Nox: This was originally going to be a part of the Maryl scars fic that I'm currently working on (yes, my lovely biters, I'm working on something good) but somehow, it just ended up not fitting. Now the Muse has just exploded and wandered far into another dimension. Haha, anyhow. I give you this beauty, that I really am quite proud of. Daryl standing up for himself. Daryl and his scars.

Disclaimer: The Dixons belong to Kirkman and AMC.


Belong

He could still feel it. The rush a the air against his back. The heavy gaze of his brother's eyes on his scars. The silence that suddenly lay thick between them as Merle just stared at them, unable to say nothin'.

And the fuckin' shame that came crashin' down on him, like his ol' man's fists used to.

He'd never wanted that. Never wanted Merle to see those fuckin' scars. Those were his marks, his shame. He'd never meant to share those. Never meant for nobody else to see them.

They were his. His pain.

They were ugly.

He was ugly. Everything about those scars made him ugly. If anyone were to see them, they'd know his shame, know how weak he was. How he couldn't stand up to nobody, couldn't be a man. He'd never been able to protect himself. Never been able to do nothin'.

That wasn't who he was. That wasn't who he wanted to be.

"Hold up brother," Merle called, fallin' behind.

He was movin' fast, everything rushin' by him. He needed to get back to them. Needed to see their faces. Goin' with Merle had been a mistake.

He needed to git away from him, as far as possible. Needed to see her, to hear the reassurance that he was needed, that he was wanted. That he wasn't ugly.

"I said hold up Daryl!" The anger flared in him, makin'im turn on Merle an' toss the crossbow at his face.

"The fuck!" Merle tossed his arm up, blocking the weapon.

"Hell's yer problem?" he growled out, lookin' pissed.

An' that look made him angrier, got his blood fuckin' boilin'. Merle didn't have no reason to be fuckin' pissed. Not this time.

"Yer my fuckin' problem," he snapped, holdin' that same blue gaze with his own.

Merle watched him for a moment, then laughed a little. He growled, put a hand on his knife.

"I ain't fuckin' jokin' Merle." Merle's eyes narrowed, the laughter dead in the air. His eyes followed his hand to the knife, and he worked his jaw, licking his bottom lip.

"Fuck you gonna do little brother," he said softly, arms spread out. "Kill me?"

His chest ached, like somebody was steppin' on it. He could barely breathe. It'd never been this hard before, bein' with Merle. It was always easier. He just kept his head down, just followed his lead.

"You weren't 'sposed ta see'em," he ground out, takin' a stand.

Now, he didn't want to do that no more. Couldn't be with him if he was just gonna treat him like he weren't worth it no more.

"Hell you want? Not like you can hide'em forever," Merle said, with that half-ass grin on his face, like it was fuckin' funny. As if makin' it funny would make it better.

"He'd beat the shit outta me!" he screamed, losin' it. And the smile dropped off his face, empty now. "An' I was waitin' fer you!"

He looked away then, briefly. And there it was again, that same look as before. He don't think he'd never seen that look a pain in Merle's eyes before, that clear cut of agony written on his face.

"I'm here now ain't I?" He tried to look hopeful, took a step forward.

He didn't even know he'd pulled the knife out, but it was there, in his hands. Felt right as he confronted Merle this time.

"I ain't that same kid!" he barked, hearin' his own voice waver. He'd meant to sound confident, meant to sound like he was stronger than he used to be. But he knew he was just strugglin' to survive. Strugglin' to make his own goddamn way.

He was just strugglin' to move passed the pain of his own goddamn life.

"I don't need you no more Merle," he ground out, forcin' the words through his teeth. He had to say it, had to tell Merle how it was gonna be. Had to let him go.

"Those guys, at the prison," he pointed off behind him, the knife in his hands emphasizing the gesture, "they're ma family now."

He watched Merle's face twist into a mask of anger and betrayal. He'd never said nothin' like that to Merle before. Never. And he'd never meant for nothin' like this to happen neither, but he couldn't do it no more.

Couldn't sit there an' let Merle treat him like shit. Like he were some eight year old kid again who he thought didn't know shit. As if he couldn't take care a himself, couldn't make his own decisions.

"I'm ya family Daryl. I'm blood," Merle emphasized, lookin' like he was tryin' to keep calm. Lookin' like he really was hurt. But none a that mattered to him right then.

"You left!" He screamed, another step toward him threateningly. Merle didn't move, didn't take his eyes off a his.

"You left me with that asshole, an' I didn't have no one!" He could feel his eyes burnin', his chest tightenin' up. He curled the knife tighter in his fist, the weight in his hand a comfort.

