Chapter Twenty

Daryl Dixon could count the number of times he'd seen his big brother speechless on a single hand. The first had been when Daryl was only seven. They were out hunting together, Daryl toting an enormous rifle that he was only just large enough to raise properly. Afternoon had bled into evening, but they still had a long way to go before making it home, if they did make it home at all.

The first sign of trouble was the quiet. Merle was up ahead with the crossbow, leading the way through the darkness. And when the forest around them went silent, he came to a stop, kept his breathing shallow, and waited. Merle turned back to catch his brother's eye, remind him to stay silent and sharp.

But then there was a hiss and a whoosh of air, punctuated by a gunshot. Merle crouched to the ground on instinct, and when he opened his eyes, his baby brother still had his rifle pointed at the space behind him. Merle checked over his shoulder, and on the ground with ahead shot of all things was a fully grown, rabid bobcat. It was still foaming at the mouth, twitching with its last bolts of life.

Merle stood up straight and stared at it a long time, mouth hanging open but tongue lying dead in his mouth. After a long while, much too long for Daryl's liking, Merle finally looked up at him and said, "Good shot, brother."

Too shaken to continue on, they'd hiked back home as the sun rose up, hardly speaking a word to one another. Years later, Daryl would be introduced to some of Merle's friends from town. And when they'd hear his name, they'd come over to shake his hand and go,"That Daryl? The one who took out the bobcat?" And it would take all of Daryl's willpower not to break out in a brilliant smile.

At the time, Merle's silence had filled Daryl with a sense of pride, fueled by the adrenaline of the kill. Now, Daryl only felt dread. He would have been fumbling to pull on a shirt if he could have managed to move. But instead, he watched Merle watch him, caught in a perpetual flinch.

When the silence broke, it did so with a resounding crack.

"I didn't know he was—" Merle sputtered.

"He did," Daryl cut him off, eyes going hard. "Did the same to you. That's why you left first."

He could feel Shane watching him closely. Merle was doing the same.

"Kid," Merle said gruffly, looking to Shane, "Why don't you step out a minute so me and my brother can talk?"

Shane looked to Daryl in turn. "That alright with you?" Shane asked. "Ya need anythin'?"

Daryl nodded minutely. "Just…stick around," Daryl said, but inflected it as if it were a question.

Shane reached out and squeezed his shoulder reassuringly, then made a point of fingering the necklace still lying delicately across his collar bone. "Don't gotta ask for that, man."

Daryl gave him a final nod, and Shane walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Merle trudged over to the bed and sat down heavily next to his brother. They didn't look at each other.

"How long…?" Merle started to ask.

"Since Mom," Daryl said quickly. There was a pregnant pause. Then Daryl asked lowly, "You really thought he'd just stop?"

Merle finally looked at him. "You never said anything. All the times I came home…"

"'Course I didn't, Merle. You couldn't do nothin'. No one could. At least…s'what I thought," Daryl sighed. "Woulda just stayed there and took it, too…if it weren't for Shane. Was different once he knew about it—made it real. I started stayin' at his place or sleepin' in the truck. Then one afternoon I went back to pick up some of my stuff, and Dad was already there, sent home for showin' up drunk again." Daryl scrubbed a hand over his face. "Did a real number on me that time. Couldn't cover it up. Hell, I was so out of it, I don't even remember how I got here. But the Grimes, they took care of me. Told me they wanted me to stay, and that was that."

Merle was quiet for a long time after that, and Daryl was fairly sure his brother hadn't a clue what to say. But knowing that Dixons sometimes took a long time to process the important things, Daryl reached between them and picked up the six-pack. He opened a beer and handed it to his brother, before taking one for himself.

Daryl watched from his periphery as Merle took a long draw from the can.

"Wish you'd told me," Merle said lowly.

"Why?" Daryl answered, without any malice in his voice. "You couldn't have done nothin'."

"I coulda killed him," Merle growled, the intensity of the statement startling Daryl from the surreal nature of the moment. Daryl looked at him with his eyebrows raised. "It was never supposed to be you, baby brother. Never. I told him….fuck," Merle spat. "I got half a mind to break my parole, just so I can get sent down to county and kill that motherfucker."

