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DARYL'S LULLABY
A WALKING DEAD Fanfiction
Summary: Daryl Dixon has been a survivor even before the dead started to walk. But how did he become the crossbow-wielding badass we've come to love? This is the story of his youth: from his days as a delightful babe, to acquiring his girly nickname "Darlina", to his awkward pre-teen years, to his first kiss and first heart-break. (Caution: Dixon racial slurs, implied abuse.) *Young Merle and Daryl.
Notes: I started to have this idea when I read that Daryl's red hanky (the very same one we see hanging from his back pocket) was given by Anna Turner in the video game Survival instinct. I didn't want to believe it because I thought it was given by someone more…well, significant. And then I also had this recent obsession of wanting to see Daryl when he was a toddler. Somehow those two things meshed together and it gave me this fanfiction.
Regarding Merle and Daryl's age: There's no exact information about the brothers' age when the series started, so I'm making my own here: When the series started, Daryl is 36 (yeah, I know Norman is 44 but he can pass as a man in mid-thirties) and Merle is 52.
Chapter 1: EVERY DAY YOU PLAY
"Every day you play with the light of the universe.
Subtle visitor, you arrive in the flower and the water.
You are more than this white head that I hold tightly
as a cluster of fruit, every day, between my hands."
- Excerpt from PabloNeruda's Every Day You Play
"Estella!"
The sound of her name merely made her stir from her deep slumber. She didn't even open her eyes; she just lied on the other side of her body and remained unconscious.
"Estella!" It was louder this time-irate even. It was probably someone who knew she would be alone in her house without her mama and papa (who were both working on a night shift this day of the week).
"Estella! I know yer in there!"
It was the familiar southern accent that finally woke her up. There could only be one redneck to whom it belonged. She opened her eyes and waited for another holler-just to be sure it was really him before she get off her bed.
"Ye know I ain't here for nothin'," the voice continued. "I'm gonna need yer help!"
"¡No me digas!" Estella groaned and pulled her body to a sitting position. She snatched the curtain and looked out. It was dark but she could see the unmistakable outline of the person disrupting the otherwise peaceful night.
She didn't bother with the robe. She stormed the hall to the house's entrance.
"¡Cielosanto! Merle-!"
What she saw stopped her from firing swear words at him. The young man barged through and into the house leaving Estella dumbfounded with nothing else to do but close the door behind.
"Who is that baby?!" Estella asked looking at the bundle on Merle's arms.
"Well, ahm..." By now, Estella knew what it meant when Merle shrugged and snarled uncomfortably. It meant trouble. She caught her forehead with her fingers even before he could continue. "Ye know that I ain't completely tellin' ye things about me. Well," he nodded to the baby, "this is one of those things."
Estella raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms in front of her.
"He's my baby brother," Merle said almost tenderly. "I need yar help." Estella shook her head slowly as if she already had an idea what kind of help Merle needed. "He ain't stayin' in the house for a moment. No, not tonight."
Estella stared at Merle who was trying hard not to look and sound like pleading. Then she looked at the baby, making its silly baby sounds as it wrestle with the cloth holding him.
Merle seemed to have notice the subtle awe on Estella's face. "Please, señorita?" he cajoled. "He needs one night is all."
"Señorita?" Estella repeated in disgust. "I know how you call me behind my back. Taco bitch!"
Merle averted her eyes and whispered. "Actually, it's Chili Whore."
"¡Que Cabron!" Estella mouthed in resignation. She stepped forward and took the baby from Merle. As soon as it was safe in her arms, Merle rushed to the door.
"I hope ya'r enjoyin' yer book," he said with a knowing smile.
Estella sneered. She didn't need to be reminded of why she couldn't say no to this bastard-well, aside from the fact that she knew she was the only person Merle could ask help from. She was the only one who could put up with his bad attitude and unpredictable behavior.
"Just go to hell already."
Merle laughed. "Fine." He hunched and said, "Gracias, señorita... Bonita...whatever!" With that, the young man ran into the night.
"Wait!" Estella shouted. "You haven't told me his name!"
Merle answered without slowing down, without looking back.
"Daryl!"
The moment Merle disappeared was the moment the baby started crying.
Estella came from a street in Mexico where there were babies every other house. She was left with no choice but to learn how to make these infants stop bawling, lest she wouldn't be able to sleep with only thin walls separating her room from the non-stop wailing.
She put the baby on her bed. Before she went to the bathroom to wash her hands, she put pillows on the floor—just in case the baby would roll and fall. When she came back to her room, she checked if the little boy was wet. No. She put her pinky near its mouth and the baby reached and tried to suck.
