Snapshot In Time ➳ twd/spn

Day 326: The Monsters In Your Head

Rick's POV

Rick was unceremoniously torn out of his light slumber by a shout that echoed through the cellblock, a commotion following the panicked cry. Rick was up and out of bed -reaching for the blanket that hung in front of his doorway- before his vision even cleared. His eyesight was still blurry with sleep as he followed through with stepping into the corridor, hearing a horrible retching sound followed closely by the splatter of liquid as it hit the concrete below.

He squinted into the darkness, just barely able to make out the figure that was slumped over the railing before movement in his peripheral drew his straining eyes to the darker outline of a person that lurked beside the doorway to Dean and Merle’s room. They were poking their head through the threshold, whispering far too quietly for Rick to hear.

The thud of something heavy hitting the grated floor had Rick focusing back on the silhouette that had just been puking their guts out, their dark form huddled up against the railing. He had an inkling of who it might be, their build was far too lean for the shadow to be Merle.

Rick flinched when the corridor was suddenly flooded with light, the source revealing itself as Merle when the elder redneck emerged from his room with a battery-powered lantern, the harsh brightness bringing both the Dixon brothers into stark clarity. Rick blinked when he noted their matching expressions, their features thunderous.

The dark glower that made Merle appear far more intimidating than a man that cracked jokes and detailed his numerous exploits -which were illegal more often than not- pre and post outbreak on a daily basis than he had any right to be, the deep snarl that bared blunt teeth pulling on the split lip he was sporting.

“Dean. It’s me.” Merle made an effort to soften his voice, handing the lantern off to a silent Daryl before inching closer to the dry-heaving brunet. Rick tracked the elder Dixon’s progress, eyes jumping between Merle and Dean as the distance between them steadily closed. “C'mon Dean, talk ta me.” Merle implored and the brunet raised his bowed head.

“I can still taste it.” Dean said woodenly, his empty eyes fastened on his hands.

“Alright, we’ll getcha some tea then. Wash it out.” Merle assured with a forced casualness that contradicted his clenched fists and coiled posture, the stiff older redneck tentatively settling beside the brunet, who was trembling so hard it looked like he was vibrating.

“They ache.” Dean rasped, flexing his fingers.

“Yer wrists?” Merle gently pressed and the brunet nodded, the blank mask shattering as his expression crumpled. Rick looked away to afford the two a bit of privacy when those haunted green eyes watered, tears spilling over with a choked sob that seemed to reach directly into Rick’s chest, wrapping around his heart and squeezing.

Rick startled when Daryl suddenly appeared at his side, passing the lantern to him before striding out of their little bubble of light, the darkness swallowing the younger Dixon whole. Rick could faintly hear the tap of his footsteps retreating, the quiet broken by the jingle of keys and the soft creak of a door.

“Do you want me ta touch you?” Merle asked, tone hopeful, and Rick’s attention fastened onto the pair.

“Please.” Dean managed to choke out between the hiccupping sobs that wracked his frame, leaning into the elder redneck as soon as the man raised his arm, his thick fingers curling into the fabric of the brunet’s T-shirt. Dean did much of the same, practically burrowing into Merle’s side like he was trying to disappear.

The brunet seemed impossibly small all of a sudden.

“I gotcha.” Merle murmured, head turning to briefly press his forehead against Dean’s temple in a gesture that struck Rick as something animalistic but intimate before the elder redneck’s sharp gaze snapped over to him. The angle in which the light hit his features threw his face into shadow, making his piercing stare that much more sinister, and the message that was being conveyed with that menacing gaze was painfully clear.

If Rick were to ever breathe a word of what he had just witnessed to anyone, he would no doubt find Merle’s knife somewhere unpleasant.

The metallic tap of footsteps snapped the two out of their wordless exchange, breaking eye-contact in favor of squinting off into the darkness. The increased volume of the familiar gait paired with the slow and steady pace gave Rick the impression that the method of approach was intentional, almost as if Daryl were announcing himself.

The younger redneck seemed to materialize from the encompassing black of their surroundings, a mug of what smelled like tea carefully cradled in his calloused hands. Daryl stopped a few feet away from Dean, who was still more or less using Merle to hide away from the world, and slowly dropped into a crouch. Rick felt a sudden wave of fondness for the younger Dixon wash over him when the man carefully shuffled closer, shifting the cup to one hand in order to reach out and tap the back of his fingers against the brunet’s left knee.

Dean’s head came up a bit, tilting just enough to identify who had touched him. And, while Rick might not have been able to see the brunet’s face, recognition had Dean’s tense posture easing back into something timid and vulnerable.

Daryl offered him the mug of steaming liquid, holding the -undoubtedly- hot ceramic in his hand in order to leave the handle available for the brunet. There was a beat of silence where Rick didn’t think Dean would take the beverage before the brunet leaned forward, leaving the Dean-shaped space that he had carved into Merle’s side to loop three fingers through the mug’s handle. The younger Dixon’s hold on the cup lingered until his arm could stretch no further, then the limb simply dropped between his legs, hanging limply.

Dean raised the mug to take a sip and, apparently satisfied when the brunet made a soft sound of surprise, Daryl carefully moved back a few steps in order to avoid looming over Dean when he stood. The gesture was thoughtful and so inherently Daryl that Rick couldn’t help but smile despite the worry that tied his stomach into knots.

Then Daryl was making his way to Rick, taking the lantern and returning to Merle’s side to relinquish the light source to his brother. The elder Dixon set it on the floor in front of him, letting Dean bask in the soft glow of the lightbulb as the adrenaline wore off. Rick looked away from the intimate picture the two men made when Daryl took him by the bicep and guided him down the dead-end corridor, walking Rick to his blanketed doorway before releasing him.

“That wasn’t the first time.” Rick said as he turned to fully face the younger redneck. It was less a question and more a statement.

“No.” Daryl agreed, voice tight.

Rick found that there was nothing else to say, so he patted the younger redneck’s shoulder before they broke away from each other, retreating to their respective rooms to lay down. But, considering that Daryl looked as tired as Rick felt the following morning, it was obvious that neither of them had been able to sleep.