Behind Blue Eyes

"No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear." -C.S. Lewis

Daryl Dixon had been teased in the past for being too observant, taking in every word and facial expression during conversations, and always being fully aware of his surroundings; but, this time he almost wished his tracking abilities were failing him. It was clear there had been some sort of fight, though with the mix of walkers and humans it was hard to tell which side won out. There was a slight flicker of hope sparking inside of the youngest Dixon that Merle had held his own. He had let Michonne go and though Daryl wanted to be thankful, it meant Merle took on the governor, along with his men, alone. Every step he took was cautious, calculated, and silent as he pressed on searching for Merle. There were a handful of walkers picking away at the fresh, dead bodies in the small thicket of ferns to his left. The sounds of the corpse's flesh being torn apart didn't make his stomach churn like it once had and he used his crossbow to take out one that was quick to react to his presence.

Merle must have gotten hurt, Daryl reasoned with himself as to why he hadn't met up with his brother yet. He was probably holed up in one of these rundown buildings, a snarl set in place as he tried to patch himself up. Daryl wasn't sure where he pulled the strength from but Merle was the toughest son of a bitch he had ever met. Daryl knew that if anyone could have made it out of this it would be his brother. Daryl could almost hear the big story Merle would tell too, showing off his battle scars he received, trying to use it as a free pass to get into the women's pants. He thought about how he'd probably have to drag Merle back to Herschel and though it wouldn't be the easiest thing in the world, especially with his brother fighting him every step of the way, he would do it. He didn't care what the rest of the group had to say about it, this was his blood, the only family he really ever had in this sadistic world, both now and before it went to hell, and Daryl would just as soon walkout on them before turning his back on his brother.

He stopped for a brief second and squinted his eyes against the bright Georgia sun. The heat must have been messing with his mind because he could have sworn the walker in front of him, hunched over devouring the entrails of the corpse, looked like Merle. Slowly, the walker raised his head, its mouth still chewing the piece of flesh while the scent of a living person filled its senses. Daryl stared in disbelief. It had to be some mirage, some nightmare that he'd wake up from at any second, but the reality of the situation hit him like a tidal wave the moment his brother's dead clouded eyes landed on his own crystal blue. A soft declaration of doubt passed Daryl's lips as the walker rose to its feet, tripping over its last meal as it headed to what it considered to be its next. Merle's undershirt was stained with blood, the gunshot wound staring Daryl straight in the face, a heart stopping realization that his brother had died, alone, with no protection. Tears stung his eyes while a lump formed in the back of his throat, making it hard to breathe, as his cracked, sun dried lips trembled without his knowing. The crossbow felt heavier than usual as it hung in his left hand and a bolt in his right as the walker, no, his brother, moved closer. Daryl pushed against his brother's chest once he got too close for comfort and watched as Merle's body stumbled back a few feet, seeming otherwise unfazed. The head that Merle used to hold high ready to take on the world now hung to the side and any trace of his almost permanent smirk was completely gone like the soul had been ripped from his body leaving behind an empty shell. Daryl then remembered the last conversation he had ever had with Merle, the words replaying in his mind like a skipping record.

"I just want my brother back."

Daryl thought back to his childhood when Merle would try and play his favorite album on the record player but the arm wouldn't move past a certain point so once the chorus hit it would start to skip. Merle would get pissed hitting the machine for not working properly before restarting the song. Daryl wanted to go back to those simpler times when he smirked at his brother's aggravation but a low growl brought him back to the present. His hand connected with his brother's chest as he pushed him away again making the situation all too real for Daryl. Daryl's arm moved on its own accord as he shoved the bolt under Merle's chin in one swift movement, taking the two of them to the ground. Daryl ripped the bolt out and stabbed Merle in the face once, twice, seven times yet the bubbling pain inside refused to dissipate. He let out a broken sob as he fell onto his back, onto the wings he felt ashamed to wear, after the images of a well and healthy Merle played through his mind. It wasn't just any walker kill, it wasn't some stranger or even a friend, this was his brother. Tears clouded his vision at the thought of having to live the rest of his life without Merle. It didn't matter that he was the younger brother, age had never mattered, he felt like he should have been there to protect Merle, to fight side by side, and he had failed.

