside him was so warm, and wet, and writhing, and suddenly quivering as well…

"Fuck, Shane!" Daryl groaned as his own cock erupted untouched, streaking white over Shane's chiseled chest. Still trembling with the aftershocks, Daryl thrust a shaking hand over Shane's needy member, fist flying over slick skin until Shane shouted out his name and came with a jolt.

Come still pulsed out of the reddened tip when Daryl finally rolled to his side, exhausted.

"Fuck," he sighed, staring up at the ceiling.

"Good fuck?" Shane questioned.

Daryl huffed out a laugh. "Yeah. S'ppose so."

At that, Shane vaulted on top of him, pulling the blankets back over their bodies and claiming Daryl's lips in a wanting kiss.

"Shane, are you- what the hell?"

The door swung open unceremoniously, and Lori stood open-mouthed in the frame, glaring. She spun on her heel and stalked away before Shane could gather the brain cells for an explanation. Nothing; not even an 'it's not what it looks like.'

He was on his feet and pulling on his sweatpants in a heartbeat, rushing to go after her.

"Shane," Daryl whispered, sitting up in bed now and pulling the covers up to his neck.

"It's fine. I'll take care of it," Shane told him hurriedly, already on his way out the door. "Just stay here."

He jogged out the front door, cutting Lori off before she could reach the door of her car. "Lori! Hold up a second."

She whipped around, "Why?"

"'Cuz m'askin' ya to," Shane replied, cocking an eyebrow. "Look, what you saw in there…"

"I know exactly what I saw."

"Ain't sayin' ya didn't," Shane countered.

"I can't believe you Shane. Letting that hick turn you into something you're not," Lori hissed. "You're not gay, Shane."

"No, I'm not. And neither is he."

Lori barked a dubious laugh. "Sure. You just make out with all of your buddies."

"He ain't my buddy either, Lori. Not everything's as simple as that. Ya don't gotta be a bitch about it."

"Don't I? I'm just being a friend, Shane. I can't watch you ruin your life like this."

"And how the hell is this ruining it?" Shane growled, "Are you honestly that jealous?"

"Jealous?!" Lori practically shrieked, "I have nothing to be jealous about."

"Oh c'mon, Lori. Don't think I'll forget that easily. You turned me down. Long before you and Rick were a thing. And just 'cuz I didn't say nothin' to him when you came onto me drunk a few months back don't mean I don't remember."

"Of course that's how you remember it," she scoffed.

"What other way is there?" Shane spat, extending his arms out from his sides. "You tried to cheat on my best friend, with me, and I turned ya the fuck down. Ain't no other way around it. But lemme be clear 'bout this Lori- if you say anything to anyone about me and Daryl, Rick's gonna be finding out what happened that night."

"You…you wouldn't do that," Lori replied in a quieter voice, seeming unsure.

Shane actually laughed at that. "Who the hell are you kidding? Of course I would. Thought ya knew me better than that." He turned to walk back into the house. "M'dead serious Lori. Watch yourself."

A car door slammed behind him, and Shane slammed the front door for good measure. When he returned to Daryl's room, the younger Dixon was dressed and braced against the headboard. His crossbow was laying across his lap, and Daryl was stroking it absentmindedly while he waited. Shane figured that bow was probably that closest thing Daryl had to a security blanket.

He shut the door gently and slid into bed alongside Daryl. As soon as Shane was at his side, he realized that Daryl was shivering noticeably, whole body tense.

"Daryl," Shane murmured, pulling his into a loose hug which the frightened boy didn't return. "Jesus, you're shaking. It's alright, man. She ain't gonna say anything. I took care of it."

"Ya don't know that," Daryl whispered harshly, "She never even liked me much before. And now…"

"Now, nothing. She ain't gonna say nothin' if she knows what's good for her. I promise you, Daryl. Hey," he took Daryl's chin in hand, "Trust me."

It took a moment, but Daryl's baby blues searched Shane's eyes, and seemed to find what they were looking for. He nodded and sighed gruffly, rubbing his palms against his forehead.

"S'all fucked up," Daryl mumbled, and Shane tried not to take offense.

But as always, his mouth got the better of him. "Man, I don't get it. Your dad's in jail, Merle too. So who is it you're so fuckin' worried is gonna find out about us? You that ashamed to be with me?"

"Shane, it ain't like that. Not everything's about you," Daryl spat.

"Then what is it, then? Explain it to me. 'Cuz it's been weeks upon weeks of this shit and goddamnit, no one's forcing you to be with me—"

"Shane," Daryl cut him off. "It ain't about you. It's about me. Fuck," he sighed, wrapping his arms around his stomach. "I've got a good thing going here, ya know? I don't want to fuck it up."

Shane's eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. "The hell you talkin' about? We're fine. I ain't about to ask ya to prom or somethin', I just wanna know—"

"For fuck's sake, Shane. It ain't us. It's me. You think the Grimes are gonna stand for some faggot livin' here rent free? I ain't their blood; they could kick me out whenever they want. And I can't fuck this up, Shane. Can't go back to one of those homes, I—"

Daryl was working himself into a panic, and Shane was quick to intervene.

"Daryl, shh," Shane soothed, pulling him in close and rubbing a hand roughly over his back. "You really think Rick's folks are like that? They care about you, man. I promise. And they ain't gonna kick you to the curb for bein' with me, or some other guy, or a hooker for that matter. I'm tellin' you, they just want you safe. Happy. Same as me."

The younger Dixon sucked in a shuddering breath. "You…you really don't think they'd kick me out?"

"I know they wouldn't. They ain't nothin' like your dad, alright? And anyways, I'm pretty sure they already know about us. Or at least suspect."

Daryl shot up in alarm. "They what—?"

"Relax," Shane growled, "C'mon, they have to know by now. How many teenage boys have sleepovers every other night? Share a bed?"

"But…" Daryl bit at his lower lip, "They ain't said nothin'."

"'Course they haven't, 'cuz they don't care. Listen to me, alright? They care about you. That's all ya gotta know. They wouldn't kick you out for being with me."

Daryl nodded mostly to himself, staring off at the wall behind Shane. Eventually, he refocused, seeking out the older boy's chestnut eyes. "You're sure?"

Shane shot him a small smile. "Known them my whole life, Daryl. I'm fuckin' positive. Now let's go get some breakfast before I starve to death."