The Spare Room

Summary: The bills keep piling up and if Daryl Dixon has any hope of improving his life, he and his brother are going to have to find someone to fill their spare room. The problem is that while he can't stand his new roommate, he finds himself falling for his roommate's girlfriend. Caryl. AU.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters that you recognize from the Walking Dead.

Chapter 14

Daryl spent hours in the waiting room of the hospital in Senoia, which was a little over an hour from Cranwall. All he had heard was that Merle and Ed had been involved in a car accident. He was told that Merle was in surgery, but getting information about Ed was difficult seeing as how Daryl was neither family nor friend. Really, Daryl could care less about Ed. All he could think about was his big brother. He didn't know how bad off Merle was and as usual, Daryl's mind was leaping between the worst possible scenarios. He imagined defibrillators and oxygen masks. He imagined a doctor glancing up at the clock after being unable to save his patient.

Daryl felt sick with worry. He couldn't lose his brother. Not now. Not ever.

And then Ed was walking out into the waiting room, escorted by two police officers. He had a few bruises and a bandage on his head, but other than that, he looked unhurt. Daryl felt irritated by that fact. If anyone deserved to be on death's doorstep, it was Ed. Still, this was Daryl's best chance to get information. He got to his feet to intercept the procession, abandoning the shitty coffee he had been given when he first arrived in the waiting area.

"What's goin' on?" Daryl asked, "That there's my roommate."

One of the officers, an old-timer whose badge read 'Walsh', stepped up to Daryl as Ed was led away by the other cop, his head bowed and his mouth shut for a change.

Officer Walsh seemed to be sizing Daryl up, but Daryl stood firm. He knew that when it came to cops, the best thing he could do was to hold his ground, but also to show respect. He had seen Merle be arrogant with one too many cops and it had never worked out well for him. Finally, Walsh asked, "What's your name, Sir?"

"Daryl. Daryl Dixon," Daryl answered, "Why are ya arrestin' my roommate?" he asked.

"Edward Peletier is being charged with driving while under the influence of alcohol," Walsh answered, "Are you close with Mr. Peletier?"

"Not really. He lives with me and my brother. I got called down here 'cause they been in an accident," Daryl explained, "I don't rightly care what happens with Ed, but I don't know anythin' 'bout my brother."

Walsh's face seemed to change at Daryl's worried tone. His face softened and he nodded, "I understand that, Son. So your brother was in the car with Ed? A Merle Dixon?"

"That's right," Daryl confirmed, "Ya know anythin' 'bout him?"

Walsh chuckled and rubbed his hand over his greying beard, "I know he's got a mouth on him. He was swearing up a blue streak when we rolled up…not that I blame him."

Daryl's body sagged in relief upon hearing that Merle was at least acting like his usual self, "So he was okay?"

"Mostly," Walsh confirmed, "See, Mr. Peletier was driving when he lost control of the vehicle and rolled it. They probably sat there for close to two hours before a passerby came across them. Peletier was up and movin' around, but your brother had his arm pinned under the car. He was conscious, but in a lot of pain. Emergency responders were able to get him out and he was conscious when he went into the ambulance."

That was a relief to Daryl and he asked, "So he ain't gonna die?"

"No, I'd reckon that he's going to be fine. He was more concerned with putting his foot up Peletier's ass and flirting with the female paramedic than anything else," Walsh assured Daryl, "Reminded me of my youngest boy. You'll be able to find out more about his condition from his doctor after surgery. I'll give you my card in case you need anything. We're going to book Mr. Peletier and what happens next is up to him."

"Sounds good. Thank ya," Daryl said, offering his hand to the officer. Walsh shook it before handing Daryl his business card. Daryl tucked Officer Dan Walsh's card in his pocket and then sat back down. He felt a bit better knowing that Merle didn't really have any life-threatening injuries. He was still concerned for his brother, but at least some of the tension had left Daryl's body. He could even try for some sleep now. The clock on the wall told him that it was coming onto five in the morning and Daryl had had maybe two…three hours of sleep since he had arrived home from work the day before. He might as well try for a little shut eye.

0-TSR-0

Carol had been sat down on the loveseat in the living room. Her parents stood in front of her, their arms crossed over their chests as they looked down on her. She was in trouble and she knew it. This was going to be unpleasant for everyone involved.

"Explain yourself, Carol Ann," her father demanded in a tone that said nonsense would not be tolerated.