Pure rage surged through his veins, a fire burning so hot that it could have melted his soul, burning the wings from his back. Daryl pushed against the ground, standing in one fluid motion as he snatched the crossbow up and loaded a bolt. He took out any walker that was in his line of sight to try and get control of the inferno threatening to overtake him but it only added more fuel. The flames licked at his ribs as he dropped the crossbow and drove his knife into the forehead of another walker. He wasn't seeing the people they once were or even the shells they were now, all he saw was the thing that had taken his brother away. He dropped to his knees, his fists pounding into the ground as if trying to punish the earth. Daryl's chest heaved with each breath as every foul word that had ever been spewed at him came rushing to the front of his mind terrorizing him until he would be crushed under an unbearable weight. His mind started to betray the truths he knew deep in his heart as his eyes scanned the bloodied field. Merle hadn't just died, he hadn't just been taken before his time, he had been turned into the monster he had been fighting against his entire life. Daryl had seen the demons dancing behind Merle's eyes for as long as he could remember, trying to pull him into the suffocating darkness, and though sometimes they won out Merle would fight his way back. Daryl was willing to go as far as saying that his cruel death was simply because he carried the last name of Dixon around like some curse. Even in this sadistic, apocalyptic world where there wasn't a society anymore, somehow the Dixons still managed to be at the very bottom with the insects crawling through the dirt in order to survive.

Pushing himself up from the ground once more this time with bloodied knuckles, a tear streaked face, and a broken heart Daryl couldn't just leave his brother like this. He thought briefly about bringing him back to the prison to bury him with the rest of the people the group had lost. Daryl knew he wouldn't have the strength, no, that was something that Merle was fortunate enough to have, but not him so he went in search for a shovel. His body was on autopilot as he wandered through the dilapidated buildings, barely registering that he was moving at all, until he found a tool that would work. Daryl, normally so soft and quiet on his feet, dragged his boots against the brush as he made his way back to his brother. The ground gave away too easily as he stepped on the shovel to sink it into the dirt as if it was ready to accept Merle. Sweat ran down his face, his clothes sticking to him like a second skin, but he didn't notice as he continued to dig. He slammed the shovel back into the ground not able to bite back the anger, he wasn't supposed to bury his brother, he wasn't supposed to have to bury anyone in his family. They were always just supposed to be there, they were supposed to make life hard and get under his skin, and just be there - always.

A war waged within Daryl as he thought about everything he could have done differently. He should have tried harder to get through to Merle back at the prison, there were an infinite number of words that could have been said, but they had failed him. Maybe he should have done something before that. Maybe when they had gone to Woodbury to rescue Glenn and Maggie and he heard that Merle was there Daryl shouldn't have listened to Rick. He should have walked out those doors and found his brother. Could he have stopped this whole thing before it even started? The odds of that being true were even too pathetic to think about for too long and his mind jumped to the next thing he could have done differently. The tears were no longer freely rolling down his cheeks instead he was eerily silent as he blamed himself for Merle's death. Maybe he should have stayed in his brother's shadow, his steps falling into the ones Merle already created, because what was the point of standing against the heat of the sun if you were standing alone. They should have just robbed the group as originally planned, taken what they needed, and moved on and none of this would have ever happened. It would have been the two of them against the world, Daryl following his brother's instruction without question. He wouldn't have found his place in this world, the one where he felt respected for the first time in his life even with the last name of Dixon, but he'd have his brother.

The same brother that he was now lowering into the shallow grave, the brother that had overcome everything the world had to throw at him until the world finally hit him so hard he wouldn't get back up. Daryl didn't want to cover him with the dirt, to have to finally accept that it was not only real but over, but his brother deserved at least this. He started at the feet, burying the boots he could sill hear thundering through the old trailer. He covered him as quickly as possible not wanting to drag it out but wanting to be respectful. Once Merle's legs were covered he paused for a minute before letting the dirt fall from the shovel to cover the contraption he had made in place of his missing hand.

