Okay guys, this is basically a venting one shot. When Merle died I wanted to shoot AMC in the face! How could you take him away?! Do you know how much I loved the Dixon brothers and now you took one away from me! I remember trying to study them in the episodes, watching interviews and everything so I could understand the pain that they had. But this will be in tribute to Merle. And my stories that have Merle alive? Well, he will stay alive until I say when.
I unfortunately don't own Walking Dead. If I did, the season would be slightly different, as in the Governor's dead and not Merle.
Daryl felt as if he couldn't breathe. There he was, standing face to face with the corpse of his brother. Or, what used to be his brother. There were no longer memories inside his head, they shriveled up to nothing. Daryl was food now, something that was hard to come across. It could be a simple action; just raise the crossbow and hit the trigger, and make sure the arrow hit him straight in the head. Then watch the corpse fall, that's how it always went. But this time, he couldn't do it. Daryl was frozen, and he couldn't believe what he was seeing. He was calculating everything; from the way the corpse attempted to hold itself down to the metal stump on its arm. There was no mistaking it; this walking corpse was Merle. And that hurt.
Nobody can kill Merle but Merle, Lil brother. But here he was, Merle was gone, and empty shell. Someone else killed him, either with Merle being completely reckless and stupid, or him doing something in order to help. That was something Daryl didn't expect, Merle helping them; helping someone who handcuffed him to a roof in Atlanta. But Daryl doesn't think that was it fully. No, he only wanted to help him. That's why he did it. In retrospect, in the end of all of Merle's existence, he used his life to think of others, and not just himself.
Daryl has felt a lot of things; pain, rage, confusion. But he has never once felt sadness in his entire existence, until this very moment. He's felt shame when he couldn't bring that little girl to her worried Mama. He felt pain from the old scars his Old Man gave to him. He's felt confusion when Carol has always talked to him, not always comprehending what she's saying. Rage is always in his home lot, either released or kept in bay. But this time, this was the first time he felt sadness. He was left alone, and for good this time, all because Merle couldn't listen to anyone. No, that wasn't it. Merle was sent by Rick to do the dirty work, and he accepted it.
When Merle and Daryl locked eyes, Daryl knew they were both gone. Merle's eyes were no longer blue. They were a sick and dull color that Daryl couldn't even describe. Human flesh was hanging from his mouth as he stood up and started limply walking towards him. Daryl felt his eyes well up with tears, knowing this was time. He had to put his brother down, right here and right now. But he couldn't do it. When Merle got to close, Daryl pushed him away. He wanted this to be all a bad dream, he wanted to scream at Merle to wake up. Daryl wanted to wake up in the prison and hear Merle snoring from down below.
Man up boy.
Merle was there, inside his head, telling him what to do. He knew his brother was right, too. Taking his knife out, he tackled him to the ground. Merle was fighting, not the way he usually was though. He was attempting to bite at his arms, at his face. But Daryl ended the lifeless corpse. He smashed the knife into his skull over and over again. Anger and fear was taking over as he destroyed the Walker's face; not wanting to see it anymore. He was in pain, he was in sorrow. He was blaming himself for not being there with him; they made the perfect team. When they were together, they could accomplish anything.
But now, Daryl was alone. He was the last one left. First it was his Ma, burning herself alive in the house. Then it was Pa, either dying from alcohol poisoning or Merle killing him, he never saw the body. Now it was Merle, turning into a Walker and having his own baby brother taking him down, cleaning up his mess, just like he always was. Daryl was used to that, but this time, this was the last mess he was ever going to clean up.
Most of the time, Merle was really there for him. He was a good brother, in his own Merle stubborn way. Sure, he left a lot, but most of the time that was because of his fucked up friends or Merle being Merle. But when he was there, he really was there. He was always taking him on camping trips, taking him the bar, attempting to find Daryl a nice whore. Hell, when Merle was high in the woods, they usually had their serious conversations then. Merle never remembered them, which Daryl didn't mind, but Daryl always did. It was one of the few times he saw the old Merle, the one before all the drugs. Once, before they even found the group, Merle was high on the last bit of his stash when they had one, and one Daryl completed.
Merle was sitting in the lawn chair, his head tilted back and his eyes closed. Daryl was sitting on a log stump next to him. Everyone that they ran into was dead, and anyone that was left was trying to get into Atlanta. They were stupid, more people means more of those damn things that attack you. But they were on the outskirts also, hoping that they can scavenge for some type of supplies from people who abandoned their vehicles. Most of them turned back though, and they were the smart ones, others made small camps on the side of the highway, for reasons unknown. Merle and him were farther into the woods, away from the others, or so they thought.
People were gasping and crying as bombs went off in the city. Daryl just stared at them, reminding him of those types of explosions you would see on them old war movies or some shit. Merle must of noticed them to by the way he was chuckling. Either that, or he was so damn high he was seeing shit again.
"Look at Atlanta goin' up like that," Merle said, his accent thicker than normal, "Reminds me of the firework show we could see every year. Whadya think baby brother? Do ya think that place is still safe?"
Daryl knew it was a rhetorical question, but he felt the need to answer it, "I'd say stay close to the city. We can get supplies whenever we needed them; gotta have more than jus' deer or squirrel that runs around here."
They sat in silence then, watching the city go up in flames. It was like one of them apocalyptic movies people watch all the time. All the big cities gather people up like cattle, then they destroy them all. The military knew that they couldn't protect all these people, they don't even know themselves what's going on. So they do a big elimination process, but the little people's dumb minds don't wrap around it. Hell, even Merle and him started to fell for it. This was God's sick and twisted game, he was bored and wanted some entertainment, apparently.