"I…I couldn't sleep. I was going for a walk-"

"Carol Ann Taylor, don't you lie to us!" Rose snapped quickly, pointing her finger at Carol, "You were meeting that boy weren't you!"

"I didn't meet him!" Carol protested. Technically, it was the truth. Ed hadn't showed.

"Then who were you meeting?" Rose demanded.

"No one," Carol answered.

"I find that hard to believe," George interjected before his wife could respond, "Your hair is done up and you are wearing make-up. This was no walk."

Carol felt frustrated. She shook her head and asked, "What does it matter anyways?"

"What does it matter?" Rose repeated, "Do you realize how worried we were? I woke up to check on you girls and you weren't in your bed!"

"Check on me?" Carol asked, "Mother, I'm almost nineteen-years-old! I'm not a child!"

"Then stop acting childish," George told her, a frown on his normally passive face.

"How am I acting childish?" Carol demanded, her voice rising in pitch as she got more worked up.

"Let me list the ways!" Rose snapped, using her fingers to point out the ways that Carol was acting unruly, "One, you're dressed like a floozy."

"It's a tank-top and jeans," Carol muttered.

"Two, you're back-talking your father and I," Rose continued, "Three, you're sneaking out at all hours to sin with that Peletier boy!"

"So what?" Carol exploded, "Ed is my boyfriend and we're going to be married! Is it wrong that I want to be with him? Is it wrong that I want a normal life and not this…this nineteen-fifties life that you think is so great? I don't need a curfew! I don't need to be in by ten-thirty and I don't need you to tell me that I'm wrong for wanting to go to school and having a career! I don't need to wear dresses down to my ankles all the time and I sure don't need to be lectured about what an awful daughter I am when there are girls out there ten times worse than I am!"

She felt angry tears prick at her eyes and she fled the room, not willing to let her parents see her cry. She ran up the stairs and slammed her bedroom door shut behind her. She flung herself on the bed and let the tears fall. She had been holding back since she realized that Ed had stood her up. Carol was so sick of this. She was so sick of feeling trapped and let down.

She sobbed into her pillow as she listened to her parents argue downstairs.

"This has got to stop, George!" her mother cried out. Even though she was down in the living room, Carol could hear it plain as day, "She is going to ruin this family and end up pregnant!"

"What do you want me to do about it, Rose?" George demanded wearily, "We can't watch her every moment of the day."

"So we just let this continue?" Rose seethed, "We just let her sneak out at all hours and disrespect us? This is all that boy's doing! That disrespectful, irresponsible boy has been leading her down the path to sin for far too long now and it has to end before she winds up barefoot and pregnant!"

"It does," George agreed, "but we can't-"

"We're her parents!" Rose protested, "We know what's best for her and it is NOT Edward Peletier! You know his reputation! You know that he is no good!"

Carol was pained that her mother thought so little of her and Ed. It hurt so much. She sobbed harder against her pillow.

She didn't hear the door open, but she started a bit when she felt another body on the bed and a pair of arms wrap around her. She looked up and saw her sister's warm green eyes staring at her in concern.

After that, it didn't take much for Carol to curl into her younger sister and to cry against Catherine's shoulder.

0-TSR-0

Daryl was quite rudely ripped from his nap in the Senoia hospital waiting room by someone giving a hard time to the nurse manning the reception desk.

"I was told that my son was here! You get on that fancy little machine of yours and you find me my boy! That's Peletier. P-E-L-E-T-I-E-R. Edward P. Peletier. My god, are you stupid!"

Daryl's annoyance with the newcomer was replaced by curiosity. So this was the man who had raised the buffoon that was Ed Peletier. He was a heavyset man with a build similar to that of his son's. He had dark hair and a goatee, both looked to have been dyed. He wore square glasses over his eyes. He looked to be a severe sort of man, particularly as he barked orders at the receptionist. The poor girl looked at a loss as this bullish man made his demands.

"Excuse me," Daryl stepped in, getting to his feet to help the poor girl out, "You Ed's ol' man?"

Mr. Peletier turned to fix Daryl with a disdainful look and demanded, "Who the hell are you?"

"Daryl Dixon," Daryl introduced himself, "I'm one of Ed's roommates."

Ed's father's face morphed into an ugly glare and the man barked, "You the rat bastard that totalled my son's car?"

"Had nothing' to do with that shit!" Daryl protested, bristling at the accusation, "Just was called here on account of your son gettin' shit-faced and crashin' and landin' my brother in the hospital!"

