AN: So this was a response to a challenge issued by Halohunter89. The challenge was to explore Daryl Dixon's thoughts and emotions following his brother's death. I decided to take the opportunity to practice my writing and decided to try out a different sort of perspective. This is my second time using second-person in a story. I know a lot of people don't dig second-person (and I admit that I am one of them), so if it's not your thing, don't force yourself to read. If you do want to give it a chance, please let me know what you think. I would love the feedback.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or storylines associated with The Walking Dead.

Always About Merle

Summary: Daryl's thoughts and memories as he buries his brother and finds a way to move forward.

You stare down at the hole. You're struggling to breathe even though you're inhaling sharp bursts of air. That's the problem. You're breathing too quickly for your body to absorb the oxygen. As fast as it's coming into your body, it's going out just as quickly. You know that you should focus. You know that you should calm yourself down. If you don't, you're going to pass out right beside a fence teaming with walkers on all sides.

Focus. Breathe. Slow. In. Out.

You slump to your knees, your body exhausted from all that you've put it through. First it was tracking down your brother, racing to make sure that Merle didn't do anything stupid. Then it was the grief that immobilized you, that pounded through your body and made you feel as though instead of blood, there was razor blades shooting through your blood vessels. After that, it was the burn of your muscles as you dragged your brother's body back home and then as you took a shovel to the hard earth that would be Merle Dixon's final resting place.

And now, you have to put your brother into the ground. You have to cover his body with dirt. Then you need to fight the walkers that are slamming against the interior fence so that you can return to that cold cell up in cellblock C. You have to be able to get there without seeing the others. You don't want to see them. You don't want them to see you.

You know now that they look to you. You know that you're important to them and that you have to be strong. You always have to be strong…tough. Isn't that what Merle always told you?

You remember being a scared little boy, cowering and crying at the foot of Merle's bed as you listened to the sounds of your parents screaming in the next room. Pa was drunk and looking for someone to blame. Mama was just as drunk and crying over her wasted life. You remember Merle getting out of bed and plucking you up off the floor. You remember him dropping you down on the bed and you got a little thrill when you bounced up in the air before coming to a stop. He tells you to hush up, quit your crying, and be fucking tough. He tells you that life ain't fair and that you can't ever fucking cry in front of nobody. For an eleven-year-old, Merle had quite the mouth on him.

So no, you can't cry in front of the others. You won't. You're not weak. You're not that scared little boy anymore who sat on your brother's bed in cowboy pyjamas and cried because your mommy and daddy were keeping you up at night. Goddammit, you're a Dixon and Dixon's don't cry.

Except that's a lie, one that Merle had often used to get you to quit blubbering. You know that in extreme circumstances, Dixons can cry.

You remember Mama's funeral. There hadn't been a body; just a little box that was put down under a stone at the graveyard. Daddy had been drunk, sipping from the flask at his hip. Merle had been given a day pass from juvie to attend. You remember standing in between them. You saw their strong jaws locked up tight in an effort to hide their pain behind scowls. It was something that both Merle and your daddy were good at. They were good at hiding what they felt and they tried to teach you how to do it. It was after the funeral, later in the night when you heard the front door of the new trailer slam. You got up to investigate and looking out your window, you saw Merle outside chopping wood. You watched as he brought the axe down on the stump with more force than necessary and in the white light of the moon, you saw the wetness on his face. Your invincible brother was crying. You stood there in awe, unsure of what to do. Then your daddy stumbled out into the yard. For a moment, they look at each other, father and son. You aren't sure about what's going to happen. You know Daddy don't tolerate no weakness. So you stand at your bedroom window, watching and waiting in apprehension. And then Daddy staggers over to Merle, grabs the collar of his shirt, and pulls Merle close. You watch as your daddy, that scary, intimidating man, sobbed against your big brother's shoulder.

You knew then that they had told you a lie. Dixon's can cry.