"Hey, so when ya git bit or scratched from them things, they turn ya, right?" Merle looked over at his brother, not even waiting for a response, "I protected you from Pa, for the most part. Maybe I wasn't the best at it, but hell, I somewhat tried didn't I? So ya gotta promise me somethin' Daryl," Daryl looked at him then. Merle never called him Daryl, it was always boy, baby brother, or Darlena. He never got close to his name, like it wasn't important. But Merle wasn't always talking like this either, "If I get bit by one of them things, ya better put me down. I don't want no hesitation, no tears or anything. Hell, I don't even care if ya bury my decayin' body. Jus', jus' make sure I don't turn into one of them things. I don't wanna be eating people all the damn time."
Daryl sat there, staring at the small fire for a moment. They only had so much information on these things that are walking now. Their like bugs, attracted towards the light. If it's a loud enough sound, then they come running, like it's the dinner bell. So they keep the fire low, and talk in hushed voices. They don't come in crowds either, like their too stupid to do that. Daryl didn't mind though, gave them a better chance of survival. He thought back to what Merle just asked. They're the walking dead, plaguing the Earth with their existence and making everyone else who is actually living terrified. He wanted to yell at him that nothing killed Merle but Merle. But he didn't, and only gave him a curt nod. That seemed to satisfy him enough, though, as he continued to stare up at the stars, finishing his high while Daryl watched the city slowly burn.
He kept his promise, for the most part. He put him down, while mutilating his face in the process. Daryl doesn't even understand why he did either. But it was done; Merle and his corpse were gone, no longer walking the Earth. Daryl noticed he didn't attract any Walkers towards them, and he decided to look for a shovel. He opened the shed closest to him and looked through it. There were cobwebs in the corners and small gardening tools scattered across the floor. A black widow made her nest in the hoe, while other insects claimed home to the shovel lying next to it. He picked it up, lightly shaking them off and letting them fall to the floor. He walked out, shutting the door behind him with a soft but squeaky snap.
He picked the spot between the silos before he started digging. It was away from the road so no one else would notice. He attempted to match the shovel striking the ground with the beating in his own heart. His heart, however, was beating like a small rabbit in fear. So then he changed his tracks to all the scars Pa left on them, on Ma. He had no idea how many were on Merle and Ma, but hell, he would at least give a good estimate. The shovel was breaking the ground in steady beats as sweat was coming down his face. The Georgia sun was showing the signs of late summer, the time where it either was hot, or it was cooling off for the fall season. Merle taught him all of that, the school didn't Merle taught him to survive something like this. School taught him numbers and proper speaking; defiantly not something you would need right now.
The hole was slightly longer then Merle's body and it was deep enough to submerge it in the sweet Georgia soil. The sun was setting, something Daryl didn't notice. If he didn't hurry back, he knew they would be coming for him. They couldn't lose him now, and he knew that. They needed him. But he was gonna finish this at least. I don' even care if ya bury my decayin' body. But Daryl did, and he was gonna finish the task at hand. They buried what was left of Ma, they even buried Pa deep under the ground, Merle was gonna at least get similar treatment. He grabbed the corpse's arms, slowly dragging him towards the hole nearby. Daryl wasn't gonna cry in any way, shape, or form. Not this time, Merle didn't want them, and there was no way in hell he was giving them willingly.
He lifted him the best as he could into the hole in the ground. Merle's body fell with a soft thud. Daryl was expecting a comment of manhandling, but there was nothing. Merle was staying quiet the whole time as he started filling back in the hole. Dirt was pouring in on the body, slowly covering it with whatever may be within the soil. But Daryl didn't stop there, her found two pieces of wood and put them in a cross shape. With his hunting knife, he carved in his brother's name, and then placed it on the head of the grave. This was the first time they ever had a body to put into a grave since living in the prison, but Merle wasn't buried there; he was buried where Daryl couldn't visit him often, like he could with the rest of his family. He knew there was a large chance that Daryl wasn't gonna lay side by side with his brother, but that was okay.
He let go of a breath he didn't know he was holding. He stared at the grave a little bit longer, "Love ya Merle. Keep a spot for me will ya?" He started to walk away when a whisper caught him; ya ain't comin' where I'm at little brother. You're the sweet one, the good one. Your goin' up with the rest of them type of folks. Daryl didn't turn around, but he could feel a set of eyes on him, watching him, and that was enough to satisfy Daryl. Yet, when he meets the Governor, that man will know what pain is, and he will know that he messed with the wrong family.
Daryl started walking back towards the prison, towards his home. On the way, he slowly was killing off the Walkers that were in his path. Killing them was a simple instinct, a simple action. They were different than others, he didn't know the people these corpses once were. It was different then killing someone they knew. He thought back onto Andrea, where she killed her sister Amy. She waited for her to turn into a Walker, and he knew why now. It was easier to kill a corpse, one that didn't remember anything, and that made it easier. He thought back on Carol and Sophia, where Carol tried to run up to the walking corpse that resembled he daughter. She was willing to die by the hands the resembled her little girl, that was once the little girl they all knew. If Daryl hadn't stopped her, she wouldn't be here right now. She wouldn't have gotten stronger for this world like she now had. It was a simple action to kill a Walker wandering around you, but it was a hell of a lot harder to kill one that you knew and loved. It ain't no different for Daryl, either.