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Their home isn’t the quietest of places. Merle is used to hearing the yells of his father, the tears of his mother and in-between there is the cries of his baby brother. Daryl is a toddler, only a few years old and yet already learning that hollering for what he wants doesn’t get him shit. Sure the kid still cries, that’s a kid thing he’ll grow out of, but it’s only when he’s desperate for something. For the most part Daryl’s learned to keep it down, to chew on his fingers and suffer in silence until their dad had passed out and someone was able to pay attention to him.
The evenings are the worst. When the toddler has been put down for the night and Merle is left to sit in their shared room and listen to the sounds of fists hitting flesh through the wall. Sometimes Daryl is awake, sitting in the crib he’s slowly outgrowing and sucking on his fingers to keep himself quiet. Merle simply sits, waiting, always waiting for it to just end. Usually he’s got his own bruises that he’s gained during the week that are slowly healing and sometimes, even if he knows it’s wrong, sometimes he’s glad it’s not him that night. But he can’t protect his mother when she can’t even protect herself, the only person he had half a chance of looking after was Daryl.
So he tries his best, and on nights like this when he knows his mother is going to be exhausted and trying to sleep through her own tears, he takes on the burden of a toddler. It’s the least he can do, and he tries, he tries as best he can.
It’s not as bad as when Daryl was a baby, needing nightly feeds, needing to be changed every few hours and hollering the whole night long sometimes just because he could. Their mama always said he was just trying out his lungs, getting used to the world around him. Merle had always hoped Daryl would hurry up and learn quicker. Now though things were different and more often than not, Daryl would keep himself quiet and sleep through the whole night without a problem.
Sad fact is it’s just a regular night for the Dixon household. They listen to the screams and yells from the other room, they hear their mother break down yet again and the smash of glass as their father launches a bottle toward her. Then there is silence and silence might be the best sound possible in their home. It means it’s over. It means that for whatever reason, it’s ended and not long afterwards there are the telltale sounds of footsteps making their way along the hall and to their parents room. It’s only when it’s silent that Merle flicks off the light and crawls into bed properly, lying in the silence and watching his baby brother sit and suck on his fingers before they both fall asleep.
He’s awoken by the sound of screaming and immediately he’s on his feet in the dark, the noise making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Merle feels frantic and when his still half asleep mind realises the scream is coming from his younger brother, he’s fucking terrified. He moves on instinct, knowing the room layout even in the dark and scrambling to get to the crib.
Daryl is sitting up, his tiny hands balled into fists and mouth wide open in the loudest scream he’s ever heard come from his tiny lungs. Automatically he picks him up, trying to hush him, trying to get through the noise and somehow calm his baby brother through whatever has terrified him so badly. Usually it works, usually all Daryl needs is some kind of physical comfort and he calms down soon enough, but all his brother is doing is screaming, sucking in great heaving breaths and howling all over again. It’s too much and Merle has never seen Daryl act this way before.
“Shush Daryl you’ve got to shut up.” He hisses, trying to listen for any footsteps heading their way, but with the noise so loud he hasn’t got a chance. His brother is rigid in his arms, Daryl’s fingers clench in Merle’s sleep shirt and his stubby little legs kick against Merle’s sides. Something is wrong and he really doesn’t know how to fix it. “What the hell happened?”
There’s a yell from down the hall, Merle can hear that their father is pissed off even before their bedroom door slams open, hitting the wall and only making Daryl screech harder. Tightening his grip a little Merle turns side on, Daryl shielded behind his own body from their old man. “The fuck is goin’ on in here?” Merle can smell the alcohol on his breath even from the distance between them.
“I dunno.” He shrugs a little, rocking Daryl from side to side, keeping them a moving target; it was always harder to hit a moving target. “He just woke up like this, he won’t calm down.” Daryl’s little fists beat at his chest, the toddler’s arms yanking and tugging on his shirt as Merle tries to keep him stable in his grip.
“Shut that little shit up boy, ‘s about time the brat learned his fuckin’ place in this house.” Their father snarls, eyes bloodshot, breath rancid and hand reaching to where his belt is holding up his stained pants. It makes Merle flinch inwardly, clutching Daryl a little tighter despite the wails directly in his ear and scrabbling in the crib for what he needs.
