So, this started as a relationship study between the Dixon brothers. If you have any theories on how they behave around each other, I'd love to hear them :D
It was a black night in the quarry. Daryl used to love the dark; great time to sneak away and escape life for a while. Nowadays, night was the time when everyone's guard was nerve-wracked and wavering. The monsters everyone told you about as kids sprung to reality and threatened your only escape from the cruelties of current life. But the group right now was weary from a day of being weary, and Dale was the only one at the moment who took up true watch over their campsite. Everyone else had turned in. Or at least most of them. Daryl was still wide awake, with a pile of dull arrows strewn by his feet. The sound of metal grating against stone was faintly heard as he sharpened his arrow-tips against a smooth rock. He was currently the only one outside besides the old man, and was sitting on a log near the blackened wood they had used for a fire earlier. It had been soothingly still until he heard the crack of a stick, and that's what made him look up.
Out of reaction, Daryl wanted to reach for his crossbow, but found no need when he recognized the figure trudging up towards him. Merle, with a smile on his face, gave a hefty sigh as he pulled up the final steps of the incline and came to a stand in front of him. After surveying the mess around his feet, he laughed condescendingly to himself for some reason that Daryl would never get to know, but would always be bothered by. Then he tucked his thumbs in his pockets and swayed as he stood.
"Hey, baby brother," he greeted, "Whatcha up to?"
"Sharpenin' my arrows, what's it look like?" retorted Daryl, going back to just that. Merle tutted and glanced up at Dale; as if warning him to turn his eyes away when he found the old man curiously watching.
"Well, why don't you get some sleep, hm?"
"I ain't tired."
Merle watched him, working his lips, and then walked over and picked up one of the arrows from the sharpened pile. Daryl glanced up at him, and then shifted and continued working. His older brother tested the tip with his finger, and then wordlessly snapped the shaft in half with his knee.
"Hey!" snapped Daryl, glaring daggers at him, "I can't waste these arrows! This ain't like home, where you can just-"
"You ain't doin' nothin' with those arrows to begin with, darlin'.Not like you could shoot worth a damn, anyhow. So why don't you just march off to bed, little girl, and let your big brother try and salvage this shit?"
Daryl glowered at him and threw down the arrow he had been working on. He rose up dangerously slow, and held Merle's blue eyes with venom in his own. There was a silent war waged between them but, as always, Daryl buckled and turned his head down as he stormed towards the tent; shouldering Merle roughly as he passed. He could hear the light chuckling behind him, and in return grumbled to himself angrily.
The sound of crickets were briefly drowned out as Daryl's boots crunched and grit against the dirt and pine needles. He brushed his thumb over his nose as he went, speaking every unforgivable swear he had ever learned from his old man. The only tent that was close to being as far from the group as his and Merle's came into sight. Already, Daryl could hear the whispered threats from a dark-voice man, and the sniffles of Carol. She must have just been hit, he gathered. With a foul taste in his mouth, he passed the tent and spat at the base of it. The people inside didn't even have the consideration to quiet; they weren't afraid of being caught, or Ed wasn't at least. It reminded Daryl something of when his dad would start getting physical, but his mom was too drunk to care, so nothing had to be hidden. It was like a sick family time in the living room; dad getting ready with the belt, Daryl slammed onto the floor, his mom in a stupor on the couch, and a picture of his imprisoned brother broken on the mantle. At least he took it tough. He never cried, like how Carol was. She was still heard even as he created quick distance between himself and the tent.
The Dixon tent was just on the edge of the perimeter: So far from the group that it was deemed too risky by Andrea and Dale. When they voiced their concerns, Daryl agreed with them silently; he wasn't an idiot. But Merle told them to go fuck themselves and set up his tent just where he pleased. His baby brother, of course, had to follow along. The choice to act independently left whenever Merle was around, and even the end of the world wouldn't change that.
When he was in the lonely tent, Daryl threw himself onto the tattered blanket he had salvaged from his home when the virus first broke out. He yanked off his boots and threw them carelessly to the side. A knife was then pulled from his rucksack and placed by his pillow, where his hand always naturally rested while he slept. Being so deep out of sight of the others always put him on edge, even though Merle liked to remind him that it wouldn't make a difference.
"Even if we was right in the bulls-eye of that camp, ain't no one would help if we was ever attacked," he would always say, "It's just you an' me, baby brother. And I'm the only one who would ever get you outta trouble like that, ya hear? Don't trust no one but your big brother."
These words tried to make entry into Daryl's train of thought as he lay on his back and stared at the domed, plastic ceiling. Instead only the threats of Ed managed to take reign of his trail of musings that night.
The next morning, he awoke to being clapped roughly on the face and his brother's mocking, sing-song voice calling him back to groggy, unwanted reality.
"Rise and shine, buttercup. You an' me are gonna go huntin' for breakfast," declared Merle with a grin on his face as he stood over Daryl with his legs trapping him on either side. The younger man grumbled and swatted him away as best he could in his dead-like state. From the way he groaned and tried to figure out how to get his blanket off, anyone could have mistaken him for a walker and put a bullet right through his head.
As Merle stepped over him and knelt down to get his own last-minute things together, Daryl sat up and washed his hand over his face. The disgusting feeling that came along with lack of hygiene wasn't new or horribly uncomfortable for him. There had been plenty of times when someone forgot to pay the water bill back home, and toothpaste was something he had to run to the convenience store himself to obtain. As he dropped his hand back to his lap, Daryl started to kick the blanket off and blinked a few times to come back to his senses. He yawned and reached over for his boots, just now cussing himself out mentally for having left his crossbow with Merle the other night. Speaking of which, if they were hunting...
