Disclaimer: I own nothing of The Walking Dead.

a/n: Been fighting the most awful writers block with this chapter-despite having nearly fully written the next two. I have precious little in the way of medical knowledge, and have spent some time with google, lol. I'd like to say thank you to ArcheryLefty for advice also, it helped, thank you.

I would like to thank everyone for the reviews, follows and favorites. As always, it means so so much.

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Merle woke in the thin morning light, panic gripping as he flailed on his bunk. His dreams had been dark, filled with blood, and bullets and one eyed devils. His chest felt tight, he ached like a goddamned bitch, and for one terrifying moment he thought he was back on that fucking rooftop and he was sawing through his hand again. He couldn't move his arm, and for a moment...he felt terrified that he didn't actually have an arm, and blindly and fumbling he reached across his chest, his bandaged hand thumping against the bindings on his stump painfully.

Sweat trickled down his face, stinging and he bit down the cry that pushed fearfully through his lungs, swallowing thickly. His neck was raw and burning, felt like it was on fire.

He almost jumped out of his skin when he felt a soft hand flutter coolly across his forehead, he choked back the sob when a shadow loomed largely over him, and he willed and urged his eyes to open, trying to steady the breath as it whistled through his tortured throat.

The hand at his forehead moved and brushed through his hair, fingers softly grazing his scalp. He felt the side of his bunk dip down, felt someone lean against him, then a warm dampness hitting his cheek. He tried to push back with his hand despite the pain, but his movement was quelled, a soft cool hand on his wrist, firm but gentle, and then he heard her calling his name.

He gazed about unfocused for a moment, frowning and trying to remember where the fuck he was. The last thing he really remembered was Blake looming over him like a goddamned apparition of death. He struggled to rise, only to flail a little on the bunk as pain throbbed throughout him. "Where the fuck am I?" he croaked weakly, and his voice was so light he wasn't sure if he'd asked the question or if it was just in his mind.

"Merle, you're having a nightmare," Carol's voice trembled a little as she moved away from him, but her grip on his wrist tightened slightly. "I couldn't wake you."

He shifted himself on the bed again, gritting his teeth at the throbbing in his shoulder, "Fuckin' fuck," he hissed painfully as he glanced up at her in the dim light. He blinked several times, trying to see her through the fading memories of his dream. His eyes blurred then focused, and he suddenly saw her clearly and he felt panicked to see tears on her face. His voice choked hoarsely in his throat, "Whatcha cryin' for?"

"You. You could have died. Again." Her eyes on his were soft and full of something he didn't want to acknowledge, and he half wondered if it was pity he saw there. Her hand moved away from his arm, and she leaned across to her side, grasping something in her hand.

Merle shuffled on the bunk and he pushed himself up on his elbows, stifling back a grunt of pain, and as he stared he saw a bottle of water in her hand. She flipped the lid off and held it out to him, frowning at his hand. Leaning closer to him, she held the bottle to his lips.

He glared at her, feebly trying to push her away, "Ain't no baby, I don't need you-"

"Just shut up and drink Merle," she retorted quickly.

He sneered a little, before allowing her to tip the bottle to his lips, and he took a few long sips of the water. The coolness of the liquid soothed his aching throat. He froze when she took the bottle from him, wiping at his wet lips and chin with her fingers. He wanted to curse and push her away, but then he saw the softness in her blue eyes, the way she wanly smiled back at him, and he felt the insult dry and sour on his tongue. His heart did that stupid little flutter and before he could stop himself, he held his hand up to her face, rubbed at the tears with his tip of his thumb. She swallowed suddenly, her eyes briefly fluttering shut at his touch and he couldn't help the small growl cough out abruptly into his throat.

"Is the pain bad?" she asked quickly, looking at him with concern.

"What the fuck you think?" he spat.

She narrowed her eyes at him for that, and leaning across to where the bottle had been, she took a small vial of tablets. "Stupid question, I know. Stick your tongue out."

"An' where do ya want me to stick it? Got an idea, but Christ, I didn't know you were being so goddamned playful." He coughed again at the rawness of his throat. "Yer gonna kill an injured man like me, you know?"

"Just do it," she smirked suddenly, and Merle felt his heart lighten a little at that look. He grimaced, but did as he was told, and she popped a tablet on his tongue, letting him wash it back down with the water.

He glanced across the little cell, his eyes traveling back to her, narrowing when he spied a blanket pooled on the floor next to the chair she was sat in. She looked weary with fatigue, dark smudges under her eyes. "How long you been here, babysitting my ass?"

"I don't know. Twenty-four hours, maybe more, maybe less. Hershel thought it was best that someone sat with you, to keep an eye on you. Daryl should be here soon-we've been taking it in turns to watch over your 'ass'," she glanced at him almost apologetically.

"Ain't you slept, woman?"

Carol laughed a little, "Don't you know that sleep is over-rated?" She saw him raising his bandaged hand and staring at it. "You got bit. That animal, the Governor he bit you," her breath hitched a little in her chest. "Hershel...we worked on you most of that night. You were in a bad way. Why did you go, Merle?"

Merle glanced from his hand to her, "You wouldn't understand, an' I ain't in the mood for explaining shit." He wondered if she was going to snap back at him, retaliate, beg him for an answer-he half expected it, but he saw with surprise that she just looked at him with an expression he couldn't quite read, and it annoyed the shit out of him.