"Every day it was just another fight to survive!" He paced, runnin' a hand through his hair. He felt the lump of another scar, an' grit his teeth. "Didn't know how the bastard was gonna give it to me each day. Had to live in that fuckin' fear." He turned to Merle, the pain, the anger, the desperation drownin' him.

"And it's your fuckin' fault," he moaned, as everything just crashed inta him. He'd hated Merle for leavin' him like that. Hated him for not stayin' there an' protectin' him like he shoulda. He was 'sposed to be his brother, an' when shit got bad he just left. Left him to suffer at the hands of the ol' man.

Left him to die.

"Daryl-" Merle took a step, held out his hand, lookin' for all the fuckin' world like he was fuckin' sorry. But that didn't do shit for him. Didn't mean nothin' no more.

"You're a selfish fuckin' bastard." The pain suffocated him, was quickly over takin' everything in him. "You fuckin' sorry now? You feel bad now that you seen'em?" He heard his own voice crack. Because the truth was, he wanted Merle to be sorry. Wanted him to regret ever leavin' him alone with their ol' man. Wanted him to beg on his fuckin' knees for his forgiveness.

But most of all, he wanted Merle to suffer the loss of him.

He wanted him to feel the loss of a brother. Selfishly, he wished he could do that.

And like the dumbass he was, he knew he could never do that to Merle. He was a god damn idiot.

Because even at his fuckin' worst, he still fuckin' loved Merle.

He cried out and spun round as that realization hit him, makin' this all seem pointless. He gripped his hair, pullin' on it, his scalp burnin' from the pain.

He clutched at that pain, the only thing holdin' him down.

"I ain't sorry." He looked up, shocked, anger slowly buildin' inside. Merle looked pissed now, like he'd accepted somethin'.

"Ain't sorry I left yer dumbass," he growled out, his eyes shinin' bright. Daryl felt the punch of that admission right in his gut. Because it meant everything he'd ever known about Merle. That he'd never cared about him. That he was a selfish sonuvabitch.

Merle stalked toward him, that goddamn metal stump swingin' wide. He stopped, standin' right in front of him, leanin' in close to his face.

"Yous a different man coz a those scars, brother," he said dangerously, breath washin' over his face. Merle searched his eyes, the hard glint comin' back.

"You stronger coz a them." If Merle wouldn't a been so close, he wouldn't a caught it. But he did. The way his voice broke just the slightest at the end, like he was forcin' himself to say it. Like it wasn't what he wanted to say.

As if it hurt him to say the words that would crush them both.

Merle stepped back, eyes growing distant.

"Can't change what I done brother," he said evenly, arms spread wide in surrender, eyes turned to the sky.

"Can't change the past," he whispered. He couldn't tell what Merle was thinkin' bout then, an' maybe he didn't wanna know.

Merle looked back at him then, his eyes hard. "But I can go with ya."

He took a breath, to process what his brother had just said. Clutched the knife tighter, shifted his feet. Had to look away, couldn't look Merle in the eye.

"Can't make what I done right," he said hoarsely, stepping toward him, "but I can go with ya. Say ya belong with them?" Merle's eyes widened, like he was askin' a fuckin' question.

Merle didn't know what he'd done, what he'd gone through with those people. He'd finally found a place where he'd made somethin' of himself. Found a place where people treated him like he was a goddamn human being.

But he didn't say nothin'. Just watched him, let him work it out himself.

"Well it's always been you an' me brother. We belong together." Merle smiled, like this was the secret to makin' the shit all better.

He weren't gonna say nothin' to Merle, but he was startin' to think that weren't it no more. It wasn't you an' me.

But he couldn't deny that some part a him was relieved that Merle was comin'. That he wouldn't be without Merle.

He wanted both Merle and the group. Somehow wanted it to work out together.

He hated his fuckin' feelings. Hated how he couldn't live without Merle no matter how he felt about him, or what he'd done to him.

He sheathed the knife an' turned on his heel, pickin' up the crossbow on the way. He moved fast, keepin' his feet movin'. He wanted to get back to them, as fast as he could.

Needed to feel that sense of belonging again. Needed to feel their warmth.

To hell if he just admitted that.

"We git there, I ain't gonna help you make nice," he said, loud enough for Merle to hear.

Merle chuckled, his footsteps closin' in on his. "Never needed ya help 'fore little brother."

And they trudged, side by side, through the forest, back to the prison.

Back to the people he belonged with.


You are not alone, laying in the light.
Put out the fire in your head.