"I thought I couldn't shoot worth a damn," said Daryl with a kind of grunt as he forced his foot into a shoe.
"Aw, y'know I was teasin' you, baby brother. You're a fine shooter...When y'ain't drunk."
Daryl laughed breathlessly and shook his head as he worked on his other foot. He let out a low sound and his smile fell, "Like you're the one to talk, man. If we still had booze 'round here, you woulda been bit by a walker with ten bullet holes in its balls."
"Nah, I'd be dead as a happy man; full to the brim with whiskey, just like ma," said Merle, looking up in his fantasy as he buckled in his hunting knife. He sighed and looked back at his hip, where the holster rested, "Man, oh, man, what a damn good way to go: Drunk an' asleep. Bet she didn't even feel the fire. I'll tell ya, brother, that's how I wanna go."
"Everythin' just sounds better compared to nowadays," replied Daryl quietly. Merle glanced at him, snorted, and grinned.
"You kiddin'? Gimmie a vodka when the sun is shinin' an' birds are singin'. I'll still drown myself to sweet death with it if it's good enough."
"You're fucked up, Merle," laughed Daryl as he slipped his knife into his belt. His brother laughed with him and then glanced over his shoulder and watched Daryl fasten his belt on. He slapped the boy on the back as he stood into an awkward bend and exited the tent with a smile on his face.
The Dixon brothers headed up to the camp, since they found that the best hunting grounds were located around the area near the dirt road. Most people were already up and about; doing their morning chores and getting together their shared breakfast. A small fire was already going, and Carol sat by it with her head turned down as she tossed in twigs and leaves to coax the flames into catching on the bigger chunks of wood. She glanced up shyly when the men passed, and Daryl stared hard into her when he noticed the light bruise under her eye. It infuriated him each time he saw her hurt like that. Just because she must have been a real sissy to endure it for so long. It was the end of the wold for christ's sake. Domestic abuse just seemed like a superficial crime with walkers taking mouthfuls of people just off the street.
Carol must have seen the disappointment and resentment in his eyes, because she grit her jaw before turning her attention back to the wood. A hand brought Daryl out his staring, and his big brother nodded for him to keep up. Breaking into an awkward trot, the younger man passed his brother and found the log where he had been sharpening his arrows. He saw them already placed in his quiver; completely lethal and, truthfully, well done. It made a rock drop in his stomach as he grudgingly swung the case over his back and picked up his crossbow. He was positive that he could have out-shined Merle if he hadn't been so damned tired yesternight. Either way, he had his arrows, and he passed Carol one last look before catching up with Merle.
Dale was back on his perch with a shotgun in his hand. He had a hand on his fisher cap, as if it would blow away in the nonexistent wind, and squinted down at them as they started to veer away from the group. The old man must have felt some need to try, yet again, to talk to them. So he stood up and walked to the edge of his van with his hand hanging limp by his side.
"You know, we have enough food for everyone today," he called down. Daryl stopped first and looked back. Merle, on the other hand, seemed to have the intention to keep going. He only stopped and turned because the younger did, and looked back at Dale with clear annoyance in his eyes.
"For the last time, old man, we don't want none of your food. Now it's real nice that you send your bitches down to the water to fish; makes 'em worth somethin for once'. But we ain't a part of this group, and we ain't gonna take part in your family meals," said Merle with a scowl.
"I was just offering," said Dale kindly; holding his arms out in his show of surrender, "It's been a while since you boys caught anything, and I was just concerned."
"Aw, ain't that sweet? Well ya'll can take that concern and shove it up your ass, alright? Nice talkin' with ya, Dale."
There came a sigh of defeat, "Alright. Good luck to you, then."
Merle flipped him off with a gentle smile and laughed before turning back. Like a beaten hound dog, Daryl hesitated long enough to watch Dale lower himself back into his lawn chair, and then turned and followed after his older brother. When they entered the edge of the woods, Daryl picked up his pace and stared at the ground.
"Y'know we are a part of the group, right?" he demanded lowly.
"We ain't part of no one's group but our own," snapped Merle.
"Yeah, you've made that clear."
Merle stopped. At this point they were shrouded by the trees, and broken shadows traced across their frames. Daryl slowed to a stop and faced him, shifting his weight as Merle laughed and tucked his thumbs into his pockets.
"Daryl, you make it sound like you want to be a part of this group," he said as if in disbelief; grinning and tracing his tongue along his teeth. He tilted his head and, like that, he was pouting with undertones of threat. "Now you wouldn't leave your big brother for a group of nigger-lovers, would ya?"
"They've got food, man. I mean like real food. We ain't ate nothin' but mushrooms and roots these past days; there ain't any game 'round here anymore. Now I ain't no suck up, but I ain't stupid, either. 'S all I'm sayin'," said Daryl, running his finger along the string of his bow. Merle's face darkened. He took slow steps towards his brother and stood only half a foot from him; face leaning in and suddenly intense.
"Well I wasn't aware you became a pussy overnight," he breathed out lightly, "You get a little hungry, little bitty stomach pain, and suddenly you're choosing the goodie-goodies over your dear, big brother?"
"Hey, shutup, I never said that!" snapped Daryl, taking a step back in anger, "Man, why you always gotta go and do that? Huh? I say one thing, you come up with somethin' entirely different!"
