TWD Kinkmeme Prompt: Daryl, Merle, gen. As a kid Daryl used to climb into Merle's bed at night, searching safety in his big brother's presence, because of nightmares, because he was afraid of their dad or the monsters under the bed or whatever else you can think of.
At first, Merle was not amused and kicked his brother out, but Daryl didn't give up and always came back until Merle finally gave in and let Daryl sleep in his bed. Times change and years later it is Merle who climbs into his brother's bed, just to ensure himself of Daryl's heartbeat, that his baby brother is unhurt, breathing and most importantly *alive*.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any part of The Walking Dead. This is for entertainment purposes only.

A/N: This is my first time trying one of these out. Hopefully I can do this prompt justice. I can't help it, I'm attached to the Dixon brothers.

Merle wasn't typically a light sleeper. Once his head hit the pillow, or floor, he was usually out like a light. However, he could hear the slightest creak nearby. The floorboards were groaning in protest due to whatever was weighing them down. At first he didn't think much of it. The house was plenty old enough. Sometimes it had its own character.

Beyond those creaks he could hear his Ma and Pa at it again. They seemed to always be yelling and arguing about something. It had always been that way though, ever since Merle could remember. There was hardly a time they ever got along—if they did at all. Pa was always plastered drunk or high off his ass. Ma turned to the booze as well, wine being her favorite choice. He could smell the faint scent of Virginia Slims wafting through the air and down the hall to his room. This house was so small it was hard not to miss something.

Merle shut his eyes again, feeling heavy and being dragged back under the darkness. His parents would just keep going until they passed out themselves so there was no need to go getting worked up over all that.

There was another slight creak from the floorboards that went unnoticed, a distant shuffling of feet as Merle was almost back to a deep slumber.

"Merle?"

Merle jolted awake at the sound of his name being whispered near his head. It certainly wasn't a dream, it was real. He looked over into the darkness, catching a vague glimpse of a short, thin figure illuminated from the light that bounced down the hall from the living room and shone through the slightest crack in his bedroom door.

"Jesus Christ, boy. The hell you want? Can't ya tell I'm tryin' to get some sleep…"

"Can I… can I sleep in here with you?" Daryl's voice was so small, fragile. Merle could tell by the tone of his voice that he was afraid—probably having nightmares again. Daryl never liked it when their folks got into it, though neither did Merle. He was just used to it after sixteen years.

"No, now get yer ass back ta bed." Merle dismissed his baby brother, shooing him away with a fling of his arm towards the door. He flipped himself over onto his other side to face the wall and listened to Daryl's quiet footsteps leave his room, pulling the door shut behind him.

XXXX

A couple nights later and Daryl was at it again.

Merle could hear him open the door this time, refusing to get caught off guard once more. He laid there on his back staring up at the dark ceiling and just listened. If it weren't for the moans coming from the floorboards and the squeaking of the door on its hinges, Merle would have never heard Daryl walk in. The boy's footsteps were near silent.

"What'd I tell ya?" Merle snapped before Daryl could even get a peep out.

"Please, Merle? I don't want to be alone…" Daryl begged. He had resorted to begging now. Wasn't that peachy keen.

"I done told ya no, now git!" Merle rolled over onto his side and threw the light weight blanket over his head. But he didn't hear Daryl leave. No, Daryl was still standing in the same spot.

"Merle…" Daryl whispered.

"I ain't gonna tell ya again!" Merle raised his voice this time, hoping to scare the boy back to his own damn room. He didn't want Daryl hovering over his shoulder. He didn't want the boy to crawl in bed with him. Daryl was six years old, plenty old enough to be sleeping just fine on his own. Why was his baby brother so attached to him?

This time he knew Daryl had been defeated. He could hear the floorboards give way in their usual spot just a couple steps into the room and then the door shutting with a slight whine.

And as much as he wanted to completely shut Daryl out, he still felt a twinge of guilt. Hadn't Merle been the exact same way when he was his age? The only difference was he didn't have anybody to turn to—all he had was Ma and Pa. Here, Daryl had Merle and he was trying to seek out the one person he did have.

It didn't matter though. What's done was done. Merle just wanted to get some sleep without having to worry about Pa barging in during the middle of the night in a drunken rage.

XXXX

A week had passed and Merle hadn't heard from Daryl at night since. Though of course, during the day whenever Merle was home, Daryl practically followed him around like a lost puppy. Merle let him for a little while before he began to get sick of that antic too.

But Merle had been gone all day today and late into the night before he got back home. He had been over at Billy's with a few guys, lighting up and tossing back a beer or two. If his Ma and Pa were entitled to get shitfaced and smoke, then so was he. Though when he returned home, he wasn't shitfaced. Hell, he barely even had a buzz.

Once he walked through that front door there was something about the atmosphere that screamed at him. Something was different. Something happened while he was gone. He just couldn't quite place it.

Ma was locked away in her room, a few stifled cries reverberating off the walls. It wasn't necessarily anything new, but it was different than what it had been the past few nights. Pa was passed out on the couch, portraying the worthless bastard that he was. Other than the TV playing some shitty re-run and his Ma's cries, the house was silent. They weren't arguing and threatening to cut each other's throats. That's what seemed to throw everything off balance.

