𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚡𝚢𝚜𝚖 ➳ 𝚝𝚠𝚍/𝚜𝚙𝚗

5. Day 314

"Hey Jude, don't make it bad. Take a sad song and make it better." The song 'Hey Jude' was a Beetles classic that Dean used to sing to his brother, it was a sort of hail mary when it came to getting the stubborn moose to go to sleep. It was being used for much the same purpose at the moment, just for a different recipient.

"

Remember to let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better." Dean sang softly as he rocked a certain doe-eyed baby in his arms, voice echoing through the cellblock. "Hey Jude, don't be afraid." Dean glanced to his left, cracking a grin when he caught Merle mid-yawn. Apparently Judith wasn't the only one affected by the improvised lullaby, the elder redneck looked about ready to nod off right where he sat. The two of them were sitting shoulder to shoulder on the floor, their backs propped against the cold stone wall.

"You were made to go out and get her. The minute you let her under your skin, then you begin to make it better." Dean's amused gaze was pulled away from the sleepy redneck when someone settled down in the empty space to his right, the brunet raising a brow when Beth made herself comfortable -or as comfortable as one could get on concrete- before she wordlessly listed toward Dean to use the brunette's shoulder as a makeshift pillow. "And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain," Dean figured it couldn't hurt to let the teen be, his eyes drifting back to a snoozing Judith.

"Don't carry the world upon your shoulders." Sound advice, if you asked him. "For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool by making his world a little colder." Dean stared into the middle distance, letting his thoughts wander as his mouth shaped the lyrics on autopilot. He knew the words by heart and he usually hummed the melody to himself, the familiar tune calming him down if he was scared or upset or both.

Dean noticed Daryl silently creep into the room, the younger redneck’s eyes staying glued to the floor as he secured the spare set of keys back onto his hip. Daryl slunk over to the table nearest to where the brunet sat and carefully settled in a chair that allowed the younger Dixon to face where Dean was sprawled without so much as a glance in the brunet’s direction.

The younger redneck stripped himself of his weapons, dutifully laying out his six knives, two guns and crossbow onto the table. Daryl cleaned his collection of knives first, meticulously wiping them with a soapy cloth before gently patting them dry.

Dean didn’t realize just how invested he’d gotten in observing the younger redneck until a voice to his left piped up.

“You’re good. Did you have lessons or something?”

The brunet jolted, caught off-guard. Dean’s head turned to stare up at Tyreese’s towering figure so fast that his neck cracked, the brunet relaxing when he noted that the other man was still a respectful distance away.

“No.” Dean shook his head with a snort at the thought of his dad paying for something as indulgent and mundane as singing lessons. “I used to sing to my brother when he had trouble sleeping. I guess the practice that I got because of his insomnia helped.”

“Well ya certainly don’t suck.” Merle rumbled -voice rough with sleep- and Dean scoffed, turning narrowed hazel eyes onto the stretching redneck.

“Alright, Mr. Judgy, let's hear you sing then.” The brunet handed Judith off to Carol when the woman wandered over with a smile, amused by Dean and Merle’s usual antics.