"But I'm right, ain't I?" asked Merle. His voice stayed quiet and sweet, like it always did when he was around Daryl. It made his twisted words all the more hard to deny, "I took care of you my whole life. Hell, I wiped your ass when you was just a bitty baby. That the thanks I get? I give you a lifetime of protection, they give you some dried up fish, and suddenly they become better than me? Didn't think you was such a floozie."
"We agreed to join this group, Merle, so why ain't we actin' like it? If we ain't gonna even take advantage of it, why the hell are we still here?" retorted Daryl fiercely, throwing an arm out in the direction of the camp.
"You wanna take advantage of it?"
"Yeah, man, that's what I've been sayin'!"
"We took their tent, didn't we?"
A wicked grin cracked up on Merle's face and he laughed delightedly. Daryl stared at him, fuming, and then shook his head and stormed pass him. The laughter kicked up harder as Merle turned and watched him.
"Where the hell are you goin'?"
"To get some food," spat back Daryl, lowering his bow, "I'm tired of being hungry."
"Aw, you don't wanna do that, baby brother," called Merle, his laughter dimming. "Once you take their food, they're gonna start treatin' you like their bitch. They're gonna make you go out huntin' for them, help 'em with the fire, wipe their asses."
"I ain't no one's bitch."
"Then why don't you act like it? Why don't you put on your big boy pants and get your own food, huh? Looks to me like you still need a mommy to run to whenever you get a little boo-boo."
"Shutup," said Daryl tiredly, turning back to stare at him from the top of the incline, "Just shutup for once, would ya? I ain't listenin' to you anymore."
Merle rolled his tongue and faced him with his head tilted, "But you'll listen to them?"
"No. I ain't gonna listen to nobody."
"Sounds lonely if ya ask me."
"Yeah, well it's better than talkin' to you," said Daryl lowly. He shook his head and turned back towards the camp-ground. He could hear Merle coming in pursuit of him, but ignored the sound of crackling leaves and instead slung his crossbow over his back.
His boots grit in the dirt road as the camp came into sight again. The smell of fish reached his nose, and his stomach, as if reacting, growled hungrily. Daryl wouldn't ask politely, and he sure as hell wouldn't beg, but he figured he could just snatch up one of the cooked fish and no one would have a problem with it. Carol was now stirring around the limp meat in a frying pan when he neared the full-blown fire. Before sitting, Daryl shot a look up at the van and saw Dale giving him an almost smug smile before turning his head away. Feeling heat in his stomach, the young man simply glared before lowering himself across from Carol. The gray-haired woman passed him up a look and watched him, almost as if she was surprised. Throwing occasional glances down at the meal, she studied his face.
"I thought you and Merle were out hunting?" she asked in her kind voice.
"We was. Then I got sick of him, so I came back," said Daryl dismissively. He watched the fish meat; waiting for the moment when he could snatch it and begone from the victorious glances of passing group members.
"Oh. Well, I'm glad you came-"
"Yeah, whatever. Don't think this means I'm gonna get comfy-cozy with everyone," interrupted Daryl bluntly. She shirked and made a soft sound in her throat before nodding and returning to her task in silence.
Lori walked by just then with a bright red bucket in her hand. She stopped and tilted the rim towards Carol with a huge smile on her face. The older woman peered in and returned the smile; glancing up with big, blue eyes that were red and blotchy from the previous night. Something Daryl was positive that only he would be able to recognize.
"It's good, right?" asked Lori with a laugh. She looked down at her prize; a hoard of edible mushrooms filling the bucket almost completely halfway. She put her hand in and started shifting them around, "I got some roots here, too. Don't know what kind, but they ain't poisonous, so I'm sold on them."
"Maybe we can add some flavor to the fish, for once," agreed Carol with quiet fondness as she peered into the pan. Lori grinned as she pulled her hand out, and then idly looked to the side. Her smile faded at once when she saw Daryl grimly watching her from his place on the log, and her lips pursed.
"Where's your brother at?" asked Lori at length, moving her hair to the side.
"Is that your business, bitch?" retorted Daryl.
Lori tensed in offense, then let out a slow, calming breath and lowered the bucket next to Carol. She gave her a smile that clearly masking the anger welling up in her stomach.
"Right, well, I'll leave that with you," she said shortly before standing up. After tossing Daryl a foul look, she stomped off to find her son and remind herself why she was keeping herself from going batshit on the hick. Carol watched her friend go, and then looked back warily at Daryl and began sorting through the findings in the bucket.
"She didn't mean offense, you know."
"Just don't want nobody pokin' around in my business."
"Which is fine, but she wasn't poking around in your business. She was just wondering where Merle was."
"Look, I don't really need lectures from the bitch who lets her husband knock her around all the time, a'ight? Just finish the damn fish and quit talkin' to me. Jesus," he added under his breath as he gazed around the campsite. He missed the sad look etching into his being before it went down to the bucket.
Daryl narrowed his green eyes against the sun as he watched everyone go about their business. It looked like Shane was planning something with Glenn over by his pick-up truck, but that's not what caught his attention. It was the fact that Merle was with them; pointing at what appeared to be a map strewn out on the rusty red hood. Apparently his brother came back to haul him off back to the woods, but instead got side-tracked in the most unlikely way. Figuring that the fish would take a while, Daryl pushed on his knees to get himself up and walked away from the fire without a second word or thought. He came up behind the trio of men just close enough to hear Shane say;
"Peachtree's too far. You get there, then you're in a danger zone."
Glenn gave a blank-faced look, "Well, everywhere's a danger zone, isn't it?"
"Yeah, but-"
"I say it'd be smartest to jus' keep on the outskirts," intercepted Merle, giving another jab at the map, "'Round here's an outlet mall, that's where we could find most a' the supplies. 'Less the place is cleaned out."