“I got it.” Snatching up the pacifier, Merle shoves it in Daryl’s mouth as quickly as he can. It muffles the cries a little as he holds it in place, waiting for Daryl’s instinct to make him quieten down. Fortunately his baby brother had always taken comfort in suckling on things, and soon enough Daryl is sucking in a shaky breath and letting his cries diminish. “I got it.” Merle tells his father again, glancing over to the older man warily.
Their father huffs, his teeth grit in frustration, but he does turn to leave and for that, Merle is grateful. He waits until he hears the door slam down the hall, their father ready to pass out again until he woke up almost sober, just to restart the cycle all over again. Gently he shuts their bedroom door, rocking Daryl in his arms as he moves to sit on his bed with his baby brother.
Something is wrong, he can tell that this isn’t like the normal nightmares or discomfort Daryl goes through during the night. He’s not hot, not cold, he hasn’t had an accident, he’s eaten enough during the day for once and Merle can just tell that there is something wrong. “Come on baby brother, what’s wrong huh?” He asks the toddler, fully aware that if Daryl needed something badly he’d simply ask for it.
Daryl doesn’t respond, his fingers are still clenched in Merle’s shirt, he’s sitting rigid in his lap and when Merle tries to catch his eye, it becomes obvious that Daryl isn’t seeing him. Frowning a little Merle waves in front of his face, not getting any reaction as Daryl continues to stare over his shoulder, face blank as he sucks on his pacifier. It’s like he’s not even there and that’s worrying, but at least he’s not screaming anymore.
It’s worrying, and even if Daryl is settling a little now, breathing out a little sigh and curling into Merle’s chest before closing his eyes, he knows that whatever had happened, wasn’t normal. So Daryl doesn’t go back in his crib, instead Merle tucks them both back into his own bed, holding his brother close and reassuring himself with the feel of Daryl’s heat and the soft sound of his baby brother suckling on his pacifier. Soon enough Daryl is asleep again as if nothing had happened, but Merle knows that something is wrong.
He makes sure to keep an eye on Daryl for the next few days, but the toddler doesn’t act any different from usual except for maybe being a little more tired. Daryl is the same annoying brat that follows him around everywhere, quiet except for some questions, getting into everything he shouldn’t and being the exact same as usual. If Merle didn’t know any better he’d think that he’d imagined the whole thing.
It’s not until a few weeks later, when Merle has pretty much pushed the incident to the back of his mind, that it happens again. Middle of the night he’s awoken by a scream and Daryl is bolting upright again, rigid, staring with glassy eyes and looking like he’s seen a ghost. He lashes out when Merle tries to soothe him, batting at him, kicking and squirming even when Merle holds him close. It’s still horrifying to see, and even Merle will admit to being pretty freaked out by the whole thing. But he deals with it as well as he can, soothes Daryl back down and watches as his baby brother seems to simply fall back to sleep after a few minutes.
The third time it happens, their father is still drunk, Daryl is left to scream in his crib and Merle takes the hits for him. The bruises might fade after a few days, but Merle’s worry doesn’t and it’s not long before he’s practically ordering their mother to take Daryl to a doctor. She protests, cigarette in-between her fingers as she tries to pretend that everything is all right and Merle is overreacting to it. Toddlers wake up during the night, she tells him, and Daryl will grow out of it before long. But it’s been three times already and just because their mother can sleep through the cries of her own child, it doesn’t mean that it should be ignored.
So Merle ends up taking him, skipping school and dragging Daryl down to the free clinic if only to soothe his own worries. Bruises he could deal with, scratches and blood were fine, but this was something that was beyond his capabilities.
They sit in the shitty plastic chair, Daryl on his lap as Merle tries to explain what’s been going on and the doctor nods politely with a fake smile. He hates when adults try to act so superior, but right now they’ve not got much of a choice. So he sits, he explains and he lets Daryl hide in his shoulder since he wasn’t too keen on strangers. Merle holds him a little tighter and promises him some candy if he doesn’t cry when the doctor wants to take his temperature.
