𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚡𝚢𝚜𝚖 ➳ 𝚝𝚠𝚍/𝚜𝚙𝚗

10. Day 501 - 503

Dean shifted, blinking groggily as he roused from blissful unconsciousness. He was on his stomach with his arms folded under his cloud pillow, face turned toward a sleeping Merle. The elder Dixon was on his side to compensate for the space that the brunette was taking up, Merle’s left arm slung over Dean’s shoulders while his right was tucked close to his chest like usual.

The brunet yawned, sliding his hands out from beneath his pillow to push himself upright. The elder redneck stirred at the movement but didn’t bother opening his eyes, humming in a questioning manner.

“I’m just gonna go shower. Go back to bed.” Dean fussed with Merle’s blanket, leaning down to press an affectionate kiss onto the elder Dixon’s forehead before collecting a change of clothes from the drawers he had installed under the bunk bed a week ago after a successful run where he had found timber, nails and other things for renovations.

Dean made his way downstairs with a pair of jeans, new briefs and T-shirt in hand, perking up when he saw Daryl sharpening his knives at one of the tables. The rusted toolbox that was once a vibrant red that sat beside the younger redneck caught Dean’s attention, the brunet stepping up to the doorway with a smile.

“That for me?” Dean called and Daryl’s head snapped up, squinting at the brunet in that searching way of his. Dean nodded toward the toolbox, the younger Dixon’s intense eyes cutting over to the rusted container in question.

“Yeah, was gonna give it a touch-up before givin’ it ta ya.” Daryl grunted, waving a hand at the bowl of thick white paste and wire brush that were also on the table.

“By all means, I’m not gonna stop you.” The brunet shrugged, stabbing a thumb over his shoulder. “I’m gonna hit the showers, be back in a bit.” When the younger redneck turned his attention to the rusted container without another word, Dean took that as a dismissal.

The brunet made his way down the hall, brows furrowing when he heard muffled sounds coming from the communal showers. Dean warily shuffled closer, pressing his ear to the door. The groaning inside was louder, the brunet’s nose scrunching.

“Come on guys, that’s nasty- shit!”

Upon opening the door, a Ripper with a familiar face snarled and lunged for him.

Dean dropped his bundle of clothes and hastily backpedaled away from Patrick’s reaching hands, but there was only so much corridor. The brunet’s back hit the wall opposite from the door quicker than he would’ve liked, cursing when the Ripper crowded into his space and tried to sink its teeth into him.

He slammed a hand onto its throat to keep it back, the other grasping at the empty air where his gun was supposed to be. Dammit, he’d left it in his room. Rookie mistake. The brunet didn’t have any knives on him either, so he was more or less completely unarmed… great. He wasn’t liking his chances. Not to mention that the body was fresh, which meant that the Ripper actually had muscle to back up its persistence to tear Dean’s throat out.

“What a shitty start to the day.” The brunet hissed, panic bubbling up his throat when the Ripper snapped its teeth at him with a low growl. If he wanted to get out of this unscathed, he would need a fair amount of assistance.

“DARYL!” His voice went up three octaves when the corpse pressed closer, its hands clawing at Dean’s shirt. The brunet was shaking like a washing machine with the effort it took to hold the gluttonous Ripper at bay, he wouldn’t be able to keep it out of biting distance for much longer. “DARYL! FUCK- HELP!”