AN: This is just for fun and entertainment value, nothing more. It features, in person, only the Dixon brothers, but it has strong Caryl implications. I'm undecided, as of yet, if I'm going to keep it a one shot or if I'm going to go for a second part just for fun.
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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Daryl kept at least six feet between his own steps and Merle's as they made their way down to the creek to check the trot lines and traps that had been set there. On the way back, if they were lucky, they'd bag a deer or something equally filling to drag back to the prison with them and present it to Carol to cook up for the population there.
The reason for the distance he was guarding, though, had nothing to do with the act of hunting that might or might not take place after lines and traps were checked. The distance had to do with the fact that Daryl felt every drop of Merle's "good mood" hit him like acid if he got too close to him.
Merle wasn't one that you could accuse, all that often, of being in a "good mood," but when it did happen, it seemed like he tried to make up, all at once, for every pissy mood that he'd ever been in. It made him almost all the more unlikeable because he became, to those who knew him well, very much like an alien species.
Daryl knew that Merle's current good mood had a good bit to do with a woman named "Denny," though Daryl suspected her given name was probably something more along the lines of "Denise" who had been one of the few women that they'd found and brought into the prison while out on "recruiting" runs, as they liked to refer to them, where they brought in small groups that they stumbled across to build up the strength of the prison in case they were ever to come under attack again by the madman that still wandered around out there somewhere.
Denny had taken a shine to Merle…and whether or not Merle would have ever looked at Denny twice in his life before the fall, the new way of life around them seemed to bring out a new something in Merle. And that new something was a something that was giving Denny a good deal of attention.
And in giving that attention, Merle was apparently getting attention. It was enough to have him damn near unrecognizable.
He was volunteering for shit left and right.
Need someone to go hunting? Hell…he could bag the biggest deer in Georgia with nothing more than his bayonet arm and his charming wit.
Something needs to be moved? Hell…he could move it back and forth across the prison yard sixteen times if you needed him to, single handed and singlehandedly…but only after doing a few repetitions with it in the one arm he had left.
Need something built? Well, Merle had once tried to build a lockbox that hadn't held anything, not because the lock was faulty, but because the whole damn side of the thing fell off…but he could build you three barns, a storage shed, and a nice house all before breakfast, if that's what needed to be done.
All in all, it was like having fallen head first into the Twilight Zone and Daryl didn't care much for the experience. He hated to admit that he preferred the ornery, asshole of a brother that he'd once known over the "new and improved" Merle that had Denny, and several other women actually, around the prison cooing and cawing about him, but it was true. He preferred a Merle that he understood. And this one? This one baffled the hell out of him.
"Keep up, Derlina," Merle called back at him, breaking his whistling and his almost dancing step only long enough to toss back the words and to fuck with a Walker that was coming to greet them.
"Stop taunting that damn thing and kill it before it bites ya fuckin' head off," Daryl growled at Merle who was seeming to enjoy the strange game of "tag" that he was creating with the Walker that he could have killed six times over by now.
Merle laughed at him and slammed the bayonet arm through the skull. He pushed the Walker off and cleaned the blade on the Walker's clothes before he turned around, his good hand popped onto his hip for the moment.
"What the hell's got in your underbritches?" Merle asked, smirking at Daryl.
"Your damn attitude," Daryl growled back. "Stop fuckin' actin' like an idiot. I'm about ready to wring your damn neck."
The real Merle would have jumped at him. The real Merle would have come lunging toward him looking for a fight. The real Merle would have dared him to try to wring the neck that he threatened.
Merle the Jolly Green Giant, however, did none of these things. He shifted his weight, but no more than he normally would from standing in an uncomfortable position, shifted the empty sacks he was carrying over his shoulder to steady them more in their location, and then he laughed. He laughed at Daryl for cussing him, calling him an idiot, and threatening him.
"What the fuck, Daryl?" Merle responded, still seemingly amused. "I don't think it's what the hell's got into ya britches…think it's what the hell ain't got out."
Merle chuckled to himself and turned, now heading once again in the direction they were supposed to be travelling.
"The hell is that supposed to mean?" Daryl called out to him.
Another amused laugh from the asshole. He didn't give any response, though, until they'd reached the water and he'd begun to locate the markers they'd put down to let them know where their lines were.
"Look around ya, Derlina," Merle commented, tugging up the lines and wading into the water. Apparently he was cleaning them off, so Daryl kept his spot on the edge of the creek to catch the fish that his brother flung in his direction and put them in the sack they were carrying them back in. "World just thawin' out…this water's still cold enough got my damn nuts drawed up into my body…it's the time a' year for ruttin'. Everything around is chasin' some tail right now. Just damn natural."
Daryl fumbled after one of the fish that Merle picked off a hook and flung in his direction so that it would flop around on the dirt until Daryl caught it.
Before his brother could finish his inspirational speech, Daryl took the plunge into the still icy water to switch off with him.
"Get'cha ass on the bank," Daryl commented. "You gonna cut the lines and I'm ten times faster'n you is at this."
