Chapter One

Shane hated night patrol. He had too much energy for his muscular form to contain on a good day. And on a night like this, silent as all Hell and creeping into the dangerous territory of flat-out innocuous, Shane could feel the desire for action vibrating through his veins.

Rick was half-asleep in the seat next to him, undoubtedly immersed in thoughts of Lori again. When they'd finally split, it had been a relief for the both of them. But what had thrown Rick for a loop was when the woman he'd been with for almost two decades had started hurling accusations at him. The kind that made his blood boil with anger, but also a desire he'd buried long ago.

"I know you've been fucking Shane."

Rick hadn't been. They'd never kissed, never touched in any way that wasn't explicitly friendly. But when Lori picked up on that energy between them, the tension Rick had always decidedly ignored, it left him reeling.

He went to Shane's house that night—because that was the only place he could go, the place he always went—and told him what Lori had said. Rick was ready for his best friend to laugh it off, joke with him about how their "bromance" must look from the outside. Maybe offer him a beer, and then flick on whatever game was playing that night.

Instead, when Rick told Shane what had happened, he watched embarrassment flick over his face. That same flash of guilt Rick had seen the few times he'd caught Shane skinny dipping with some of the guys they'd grown up with. Then Rick saw sadness, a sort of reluctant resignation that made his friend seem older than his years.

That's when Rick kissed him.

He could tell it took Shane by surprise, judging by his sharp intake of breath, and the way it took his lips a few seconds to respond in kind. Rick kissed Shane until every ounce of sadness and guilt had melted from his face, replaced by something like catharsis.

"You never said anything," Rick said when they finally broke away.

"Couldn't risk it," Shane responded, still not looking quite comfortable, wary of what was happening and the possibility of a trick.

"Well," Rick said, licking his lips, "It's a good thing I can risk it, then."

They hadn't talked much about what happened next. Rick moved his things to Shane's house, and Shane's bedroom abruptly became their bedroom. Most of the time, Shane still looked at him like he wasn't real. Usually when they were in bed together those first few weeks, touching tentatively and exploring, exploding all over each other like teenagers.

That is what Rick was contemplating so deeply as they sat together in their squad car. The fact that despite the things they'd done together, the lines they'd crossed with glee and sometimes fear, there was still one thing in particular they hadn't tried.

Rick wasn't sure how it would work. Didn't know if Shane had tried it before, with girl or guy alike, or if he was even interested. And he was about to say something, but then Shane's hard, focused voice cut him off.

"Rick."

It was a no-bullshit tone, the kind that told Rick they were on the job. He followed Shane's gaze to the alley across the street, where four muscle-headed druggie types were dragging a flailing young man into the darkness.

Like always, they didn't need to speak before moving in tandem, vaulting out of the car and towards the fight with guns raised.

"Stop! Police!"

The men didn't stop. Two held the kid steady—Christ, he couldn't have been older than nineteen—while the other two beat him ruthlessly. Eyes clenched shut in pain fluttered open at the sound of their shouts, connected with Rick's, and then Shane's. So brilliant a blue they could knock a man on his ass. And for once, when Shane lost his temper, Rick was right there with him.

The former smacked the butt of his gun into one of the attacker's heads hard enough to drop him cold. Then, he reached out to grasp the blonde man holding the boy by one arm, ripping him away and slamming him back into the brick wall behind them. He looked over his shoulder, and saw that Rick already had one of the men down and cuffed, and was standing on his inner knee while he shoved the last of them straight into the opposite wall of the alley. There was a crack of bone that could only signify a broken nose, and Rick wasn't the least bit sorry.

But even as the bloody-faced man wailed, he also took off, and with two assailants still conscious and struggling, the cops were forced to watch him make his escape.

With a nod, Rick called in for backup while Shane threw the man he was restraining into the wall again. He shoved the guy to the ground and scraped his face roughly across the gravel—a vindictive move, but worth it. And when he looked up, he found Rick watching him with a lusty glint in his eye.

Another patrol reached them only a minute later, taking the men off their hands while Rick immediately turned to the kid they'd rushed to save. He'd wedged himself into a corner between the brick wall and a dumpster, holding a hand to a spot on his head that was oozing a steady stream of blood.

Rick got up to come towards him, and the boy immediately flinched, pushing himself farther back in a futile effort to get away. Shane put his hand on Rick's shoulder, and they had a silent conversation with their eyes. Giving his partner a nod, Rick stepped back and allowed Shane to crouch down in front of the boy, keeping himself enough to one side that the kid wouldn't feel caged in.

"Hey, we're not gonna hurt you, alright?" Shane said. "You're safe now. Everything's fine. Think you can tell us your name?"

The blue-eyed boy stared at him for a beat, then rasped, "Daryl…"

Shane smiled encouragingly, "That's good. Now Daryl—"

"Dixon," Daryl said, finishing the statement from before. "Daryl Dixon."

Shane shared a look with Rick over his shoulder. They knew that name. Everyone on the damn force did, considering the kind of trouble Merle and Will had gotten into over the years. When he looked back to Daryl, the boy's face had gone to stone.

