Standard disclaimers apply.
English isn't my first language; if you see something wrong, please do tell me.
He was finally hunting alone. Merle had accompanied him the last three times, being his loud self, scaring the game right and left. Yesterday he had given up bothering Daryl and stuffed his nose in some powder a guy brought them home. He would be out of Daryl's hair for at least a week.
It wasn't that he didn't like his big brother. He loved the guy; Merle had taken care of him and taught him how to be a man when no one would give a shit for the scrawny dirty kid that looked at everyone with a frown on his face. But after Merle got some new friendships and too many to count visits to the Juvie, Daryl had to learn how to fend for himself.
When Merle came back from his first "trip" to the prison he had succeeded staying three months without a single powder, pill, rock or needle coming near their house. Daryl was mildly proud of him but said nothing: better reassure his brother he was the same as always than telling him he could pull it through.
But seeing his brother so independent had been a rough one to Merle. Daryl knew that his big brother envied how he managed to get a job and care for himself and the house while he was gone. Daryl also never touched his brother's drugs; seeing firsthand what they did to Merle growing up was enough to make the teenager and now young adult stay the clear away from it.
His baby brother being better at life than him while he sucked up so epically at anything he did made Merle start the mean game with Daryl. They had always called each other names, provoking without real meaning, but now Merle's new way of treating Daryl had a deeper cut. He knew his brother still cared for him despite the hurtful words, but Daryl couldn't help it wishing he could just shut up and listen to himself.
Merle never did. It would be difficult anyway, with him being always high with something every day. When Merle was with him, Daryl would be by his side at whatever crazy idea he might had: stealing someone's house, selling drugs, bar fights, whore parties etc. When Merle got himself arrested, Daryl would look for a week job, hunt and repair the house on weekends and be his antisocial self in peace.
Daryl didn't mind. He would always be there to hold his brother up the stairs to sleep off the drugs, he would always be there to point his gun to the next bastard who thought he could get Merle alone or distracted, he would always be there to invisibly see the whores off the house in the middle of the night, making sure they never got anything from the house on their way out. He knew he did nothing more than polish the rough sides of his brother's life: all in all, Merle didn't need him. Daryl could be out hunting all week and he would still be fine and alive.
It was the hoarse and somewhat commanding "Where's mah little brother at?" that Merle asked every time he woke up from a rough night that made Daryl stay with him.
The way he saw it, it was natural. On a normal functional family, when the adults became too old or too dependent to care for themselves, the kids now adults had to take responsibility from them.
His family wasn't normal much less functional, but the same way he counted on Merle while growing up, Merle could always count on him now. It was natural, it was a given. It was what his big brother taught him.