He huffed as he tried to make himself more comfortable on the bunk. He ached badly, and he doubted he would be able to go back to sleep, and he wasn't so sure if he wanted to if he could. Didn't need another goddamned nightmare, he'd thought he was over all that crap. He glanced as her hand reached out and lay resting limply on the edge of his bunk, her fingers splayed out and as he looked down, he saw the dried blood on her cuticles, saw the blood under her fingernails. His blood. He wondered how long she had been with Hershel trying to fix his stupid fucking body.

"Don't need none watching over me," he growled irritably, watching as her fingers twisted in his blanket.

"Of course you don't," she replied, "I wouldn't expect anything different of you Merle, but for the moment, you are kind of stuck with it." Her head turned away from him to glance past the cell door, and she rose stiffly out from her seat, looking and smiling a little as Daryl thumped his way to the cell. He stood there glowering.

"Asshole woken up yet?" he questioned.

"Mhm," she answered moving towards the doorway. Her hand rested briefly on Daryl's shoulder and Merle watched his brother intently, and he found he couldn't help the little spear of jealousy as Daryl glanced back at her.

"Crawled out from Rick's ass long enough to think about your brother, huh?"

Daryl stepped into the cell, pausing before sitting on the seat that Carol had vacated. "Shut it, Merle," he warned. "I been watching your pussy ass, same as her. Ain't seen Rick all morning."

"Play nice you two," Carol said from the doorway.

Merle looked up and watched her. She had one hand curled around the bars of his cell and her gaze was fixed on his. She was smiling at him and suddenly the cell felt too large and he felt too goddamned fucking small lying there helpless and beat all up to crap. He watched as she moved away, stared at the empty space at the doorway, half hoping she would find a reason to come back and half hoping that she wouldn't.

"What the hell brother? You ain't listened to a word I said," Daryl grated out dryly.

Merle glanced back at him, "What?"

"You must have gone knocked yer damned thick skull," Daryl shook his head, watching Merle. "Reckon about same time you went and got your ass kicked."

"Fuck you Darlina," he said mildly.

…

He wasn't sure how long he had slept, laying there he felt like he was losing all goddamned track of time. Hershel had come to check his shoulder, to redress the bandages and to check on the bite on his hand. The old man had been full of concern, and Merle wondered again why these people would give a shit about him-they never had before. Maybe it was nothing more than concern because he was Daryl's brother, and they were tolerating him because of that.

He was vaguely aware that the old man was watching him intently. He felt his lip curl at the older mans gaze. "You done, ole man?"

"You need to rest that shoulder Merle, and I am afraid that it will be a while before you will be able to use your prosthesis. You won't be able to bear any extra weight on your shoulder. Not if you want to heal fully."

Merle huffed. Wasn't exactly what he wanted to hear. "How long? I need my fuckin' arm."

"A few weeks-"

"What the fuck? A few weeks?! An' what the hell am I supposed to do in between? That ain't gonna happen. No shit."

"You rest, son. And you get better."

Merle shifted restlessly on his bunk, staring down at the hated bandages wrapping his stump. It made him feel even less of a man without his arm. Didn't anyone fucking realize that?

"You were lucky Merle. Lucky to be alive with that gunshot wound. I don't fully understand what happened with the Governor and his men, nor do I know what happened when you confronted him, but yes, you are lucky to be alive. Another inch or so, and that bullet would have hit an artery. You would have bled out. I have left antibiotics with you, you will need those in case of any infection with the bullet wound, and for that nasty bite on your hand."

He turned with the crutches rammed under his arms and he hobbled towards the doorway. "If you don't mind my saying so son, don't let your pride stand foolishly in the way of any help you are offered. You will need the help if you want to fully recover." He stared at him for a second longer then hobbled towards the doorway.

"Huh, Hershel." Merle felt the spit dry in his mouth. "I ain't said before, but huh...thank you man."

Hershel inclined his head as he smiled, then left.

…

Carol had come into his cell a few hours later, laden with several pillows and ignoring the frown he gave her, she moved behind him and started adjusting the pillow at his back. When he wouldn't move, she tugged at it several times tutting at him, so he begrudgingly rose slightly in the bed, wincing at the flare of pain in his shoulder.

She must have noticed or heard because her movement stilled and she asked him if he was alright. He didn't want her there fussing over him, and he couldn't trust himself to not just tell her to get the hell out, so he only grunted in reply. Her hand was brushing against his skin, and he couldn't help but tremble at her touch, his skin almost burning. Trying to ignore her and the turmoil the softness of her hand caused, he stared rigidly and firmly across his cell.

He flinched when he felt her hand graze against the scar beneath his shoulder blade, and he was drawn back to a moment, remembering Daryl as nothing more than an annoying high speed toddler, with dashing feet and even quicker hands dumping a whole bottle of their Pa's cheap bourbon into their mangy dogs drinking bowl out in the back yard. He had ran, his feet kicking over the bowl, dumping the contents and watching in fear and horror as the amber liquid seeped all across the sparse grass and hard dirt. He took the blame for it, said he'd wanted to know if dogs could get drunk like his Pa often was, and so he earned himself that scar from the beating of his fathers leather belt. It had been worth the pain to spare his brother, but the following day he'd been heartbroken to see the dog had gone.

"Merle?" she questioned softly, stepping around to his side. "Is that better now?"

He leaned back into the pillows, liking the fact that now he could see more instead of being flat on his back, his position was more upright and the pressure was eased off from his shoulder a little. He sighed to himself, not wanting to question the thought that things seemed better when she was near. "You need to quit your damn fussin'. I'm fine, woman," he rasped thickly.

She touched his shoulder lightly, "Get some rest. I'll check in on you later."

He was about to tell her that he didn't need her to keep on fucking checking in on him, but when he looked she was gone, and he was left alone again to mull over his thoughts.

...