"That's right. I'm a Dixon. So y'all can take me in, now. I know how this goes," Daryl spat.

"Why would we take you in?" Rick asked from behind them.

Daryl's faced scrunched briefly in confusion. "'Cuz—'cuz I—"

"They attacked you," Shane said in a low voice, "We were parked across the street—saw the whole thing go down. You didn't do anything wrong."

Daryl snorted, and brought his hand away from his head to wipe the blood on his pant leg. "S'what you say now."

"S'what I'll be saying on the report too," Shane insisted, "You ain't getting in any trouble for this, Daryl, I promise you that. Hell, even if you provoked them, fightin' four guys on one ain't the least bit fair. Speakin' of which—you got any idea why they jumped ya like that?"

The boy gnawed at his split lower lip. "Same reason your buddies over there ain't had their eyes off me since they showed up," Daryl said, butting his chin towards the other two officers, "I'm a Dixon. S'practically a death sentence 'round here."

"Not tonight it wasn't," Shane said. He stood up, and held out a hand to Daryl, "Alright, let's get ya cleaned up, yeah? Ambulance is waiting."

But before Daryl's gaze had softened in the slightest, there was a shout of "Rick! Shane!" from behind them as one of the muscle-heads vaulted himself off of the hood of the car and began to sprint down the street with his hands cuffed behind his back.

Shane took off after him, tackling the man before he'd made it a block. Rick was mid-way through telling off the two rookies in his most dominating voice when it occurred to him they'd left Daryl behind. He turned, and the boy was already gone.

TWDTWDTWDTWD

"I just don't like it," Shane said for the fifth time as they drove home half an hour later. They'd walked through the surrounding streets looking for Daryl after he disappeared, but with no luck.

"I know, Shane. I wanted to find him too."

"Fuck, I mean you know he ain't got no one waiting at home for him—not with his brother and dad in jail again."

"Probably not."

"If he makes it home at all," Shane continued, "And with the way that head wound was bleedin', that ain't exactly likely. Christ, we had one fucking job to do—to protect him, and we couldn't even—"

"Shane," Rick cut him off.

Shane sighed, "Yeah, I know I'm ranting again, but still—"

"No. Shane. Look," Rick said, pointing out the window. Shane followed his gaze, and stumbling down the street, blood rolling down his face, was none other than Daryl Dixon.

"That's a fuckin' sign if I ever saw one," Shane mumbled as he pulled over the cruiser quickly and jumped on out.

"Daryl!" Shane exclaimed, cutting off the boy's path. Daryl startled noticeably and stumbled back a step, eyes going a little bit wild.

And when Rick got out of the car as well, the two of them coming in from either side, those blue eyes that had captivated both cops earlier went downright feral.

"Leave me the hell alone!" Daryl shouted, inching back, "I got a knife! I'll fuckin' scream if I have to!"

Both officers stopped on a dime and shared a look. There was hating cops on principle, and then there was plain old discomfort around the law. This was neither.

If either of them had to guess, and if Shane and Rick's training meant anything, the way Daryl was snarling right now was the base instinct of someone who'd been hurt. Badly. And not just from some undue brawl in an alley one night.

"Daryl, what do you think we're going to do to you?" Rick asked gently.

"Don't matter. 'Cuz I ain't gonna let ya!" the younger Dixon snarled, eyes darting around for an escape route.

"Hey, we're not here to hurt you," Shane drawled, taking a small step forward. When Daryl didn't immediately bolt, he counted it as a win. "We were worried about you, Daryl. You're hurt, and you just took off on us. We just want to know you're okay."

Daryl watched them through narrow, suspicious lids. "Well I am, so y'all can go now."

"You sure about that?" Rick asked him, "That cut on your head doesn't look too good…"

"Can take care of it myself," Daryl said flatly, but when he pulled his hand away again and saw the blood, Shane noticed him sway slightly.

"Daryl, a band-aid and a shot of whiskey ain't gonna fix something like that," Shane tried. "You need to see a doctor. We could take you to the—"

"No hospitals!" Daryl abruptly exclaimed, looking ready to run for it again.

"Okay, okay, no hospitals," Rick quickly agreed. "But we've got to do something. We can't just leave you like this."

"Why not?" Daryl asked, voice cracking a little. Shane thought it might be from physical exhaustion and pain. Rick suspected something deeper.

"'Cuz you don't deserve that," Shane said slowly, holding Daryl's gaze, "And we ain't the kind of men who'd just leave a guy bleeding on the street 'cuz he asked us to. Look, there has to be somethin'—right, okay, what if you came back with us? We could patch you up; see for ourselves that you're alright."

"We don't want to hurt you, Daryl," Rick added, "And we don't want to see you hurt either. So we can't just leave you out here. Not after the night you just had."

Daryl worried at his lip again, but his posture relaxed incrementally. "And I can…I can leave whenever I want?" Daryl asked quietly.