"What're you guys talkin' 'bout?" asked Daryl, finally reaching them with a confused frown. Merle pushed up and gave him a toothy grin.
"Well, baby brother, you said you wanted to be part a' the group, so that's what's gonna happen. Shane's been talkin' 'bout a run to Atlanta, so I volunteered to go with Beef Lo Mein, here," he said. Glenn gave him a sly look of annoyance, but it was more defeat than anything behind his expression.
"We're putting together a scavenging group. It ain't just gonna be Merle and Glenn," said Shane, ignoring the comment as he looked at Daryl, "So far we've got Andrea, them two, and T-Dog. I was gonna have a look around and see who else was willin' to go."
"Well I'll go," said Daryl with a shrug of his shoulder, "Hell, that sounds a lot better than sittin' 'round this camp site doin' nothing all day."
Merle laughed and clapped his shoulder, "You ain't goin' anywhere near that city, baby brother. This is a man's mission; not cut out for someone who can't even handle a little bit of stomach pangs."
Daryl shot him a look and then turned back to Shane to put forth his argument. He thumbed at his bow and spoke seriously.
"I'm the best aim 'round here, sides you an' Dale. I ain't afraid of goin' into the city, and I'd be a damn good contribution to the scavengin' team."
"I'm sure you would be. But I need you here. With so many of our fighters gone, we're gonna need someone who can hunt for the group. Andrea's goin', and no one else knows how to fish but Amy, and she's got other things to handle right now," said Shane, holding himself up with his arms as he watched the younger man. Daryl scoffed in disbelief and shook his head.
"That's bullshit. Amy can handle catchin' a few damn fish in her spare time."
Again, Merle's hand fell on his shoulder and rocked him to gain his attention. The older man smiled, his face wrinkling, and the way he spoke could only be described as patronizing and condescending.
"This is what you wanted, ain't it? We're a part of the group now, so no whinin' 'bout your orders. Now go be a good boy and find some squrriels to bring back to the camp," he slapped the side of Daryl's face before nodding for him to go away. Indignant, Daryl tried to withstand the stares from Glenn and Shane, then turned towards the woods. He slung off his crossbow as he passed Carol, and she dared to speak up.
"Fish are done," she called.
He just loaded an arrow and forgot he was ever hungry as he stepped down into the woods. Even when Daryl was the victor, it always felt like Merle won.
The scavenging group soon became a success. It had grown to six members, and three runs were made within the course of seven weeks. Each time they returned, Merle always had a hilarious story to tell his brother in the tent that night; usually involving someone's near-death. It was always funniest when T-Dog slipped up, but Daryl failed to ever find humor in it. When he didn't laugh, Merle would interpret it to fit his desire and would scruff his brother's hair.
"Don't worry 'bout your big brother, now. Hell yeah it's a battle zone out there, but I ain't no pussy. You know I'll come back each time, man. I couldn't leave my precious baby brother in the hands of these liberals," he soothed. It sounded mocking, but Daryl, as always, bought into it; even if it wasn't a concern he liked to recognize.
It was time for another run, and the group seemed to be completely used to having the Dixon brothers actively helping them. Most were even relieved, and had a few grudging words about how it was about time whenever they saw Daryl getting ready to hunt for them, or Merle gearing up to go into the city. The younger was currently doing a check on his arrows, and the older was packing up his motorcycle. Daryl didn't miss it when he tipped back a few pills, and he shook his head and muttered an insult under his breath as he pulled back and set his string. A few minutes later, his brother seemed awfully cheery as he mounted his motorcycle and hollered out over the scavenging group.
"Alright, you bastards, let's get it goin'!" he jeered. Glares were sent his way when he fell back onto his bike and recklessly revved the engine in impatience; rolling a toothpick between his toothy grin while he waited. He caught sight of Daryl staring and kissed at him, making his brother shake his head and give a breathy laugh despite himself. Grinning in victory, Merle checked in over his shoulder long enough to see the rest of the group load up and start their engines. Then he saluted back at his brother and, with a howl of delight, kicked off and tore down the dirt road.
"Crazy son of a bitch," said Daryl with borderline fondness as he watched the stream of cars pull out after him. He set an arrow shaft in his crossbow and held it up as he started for the woods; watching the cloud of dirt drift slowly back to the ground as he went.
Hunting was surprisingly easy for him that day. Without Merle there to keep him on a leash, Daryl was allowed to go deeper in the woods; in less visited places, where the animals wouldn't suspect him nearing them. A decent amount of squirrels were sacked by the time the sun was going down, and a bonus was found when Daryl realized that this would have to be a hunting trip in two parts; considering the camp site was too far to make in a single, night hike. Merle was no doubt back by now, and sure he might be having hissy fits, but it was rare that Daryl got to spend nights alone. So he was perfectly content to hide out under some thrush after tying his squirrels up on a tree branch; out of reach of any animal or thing that would wander by in the night. Making sure he had an escape route, should that specific thing appear, Daryl held his hunting knife in his hand and stared at the stars through the branches as he eventually drifted into sleep.
Fog coated him when he awoke in the eves of the morning the next day. He was drenched, freezing, but he felt more rested than he had in the past two months. When he pulled himself out from the thrush, and stood to brush off the leaves, he was pleased to see that his game was untouched and unspoiled; the temperatures being low enough not to cause harm to the precious meat. After drawing them down, Daryl hung them over his back again and started off back in the direction of the camp. Several more squirrels were snagged the longer he tramped, and his haul was impressive by the time he found the dirt road and began to follow it up to the quarry. Halfway there, the road made a curve, so he cut through the woods again to get there faster; his stomach growling with lack of breakfast. Berries and mushrooms were nice and all, but he was ready for some meat.
