So, last night Daryl killed his brother. I wrote about how he might have felt about it. It's probably not accurate but still I had to.
Daryl stealthily walked into The Governor's compound. A feeling of complete dread nearly stilled him. He didn't know what to expect after finding Michonne all alone on the side of the road.
After learning Merle had gone back.
He didn't try to even venture a guess on why he had gone. All he knew was that he wanted his brother back. Earlier, hadn't he told Merle so?
Every footstep was like a thundering drum. With every step weight pulled his legs down, down-prolonging the moment of the inevitable doom he felt deep within his heart.
Like a machine that had no thoughts he eliminated the enemy before him, letting the arrow embed deep within the Walker's brains. Destroying all thought processes. As if these things had thought, he mused cynically.
Then, movement.
A familiar movement.
One he had grown to recognize over the years.
Sometimes it moved toward him hostilely. Sometimes it moved toward him friendly. Sometimes it moved toward him helplessly.
How long had it been? A year? A million? Looking into his dead brother's eyes Daryl let out a scream. Not literally of course but it was a long painful scream that took over his body bending it inside himself. Like he knew exactly what he felt Merle lifted his head from his feast. His brother, with odd jerky movements like a puppet on strings, moved toward him. A vacant expression on his face that Daryl recognized but hoped he'd never see on his brother. It was on every Walker he had met. It was that face with only one thought on mind. Hunger: feed: look: food.
To see it on his brothers face? As Merle would say, "Holy shit on a cracker, son."
He had reached him holding his arms out in a deadly embrace. Daryl wanted to get trapped in them, a final hug, maybe. That's a laugh.
Anger fueling him he pushed his brother away.
Despair fueling him he pushed his brother away.
Torture fueling him he leapt on his brother in a single fluid motion and pinned him down with a battle cry.
He looked into those distorted yet familiar eyes. Eyes that had regarded him with scorn. Eyes that had regarded him with disgust. Eyes that had regarded him sometimes, though fleeting, with admiration.
Merle's jaws snapped seeking purchase of Daryl's flesh.
Daryl loved his brother despite all his faults. Besides, if he didn't, who would?
And that is why he gripped his knife tight with purpose. That is why he brought it crashing down on Merle's head. That is why he did it: because he loved his brother. Again and again he shoved that knife burying it into his brother's head. Perhaps he was hoping he could bury his love too.
Maybe then it wouldn't hurt so much.
Exhausted, exhausted with the burden placed on his shoulders that sweet boy pushed himself off of his brother's dead body.
He cried on the outside while screaming on the inside.
He wept. He wept like a newborn baby that didn't know how to get along in the world. A weak pitiful thing. He wept like that. It was too much for Daryl to bear.
It was just too much.
That scene touched my heart. I just had to write about it.
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