Now don't tell me that you haven't wondered at least ONCE what happened to Merle. After watching the episode "Chupacabra" I was incredibly disappointed that Merle didn't actually come back but rather just appear in Daryl's hallucination, so I decided to make myself a story that gives him a bit more credit. So ask yourself, who is Merle Dixon?

He closed his hand around the belt, sweating in between his knuckles and tasting blood on his lips as he bit into them in concentration despite the mind-boggling moans coming from just thirty feet away. The belt looped onto the handle of the saw and he froze; if he moved too suddenly he might screw this up. Very carefully he began to pull and the saw dragged centimeter by centimeter behind the belt. He exercised caution because if the saw fell away, there was always the chance that he might retrieve it again, but then again, the geeks might get to him before he could. If the chains on that door didn't hold…

He flung the belt aside as the saw came within reach and immediately he set to hacking at the chain link between his handcuffs. Even before he started, he knew it was going to be a useless waste of time fiddling with the thing. A saw with broken teeth couldn't very well saw through such strong metal as this—but it would definitely saw through skin, flesh, and bone. He had felt resigned to this ever since Officer Friendly chained him to the rusted pipe. He had a deep down gut feeling that no one would unlock the cuffs and that he'd be left to rot in hell or else make the sacrifice. But damn it, did it have to be his right hand? He was good with both, better with his right.

Hell.

He placed the saw to his wrist, as close as he could to his palm to avoid taking off anymore than he needed to. Oh, it was going to hurt like hell, but the geeks had already seen, smelled, and heard him, so what difference did it make if he screamed his dirty black guts out? Making a promise to repay the favor to Officer Friendly and all of them who had left him on the roof in the middle of God-forsaken nowhere, he cut in and exhaled sharply. The cut was just that, a cut, and wouldn't do him any good at all. He had to suck it up or face starvation and death.

Not for this tough son of a bitch.

Grinding his teeth together he sawed away. Blood dribbled down his arm, warm, and wet. His left hand was clumsy yet steady as he watched the saw teeth cut through his skin and narrow out a crevice to the bone. Something hot ran into his eyes, but whether or not it was sweat or tears that came from his eyes, he didn't know nor give a rat's ass. He saw the bone marrow, surprisingly white and small in comparison to his thick, muscular wrist. The flesh underneath was dark red and gooey, obscuring his target and he wiped it away irritably. He was nearly there now, and his own damn blood wasn't going to get in his way. With a gasp of pain he cut through the bone and his hand dangled by a few strips of stringy flesh. One final cut and the hand fell free onto the ground.

The pain was either so intense that he couldn't quite feel it or else he really was some sort of super human whom pain simply didn't affect—he liked to think the latter. Swallowing hard, he slipped his wrist (now a bleeding stump) out of the cuff and cradled the stump to his chest, sobbing and thinking, Now what—now what?

He stood up, wobbly at first, but gathered his wits and instructed himself to remain calm in time to cauterize the wound. That was the first step, after that he'd let off some steam on a couple of geeks and then get the hell out of this ghost town and go—where?

Anywhere.

He'd hotwire himself a car and drive until he ran out of gas. He'd take what he needed and not let anyone tell him he had to do otherwise. Hell, he was free to go wherever he wanted, no longer tied down to that survivor group. Good riddance, anyway. He didn't need them and they most certainly didn't need nor indeed want him; otherwise they would have taken him back with them, right?

Daryl, though, what about Daryl?

Argh, the boy was grown up enough to know how to deal with his own problems. He was a pretty good shot with that crossbow of his and a hard ass, if anything.

And besides, he wasn't no damn babysitter to his baby brother either. He was already twenty-two when he was given full custody of the runt and he'd had to watch Daryl even before that when their alcoholic father was holed up in jail or some place. But now he was free of that burden, at forty-seven he was finally free.

If he happened to cross paths with Daryl somewhere down the line, he'd say hi and then keep on walking…and if Officer Friendly was there too, well, Merle Dixon's comin' for you.