Of course Daryl squirms and protests, but eventually the doctor has managed to check his eyes, his temperature, his ears and found Daryl’s general health to perfectly normal. Well he’s a little underweight, but there’s only so much that Merle can do about that. But now he knows it’s not physical, it only gets Merle worrying more, until the doctor smiles to him and prints out some kind of leaflet for him.
“Night terrors.”
The leaflet is handed to him and Daryl happily begins tugging on the paper before he can read it. Fortunately the doctor takes pity on him and starts explaining. “Night terrors are actually very common in children between three and eight years old. I know it looks scary and like it hurts, but Daryl won’t remember any of it because he’s really still asleep, and if he does then it’ll just be like a nightmare for him.” The doctor explains, but it doesn’t really comfort him much. “I promise you it doesn’t hurt, he just might be a little upset is all.”
Daryl seems pretty alright for the minute, sitting in Merle’s lap and waving the paper about as he sucks on his fingers. “So it’s just like a real bad nightmare right?” She nods, smiling kindly to them both and not minding his probably dumb questions. “Is there a way to make it stop happening to him? Like medication or something we can give him?”
“We could, but I wouldn’t recommend it.” She sighs, twisting her fingers through her hair as she watches them both. “As I said it is very common for children to have night terrors, but he will grow out of it. It doesn’t hurt him, I promise and it will stop eventually.”
“There’s nothing we can do to make it better? It’s just really…” Pausing for a second he can’t bring himself to admit how scary it is seeing Daryl like that, rigid, staring and screaming the whole time. His baby brother bounces in his lap, babbling to himself and Merle about everything and nothing, looking as happy as he always does. “I hate seeing him upset.” Merle tells her and the doctor nods in understanding.
“He will grow out of it, it’s very rare that it continues into adulthood. But if you want to try and stop him from having them then you could try the wake up technique.” Reaching closer she taps to one side of the leaflet, not even getting angry when Daryl snatches it back with a huff. “See the night terrors only come during the non-rapid eye movement stage of sleep, it means he’ll have them about an hour and a half after falling asleep. If you wake him up fifteen minutes before this time, take him to the bathroom, make him walk about a little and make sure he’s really awake for a few minutes, then when he goes back to sleep he’ll miss the time when these terrors occur.”
It sounds easy enough and heck it’s free and a damned sight better than trying to get a toddler to take medication. Still he can’t help but worry a little. “I gotta do this every night? For how long?” Because he’s fourteen now, he can’t always be there when Daryl’s put to bed, not when he’s got his own life to try and control.
“Do it for the next week or so and then stop. Night terrors occur in children who are stressed or aren’t receiving the proper dietary requirements, try to get him eating a little better and give him a decent calm down period before bedtime and you shouldn’t have any problems. If you break the cycle then Daryl should be able to sleep peacefully again.” The doctor tells him, still smiling that sweet smile and even laughing a little when Daryl seems intent on shoving the leaflet down Merle’s shirt.
Stopping his baby brother from being a nuisance, Merle tries to take it all in. Of course he’s willing to do it, he’d do anything to help Daryl, and he knows if the noise keeps up then their father’s patience is going to end and Daryl will be on the receiving end of his fists. “I just want him to be alright.” He mumbles, mainly to himself, but she nods again.
“He will be.” She nods, and before Merle can ignore the look of sympathy she’s giving them, she’s reaching into a drawer and picking up something. “And since you’ve been so well behaved, I have some lollipops for good boys.”
Suddenly the doctor is Daryl’s best friend, and he eagerly reaches out to grab up the bright red sucker. Merle can only give a small nod of thanks before he’s leaving, Daryl on his hip with his candy shoved in his mouth to keep him quiet. He keeps the leaflet in his pocket to read through later.
So, Merle tries it out and honestly he’s not expecting much of a result, trust wasn’t exactly something he gave out freely and people who were highly paid like doctors didn’t owe them shit. It’s safe to say he’s sceptical the first night, when he goes to wake up Daryl at the right time he can’t help but feel bad for doing it. The kid is clearly exhausted, a little upset at being woken up, but he does as Merle asks and goes to the bathroom, walks around a bit and sits with Merle to recite the alphabet so he can be sure he’s fully woken up. When he puts Daryl back to bed the toddler damn near passes out he’s so exhausted, but Merle doesn’t hear a peep out of him for the rest of the night.
