𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚡𝚢𝚜𝚖 ➳ 𝚝𝚠𝚍/𝚜𝚙𝚗

2. Day 311

Dean blinked awake when Merle shifted, the man’s heavy weight pinning him to the cot. The redneck must have rolled over top of him at some point during the night, which was a fairly common occurrence. And, ignoring his snoring blanket for the time being, Dean opted to study the room under the guise of sleep.

The mess hall was bustling with activity, breakfast being prepared by the combined efforts of the Greene sisters. Dean smelt spam and eggs -most likely powdered- and had to keep himself from salivating too obviously, lest he give himself away. He shifted a bit in order to continue observing, his intrigued green eyes sweeping over the oddly domestic scene.

Dean’s lips twitched with the urge to smile, an impulse that swiftly shriveled up and died when he met the piercing stare of one Daryl Dixon. The man was sitting on a table, sharpening one of his knives as he leveled Dean’s wide-eyed gaze with a distrustful squint.

Dean knew he’d been caught being sneaky, and he was well aware of how his simple curiosity might’ve looked from Daryl’s perspective.

Grinning sheepishly at the other man, Dean squirmed out from under Merle’s bulk. He spared a moment to pull the blankets up to the elder redneck’s shoulders, knowing that Merle wouldn’t want people gawking at his amputated limb. His friend was oddly self-conscious about it, but if hiding it from the sight of others made Merle feel more comfortable in his own skin, then Dean would do what he could to help.

With his part done, he turned his attention to his bandaged side. Dean itched to take a look at the stitches, but squashed the desire to do so with the sound reasoning that he should play the part of the cooperative patient for a little longer.

One of these times, the bandages were going to come off and stay off, then he could ogle what would eventually become his newest scar all he wanted. After they got used to his presence within their walls, then he could afford to give Hershel a little push-back when it came to using medical supplies on him.

Dean’s immune system was surprisingly resilient, he could only recall a few occasions throughout his life where he was ill. And even then, he bounced back quickly and was on his feet within a day or so. Infection was no different, he would burn with a high fever for a few days until his body fought off whatever was in his system and then he would be back on the road again.

Dean had made a habit of waving off medical attention during his stay in Woodbury, there was always someone else that needed the scarce supplies more than him.

When Merle came barreling into his solitary life armed with a cruel smirk and a brash attitude, the elder redneck put his foot down when it came to maintaining Dean's well-being. The man had often dragged a hesitant Dean to the doctor himself after a particularly harrowing supply run, refusing to take no for an answer. It had been early on in their friendship, so Dean hadn’t felt very inclined to stay on the examination table after Merle dropped him off. 

He usually just made himself scarce before the doctor arrived, and when Merle found out that he kept dipping out last-minute, the elder redneck started sitting in the room with him through the entire inspection. Which was irritating at first, but then just became routine. So, whenever one of them returned from outside the walls all scraped up and bruised, the other would escort them to the Doctor so they could be patched up before they went out to enjoy a celebratory drink together.

“Mornin’.” A voice announced, snapping Dean out of his musings. He turned his attention to the source of the polite greeting, smiling when his eyes landed on Carl.