Peletier's face turned a sort of purple and he shouted, "My son does not drink and drive, you arrogant, low-life, lying little-"

"Ain't what the cops think!" Daryl shot at the man, "They done took Ol' Ed down to bookin' at the station!"

That shut Peletier up…for the moment. Then he was cursing, "God fuckin' dammit!"

Without another glance in Daryl's direction, the man left the waiting area as swiftly as he had entered it.

"Asshole," Daryl muttered, turning to sit back down.

"You're telling me," the nurse at the reception desk agreed, exchanging a smile with Daryl.

He nodded back and then asked, "Ya hear anythin' 'out my brother? Merle Dixon?"

"I'll check on it for you," she said, getting to her feet and walking deeper into the hospital. Well, she was sure singing a different tune now that Daryl had helped her out. When he had first got there, she was towing the party line, telling him that when she heard something, she'd tell him.

Daryl paced a little in an effort to wake up. He'd been asleep for three-quarters of an hour. It wasn't a long sleep, but it was better than nothing.

"Mr. Dixon?" the nurse called to him. He turned and saw her leading a middle-aged man in a lab coat towards him. The man held out a hand.

"Dr. Gould," he introduced himself, "I'm your brother's doctor."

"Daryl," Daryl replied, "How's he doin'?"

"We're just taking him to recovery," Gould explained, "When the car rolled, his arm was crushed. We've inserted rods into the arm and have tried to repair as much of the damage as possible. We won't know the extent of the nerve damage until later on."

"Shit," Daryl muttered, "So other than that, he's okay?"

"That was the worst of it," the doctor admitted, "Aside from some bumps and bruises, he seems to be fine."

"And when can I take him home?" Daryl wondered.

"That depends on him," Gould said, "but I don't see why he couldn't be released later this afternoon. He's a lucky man."

"Thank you," Daryl said gratefully.

0-TSR-0

"Fucking idiot," Patrick Peletier growled, "Driving around drunk. The fuck is wrong with you, Boy?"

Ed glared down at the dash of his father's Mercedes. He was humiliated. He hated that his father had had to come and bail him out of jail. He didn't want to depend on the old man for anything anymore and yet here he was, relying on his father yet again.

"This can't keep happening, Edward," Patrick reprimanded, "This is the third vehicle you've wrote off in two years and the second time I've had to come bail you out of trouble. Do you know how much money I've had to put into keeping you out of jail?"

"I never asked you to," Ed ejected sullenly. Patrick glared over at him and for a moment, Ed was scared that his father was going to smack him. Then he remembered that the old man wouldn't dare take his hands off the wheel when he was driving his princess.

"Boy, do you know what it'd do to me if folks learnt that I was raisin' a dumbass that drinks and drives?" Patrick snarled, "People'd think I support that shit and no one wants to buy cars from someone who supports drinkin' and drivin'."

Ed rolled his eyes, but he said nothing.

"What you ought to do-"

"Here we go," Ed muttered, "Here's what you're good at."

"Don't sass me, Boy," Patrick scolded, "What you ought to do, Boy, is settle down. Quit putzing around that tool store and come make a decent wage down at the car lot-"

"I told you that I'm not working at that parking lot!" Ed protested.

"You can't make a decent wage sittin' on your ass behind a tool counter," Patrick snapped, "You ought to be lookin' to settle down. Marry that little thing you got, buy yourself a house, and have a kid or two. Be somethin' respectable for a goddamn change instead of a goddamn bum. Don't know how you're keepin' George Taylor's girl, but you better lock that shit in before she moves onto greener pastures."

Ed could feel his blood boiling. He was sick of this shit. His father was always telling him what to do and today, Ed didn't have the patience. He was hung-over, he had a concussion, and he totalled his car.

"Just fuck off already!" Ed snapped, "Sick of this goddamn shit!"

"You show a little fucking gratitude, Boy," Patrick scolded him, "I didn't have to come down here at six in the morning to bail your ass out. Your stepmother and I are sick of this shit, Edward. This stops-"

"Save the fuckin' lecture!" Ed protested, "I don't live under your damn roof no more so I don' need this shit!"

"Yeah," Patrick snorted, "I've seen the kind you've been livin' with, Boy. Redneck trash. You're aimin' mighty high, there, Son. Mighty high indeed."

Ed shook his head and glared out the window. He just wanted to go home, sleep, crack open a beer, and fuck his girlfriend.

0-TSR-0

"How 'bout a sponge bath there, Sugar?" Merle solicited the nurse that was delivering his food tray.