He doesn’t call it a success right away, and there are some nights that they’re unable to move about much because their father is in a deadly mood. Still he does the best he can and after a week there’s not been an issue with Daryl’s sleeping. His baby brother actually seems be doing better for it, Merle’s tried to get Daryl a better diet, or at least more food, even if it’s come from his own plate, and it does make a difference. Daryl isn’t as whiny as before, he’s calmer before bedtime and easier to wake up in the morning. So Merle has to admit, maybe the doctor had a clue what she was on about.
The next few months pass without incident. Sure Daryl has nightmares, he wets the bed sometimes, and on really bad nights he still ends up in Merle’s bed, but that’s pretty normal kid behaviour for his age. But there are no more night terrors and for that Merle is grateful. In fact as the years pass and they grow up, he barely even remembers Daryl having the night terrors.
He’s seventeen and in juvie when he gets the phone call from home. It’s rare that they ever call him, usually it’s him calling them every other weekend, and usually only because Daryl gets upset if he doesn’t. So he’s already on edge when he answers the phone.
“Merle?”
“Mom?” And that makes him panic even more. Their mother has never been the most caring type, sure she tries, sometimes, but usually she’s just... vacant. Clutching the phone a little harder he hopes it’s not bad news, but really he’s just bracing himself for something bad. “What’s wrong?”
She’s sighing, he can hear the tremble in her voice when she speaks and he wonders if she’s sober or if he’s an afterthought following two glasses of wine. “Baby I miss you.” Her voice is practically a whisper but Merle can’t help the scepticism he holds.
“Why?”
His mom sighs again, there’s a pause and he can hear her taking another toke of a cigarette before she talks to him. “Don’t talk like that Merle, you know we all miss you and want you to come home soon. Baby, things are just a little tough here at the moment, that’s all. I just wanted to check that you were okay and behaving yourself and-“
“Cut the crap woman.” He barks, feeling the temper that got him in here in the first place rising up again. But he hasn’t got time for her bullshit, another one of her little stories about how things are difficult but otherwise perfect at home. He knows the truth, he’s been there and he knows there has got to be more to it than the usual drunken fighting. Taking a calming breath he tries to focus, but it’s damned hard when she pisses him off so easily. “Why did you call?” He asks, but his fists are still clenched by his side.
There’s a pause, he waits and each second feels like a lifetime as he listens to his mother smoke on the other end of the phone. “I’m worried about Daryl.” She tells him and all the frustration leaves him and is replaced with dread.
“Why?”
“He’s not sleeping well and you know how your father gets when he cries.” His mother explains, sounding tired herself. “I know he’s such a sweet boy Merle, but your father hates when he gets upset like that, and he thinks he needs to toughen him up if this carries on.” It’s not even a fucking code; they both know what that means. Toughening up means Daryl having to go through what he’d gone through, what she went through and he does not want that for his baby brother.
Gritting his teeth he clenches the phone tighter, wishing he could get out of here and go fix this problem. “Don’t let him.” He’s not sure if he’s demanding or pleading with her for a moment.
“I don’t want to baby, but sometimes it’s hard when he’s so loud…” She trails off like he understands her problem. There’s a pause between them both and Merle rubs at his neck, trying to think rationally. There was no way he was going to get out of here and be able to fix this mess, so he had to try and do it from within these walls.
“You said he’s not sleeping well?” And he remembers that doctor’s visit, he remembers the symptoms and that she’d said it could all come back while Daryl was young. “Is he having nightmares? Waking up screaming? Kicking and fighting, staring like you’re not even there?” He asks and the stunned silence on the other end of the phone tells him more than his mother’s quiet voice ever could.
“Yes. Merle what’s wrong with him?” She asks, and Merle hates that he’s having to explain this to the person that’s meant to already know all of this.