It was well into the morning when he finally got back from his trek. There was a small hill that lead up to the campground, and he stared at his feet as he marched up it. When voices were heard, he squinted against the sun to see that the scavenging group had indeed returned. The cars were all back, and Merle's bike was set to the side. Daryl could hear Shane's voice from the truck, and glanced up to see him talking to a man he had never seen before. Daryl started to slow as he took in the newcomer. It looked like a sheriff had joined them; hat, pistol, and everything. Daryl briefly remembered Shane's constant reminders that he was in the police force before all this started, and he may have mentioned a partner once. Unpleasantly suspicious, Daryl fingered his hunting knife as he walked up and invited himself into their conversation.
"Who's this?" he demanded; throwing a hand at the new guy and back. The sheriff regarded him by taking a step back and noting the squirrels. Shane sucked in a breath and waved at the man with a smile.
"This is Sheriff Rick Grimes. The scavenging group found him back in Atlanta; saved him from the walkers. Rick, this is Daryl. Merle's brother I was tellin' you about."
"Nice to meet you," said Rick politely with a tip of his head. His voice was hoarse and quiet, which Daryl chose not to like as the sheriff extended his hand, only to have it ignored. The younger man eyed the two, and then turned back to Shane with accusation.
"He joinin' the group?" he demanded.
"Yes," replied Shane sternly. "He's a good man, and a great aim. He ain't gonna keep us down, if that's what you're worried about."
"I'm Carl's father," added Rick in kind persuasion, "And I'm Lori's husband. Look, I know it might seem strange for me to just appear when you all have such a tight group, but I swear I don't mean you any harm. I just woke up from a hell-knows-how-long coma. I've been awake for a week, and that week's been hell for me. I'd just really appreciate the chance to be a part of a group of people who know what's goin' on around here."
Daryl hesitantly shifted and glowered at him, "Yeah, I can get that. So you didn't know 'bout the virus 'til last week?"
"No," said Rick, shaking his head as he placed his hat back on. "No, I just woke up and the hospital I was stayin' in was completely overrun by those...walkers, as you call 'em. Barely made it out alive."
"Well you're lucky, then," said Daryl shortly. "I wouldn't mind forgettin' the last three months. Better to have never witnessed them in the first place." He passed looks between the men, then turned away to skin his winnings, muttering to himself; "Musta been one helluva shock."
He didn't get very far when he heard a whistle. Looking up, he saw Merle storming towards him with his face grim and his eyes darkened. Daryl slipped the squirrels off his shoulder and set them down near the fire as he watched his brother approach him. Usually Merle stopped, but this time he grabbed Daryl by the back of his shirt and forcefully began pulling him away from the group.
"Merle, the hell are you-!"
"Shutup," replied his brother restlessly; glaring ahead. When they were out of ear shot, he pulled Daryl in front of him and tucked his thumbs in his pockets while the younger found his footing and reacted angrily.
"What?!" demanded Daryl, panting fom the effort of resistance.
"I don't like that new sheriff guy, and I don't want you talkin' to him, a'ight?" said Merle forcefully. He was incredibly red in the face, and Daryl was positive that it wasn't just from the heat of summer.
"Why not?"
"He's a fucking goody-two-shoes. Held a gun at me and ordered me around like some kinda caged animal."
Daryl's eyebrows went up, "Shit, what'd ya do?"
"I ain't did nothin'! I was havin' a little fun with T-Dog, that's all. Just a healthy argument. Then he goes an' whips out his sissy gun and waves it all around like he's the president of the fucking United States. I woulda beat the shit outta him."
"Why didn't you?"
"Squint-eyes got in the way. Said somethin' about findin' a way out of the city. Everyone diffused the situation and moved on before I had the chance," said Merle, falling back to his wickedly sweet tone as he bounced his knee, "Now he's part of the family it seems. Took three weeks for everyone to stop grumblin' about you an' me joinin', and now he's their god-forsaken hero. There's been talk about lettin' him lead the group with Shane."
"You're jokin'."
"I ain't. I told you this group was a buncha pansies. He whips out a badge, has a touching reunion, and everyone's won over. You listen to me, baby brother, you ain't gonna fall for that trap. You an' me are back to bein' on our own if this guy gets leadership. Hell, if he takes over, I'm packin' up and gettin' us the hell outta here. Better on our own than in a group lead by that scumbag liberal," said Merle; spitting at the ground like he had a bad taste in his mouth.
Riled up, Daryl adjusted his arrow and glowered back at the camp with fire in his eyes.
"Well let's just go an' make sure he don't get that position! No one points a gun at you and gets away with that; and they 'specially don't get rewarded."
"Easy now, baby brother," said Merle with a chuckle. He held a hand out to stop Daryl from charging off like a bull, and looked him seriously in the eyes, "He'll get his. I'll just catch 'im in the night and rough him up. If he still wants to be leader after that, then he's more of an idiot than I've been sayin'. Meantime, I want you t'stay out of it all, hm? Don't want you involved with him, or this. You just ignore him and come find me if he ever gives you a hard time, a'ight?"
Daryl was staring at the forest floor, and looked up to see a pressing look on his brother's face. He gave up a small nod and Merle returned it with his own, turning back to stare at the camp. Carol could be seen with Andrea by the place where Daryl left the squirrels; talking excitedly to one another about the recent string of events. Merle tutted and shook his head.