"Not the first time I've heard that one," the nurse muttered.

"First time ya ever heard it from Ol' Merle," Merle told her, flashing her a wide grin, "Ya give me a sponge bath, Darlin', and ya ain't liable to forget it," he said with a pointed look down at his groin.

"Enjoy your meal, Sir," the nurse ejected before leaving the room. Merle chuckled and reached for the apple on his tray with his left hand. His right was currently out of commission. It was bandaged and braced tightly to Merle's body to keep it immobile. When the vehicle rolled, Merle had been dozing with his arm hanging out the window. As a result, his arm ended up being a mangled, crushed mess. It had been excruciating pain and even now, with all of the drugs flowing in his veins, he still felt a dull throbbing under his skin where the doc had made the incision to put the rods in. It wasn't so bad. Feeling pain was good, he was told. It meant that his nerves were still working…at least in his arm. In his hand, though, it was a different story. He couldn't feel his fingers and he should have felt them considering that when they got the car up, three of his fingers had been bent at odd angles. No, the pain he had felt was mostly in his arm. That worried him a bit, but he tried not to think about it. He was young. He was tough. A broken arm and a few busted fingers wouldn't break him. He'd heal. It was fine.

Besides, it'd be good for sympathy sex.

Merle polished off the apple and then looked to the little jello cup. Well, fuck. Getting that little lid off would be a hell of a job.

But Merle Dixon wasn't one for sitting and struggling. He took his spoon and stabbed at the lid with the handle of it. It dipped into the red goo and Merle pulled it out. Then he picked up the jello cup, brought it to his mouth, and sucked out the cherry jello.

"See that crash ain't done shit for your table manners," a familiar voice said from the doorway. Merle set the half-empty cup back down on the tray and offered his brother a red smile.

"Mornin' Baby Brother," Merle greeted.

"Mornin'," Daryl said back, "Enjoyin' ya snack, I see."

Merle shrugged and took up the jello again, this time solely to annoy Daryl, "Ya might wanna try it sometime, Lil' Brother. Good practice."

Daryl frowned, "Practice for what?"

"For makin' women scream," Merle answered with a wicked grin. Daryl rolled his eyes.

"D'ya ever quit?"

"Nope," Merle replied, "It's what women love 'bout me, Brother. I don't quit once I start."

"How're ya feelin'?" Daryl asked, changing the topic.

"High," Merle said honestly, glancing over at his IV, "They tell ya when ya can spring me?"

"Your doc says afternoon sometime, after ya had some rest," Daryl answered.

"Good deal," Merle said approvingly, "What happened to Ol' Ed?"

"Got charged," Daryl informed him, "Cops took him down to the station and then his ol' man stopped by. Real asshole."

"Apple don't fall far from the tree," Merle said, setting the empty jello cup on the tray, "Lil' fucker."

Daryl smiled a bit and wondered, "That mean we can get rid of that asshat now?"

Merle chuckled. He had known that Daryl would be using the crash as an excuse to punt Peletier to the curb. Merle had thought long and hard about this conversation while his arm was stuck. It had distracted him from the pain for a bit.

"Would like to, but that ain't a good idea, Boy," Merle answered, "Still need his damn money…worse'n ever now that I'm gonna be laid up from work."

Daryl groaned, "Ya can't ever make my day, can ya, Brother?"

"Might be good to take on someone else too," Merle continued, "Every penny helps."

Daryl groaned even louder.

"And where the fuck are we gonna put a fourth person?"

"Dunno," Merle shrugged and then winced as the action jostled his arm, "Might have to bunk with you, Boy."

"Not in this lifetime," Daryl retorted sourly, "Ed the asshat is enough."

"Still…the bills gotta get paid somehow, Brother," Merle reminded him, leaning back into the hospital bed, "Unless ya willin' to donate fluids, I'd say that's our best option."

"I ain't livin' with another jackass," Daryl growled.

"Alright," Merle shrugged, more carefully this time, "We'll see if they got any of them little plastic cups for ya to fuck. Heard ya can get a pretty penny for…uh…makin' a deposit to them sperm banks."

Merle delighted in the grossed out look that crossed Daryl's face.

"You're disgusting, Merle!"

"Hey, at least you'd be fuckin' somethin', Lil' Brother," Merle joked, grinning at the annoyed look that crossed Daryl's face.

TBC

AN: There! Do we feel a little better now?

Please let me know what you think so far! Thank you for all of the wonderful and kind support!