“He’s having night terrors again.” Because maybe she’ll fix this. Maybe if she knows the name she’ll look it up or something. He might not be there, but maybe he could help anyway. “You have to wake him up before they happen. An hour after he’s gone to bed you’ve got to wake him up for a few minutes and make him walk around, take him to the bathroom, read him a story or something.” He explains and for a moment he’s actually kind of hopeful that this could be solved.
“Every night? Merle I don’t know if I’m going to be able to do that sweetie, it’s a lot of work for one person-“
“He’s your fucking son!” Now he’s yelling, screaming down the phone to make her fucking listen to him. Because this wasn’t supposed to be his problem and he’s so fucking mad at her right now. “He’s a kid! Your kid!” Daryl is six years old and stuck in a house with her and a violent drunk. It wasn’t fair to put him through this. “Make the fucking time to look after him properly! Put down the fucking wine bottle, get your ass out of your damned bed and look after your son before dad does it for you.”
“Do not talk to your mother like that!”
“If you started acting like a mother, maybe I’d fucking treat you like one.” He slams down the phone, angry; angry enough to not care about being yelled at by the wardens and so damned pissed he wants to beat the shit out of someone. It wasn’t fair, why did he have to get cursed with fucking parents that shouldn’t have kids? He knows it’s not Daryl’s fault, but he hates that somehow, even with all the distance between them, it’s become his job to raise his younger brother.
Thing is, he can’t help from here. Right now there is nothing he can do but trust that his mother will fucking try and that feels like it’s never going to happen.
He never hears if she helps, but the next time he’s home for a while Daryl is ten years old and not having any night terrors that he can see. It seems his brother has grown out of the damned problem and he’s grateful for that, because their dad is only getting more difficult to deal with. The years pass and he’s in and out of his brother’s life until they’re older. Daryl is an adult, grown into his body, with all the skills of a hunter and the attitude that Merle knew would keep him tough in this world.
Honestly by the time the end of the world turns up he barely fucking remembers a damned thing about the night terrors. He knows his baby brother inside out and with them sharing a tent he gets to know him even damned better. Merle gets to remember that when Daryl is in close quarters with someone, he usually ends up pressed against their warmth. He remembers that Daryl curls up small like he’s narrowing down the target size when he sleeps. But they sleep in fits and starts nowadays and any sleep they do get is eager snatched up.
It’s not until much later, when they’re locked inside a prison out of choice, that the night terrors rear their ugly head again.
Merle does not like being locked up again. Sleeping in a cell again is a pain in the ass but he can understand the security of it all, especially when everyone else is on edge about him being here. Well, most of them anyway. Daryl’s pretty much the only one who wants him here, and heck he only wants to be here for Daryl anyway. It’s tough, the people here look at him like he’s dirt, but he gets by as best he can. It ain’t perfect, but it’s working for now.
The nights are the worst part. During the day he can keep himself busy, even if it’s just by pacing the floors of this place and searching for supplies. But at night he’s got nothing more to do than lie back on his bunk and listen to the sounds of the group sleeping. Fortunately the baby isn’t too fussy, she sleeps through most nights without a fuss, simply whimpering for her feeds like any baby would. He listens to the mutterings of Maggie and the Asian, swearing about him and cursing his mere existence because of a few little threats shared between them. Pussies.
He’s so used to the quiet of their nightly routine that the sound of a strangled yell in the middle of the early hours of the morning startles him severely. It’s enough to get him up in a flash, fully aware that he’s got his blade arm raised and good hand resting on his holster as he leaves his cell. There are no lights in this place, but he can see the commotion through the darkness, he can hear the yells coming from the perch and his heart feels like it’s beating right out of his chest for a second. Because he knows that’s where Daryl sleeps.
There’s a fear deep within himself that’s always been there. Sometimes it was strong and hammering at his ribs, other times it was nothing more than a dull buzz in the back of his mind. The fear for Daryl’s safety was something he knew so well, and it’s no different now even if the scenery had changed a bit.