"You know that ain't the way," Daryl murmured, pleaded with his older brother.

Merle's grimace softened. "I know," he said much too sharply, and then with a defeated sigh, "I know."

"Anyways," Daryl said after a beat, "Shane says he's got first dibs."

Merle snorted and chugged the rest of his beer, crushing it in his hand but thinking twice about chucking it to the corner carelessly like he might have at his own home. He set it down on the bed instead, and looked at Daryl out of the corner of his eye.

"Yeah," Merle said, "You always were the sweet one."

Daryl cringed and stared at his feet. "Ain't gay," he mumbled, and was surprised when Merle responded with a full-bodied laugh.

"So you were tradin' spit with that muscle head just for shits 'n giggles?"

Merle noticed when Daryl flinched at that, reeling as if he'd been hit. So Merle butted him with his shoulder amicably and said, "I ain't gonna disown ya, if that's what you're worryin' about."

Daryl peered up at him through a curtain of messy locks. "You're not?"

"Ain't sayin' I'm 'bout to help ya braid yer hair and pick out purses, but no," Merle replied. "Gonna take some getting used to…and if that fucker hurts you I'll break his legs off and feed 'em to him…"

"He won't," Daryl said immediately, "He ain't like that. And I was serious 'bout likin' girls, Merle. Still do. I think…I think s'just Shane."

Merle cocked an eyebrow at him curiously. "Yeah? What'd he do to deserve that?"

"Plenty," Daryl sighed, finally relaxing a little now that the worst was over. "You'll see if…if ya stick around, I guess."

Merle popped open another beer. "Ya want that?"

"'Course," Daryl replied easily, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, before finishing his own drink.

The elder Dixon bit back a smile, and leaned down to pick his poorly-wrapped parcel up off the floor. He shoved it nonchalantly into Daryl's lap.

"Didn't forget your birthday," Merle said pointedly.

Daryl grinned at him, feeling much younger all of the sudden and nearly giddy. "Ya never have."

And it was true, even when Merle had been away in juvie or jail, or over the couple of years he'd spent in the army, Daryl's big brother had always remembered to send a present. Half the time it was just some porn, or beer money. But considering Merle was the only person in his life who used to celebrate his birth at all, those little things had meant everything.

Daryl rushed to peel off the brown paper, and when he did, he revealed a simple 4x6 picture frame. It was sanded and stained, and Daryl could see that Merle had made it himself, apparently without losing any appendages in the process. He flipped it over to reveal the picture, and his breathing stuttered.

It was their mom. Back on the front porch of the house, long before she'd taken to drinking every waking hour of the day, and years prior to the night it burnt to the ground. Her hair was the light airy blonde that he remembered it, blowing in the wind while she laughed along with a baby version of himself, sitting on her lap. Merle was pressed into the space beside her, frowning at the camera but without any heat behind the gesture. They looked happy.

"Where'd you get it?" Daryl whispered, tracing his fingers over the smiling faces. They'd lost all their old family photos in the fire, and once their mother had died, there hadn't been any happy memories to preserve anyways.

"One of our old neighbors sent it to me when I was in the joint last year," Merle explained. "Figured you'd take better care of it than I would."

Daryl took another long look at the photo, and then gazed up at his brother.

"Thanks, Merle," he said quietly.

Merle's eyes, the same ocean blue shade as his, glazed over warmly. Then he shook his head to clear it and cuffed Daryl roughly on the back of his neck, before dragging him in for a quick hug and standing up.

"Alright, Darlena. I'll go tell her highness she can come on back," Merle announced brusquely. He walked towards the door then turned back one last time. "I'll see ya tomorrow."

Merle walked through the house much more quietly this time around, and Shane rose up off the couch as soon as he caught sight of him.

"He okay?" were the first words out of Shane's mouth, and Merle would have voiced his approval in different circumstances.