Shane felt Rick stiffen in his periphery. Why the hell this kid thought they'd take him prisoner they might never know, but it certainly didn't bode well for what he'd been through in years prior.

"Of course you can," Rick replied, and Shane looked to his partner before saying, "And you can stay as long as you want, too."

The invisible wooden beam keeping Daryl's shoulders aloft seemed to deflate slightly.

"You gonna let me keep my knife?" the younger man questioned, looking the smallest bit hopeful.

"If it'll make you feel safer, than yeah," Shane agreed, "Me and Rick can even leave our guns in the car tonight. We ain't exactly supposed to…but no one 'round these parts is gonna steal a cop car anyways."

They watched Daryl scratch lightly at the back of his head. "Alright," he rasped, in a voice so quiet they almost didn't hear him. "But I ain't getting in the back of that thing."

Shane smiled broadly, and Rick was quick to say, "That's fine, Daryl. You can sit up front with Shane."

Finally, finally, they corralled Daryl into the cruiser and headed on home.

TWDTWDTWDTWD

When they pulled up in front of the house Shane and Rick shared, Daryl was asleep against the window. Shane shook him gently to rouse him, and Daryl jolted violently out of his slumber, reaching for the knife that hung at his belt.

"Woah! It's okay," Shane said quickly, reeling his hand back in self-preservation.

Daryl's eyes darted about rapidly, and Shane watched him try to remember where he was, what had happened.

Rick got out of the back and opened Daryl's door.

"We're home," he said, and Shane had an inkling that Rick meant all three of them, for good.

Daryl shifted until his feet met the pavement, but the motion took time, during which Shane met the other men on the opposite side of the car. He made a show of taking his and Rick's guns and storing them in the dash, as Daryl watched. Once they were safely stowed, the boy nodded and made to get out of the car. He fell back again with a gasp.

"Shit, Daryl. You okay?" Shane questioned, dropping to a crouch beside him.

"Think…think I broke some ribs," Daryl rasped out unsteadily, as if he himself were to blame for his condition. Again, Shane and Rick both thought to their training. I fell down some stairs. I cut myself cooking. It was my fault, Officer.

"Alright, Shane—you help him up. I'll get the door," Rick decided for them all.

And Shane was as careful as he could be, helping the younger man to his feet, and then slowly entering the house. He set Daryl down on the couch in the main room, both panting a little with the effort. Rick bustled in from their periphery, toting an intimidatingly large first aid kit.

He shoved it into Shane's hands. "Help him."

Shane nodded then sat down next to Daryl. "It's okay," Shane tried to reassure him, "I used to be a paramedic, too."

Even through his perpetual grimace, Daryl didn't look all that convinced. But Shane started small, dabbing at the cut on his head carefully, clearing away the blood and grime. He was in Daryl's personal space, chests only inches apart, but the pain the younger man was in seemed to negate any potential for discomfort.

"Ain't gonna need stitches," Shane murmured mostly to himself. "You feeling dizzy or nauseous at all? Maybe confused, having trouble concentrating?"

"Nah, none of that," Daryl replied softly. "Head hurts, but…I figure that's normal, considerin'." He was looking at Shane strangely, but a lot of the tension in his posture had melted away.

Shane placed a bandage carefully over the wound, then patted antiseptic over the smaller cuts on Daryl's face and hands.

"Should take a look at those ribs," Shane said. And Daryl tensed up enough to cause him to wheeze at the burst of pain. He and Rick watched as the boy took a deep breath to calm himself.

"No reason to," Daryl eventually muttered, "Ain't nothin' to do but rest 'em."

Shane shot Rick a confused look. "Well, I don't have to look at them…if you don't want me to," Shane replied pointedly.

Daryl nodded in a curt motion, still eyeing them warily. "Oughta head home, then."

"You're kidding, right?" Shane said, just as Rick said, "Daryl, you don't have to do that."

"Y'all have done enough," Daryl insisted, squirming in an effort to gain some leverage to stand, "Saved me from getting killed. That's plenty for one night. Ain't gonna take up any more of your time."

"Daryl, stop," Rick said, in a voice with just enough edge that the boy froze to meet his gaze, "We have a spare room, already made up. Me and Shane…we're gonna be up all night worrying if we let you walk out that door right now. Get a good night's sleep. Let us see that you're looking better in the morning. And if you seem fine, and you still want to go, you can leave then."

"The door to the guest room locks," Shane added, "From the inside. If that makes any difference."

Daryl chewed on his lip uncertainly. "Don't y'all have a key?"

"Ain't that kind of door," Shane said, "No keyhole."

The younger Dixon scratched at the back of his head. "Y'all don't have to do this. I'm fine."

"Yeah, you're really not," Rick sighed, "But we wouldn't be doing this if we didn't want to. You can stay here tonight—we want you to stay." He caught Shane's eye, and smiled when his partner gave him an approving nod. Rick added, "Hell, you can stay here as long as you want."

Finally, to both officer's relief, Daryl let out a long, defeated breath, and muttered, "Alright. I'll stay. Just tonight."