You never forgot that night and you never brought it up. The next day, Merle was gone back to juvie and you were alone in that new trailer with Daddy. You would have been better off alone. Instead of comforting you or grieving with you, Daddy turned to the bottle like he had always done. It quickly became apparent that he held you responsible for Mama's death. In his rants, he told you that you should have been at the house instead of out riding bikes with the neighbor kids. Never mind the fact that he was out screwing some waitress at the bar when the house caught fire.

Things got better when Merle came home, at least until Daddy started lashing out at Merle and blaming him for Mama's death. Daddy said that Merle was a waste of space. Wondered what use Merle was if he was never around. Said that Merle was good for nothing and would either end up dead or in jail. You still remember when Merle had enough. You remember watching your Pa and your brother beat the shit out of each other on the front lawn. You also remember the next day. That was when Merle grabbed his shit and left. He didn't even look back as you ran down the drive after his truck.

You saw him again when he was dishonorably discharged from the army. He came waltzing into town again, crowing about how he'd seen the damn world. That was when you were nineteen and had endured ten years worth of Pa's drunken fits and neglect. You were in the bar with Merle, who had smuggled you in illegally. You remember the stories he told about faraway places and exciting adventures. You made him promise to take you with him the next time he left town. You wanted to get out. You had never been out of your hometown before and you wanted to see it all.

Looking back, that was the moment you condemned yourself to wasting your life. Where Merle went, trouble followed. You can't even count all the times that you cursed your brother's name in the next twenty years. It was always something with Merle. Most times it was drugs or he owed someone money. You remember nights of sleeping on the side of the road or on a park bench. You remember hunting up squirrels for dinner because Merle had spent your last dime on coke or meth. You also remember hauling ass through the forest to outrun the cops when they caught you poaching. There's eviction notices and repossessions. There's guns pointed at you head and twitchy dealers threatening to kill you. There's coked out hookers fucking your brother in the bed next to you. There's doctor's visits for Merle's overdoses and his burning dick. It was always about Merle and he always told you that you were blood. He always told you that you stuck by each other through thick and thin.

And then the fucking dead rose and you found yourself alone. Merle had been handcuffed to a roof and instead of waiting for you, he cut off his damn hand. Instead of going back to the quarry, back to you, he left. He lit out and abandoned you and all of his talk about blood and family and sticking together…well, you figured out that those were lies too.

And for a while there…you hated him.

He had a choice. He could have stayed with you, just like he could have stayed with you when you were kids. Instead, he chose to abandon you again to save his own skin. Once again, you were reminded that it was always about Merle. You survived without him. At that point in your life, surviving was just habit. You did it because waiting around to die was useless. Opting out was a pussy-ass way to go and you weren't no pussy. At that point, you were existing.

And then you found a purpose. Even though it was apparent that this new group looked down on you, saw you for the trash you always thought you were, they needed you. Or more accurately, a little girl needed you to bring her back to her momma. You could tell the kid had been through the ringer. You knew that her daddy had beat on her momma and maybe even her. Maybe that's why you tried so hard to find her. You saw a bit of yourself in her.

Maybe if you could save the girl, you could save yourself.

But it hadn't worked that way. You failed and you had to hold her momma back while Rick shot little Sophia in the head. There was no saving you. There was no redemption. You were a useless little piece of shit, just like your daddy had told you after Mama passed. Except that wasn't what the group thought. It started with Carol and then Dale and finally Rick. They showed you that you were worth something more than your past. They didn't see Merle Dixon's little brother. They saw the man that searched for a little girl and protected their camp. You were redeemed. You were better. You let go of Merle, let go of his influence. You became a better man without him.

You feel so guilty about that now as you look over at your brother's corpse. You feel guilty that your life became better while his became doomed.

Just a few days ago, you saw your brother for the first time in nine months. It was in a boxing ring orchestrated by his boss, the Governor. The man called you a terrorist. He called Merle a traitor. Then he had the crowd cheering for you to die while fighting against your brother. Merle's first punch surprised you, but soon you realized that it was a ruse. Then your friends came to save you, but it was a bittersweet moment. They didn't want Merle. He was a villain to them. They didn't understand that he was your brother and you couldn't leave him again. All of the years of sticking by Merle's side had come back to you. You forgot all the shit he put you through and remembered the boy who had comforted you as a child. You remembered the teenager who cried alone over his dead mother. You remembered the stories of adventure and how Merle made good on his promise to take you out of that shitty town. You remembered campouts, hunting trips, and off-key singing in the truck. He was your brother.