"Bitches, man. They'll get excited 'bout everythin'," he mused.
"What did the others do?"
"Hm?"
Daryl stood strongly, his muscles flexed and tense, "The others. When that sherrif pulled his gun on ya, what did the others do?"
"Oh, they just stood to the side like dogs," snorted Merle, "Didn't do nothin' about it. If I was shot, they wouldn't have cared, I'll bet. They don't like me, ya see. They don't like me, they don't like you. This sheriff guy outshines us? If that happens, then we're outta here on the count of three; mark my words."
Daryl looked down and grunted, "I thought I didn't like the looks of him."
"An' you keep followin' that instinct. It's the right one. I ain't lettin' him get us kicked out. Now you don't have to worry 'bout it anymore; I'm gonna take care of it, so don't worry your pretty little head."
"Yeah."
"Good," said Merle with a nod, calming down again. He licked his lips and nodded up to the campsite; holding out his arm in the same movement, "Now c'mon, we don't want no one spoilin' those squirrels you hauled in. Man, where'd you hunt to get so many of 'em?"
"The parts you're so keen on bein' superstitious about," said Daryl distractedly, going up to join him. Merle patted his back and kept his hand between his shoulder blades, almost driving his little brother up as they mounted the hill again; discussing hunting and kills.
Merle never had the chance to mess with Rick, like he said he would. The man was constantly with his wife, or his best friend. By the end of only three days everyone was treating him like he had been there the whole time. Before the Dixon brothers knew it, the man was bearing the title of leader, right alongside with Shane. Merle had cussed up a storm when they elected him by the campfire that night; he protested with everything he got, and even grew physical. Shane fixed that by giving him a fist in the jaw, which knocked him to the ground and, in turn, made Daryl join the fray. To sum things up, at the end of the week, there were two bruised brothers and a new leader to their group. Nothing had gone how they wanted it to go, and as they sat in front of their tent sharpening their knives, Merle sighed and drove his blade into the dirt suddenly.
"Well, I'd say that's us, brother," he said, turning his head towards Daryl. When the younger looked up grimly, he elaborated. "I bet you that right now they're all gettin' together and discussin' what to do with us wild animals. We've started one fight too many, now the sheriff's gonna go an' get us kicked out."
"In't that what you wanted?" returned Daryl with little change of emotion, "Last week you said you was gonna pack up and go if he became leader."
"Yeah, but last week I thought I was gonna get the chance to mess up his pretty, little face. I ain't goin' without a fight, now."
"Why do ya have to make a fuss of it? They'll just hate us more."
Merle chuckled and pinched his cheek, "That's cute, baby brother. You really think they can possibly hate us more than they do already?"
Daryl swatted him away and shifted as he went back to running his knife against his worn leather belt. Merle kept laughing in his chest as he pulled his blade out and began driving it in and out of the dirt idly. All the while, he looked out into the distance with thought etched in his wrinkled face.
"Maybe we could haul our asses over to Texas. Ain't too many people in Texas, so there can't be so many walkers. 'Specially if we get down to the border, y'know? Somewhere remote, where ain't no person or walker can find us," he mused.
"I ain't goin' to Texas," grumbled Daryl, "It's too far. We wouldn't make it."
"Sure we could. It ain't like those cars on the highway are empty of gas. We could just steal some here and there; take the truck, steal some guns and ammo from these suckers. You an' me can hunt real good, we'd be set. It'd be like when the outbreak first started, back when it was just you an' me kickin' ass out there."
"That don't exactly sound like the ideal lifestyle to me."
"Then what's your idea of a good life, huh? Suckin' up to Rick and his bitches? You wanna stay here and be a good boy so he'll reward you with hugs and kisses? He's turnin' you into a right proper lap dog, ain't he?" said Merle. His brother was silent, so he turned back to looking out at the canopy of the forest, "Like I was sayin', it wouldn't take much to pack up. We could just steal what we need durin' the day; pace ourselves so no one notices. Then just sneak to the truck and go. Nothin' Dale or anyone can do about it once we're goin' sixty down the road."
"They could follow us."
"Why would they?"
"If we're plannin' on stealin' their guns, don't you think they'll want 'em back?"
"Fine, then," said Merle with a grimace. "They follow us, threaten us, we kill 'em."
"I ain't killin' no one."
"Pussy."
"It's called havin' some humanity!" snapped Daryl angrily. He dropped his knife and fully scowled at his brother. "I don't wanna know 'bout what you did whenever you was gone for weeks on end, but I ain't gonna take the life of someone who didn't do nothin' wrong by me."
"That's just it, baby brother," said Merle with a smile. "They did do wrong by you. You were stupid enough to believe them when they said they accepted you, and now you're seein' their true colors, and they're rejectin' ya. Just like pa. And who's here for ya, still? Your big brother Merle. An' if someone threatens that, you do like a man and end them."
"And what if they don't, huh? What if they don't pull any guns on us, and just ask for their guns back? We still kill 'em?"
"Naw, we book it the hell out of there," said Merle with an outburst of laughter. He looked back with a gleam in his eye, "'Less we have the chance to screw 'em up a bit."
"You're insane."
"I'm just tryin' to do what's best for us. And right now, no ones life is more important than yours and mine. If I have to go to extremes to keep us safe, then that's exactly what I'm gonna do; whether you like that or not. It's part of bein' a big brother."
"Part of bein' a nutjob, maybe," mumbled Daryl. He felt a hand fall on the back of his neck and give it a squeeze. He looked up and met Merle's eyes as the older man shook him.