"Think so," Merle instead replied with a shrug. He crossed his arms over his chest then let out a long sigh. "Alright kid, I'm only sayin' this once so pay attention. When I first saw the two of y'all, I figured you were just jerkin' him along to get into his pants. But s'clear enough now that it wasn't about that. You coulda told me the other night 'bout what our dad did to him. Hell, coulda shoved it in my face weeks ago. But ya didn't, and I respect that. And I figure…so long as Daryl wants ya around, I ain't gonna be on his case about it."

Shane stood and stared at the older man, shocked into submission. "Yeah….uh….alright."

"But listen here you little shit," Merle abruptly spat, "You ever hurt my brother, you do somethin' he doesn't want, and I'll chop off that prick of yours and shove it down your throat, ya get me?"

And there was the Merle they all knew and… tolerated.

"I get you," Shane promised, "But that ain't gonna happen, man. Daryl and me…I care about him. I wouldn't hurt him. And I've done a hell of a lot to make sure no one else does neither."

Merle rubbed a paw over the scruff on his face. "Yeah. Beginnin' to see that."

And when Merle finally strolled out the door and climbed into his truck, Shane was smiling in his wake.

TWDTWDTWDTWD

When Merle walked into the police station just after sun-up the next morning, he only realized once he'd stepped inside that this was his first time passing through those doors of his own volition. The rest of the people inside seemed to recognize that as well, judging by the stares he got when he strolled up to the front counter.

He wasn't too surprised when Sheriff Grimes came out of the back to greet him, shooing away the lingering officers with a harsh glare.

"Merle," he said carefully, "Wasn't expecting you this morning."

"Yeah, well, I ain't exactly here to socialize, Officer Friendly."

"That'd be Sheriff Friendly, to you," Mr. Grimes countered with feigned sternness.

"How about Sheriff Shithead?" Merle spat, then let out a long breath through his nose and scrubbed a hand over his face, laughing. "Shit, old habits—ya know? No hard feelings, Sheriff."

The Sheriff nodded, watching him closely. "Alright. What can I do for you today, Merle?"

"Wanna take a look at Daryl's file," Merle said, "I can do that, right? I mean—I'm his brother."

Sheriff Grimes hesitated, "Heard you come by last night…somethin' happen?"

"Nothin' that wasn't a long time comin'. Now how about that file?"

"You're sure?" Mr. Grimes pressed, and Merle crossed his arms over his chest.

"Pretty damn sure, yeah."

He watched the man disappear into the back, then return with a manila folder that was far too thick for his liking. The Sheriff placed it down on the counter between them, and then spread it open. He watched Merle's face as he began to page through it, countenance disintegrating from careful disinterest to grief.

"We've had thirty-two domestic dispute calls since the fire," the Sheriff said in summary, "Read the reports myself, before my wife and I decided to become Daryl's guardians. For the most part, he wouldn't even be there by the time the cops arrived—took off into the woods, in his truck, or just gone. The times they did manage to bypass your father and talk to him, he'd say he fell down the stairs. Got in a hunting accident. Far as I can tell, someone taught him not to talk to the cops."

Merle's lips were set in a grim line as he continued to flip through the countless incident reports. The twitch of his jaw was the only indication he was listening.

"Number of calls has gone down over the years, but according to the neighbors, it's because they gave up on calling it in at all. Knew it didn't do any good."

Finally, Merle flipped to the most recent document—a series of photos submitted by Daryl's social worker. And he'd seen those scars last night, the crisscross of lines that could only come from a whipping. But with the adornment of blood and bruises, they looked so much worse.

The Sheriff was watching his reaction. "You didn't know."

It wasn't a question, but Merle answered anyways. "He hid it. Learned to from me, I guess." Merle looked up at the Sheriff, "Look, I ain't always been around for my little brother, but I've always loved him. I need to prove it, this time. I want to, wanna be there for him. Thing is, I ain't so good at keepin' my hands clean."

The Sheriff nodded. "What are you doing for work?"

Merle shrugged. "Nothin' much, yet. Ain't easy getting hired, considerin' the jail time and all."

"Daryl's pretty good with cars, from what I've seen. You teach him?"