So it’s no surprise to him that he’s the first to reach his baby brother’s side, but it is surprising when others show up. Officer Grimes and his kid are soon there, the mouse from the Atlanta camp as well as the Asian and his girl. Heck he’s sure he can even hear the tell tale sound of crutches against the floor that signifies the farmer coming their way. It makes him feel uneasy to have other people nearby, and he starts to question their motives, why did they want to be nearby when his brother was clearly injured or at least in distress?
Daryl is sitting up, still surrounded by the blankets that make up his bed, panting harshly with his chest heaving. He’s not blinking, just staring blankly at the wall, breaths loud and desperate in the cool night air. Merle can remember seeing this before. He can recall the rigidness in Daryl’s body, the heavy breathing and the look of absolute terror in his eyes. The only difference now was that he was a lot bigger than before.
Before he can even make a move he’s being jostled out of the way, Rick shoving past him, the kid asking questions and the Asian glaring at him accusingly. He wants to hit the shit out of him, but instead he knows that Daryl needs him right now. The cop reaches out a hand to Daryl, going to place it on his shoulder and that just about does it.
“Don’t fuckin’ touch him.” He snarls, stepping forward with a heavy gait, and practically shouldering the damned cop out of his way. Kneeling beside his brother’s bed he keeps his arm out, blocking Rick from getting any closer and being careful as he tries to wrack through his mind for what to do.
It’s been years, but it’s all coming back to him as if it were yesterday. There are questions thrown over his head, some accusing, some simply confused but he doesn’t have time for all of them right now. All his focus is on his brother, and he couldn’t give any less of a shit about these people. Because right now Daryl looks deathly pale, his fingers clutching at his bed sheets in a death grip. He’s shaking a little but at least he’s not howling like he used to when he was a baby.
“What the fuck is wrong with him Merle?” Rick hisses to him, clearly frantic, wanting to touch, wanting to help but at least he’s listening and waiting for his instructions.
Merle doesn’t like having to trust other people at the best of times, but when it involves his baby brother, he hates it even more. But he has to because he’s only got one hand and he knows that this was going to be a lot more difficult now that Daryl was an adult. “Night terrors.” He tells him through gritted teeth, trying to keep his temper under control. “Get the others out of here but Daryl’s going to need both of us to help him out.”
It’s about as kind as he can get and it’s about as patient too. But he’s trying, for Daryl, just like he said he would. So he grits his teeth and lets Rick dismiss everybody else, giving himself a moment to detach the blade from his stump and make things just that bit safer for his brother. There’s movement around him, the chink puts up a fight, but soon enough it’s just him and the cop, but he knows the farmer cum doctor cum vet is still going to turn up in a minute since this is medical.
When Rick is beside him again, kneeling there and looking to him with a glimmer of frustration in his eye, Merle knows they’re ready to try and help Daryl through this. “Brace yourself.” He tells the other man and finally moves to try and get Daryl out of his trance.
The second his fingers brush against his brother’s shoulder, Daryl is moving like he’s been startled. His hands unclench from the blanket, shooting out to hit, flailing wildly to protect himself as if he’s being attacked. Daryl is shouting out again, barking like a struck dog, eyes wide, nails catching in Merle’s flesh and curling in enough to bruise. As soon as he’s got a grip Daryl is lashing out, kicking, swiping and panting desperately. He acts like a cornered animal, and Merle can’t have him hurt himself when he doesn’t know what he’s doing.
He lets Daryl hurt him, he lets him dig in his nails because then at least they know where his hands are, and it means he can move to grab around his brother’s shoulders. Rick moves next to him, wrapping his arms around Daryl’s legs to stop him from kicking out and hurting either himself or them in the process. It feels harsh, and seeing his baby brother’s eyes wide and his desperate gaze flitting around the place is enough to let him know it needs to be done. This was so different from when he was a toddler, but only because Daryl could actually do some damage now.
“Daryl calm down, it’s just us. It’s Merle and Rick.” The cop tries telling him, his voice quiet but desperate in the darkness.
Grunting a little as Daryl struggles in his grip, Merle holds him a little tighter, ignoring the bruising grip his brother has on his arms and making sure to stop him from lashing out and hurting himself. “He can’t hear you dumbass.” He huffs a little, moving to practically stabilise Daryl in his lap. “He’s still asleep.”
“What?”