Merle chuckled at him once more, but didn't argue. He dropped the line so that Daryl scrambled to catch it before it sunk, and made his way up the bank to be the "catcher" in this game.
"See," Merle continued, once he was on the bank and Daryl was the one wrestling fish off the line that were slowly coming to the realization that this was the end for them and therefore were fighting him with all they had, "this is the time a' year all the lil' boy animals go walkin' around, struttin' their shit, showin' off what the hell they got so they lil' girl animals gonna notice 'em. Then…hell…they gotta fuck like there's no tomorrow 'cause they gotta keep the species alive. It's called a natural cycle. Everything does it…don't all do it the same time of year…but they do it. Wired into ya brain. Gotta be done."
Daryl rolled his eyes at Merle's "lessons". Merle had probably attended less than a fourth of the required days of any given school year that he'd ever bothered even showing up for. Yet, he'd been a man who had liked, for whatever reason, to saturate his beer with brain or other substances and sit his fat ass on the couch and watch Discovery Channel. Even when they didn't have cable, Merle could almost always find some kind of educational shit using the tried and true antenna wrapped three hundred times over with aluminum foil.
But for all the watching of the shows he did, he probably only got half of the information out of them. Yet he still insisted on speaking about everything as though he were a true scholar on the subject…after all, all the great minds got the brunt of their education while completely wasted out of their mind and munching on Cheetos, taking what they could between the scrambled sounds and squiggly lines of half broken televisions…didn't they?
"That's animals," Daryl said. "People ain't animals, Merle. Besides…I don't think it even works that way. Wrong damn time for ruttin' anyway."
Merle hummed at him and went after a stray fish as Daryl finished the one line and moved down stream a little toward another line that was marked with the broken sticks poking out of the ground. He found it, cursed the hook that cut his finger when he was searching for it, and started to pick off what they'd caught there.
"Speak for yaself, brother," Merle mused, moving their supplies down the bank to match Daryl's in-water movements. "Me? Myself…I'm findin' it's the perfect damn time for ruttin'…hell…I'm ruttin' around just about anywhere I can…mmm hmmm…if ya know what I mean."
Daryl looked at Merle and rolled his eyes at the stare that Merle was holding on him, waiting for some kind of reaction. Merle laughed at the reaction he got.
"And I think ya do, brother," Merle added in something of a sing songy tone.
"Just because you gettin' laid don't mean the whole damn animal kingdom's rejoicing," Daryl retorted. "And it don't mean that it's some kinda second nature to everyone who ever lived to carry on like you been you carryin' on."
"You might be right," Merle ceded. "But just 'cause you ain't don't mean can't nobody else enjoy what the hell they got. Besides, if your balls is bluer than a polar bear's balls, it ain't nobody's fault but'cha own, lil' brother. There's more'n one hen set for layin' at that prison. You just got to rooster up an' show off ya damn tail feathers."
Finishing the trot lines, Daryl dropped the lines back in the water to hopefully snag another fish or two in the next twenty four hours. Without responding to Merle he sloshed his way back up the side of the creek and onto the bank, shivering at the cold of his soaked pants. His balls probably were blue now, but not necessarily for the reason that Merle was suggesting. He walked, holding his pants up so that the weight of the water didn't pull them down, while they drip dried enough to stay in place on their own.
Merle followed him to the traps they'd set, gathering out the live rabbits to go in one bag, the bag they'd use to populate their rabbit hutches, and Daryl set about butchering those who had panicked and managed to hurt themselves beyond a state of repair to put in another bag, cursing quietly again when he cut his hand on the sharp points of the poorly wrapped barbed wire traps.
"These rabbits," Merle commented. "They gon' have the right damn idea."
He held one of the bucks up by its ears, one hand under its ass to keep it from screaming and riling the others up even more, and examined. Merle laughed at the rabbit who didn't look as thoroughly terrified of his condition as he could have.
"Yessir…this lil' fucker right here? Look at 'im, Daryl. This lil' fucker done took inventory of every one a' them fine fluffy asses he's gonna service soon as he gets back to the prison. Lookin' mighty damn happy…but that's 'cause he's got basic damn good sense. This lil' fucker knows they is does to be had," Merle continued.
Daryl sulked over his brother's monologue about the breeding habits of the rabbits that supplied most of their food because, rain or shine, in their rabbit hutch they didn't care and they were constantly reproducing at an alarming rate.
Daryl told himself, though, that he wasn't the type to get all involved in the "mating rituals" of the prison. He told himself that he didn't need that. He wasn't the kind to make an ass out of himself simply trying to impress some woman and get her attention. There were more important things in the world than chasing tail and he wasn't going to waste his time on it.
Besides…it wasn't a sure bet. That buck, he knew it was a sure bet that he was going to get the attention of the does that were crammed into his little prison with him. But sometimes the hen pecked the rooster until he gave up the fight.
And people could be even less predictable than the animal kingdom. Daryl was a proud man, and he wasn't one for letting his pride get hurt over something as absolutely useless, after all, as a shot at getting laid.