Merle grinned. "'Course. Everything he knows."

"I happen to know Ben McAlister's been looking for a new mechanic."

"That garage on Maple?"

"Mmhmm," the Sheriff confirmed, "Tell you what—I'll have a talk with him and put in a good word if you come over for dinner tonight."

"Gonna find me a job and gimme a free meal? You got yourself a deal, Sherriff," Merle replied.

TWDTWDTWDTWD

Merle arrived on time, wearing a button-down shirt with the sleeves firmly intact and completely stainless. No one was more surprised than his brother. They sat across from each other at the dinner table, Daryl staring unabashedly at him in shock and awe as he listened to Merle chat away with Mrs. Grimes about pot roasts recipes and green bean casseroles.

"It's a mighty fine meal, ma'am," Merle was saying. "Damn good. Y'oughta write yourself one of them cookbooks, make some money off it."

"That's certainly an idea," Sheriff Grimes said.

Mrs. Grimes couldn't stop grinning. "I've always wanted to do that!"

"Ain't no time like the present, that's what I always say," Merle replied, stuffing his mouth so full that he was struggling to swallow it down.

"So Merle, what have you done for work in the past?" she asked him.

"Oh, you know, odds and ends," Merle said, shrugging, "Construction, cars...even did a stint down at that old cannin' factory 'round the way."

"Being good with your hands—that's a valuable skill," the Sheriff said.

"Don't I know it," Merle laughed, "Saved my ass more times than I can count." He frowned a little to himself, then looked to Mrs. Grimes again. "Sorry 'bout the cussin' ma'am. Old habits, an' all."

She smiled courteously and handed him the salad. And by the end of the meal, Daryl was pretty much reeling by just how well it had all went. The Sheriff and Merle disappeared to the backyard with some beers to talk about his "future." Rick plopped down on the couch with his video game controller in hand, and Mrs. Grimes busied herself tidying up the kitchen.

Shane and Daryl didn't need to look at each other before they were both slinking quietly through the house and back to Daryl's bedroom. Shane had locked the door and careened himself forward before Daryl even realized what was happening.

"Want you," Shane growled, and he was already jerking open Daryl's belt with one hand, and popping open the buttons of his shirt with the other. He let Daryl's cargos fall to his ankles, then spun him roughly to face the wall and ripped his shirt off his shoulders.

Shane palmed Daryl's ass through his boxers and scraped his teeth over the length of his neck.

"You don't want this, you best tell me right now," Shane murmured, picking out a spot that would sit just under Daryl's collar and sucking hard enough to bruise.

Daryl let out a low whimper and ground himself back against Shane's lap.

Shane chuckled out a deep groan. "Yeah, you want it bad huh? Look at you."

He manhandled Daryl over to the desk and shoved him face down roughly, pinning one hand behind his back. Shane stopped and leaned forward to brush his lips slowly down the scarred planes of Daryl's back, and grinned to himself when the boy underneath him shivered and whined. He pressed a delicate kiss to the base of Daryl's spine.

"Need to hear you say it," Shane whispered, "You want me inside you, Daryl? Want me to fuck you 'til you come all over yourself?"

"Yes!" Daryl gasped, looking to Shane over his shoulder, "Yes, fuck, c'mon."

"Sound so good when you beg for me," Shane rumbled as he drew Daryl's boxers slowly down his legs. He settled down onto his knees and sucked another kiss onto the meaty part of Daryl's ass.

"Shane..."

The older boy laughed under his breath. "Nuh-uh-uh. You ain't gonna cheat me of this. Been thinkin' bout it for days, fuck."

Smacking his palm and knuckles against Daryl's inner thigh, Shane urged him to spread wider. And when he did, the jock wasted no time before lapping greedily against the snarl of muscle revealed to him.

Daryl made a high noise in the back of his throat, tensing up briefly. But then Shane's tongue moved again, circling around and around and creating a sensation that was quickly spreading throughout Daryl's entire body.

Shane could hear that the younger boy was trying to quiet himself, very much aware that they were not alone in the house. From where he was, Shane could see the whites of Daryl's knuckles as his hands clenched around the edge of the desk. His thighs trembled, and Shane took his cue to twist his tongue deeper.