"You're a simple minded piece of shit."

Daryl's words haunted him now remembering Merle putting the blame on everyone else but himself. It was easier that way, to blame the root of the tree for tripping you up instead of not watching where your feet were moving. Accepting that he was the reason behind losing his hand, Merle would have had to stand up and be the man he saw in Daryl. Dirt cloaked every inch of Merle's body except his face that was no longer recognizable. Closing his own eyes for a second, Daryl took a deep breath before scooping the last bit of dirt onto the shovel, the dirt hiding the shell of the person his brother was. Merle had more than earned his right to be buried and along with him the demons that attached to his soul after growing up on the devil's backbone.

The last bit of dirt had been thrown on top of Merle and though the sun started to set below the tree line Daryl didn't want to leave, he didn't want to be the one to walk away. He'd now never get a chance at that relationship with Merle that he craved. The one he had for a short time in his life right when the breakout first happened, back before he had found his own voice, and back before for the first time in his life he put himself before his brother.

"I may be the one walking away but you're the one leaving, again."

Merle had a habit of checking out when life got too hard whether he chose drugs or physically removing himself from the situation but he always came back. Daryl realized he became dependent on that part, the part where Merle would come back because he would be the one to deal with the left over mess until Merle showed back up and they'd fall into their old routines. It was easy when he was with Merle because he always knew his place. Even when Merle was left on the roof in Atlanta, though Daryl had been furious and hurt, he hadn't given up hope because his brother was out in the world somewhere. There was a small part, a sliver that refused to leave his mind, that believed he and Merle would cross paths again even if he didn't want to admit it.

Daryl wanted to use some type of marker to show this was the final resting place of his brother but instead used his fingers to draw a cross in the dirt. He wasn't naïve enough to think Merle would have gone to heaven, the devil sitting on his let shoulder his whole life, but there were those rare moments that the angel on his right shoulder kicked the devil off. A few more tears rolled down his cheeks as he thought about the lifeless, soulless look in his brother's eyes and said his goodbye the only way he knew how, with a silent nod to the fresh gravesite as he slung his crossbow over his shoulder.

Defeated and lost, Daryl was completely broken but couldn't figure out how he was feeling at that exact moment so he focused on the pain that was slowly killing him as he made his way back to the prison because at that moment it was the only thing that felt real. He was never going to see his brother, hear the lewd comments, because in the end everyone he knew left him. His jaw was set, shoulders slumped, as his legs pulled him forward and further away from the nightmare he couldn't wake up from. The survivalist in him was what kept him moving when all he wanted to do was crumble to the ground. The ache in his chest was all too familiar but it was more than that, it was more than just another loss to add to the never ending tally, it was his brother- his own flesh and blood. It felt as if a part of his soul had been ripped from his back, cutting off his wings, making him unable to fly even if he wanted to.

The prison came into view and his brother's voice resounded in his head, "Wipe away those tears, Darylina, your makeup will run."

Daryl wanted to growl, to spit some comment to the wind, but the smallest of smirks pulled at the corner of his lips. It wasn't just grief he felt seeing Merle as a walker but bone crushing, real life fear. A fear that now didn't seem as terrifying because where ever he went, what ever happened in the future, Merle would never truly be gone as long as his memory lived within him. He would take every lesson, every point in the right direction, and apply it to his survival. Glenn took out a few walkers that had gotten too close to Daryl as he made his way to the gate Carl opened for him, shutting it the second Daryl was through. He ignored the mix of sympathetic and questioning stares from the group that was gathered around in the courtyard. He didn't want to talk to anyone or see the pity in their eyes as he headed for the showers in need of washing the day away.

Daryl would grieve for his brother, constantly thinking about what he could have done differently, but in the end it all boiled down to the fact that he was alone. Daryl was the last Dixon standing and he was going to make sure he made his brother proud. If the governor wanted a war he was going to be a soldier and if need be go out like Merle - a man of honor.