And there was Officer Friendly himself standing beside that chestnut tree and talking to the bastard who had dropped the key to the handcuffs down the damn drain. They had a nice set up going on with two tents, that old man Dale's trailer, a barn, and a two story house. There were definitely some people missing since Merle had last seen, but that wasn't what bothered him. It was the fact that he had used his last round to cut down a walker and now only had the pump action shotgun as a bludgeoning weapon. He couldn't shoot Officer Friendly from here and even if he could, the others would be on him like bug guts to a window before he could get ten yards. He was fast and still muscular, but pickings had been slim and he had lost some considerable weight since the rooftop. His stump was now duct taped to a stabbing knife which he cleaned regularly (but man, it was embarrassing as hell that the only duct tape he could find was hot pink).

Deciding that he couldn't just stand there glaring like an idiot, he finally came to terms with the situation and knew how he had to play his cards. Waltz in, the prodigal survivor, and offer up help in return for staying a few nights. Then he'd do away with Officer Friendly in the dead of night and be on his way. Simple plan, easy to remember. He gave himself an A plus.

"Walker, there's a walker behind you Rick!"

It sounded like Dale yelling in that annoyingly calm voice, warning someone, and then Merle realized that Dale was pointing his rifle at him. Dale thought he was the walker. Damn, someone needed to get that old man some glasses.

Officer Friendly turned in his direction, going for the pistol he kept close at hand. Shane—or at least, it looked like Shane, though with no hair it was difficult to tell—came hobbling (had he injured himself?) up from the house with a crowbar and then T-Dog joined them, grabbing a yellow bat. They were coming to beat the hell out of him again.

He raised his left hand with the rifle and cried out, "Don't shoot, popinjays, iss juss ol' Merle and I ain't gonna bite no one!"

He saw them skid to a halt in the tall grass and then shouted, "Merle? Merle Dixon?"

"How many Merle's you idiots know? 'Course iss me, I said so, didn't I?" he replied in irritation, keeping his hand up as he walked towards them. It gave him some satisfaction to see that they all looked rather worried and why shouldn't they? They knew they'd left him and their conscious told them that they had hell to pay. Soon.

"Hot damn, it is Merle," yelled Shane. "Dale, hold your fire!" Shane turned back to Merle, not quite lowering his crowbar, but looking slightly more welcoming. "Merle, you tough, stubborn son of a bitch, where'd you come from?"

Merle spat out a fountain from between his teeth indifferently and rested the rifle across his shoulders. "I cut m'self loose, no thanks to none've you, and I survived. I drove and drove till I ran outta cars to hotwire and then I walked and here I am, pretty as the mornin' and bad-natured as ever."

"Merle," said Officer Friendly cautiously, "before you come any further, let me be the first to apologize for what happened. We went back for you, but you were already gone. We looked for you, but frankly, Atlanta's a big city-,"

"Save it, pal, I ain't in the mood. What I am is hungry as hell and juss as tired. I ain't lookin' to stay more'n a few days and then I'll be on my way again."

"But Merle, that's crazy," said Shane, "in your condition you need to stick with us-,"

"My condition, huh?" repeated Merle, raising his right stump with the knife threateningly. "I've been doin' just fine in my condition, thank you. No, y'see, when I join up with people like you, that's when I get screwed over. Last time I stuck with y'all I lost a perfectly good hand and if I stay this time, I might lose somethin' else, somethin' I value more'n a hand. When I'm on my own I do pretty damn well, so you just leave me be and then I'll be gone juss like before."

"Well, if it's what you want, Merle, we're not gonna stop you, but we will ask you to consider staying," said Officer Friendly.

"You can ask all y'want, I ain't stayin' with a bunch've backstabbin' ingrates. Now, point me to the chow and leave me the hell alone."

"There's food in the house, man," said T-Dog nervously.

Merle gave him a wicked grin. "Yeah, dass right, you'd better be sweatin' like a stuck Irish pig, brother."

"Just do us a favor and take it easy, huh, Merle?" asked Officer Friendly quietly as Merle turned to walk up the path towards the house.

"Do you—do you a favor?" laughed Merle. "Naw, how 'bout you do me a favor, Officer Friendly, and shut the hell up 'fore I take that pistol and put a nice new hole in that trap o'yours?"

"Alright, Merle, we understand you're upset, but Rick's just trying to make it up to you, is all," said Shane with a bit of authority.