"Shane, fuck, fuck, oh—" Daryl whimpered out. He was rocking forward against the desk, the smooth wood providing only the slightest friction for his aching cock. But Shane didn't let up. His tongue flicked and teased over pleasure points Daryl didn't even know he had. And Daryl was a wreck, sweating and fighting to keep himself upright.

Lips hummed against him, and Daryl cried out from pleasure that bordered on pain, smacking one hand down against the desk.

"Jus'—just fuck me," Daryl rasped in a desperate half-voice, eyes clenched shut.

Shane's lips left him with a wet smack, and strong arms pulled him until he was standing, forced him up against the wall.

"That's what you want, huh? Want me to fuck you now?" Shane groaned. Daryl tried to reach back for Shane's belt, but the older boy grabbed him by the wrist, pinning both his hands back against the wall. He reached around Daryl and slowly stroked his length, pulling down his fly with his free appendage to unsheath his hard cock.

Daryl moaned and pressed his forehead against the wall.

"Shane. Shane, please…"

The jock pressed his lips just behind Daryl's ear. "Tell me you want it."

Daryl let out a shuddering breath and whispered. "I want it."

Shane chuckled, lining himself up with Daryl's entrance and loving how obscene it looked with him still clothed and the archer buck naked. "Not good enough," Shane scolded.

Daryl shoved his ass back against Shane enticingly, letting out a whine that he'd tried his best to choke back.

"I want it," Daryl growled, "Need it. Need you, Shane. Fuckin' need you."

Smiling, Shane sunk into Daryl slow.

He'd never had sex like this before. Not with the girls from class, and definitely not with Daryl. But the angle was so tight, Daryl's body so hot and welcoming, that Shane new the moment he sank home that he wouldn't be lasting long.

It was only a minute or so before Daryl figured out how to move, grinding his hips back into Shane and panting each time the older boy's cock prodded against his prostate. He kept his hands where Shane had placed them. Bit his lip to keep quiet.

Shane smacked his ass and shoved in hard.

"Fuck!" Daryl cried out, much too loud, and Shane freed up a hand to clamp over the younger boy's mouth.

"Gotta stay quiet for me, Daryl," Shane murmured. But his cock was saying other things, fucking into Daryl harder and faster, like he just couldn't stop himself.

"Can't—can't—" Daryl gasped. His fingers twitched against the wall. Daryl wanted desperately to touch himself, to find any sort of relief for the building wash of sensation that was forcing him to babble senselessly, writhe in place.

Shane's thick fingers wrapped around the base of his cock, and Daryl let out a grateful moan. But when those fingers only tightened in place, keeping him on the edge rather than shoving him over it, Daryl's breath started coming out in sobs. Shane bucked into him hard; and even against the palm of the older boy's hand, Daryl's resounding moan echoed across the room.

"You're gonna do it with me," Shane panted, trying to maintain some control over himself. "Ain't polite to go off first, now is it?"

Pre-cum dribbled down the length of Daryl's cock and over Shane's knuckles. He had to fight the impulse to lick it off.

"Fuck!" Daryl moaned when Shane moved his hand to wrap around Daryl's chest. "Fuck, Shane. Please! Wanna come. Wanna come with you. Make me—make me—"

With a growl, Shane lost it.

His hand jumped from the base of Daryl's cock to the head, fisting at the sopping tip, and Daryl wailed as he came all over the wall. Shane clamped a hand over Daryl's mouth just in time, before biting down on the younger boy's shoulder to muffle his own moans as he pulsed deep inside Daryl's body.

They shuddered as they came down together.

And when Daryl finally turned around, allowing Shane to kiss him back to life, he couldn't help but laugh when he realized the older boy was fully dressed.

They stumbled back out into the living room just as the Sheriff and Merle stepped inside.

The elder Dixon took one look at his brother and said, "Well, well, well. Someone got lucky."

And even though Daryl's cheeks went as red as a cherry tomato, he was smiling too.