Merle headed down the hall towards his bedroom ready to call it a night. But instead he stopped just outside Daryl's room as he noticed his door was open a crack. He carefully opened the door the rest of the way and peaked in, eyes searching for his baby brother's form. He came up empty though. Even after flipping the switch for the lights, Daryl was nowhere to be found in his own room.

Merle huffed. There was only one other place he could be then.

Merle opened the door to his own bedroom allowing the light from the living room to shine in. He immediately caught a glimpse of something, or rather someone. He turned on the bedroom light to confirm what he saw: Daryl was curled up underneath his bed. He had managed to cram his tiny six year old body under the bed frame. As much as Merle wanted to be angry at the boy, he realized that he was hiding. He was scared.

"Daryl? Come out here, boy." Merle called out to him, gently kicking the corner of the bed. He watched as his little brother crawled out and he could tell right away what it was that Daryl was hiding from, what he was afraid of.

"I'm s-sorry, Merle…" Daryl hung his head, keeping his distance. He had a split lip and his left cheek was swollen. It was still red from where Pa had hit him and Merle could only guess it would eventually turn to a bruise, eventually take on the hues of blue, black, and purple. There was a slight cut to accompany the bruising cheek as the blood there and from his lip had already dried up.

Daryl had looked back up at Merle in that moment and Merle could see the fear in his eyes, the tears that threatened to flow over as his bottom lip quivered. The last thing Merle needed was for him to break down and start crying. If Pa heard, he'd beat them both black and blue 'till they couldn't pick themselves back up.

Daryl made a move to drag his feet out of Merle's room but Merle threw his arm out to stop him. "Why'd he do it?..." It was the first thing that came to his mind. He was never any good with conversations and emotions but he knew Daryl needed someone… And this was his pathetic attempt of reaching out to him.

Daryl lowered his head. He was trying to look anywhere but directly back at Merle. "…I asked where you were." His voice was so quiet that Merle almost wasn't sure he heard right. Daryl had asked where he had disappeared to and this was the end result? Over such a stupid question? And now Merle felt the twinge of guilt reappear, hitting him hard in the gut.

Merle sighed before he silently ushered Daryl back towards his bed, gently lifting him up to set him on the edge. He checked his arms for any new damage and found where Pa had gripped him round his right arm to hold him still. It would also turn to a bruise down the road but that was okay—bruises could heal. As long as nothing was broken, that was the main thing. He wasn't sure that Pa would ever truly go to that extreme but he wouldn't put it passed the old man.

Merle tilted Daryl's head to the side to try and get a better look. It looked painful—painful enough for a small child such as Daryl. But he was holding it together pretty well. He didn't let a single tear fall as he sat with his hands tucked under his legs, silent.

"I'll be right back. You stay put, ya hear?"

Daryl nodded in response as Merle left the room. He snuck into the bathroom as quietly as possible and managed to round up a clean washcloth before sticking it under the facet and getting it damp with cold water. He wrung out the excess water before heading back to his room and shutting the door behind him. Daryl was still sitting exactly where he had left him.

Merle washed the blood off his brother's face the best he could while still being as gentle as possible. Daryl flinched at the touch but his eyes met Merle's in an instant, holding his stare.

"I thought you was mad at me," Daryl mumbled under his breath.

"Mad?" Merle repeated, shaking his head. "You can be a real pain in the ass sometimes, but I ain't mad at 'cha."

Once Merle finished wiping the blood off his face, he placed the cool washcloth in Daryl's hand. "Can put it on the side of yer face. Might help the pain and swelling go down."

Daryl twisted the washcloth in his hands, fumbling with it before he stared down at his feet dangling in the air. He gave Merle a delayed nod of his head before he slid off the bed and silently stalked towards the door.

Merle frowned at his baby brother's reaction. He was retreating back to his own room much like all the previous nights Merle had told him to. But tonight was different.

"Daryl, c'mere," Merle waved him back. Daryl's hand hovered over the doorknob as he turned to face him. "You can stay."

And just those three little words was all it took. Daryl's face lit up like a damn Christmas tree as he took a couple steps closer to Merle. "You mean it?"

"O' course I mean it. I mean everything I say, don't I?" Merle forced a weak smile.

Daryl closed the gap between them in an instant and he wrapped his arms around Merle, giving him a hug. "Thank you, Merle."

"Yeah, yeah. Don't mention it." Merle gave him a quick pat on the back before Daryl let up. And in no time flat, Daryl crawled back onto Merle's bed and curled up against the wall. Merle figured it was better that way anyway. If their Pa was to wake up in the middle of the night, at least Merle would be on the outside to protect him. He'd rather take a few hits than find another bruise or cut on Daryl.

Merle crawled into bed himself, tugging the blanket out from under Daryl and tossing it over both of them. Looking at Daryl now, he smiled. It was a genuine smile. It made him happy to see Daryl happy. And all it took was three words: You can stay. But just because he caved this once didn't mean anything. He'd go back to sending Daryl to his room after tonight. He just felt pity.

Except Merle did let it slide more than once. After that night, it was any time Daryl came to him frightened or hurt or just looking for comfort… Merle let him stay.

"G'night, Merle."

"G'night."