"One day you'll get it, baby brother. When we're safe, and we don't have to worry 'bout no one barkin' orders at us and playin' God, then you'll get why we have to do this. It's for the better," he said softly.
Daryl grit his teeth, hummed, and went back to what he was doing as Merle's hand slid off. His brother let out a loaded, loud sigh and glanced up. After a beat, he let out a growling kind of sound and brought his brother to look up and see what he was seeing. Carol stood at the top of the hill, looking down at them. When she saw she had their attention, she waved her hand in a beckoning manner.
"She want me or you?" asked Daryl.
"Who fuckin' cares?" said Merle, going back to what he was doing. Daryl glanced at him, and then set his things down and stood up. He ignored the obvious glare of disapproval as he hiked up the hill and came into earshot. Carol smiled as nicely as she could and fidgeted with her hands shyly when he reached the top.
"I was just wonderin' if you were gonna go huntin' anytime soon," she said carefully. Daryl slouched in front of her and scrutinized her wordlessly, so she fussed with her sweater and went on. "Rick just said that it'd be best to get-"
"Oh, you follow Rick do ya? Bein' shoved around by one man ain't enough?" challenged Daryl without a hint of compassion. Carol swallowed her words and bowed her head.
"I just...He's reliable, it's not like..."
"Yeah, well, you're still a suck up," said Daryl. He glanced at the sun and saw that it was nearing night, anyway. With a last dirty look at Carol, he turned and called over his shoulder. "I'll bring in some meat, but I ain't doin' it for Rick."
"I'm sorry," she said, as if she caused him great offense. The apology went ignored as Daryl went off and out of sight. Toying with her finger tips, she watched him go with her eyebrows pinched together. For a moment she seemed lost in thought when she heard a branch snap near her; making her jump and look to see Merle coming up with a perfect face of anger.
"Where's he goin'?" he asked, regarding Daryl.
"He...He was just goin' out to get us some meat, that's all," said Carol meekly. She knew how to react around men like Merle; her husband had etched the lesson deep in her mind since the beginning of their marriage.
"What for?" asked Merle, moving restlessly; like he wanted to instantly follow after his brother.
"Well, Rick said-"
"Oh, did Rick say? What'd Rick say, sweetheart?" he asked forcefully, suddenly rounding on her. The poor woman took a step back and didn't seem to know what to do with herself. From a distance, Andrea seemed to spy what was going on and came forward with an evil look on her face.
"What's your deal now, Merle?" she asked, stepping between him and Carol. The other man laughed and tilted his head.
"Since when do you care, little lady?"
"Since you started pickin' on Carol just now."
"Who said I was pickin' on anyone? That's a hurtful accusation, darlin'. You should be careful with what ya say."
Andrea boldly stepped up to him and grit her teeth, "I'll say whatever the hell I want to say."
"That's a mistake, missy. Someday someone's gonna teach you when to keep your mouth shut. You should take up Carol as a role model, huh?" said Merle with a smile; indicating the mousy woman with a nod of his head. Andrea let out a low, provoked sound and balled her fist.
"Carol's been through enough today. She don't need you addin' to everything."
"What happened to Carol today?" asked Merle in mock concern, "Did her little girl slip in the lake and drown?"
Carol turned her head away with tears in her eyes, reminded of the scene down in the lake. It was Ed, not Sofia who was the cause of her woe. Shane had been unforgiving when he intercepted that morning, and she could still feel the trembles in her hands. Andrea sensed this and shifted her weight defensively.
"Just step aside, Merle. You don't want to start this fight," she warned, trying to defuse the potential situation. At the same time, she wouldn't mind taking out some of her pent up anger on the hick.
"What are you gonna do, doll face? Run and get Rick?" taunted Merle, getting the threatening pout again.
"No, this is between you and me."
"Oh, so the All Mighty Rick don't have a hold on blondie, after all! Well, good to know we ain't all idiots 'round here. So, tell me, Andrea; why do listen to him, then? You screwin' around with him, is that it?"
Andrea made to lunge, but Dale's voice suddenly called out over them and stopped her like a trained dog responding to a whistle blow.
"Hold on, down there! We don't need to fight!" called Dale; holding his hand out as if it had some force on them. He lowered his gun and hurried to get down the ladder. While they waited, Merle chuckled and Andrea and made her tense until the old man joined them and looked between each face with his eyebrows furrowed, "What's goin' on here? Haven't we had enough for today?"
"He's bein' an ass," said Andrea.
"I'll take that," said Merle gladly.
Dale looked sternly at the man, "Merle, now, what seems to be botherin' you?"
"What bothers me? The fact that there're niggers in this camp. The fact that bitches are handlin' guns. And the fact that the ol' sheriff pops up for a week and he's your lord and savior, and no one seems to care 'bout that."
"Rick is only doing what he spent his life trying to achieve," said Dale with reason, "He's a police officer, it's his job to make sure people like us, and like himself, are safe in such crises as this."
"That don't give him permission to send my brother off like his hound dog to fetch us in some meat. It's near night time; walkers have been gettin' closer lately," said Merle.
"You just don't like having Daryl out of your sight," said Andrea, still looking like she was ready to engage in a battle to the death. "He's the only one around here who gives a damn about what you've got to say. If he's not in your control, then you're alone, aren't you?"
"Andrea, enough," said Dale; holding his hand up.
"No, I wanna hear what blondie has to say," said Merle with dark eyes. "Looks like she's got it all figured out. Say, ain't your sister the only family you got left? Didn't your ma die in the outbreak? What if Rick sent Amy's pretty little self out in the woods each night? Somethin' bad could happen to a lady out there-"
"You leave her out of this," snarled Andrea, going forward again. Dale caught her by holding out his arm, and Merle broke into laughter.