“He’s still asleep.” Merle growls again, bracing himself when Daryl kicks out again and almost dislodges Rick’s grip. “It’s a night terror, it’s the worst nightmare you could imagine, but he’s still asleep. He won’t remember this.” He explains, just working with Rick for a moment to keep his little brother steady. Daryl rocks in their grip, huffing and trying to fight them, he’s sweating, looking pained as he moves to get free.
It’s horrible to watch, and it hurts something deep inside of himself to have to see Daryl going through it. But it’s a comfort to know that he won’t remember it. Even if right now he was scared, it would be nothing in the morning. When Daryl wakes up he wouldn’t have a clue and that was the easiest way to keep it.
They hold him steady for a few more minutes, until Daryl is breathing easier, until he finally relaxes and goes still in their arms. Only when Daryl is calm again, merely sleeping in his arms does Merle nod for Rick to release his grip. They work together to get him back on his bed, carefully moving to release where Daryl’s grip has bruised Merle’s arms with his nail marks. Merle ends up tugging the blankets back over his brother, moving to sit a little further back, checking that his skin isn’t broken or bleeding as he just lets it all settle back to normal.
“He’s had them before?” Rick asks, still beside him, sitting on the floor and for the first time, not looking to be judging him.
He doesn’t like to talk about their past, he doesn’t like sharing, he doesn’t like anybody thinking they know him. But looking over Daryl he can only wonder what would have happened if he weren’t here. Would they have thought him possessed? Maybe even bit and tried to take him out? So it’s worth sucking it up and letting Rick have this one bit of information. “Yeah, yeah when he was real little.” Merle tells him and he remembers trying to keep a hold of a screaming toddler in the early hours of the morning.
Closing his eyes he sighs and leans back against the bars of the perch. The night is still young, and he’s not surprised when Rick stands up beside him to greet Hershel. Opening his eyes a little he watches as the farmer and cop have a discussion, no doubt Rick explaining what had happened and checking with their almost doctor that Merle wasn’t lying to them all about it. He supposes he can understand their worries, but they’re unfounded. There’s only one person in the world he gives a damn about and he wouldn’t put his pride before Daryl’s well being.
So he sits and lets them talk, listens half heartedly as Hershel seems to give his approval of everything and begins the slow walk back to his cell with the clickity clack of crutches against the floor. Before long Rick is in front of him, hands on his hips and looking down to him. Merle hates when people stand over him, as if he’s beneath them in more ways than one, but he bites his lip and looks up to the cop with nothing more than a raised eyebrow.
“Need a hand getting up?” Rick offers said hand as he speaks but Merle snorts and shakes his head.
Because he knows it won’t happen again tonight, but he can’t quite bear the thought of going back to that cell alone. He’s used to his own company, but right now he needs to be here. Daryl is asleep, he’s got no idea about what had happened to him at all, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to be all right. He’ll probably be exhausted in the morning and Merle can’t help that every time he looks over his sleeping brother, all he can remember is that snot faced little toddler wailing in the middle of the night.
“Nah.” He shrugs as if it’s no big deal, as if he’s not even the slightest bit tired. “I’ll just stay here. Keep an eye on him, just in case.”
He doesn’t want to look up, but he can practically feel when Rick nods to him in answer. The other man can hear the words he’s not saying and Merle is pleased that he doesn’t point it out to him at all. Beside him Daryl sighs and rolls over in his sleep, burying himself beneath the blankets further and Merle can’t help but turn his attention to his baby brother. Rick’s footsteps echo around the cellblock as he leaves him to it.
The night is quiet around him, Daryl doesn’t snore, he never has and Merle is left to sit and watch over him. It’s not the first time he’s stayed up all night to watch over Daryl, but it’s one of the very few where there hasn’t been the sound of screaming and drunken yelling down the hall. He reckons it’s the only time he’s ever felt peaceful inside of a prison before.
Beside him Daryl squirms again, and it’s only natural to reach down with his good hand and brush his too long hair from his eyes. “Hush up baby brother.” He murmurs. “I got you. I got you.”
He stays awake the whole night to make sure that Daryl sleeps through safely.