He's hungry, she thought. Their house never ran out of milk—although they used them for cooking—but that night, Estella knew she wouldn't find any in their kitchen as they spent all of it making champurrado yesterday which her parents took to work.
Moving fast, she rummaged through the kitchen cabinets. What she found were ingredients enough for a bottle of banana agua fresca. It should be good enough for the baby as long as it wouldn't be too sweet. Now what she needed was the bottle.
Estella returned to the room and untangled baby Daryl from the bundle of cloth. A small, empty plastic bottle rolled on the bed. She took it and mixed the drink, tasted it and made adjustments until it was at the right level of sweetness. Then she sat on the bed and took the crying baby to her bosom.
"¡Qué lindo bebé!" She whispered as it sucked hungrily from the bottle. What a cute baby. He instantly stopped crying and seemed to enjoy the unfamiliar taste of his drink. Estella stared at the infant, chuckling quietly to herself as she compared the brothers.
Baby Daryl must have been several months old—a few moons away from his first birthday. His cheeks were pink and round and her lips were red. His eyes were piercing blue topped by his brown hair. Baby Daryl's little fingers played with Estella's long, wavy, black locks as he looked back at her, silently drinking from his bottle.
Merle on the other hand was a fifteen year old rascal known as the town delinquent. At a young age, his body was muscled—which was fitting if anyone wanted to stay afloat a community where violence was part of everyday life. Estella knew he was involved with numerous odd jobs involving gangs composed of older kids. Merle had blue eyes like baby Daryl, black hair as well but curly. He had prominent forehead and thin lips that tended to slope downwards.
They looked alike, she thought. She smiled wider and shook her head remembering how she and Merle first met a few weeks ago. She was older than him by a year: sixteen. With her bronze skin, deep-set dark eyes and long, black, wavy hair, there was no mistaking that she was an immigrant. It was unbelievable that the ill-tempered, racist Merle had befriended her—or at least that was what it seemed to Estella. Although as an afterthought, perhaps it would have been better if he didn't help her, because now she owed him a favor and she's afraid—and quite sure—that it would lead her to trouble.
Estella sighed. Her mama and papa would be furious once they discover a baby in her room. Merle better take his brother home by morning.
Baby Daryl emptied his bottle in a few minutes. When she took his bottle away from his tiny mouth, the baby yawned with both of his chubby arms raised. Estella smiled a sad smile. But do you actually have a place to go home to, huh, little Daryl? She swayed him in her arms, closer to her heart.
At sixteen, Estella was not new to violence and poverty. Their family never missed a bullfight in Mexico City as her uncle was the matador de toros, the "killer of bulls"—the bullfighter. She first saw the violent tradition when she was just five. Fear and dread were taboos in the arena full of people who were festive and anticipating. In no time, she learned to share the same passion for seeing a man challenge a raging beast and saw him triumph…until her uncle was killed by a bull during the Fiesta Brava. Estella hated the brutal sport since then.
When Estella's parents lost their job a year ago, she had to stop studying. She was half-way through the last year of secundaria (junior high school) when her parents decided to cross borders and moved to North America hoping for a better life. For some time, they lived in the dirtiest apartment, the only one they could afford. They lived off her father's small wage as an assistant to a shoe-maker. Then a month ago, they moved to Northern Georgia with her father declaring that they found a better job there which turned out to be a driving trucks; her mother on the other hand, prepared and sold food to the other drivers.
At least their house here smelled better than their previous apartment.
Baby Daryl had fallen asleep with his little thumb in-between his lips. Estella placed him on the bed and she lied a few inches from the infant. She was on her side, staring at the sleeping baby.
"Qué pena." What a shame. This beautiful baby would grow up with the same parents that made Merle what he was now. She was sure Merle was once like Daryl: innocent and pure. Somehow he grew up to be spiteful and cruel. Estella closed her eyes and tried to not think about anything.
There was nothing she could do.
The next morning, Estella explained to her mama and papa that she had been baby-sitting the neighbor's child for extra money. She made sure to not exactly tell them who the neighbor was. Estella carried baby Daryl and hurried to the door, off to the street, before her parents could ask her more questions.
Merle's house was several minute walk from Estella's. Daryl was crying again. "Shh…you're going home now."
When they reached the house, screams could be heard from the yard. It was a cue for Estella to go on carefully. She fixed the bundle of cloth to somehow muffle Daryl's cry. She approached the door and leaned on the wooden wall of the house, just beside a small window.