"See, it ain't at all self-beneficial, darlin'. I care deeply for my baby brother, and if someone's gonna question that...Now, I don't like that so much," he said; lowering his hand to his knife holster. Dale caught it with wide eyes, and Merle noticed that. With a laugh, he pulled his hand back and gave a nod as he turned suddenly and walked off. "Now I'll see you ladies later. Have a good night, ya'll."
Dale's arm didn't lower until the man was well down the road. Andrea let out a frustrated sigh and wiped her hands on the seat of her jeans.
"I don't like him," she declared.
"I think very few us of do," replied Dale.
It took until the sun was set and the sky was red until Merle found his brother. He was crouched by the base of a tree; staring out at a rabbit with his arrow aimed and ready. Merle shook his head and tutted when he spied him so obediently following Rick's orders. Slowing down, his boots hardly made a sound on the moist ground as he began to approach. Daryl was deep in concentration, and looked like he was about to shoot. Right before he pulled the trigger, Merle cried out and kicked him in the roughly in the back. The arrow went whizzing off far to the left and the rabbit ran for it. Daryl hit against the tree before collapsing onto the ground with a grunt. As he wrought in pain, Merle laughed and put his foot on his brother's chest.
"Merle?" said Daryl, making sense of things. "Man, what the hell're you-?!"
"You're pathetic, y'know that?" said Merle casually. He put pressure on his foot, making it harder for Daryl to breathe, and glanced around at the woods before turning his attention back down. "We come up with a plan and everythin', and where do I find you? Catchin' bunny rabbits for Rick and the group, like a good little egg."
"I was doin' it for the group, not Rick," retorted Daryl.
"Sugar cube, if you do it for the group then you are doin' it for Rick."
"Get off me, man."
"Why don't you make me?" said Merle, leaning forward and speaking between closed teeth. Daryl reacted by trying to squirm away, but quickly realized that this was only a sure-fire way to injure his pride more than anything. He gripped Merle's ankle and instead tried to ease up the pressure on his sternum. Merle chuckled delightedly at his little showcase, and bent lower, "Yeah, that's what I expected from you. You ain't nothin' but a weakling."
"Merle, I can't breathe, get off."
"If you can talk, you sure as hell can breathe, can't ya?"
"Merle! I'm serious!"
"No way, little brother. I can't let you go back 'til I know in my heart that you ain't about to turn into one a' them."
A gunshot went off in the distance. Merle looked over sharply and tilted his ear. Daryl stilled under him, then smacked Merle's knee urgently.
"Man, get offa me," he said quietly and urgently. It was almost as if the older forgot he was there when he looked at his surroundings and slowly edged off. As Daryl tried to restrain his pained coughs, his brother shifted on his feet in a circle and slowly reached for his hunting knife. There was another gunshot from far away, and it broke into a torrent within seconds. Wary, Merle took a few daring steps forward and peered through the dark tree trunks as Daryl stood up and went to retrieve his crossbow.
"What is that?" asked the younger; looking off in the distance as he neared the tree. His question was returned with silence, and Daryl narrowed his eyes in thought as he started to deduct the worst possible, and most likely scenario playing out up at the campsite. With a swear in his throat, he turned and lunged for his crossbow, but was suddenly knocked back in shock when a walker turned from around the tree and swiped at him.
Daryl landed hard on his backside and instantly began scrambling backwards; trying to get up and reach for his knife at the same time. The walker's jaw was exposed through torn skin, and its filthy teeth gnashed hungrily at him as it stumbled forward with its arms out, trying to grab him. With the ground so moist, Daryl could hardly find a handhold in the soft dirt to push himself up with. He didn't need to, though, when a knife drove through the side of the walker's head and stopped it in its tracks. It fell to the ground with a sickening vomit noise from its throat and was instantly stilled. Merle, heaving, pulled his knife out and wiped the blood on the thing's tattered shirt before grinning down at his brother.
"Well, what are you sittin' 'round for, princess?" he taunted. Daryl scrambled to get up and went for his bow. He pulled it up and loaded it in the same movement, hearing the sound of fighting behind him back. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Merle taking down another walker. He was distracted when a third came up in front of him, and he had to hold his crossbow up to take aim. Stilling the panic from the previous attack, he pulled the trigger and nailed it in the eye. As it fell, Merle's gun was withdrawn and he held it out; looking around like a caged animal.
"Any on your side?" he called through panting.
"No, that's it."
"Camp must be under attack," said Merle, sounding almost disconcerted as he glanced over at where the smoke could still be seen rising above the canopy. Daryl growled in return and instantly stormed off. His brother frowned, then took off after him with looks tossed over his shoulder in paranoia.
When they arrived, hell had broken loose. Walkers were everywhere, and Daryl didn't have three seconds before he was sending off arrows in a whirlwind. Shouts were heard all around, and all he could do was aim, stay calm, and shoot. Ten walkers went down by his doings, and then the guttural hisses and snarls fell to a sharp still with the final gunshot. Daryl found himself panting and loosing focus as he tried to regain the breath he had never been able to recover since Merle pinned him down. Noises around him began to blur, but he knew he heard Andrea and Carol screaming. All focus fell from him and his chin tilted to his chest; staring at the blood-stained ground.
He felt Merle's hand ever so lightly brush his shoulder when he passed, and the boy looked up just in time to see his brother get jumped by the last walker of the hoard.