But soon you realized, as you always did, that it was always about Merle. He couldn't go back to the prison so you couldn't go back either. It didn't matter to him that you were leaving people you cared about behind, most likely to be killed by his boss for the war that Merle had started. It didn't matter to him that his family back at the prison were going to suffer for his actions. You saw it clear as ever when he hung back while you helped that Mexican family on the bridge. You saw it when he tried to steal from the family. It was all about Merle and to hell with anyone else.

You saw a change when he saw your scars. His face had turned ashen when he realized that they were from your old man. Maybe that was when Merle realized what his leaving did to you. Maybe that was when he started to understand that it wasn't always about him. When you saw him kill the walker that went after Rick, you thought he might have gotten it. When you saw that Merle cooperated with Rick instead of exacting revenge for his missing hand, you started to hope. Maybe Merle could be redeemed too. You were told by Glenn that Merle was worried about you when you went with Rick and Hershel to talk to the Governor. The fact that Merle was worried about someone else told you that he was changing. He was becoming a better man. You wanted to help him. You wanted him to make amends and work to be part of the group. You wanted your brother back and for once, he was in reach. He just had to want it.

But then he took Michonne on Rick's orders. He was going to hand over a woman in hopes that the Governor would spare him. It was wrong and Rick realized it. You went after Merle, knowing that you could still stop him from making the drop. It was a minor setback, but you could make him fix it. He could still be redeemed.

And then you saw Michonne and she told you that Merle had let her go. Suddenly, you felt a sort of fear well up inside you. You raced to find him, but you were too late. It was over. Among the Governor's dead men, there was your brother, or what was left of him, chewing on the corpse of a boy from Woodbury. He looked up at you with those swollen red and yellow eyes as intestines dribbled down his chin. You saw the bullet wound in his chest and the missing fingers on his left hand. You knew that he had been in a hell of a fight and that he had been left behind to turn. He snarled at you and stood up and you pushed him away. You couldn't fathom it. Your brother couldn't be dead. Not like this. You push him away again and then you're suddenly angry. He's left you again. You pin him to the ground and you drive your knife into his skull over and over.

And then you sob. You cry for your brother. He was so close to redemption. He was so close to being a better man and it was all over.

But as you look around, you realize something. He had killed over ten men in his final moments. He tried to take out the Governor's army. His last moments were spent protecting you and the prison from the evil man that he had worked for.

Merle had been redeemed.

You finally calm yourself enough to get to your feet. You move toward your brother's body and heft him up, ready to finish this cruel task. You try to be gentle with him. You don't want to hurt him.

You almost laugh as the thought crosses your mind. Merle can't feel anything anymore. Still, you're gentle as you lower him down into his grave. Once he's in, you stare down into the hole that your brother now resides in. Every fibre in your body is fighting you. You don't want to cover him up. You don't want to bury him away. It's like you're burying a bit of yourself.

Because for you, it's always been about Merle. It's always been about seeking out your big brother for protection. It's always been about following Merle to the next big adventure. It's always been about worrying over him and wanting him to be the man you knew he could be. It's a small consolation to know that in his final moments, he was that man.

You just wish that your big brother was still here. You wish that he was alive.

You don't think about joining him beneath the dirt. No. Merle always said that was a pussy thing to do.

Instead, you force yourself to push the dirt down over his body. You force yourself to bury that part of you. You force yourself to pull yourself together even as tears cloud your eyes. You will keep on. You will not give in. You will live and you will be the man of honor that Merle had never got to be. You will do that for your brother. You will honor his redemption by maintaining yours.

You will do that for him, not because he's your brother.

You will do that for him because for you, it will always be about Merle.

AN: So that's the end. Please let me know how my little experiment came across if you're so inclined. Thanks for reading :)