It took her only a few seconds to discern that the screaming voice belonged to Will Dixon—Merle and Daryl's father. He was obviously angry, probably drunk and possibly had just lost a sum from his usual gambling. Will was speaking in colorful Dixon language they were known for. And in between, he was swinging something that made sharp, swishing sound in the air and crisp, whacking sound landing on somewhere that sure hurt.
"Merle," Estella mumbled not daring to look through the window.
She didn't hear him cry or ask for his father to stop. There were only grunts. Estella ran away, back to her house, with baby Daryl in her arms. There was no home for him there.
Estella explained to her mama and papa, before they went to work, that the neighbor would be away again. She knew she had to tell them the truth eventually but for now, she lied. She made another banana agua fresca for the baby. She would have bought him milk if she had the money, but she wouldn't get her pay from tending the nearby bar until the weekend—and she obviously would miss her shift tonight if Merle would not go back for his brother. So while the baby slept in the afternoon, she wore her baggy shirt and went out of the house to the only store they had in this town. It was quite a long walk.
There were only a few people in the small walk-in store. Estella went in knowing where she would find what she was looking for. She looked like a customer with a purpose; someone who was sure of what she needed and wouldn't want to waste time hanging around once she got it.
She knew the baby formula boxes were at the back. Estella snatched some cheap cookies in front of the stand with the formula. She pretended to compare two brands while stepping back and grabbing a box from behind and putting it in the gap between her pants and skin and behind her baggy shirt. She then walked to the counter and smiled at the young guy behind the cashier while she paid for the cheapest cookies.
That wasn't her first time shoplifting. But after the last, she had sworn she would never do it again. See? Merle was trouble.
Baby Daryl was still asleep when she returned.
Estella grabbed a book from her drawer and sat on her bed and read. This was what she had been doing before her shift at the bar. She wanted to work full time to help her mama and papa but they wouldn't let her, saying they were embarrassed enough that they had to make her stop studying. And since there were only a few kids around willing to make friends with an immigrant like her, she just spent her days reading and studying.
But at that moment, no matter how hard she tried to focus, she couldn't repress the memory of what she heard earlier from the Dixons' house. Eventually, it made her put the book down and stare at the baby peacefully sleeping beside her.
"How did you make it through that hell?" she asked in a whisper.
He didn't look like he was deprived of food; baby Daryl looked quite healthy. Merle must have been taking good care of his little brother. It must be him. It was nothing like what Señor and Señora Dixon would do.
"Él es un sobreviviente."
He is a survivor.
Estella fixed her dark eyes on the baby, enjoying seeing his little hands twitch from time to time. Then unexpectedly, the thin, red lips of baby Daryl curled to a smile as if he was dreaming of something beautiful.
If angels looked like anything, Estella was sure they looked like this tiny, little boy.
She grabbed the book again and started reading aloud, as if telling a story to baby Daryl:
"My words rained over you, stroking you.
A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body.
I go so far as to think that you own the universe.
I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells,
dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses.
I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees."
Merle still didn't return, which did not surprise Estella—what did was baby Daryl who was being terribly difficult that night.
She had made him drink his milk, changed his cloth diaper, carried him in her arms but he still would not stop wailing. It was as if he was calling for his big brother.
Then there was only one thing left to do. With only the light from the lamp, Estella rocked him in her arms and started to sing a sad, slow lullaby she learned from a children's musical book back when she was in elementary:
"My little prince, my little darling,
You close your eyes and sleep.
I shall guard you with my heart and ring.
My little prince, my little darling,
Tomorrow you can be anything.
A knight with crossbow or a crowned king.
My little prince, my little darling,
Someday when you have grown;
You'll guard me with your armor shining."
Daryl suddenly stopped crying. His blue eyes were focused on Estella's as she repeated the song. He was listening. He suddenly raised both his arms and made grabbing motion with his hands toward Estella's face. Estella smiled as she sang. She obliged to baby Daryl's call and bowed her head closer to his.
His little palm touched her lips, feeling their movements as she spoke the words of the song.
Baby Daryl chuckled, as if being tickled. Estella didn't stop singing even until the blue-eyed baby pulled his arms away and yawned, licking his lips afterwards. When he did fall asleep, Estella gently put him on the bed.
"You're gonna put me in trouble as well, no? Just like your big brother."
Estella didn't need the baby to answer. She already knew she would do anything for him.
Next Chapter: We meet an adorable three-year old Daryl.
Writer's Notes:
All poem lines were lifted from Pablo Neruda's Every Day You Play.
The lullaby sung by Estella was written by me.
Please let me know what you think by leaving a comment/review.
(And PM me if I made any mistakes esp. with the Spanish/Mexican content of this chapter—I apologize in advance for any misrepresentation.)
Thank you so much!