Traps emptied and reset in total silence, except for Merle's occasional hum as he let out his cheery ass mood or his occasional chuckle at something probably disgusting and inappropriate that trickled through his mind, Daryl gathered up the bags that he would carry back and slung them rougher over his shoulder than the live rabbits probably appreciated.
Deer forgotten, he started the trek back toward the prison, Merle humming along and following behind him, keeping less distance between them than Daryl had when he brought up the rear.
"You know, I ain't tryin' to stick my nose in ya business, lil' brother," Merle called out, knowing that he was doing just that, "but I'm just throwin' it out there…might not be no does back at the prison interested in your dirty little white ass…but I got me a hunch…just if you was thinkin' about it…might be a mouse or so runnin' around and checkin' out the tail feathers of a Dixon that's fit for mounting…"
Daryl stopped in his tracks and turned around, coming face to face with the curling grin of his brother. Infuriatingly enough, Merle didn't offer any more words at the moment…just that stupid, shit eating grin.
"What the hell do you know, anyway?" Daryl spat at him.
Merle's grin widened ever so slightly.
"I know that hens cluck…an' they love cluckin' 'bout the roosters scratchin' and peckin' around," Merle said.
Daryl felt his stomach churn slightly. He knew Merle well enough that he knew exactly what he was talking about. What surprised him, though, was that his brother would think to say it.
"I don't know what the hell you talkin' about," Daryl muttered, turning and starting to take a few more steps in the direction of their destination.
"I think ya do," Merle called out, changing his own stride to catch up with Daryl. "I think ya know exactly what the hell I'm talkin' about. Ya big brother ain't blind, and ole Merle here…he knows what's goin' on. I see the mouse checkin' you out alright…yeah…heard her too…but I seen you sneakin' around to get yourself a peek. You want yaself a better peak, though, you gotta man up and show her what the hell you got to offer."
Daryl kept walking. It was just the thought of that which had kept him from making any sort of move so far. He hadn't done a thing or said a thing because he felt, every time he talked himself into it, like he was almost immobilized as soon as he actually reached Carol and tried to strike up any kind of conversation.
He could get her attention. He could let her know he wanted to talk to her. He could even have some kind of stupid ass conversation about the weather or Walkers or runs…but if he ever tried to go anywhere else…if he ever dared to say he had something to ask her, or show her, or say to her…anything he'd ever thought would be the "perfect" "opening line" for anything…he clammed up bigger than shit and he couldn't do anything besides choke on his own tongue. And it usually ended badly…it usually ended with him being able to do nothing more than something he might have done on the playground. He'd bumped her and nearly tripped her at least fifteen times…it was the only touch he could bring himself to steal from her. The only thing he hadn't done, and he was thankful to whatever god it was that watched out for that sort of thing and made sure he didn't do something so stupid and childish, was pull her hair and run away.
He didn't know if he'd ever get over the hump of "manning up" and saying what was always on the tip of his tongue. So he'd dealt with it the only way that he'd known how. He'd avoided saying it, got out his frustration in other ways, and tried to convince himself that he wasn't lying awake in his bunk at night and deciding he was going straight to hell for the things he thought about her…and the things he did while he thought about her…while she slept peacefully, completely unaware and probably entirely disinterested, just a few cells down.
"Ya know, though," Merle continued, his voice drifting into Daryl's ears and the sound causing the same type of irritation as the hum of a gnat, "you ain't the only rooster left in that place. And other people? They done noticed the mouse…hell…I done noticed her, but I got respect for the fact you too damn chicken shit to do nothin'…but them? They don't, Derlina. You serious about it, best get a move on…'less you wanna lay awake at night and hear the sweet, sweet sound a' some other dick that knowed what the hell ta do with his balls layin' it hard to ya sweet lil' mouse."
Daryl stopped again, turning abruptly once more, and this time his brother, looking down at his boots and not at the person he was heckling, didn't anticipate the stop and ran straight into him.
Merle backed up, laughing.
"What? You gon' tell me you didn't think that all them sniffin' around her was eventually gonna make a move? Ain't all men as chicken as you is," Merle said. "You wanna stop it…might better hurry on back to the prison. Could get back and find out she's been tendin' more'n that baby…"
Daryl started to respond, but Merle's infuriating grin stopped him for a moment and Merle took that as an opportunity to wink at him and continue speaking.
"You done got yaself pretty damn chewed up today, Derlina," Merle commented. "Might see if she got time to put a couple bandaids on ya boo boos…might see if she's got an interest in helpin' ya with somethin' else if it's hurtin' too."
Merle hummed at him, offered him another of the shit eating grins that he'd been throwing at him throughout the conversation, and sped up his steps, walking right past Daryl and back toward the prison at a faster rate than they'd been travelling.
Daryl started walking again, an odd feeling stirring around inside him as he considered all that Merle had said…and he rehearsed in his head, just to see how easy it might be, of course, the ways in which he might present to Carol exactly the "medical emergency" that his brother had suggested.
"Of course," Merle called back, "ain't none a' my business…"
He looked back over his shoulder at Daryl who was lagging behind for all his thoughts.
"Hell, keep up Derlina," Merle called. "You always was the slow damn one."