"Rick, huh?" said Merle, looking to the man who had chained him to the pipe. "Yeah…"

Without another word he strode up the gravel path, catching a glimpse of Lori and Glenn gaping open-mouthed at him. He ignored them all, feeling like a triumphant hero of some sort, and stalked up the steps through the wide open screen door. Inside he made a right and then a left and found himself in the kitchen where three women were busying themselves by scraping together a snack for the workers outside. He recognized two of them—Carol with the shaved head, and Andrea, the blonde one he had tried his luck on the last time they'd met. She looked older, somehow, even from the back, which wasn't too bad of a view.

"Don't suppose y'all got some beer 'round here, huh?" he asked.

He grinned as Carol dropped the knife she was holding and Andrea whirled around in alarm. The other reddish-brown haired woman looked curiously over her shoulder.

"M-Merle?" gasped Andrea, going pale in the face.

"Dass right, baby. I'm back. Ain't you glad to see me?"

"Where's Rick and Shane?" asked Carol anxiously, glancing out the window.

"Argh, don' worry 'bout them. They told me to come in here when I said I's hungry. So, where's the grub?"

"Well, I don't—I mean, there's not-," stuttered Andrea, whom he was pleased to see was certainly flustered with his appearance. Her eyes darted to his stump which he held for her to examine, but she only took a nervous step back until her hips hit the sink. "I—I'll fix you something to eat, what would you like?"

"Hell, don' matter to me none, but I'm really hankerin' for somethin' stronger'n water. Got beer?"

"I—I'm not sure—Maggie?" Andrea appealed to the woman beside her who shook her head.

"My dad won't let beer in the house."

"Damn shame," grumbled Merle, sinking in to one of the chairs at the table. "So, what's new?" he asked conversationally. "I noticed a lotta people ain't here no more. Got bitten, did they?"

"Some of them," said Andrea, not looking at him as she pulled a slice of bread from the cabinet. "Camp was attacked and we lost—people. Jim was bitten and we left him. Jacqui died and Ed was killed and Morales took his family to Birmingham. And right now Carol's daughter Sophia is missing."

"What 'bout that lady Grimes's son what's-his-name?" asked Merle as Andrea set a plate with a ham sandwich and sliced apple in front of him with a cup of water.

"Rick's son Carl was shot in a hunting accident, but he's going to be okay," said Maggie, continuing on with the dishes.

A light went on in Merle's head. The boy was Officer Rick Friendly's son and he had been shot.

"That leaves two still missin' on my count," said Merle, biting into his sandwich with relish. He caught the scared look that passed between Andrea and Carol.

"Merle?"

Turning around in his seat, Merle saw Daryl standing in the doorway. He had bandages around his waist and head and looked very pale, but there was disbelief etched into his face. He leaned against the doorframe for support, sagging down and Carol rushed to him to hold him up.

"Well, what'n the hellfire happened to you?" asked Merle, returning to his sandwich.

"He fell," said Andrea, watching Merle closely for reaction. "Landed on a branch rooted upright and it went through. And he hit his head too."

"Never wouldda taken you for a klutz, lil' brother," laughed Merle, washing down the rest of the bread with a swig of water and smacking his lips loudly. "You c'mon and take a seat now. I got somethin' I wanna discuss with you, boy."

Carol and Andrea helped Daryl sit down in the chair next to Merle and then beckoned Maggie from the room, leaving the brothers alone. Daryl closed his eyes, wincing as he touched his head. Merle leaned over and smacked the other side.

"Buck up, Darylina. What's an uprooted branch to havin' to saw off your own hand?" He slapped his stump down on the table for emphasis and Daryl stared hard at it before answering.

"Nice touch, that pink duct tape is, shows off your feminine side. But that wasn't my fault and you know it. I went back for you and all I saw was your hand lying in a pool of blood. What was I s'posed to think?"

"You wasn't s'posed to think, you numb wits, you was s'posed to go lookin' for your big brother," snapped Merle, inhaling an apple slice.

"I knew you was alive, but I didn't know where you'd gone, so there weren't much else I could do."

"You chose to get comfy with all them traitors and weaklings out there, that's what you did. Boy, if ever I was more ashamed of you than I am now, I don't remember it. I knew you'd be needin' me and lookee here, you're pale as death while I'm as flushed as a straw'bry."

"And twice as ugly," muttered Daryl.

Merle bawled his only fist. "Don't you smart mouth me, boy. Remember who it was that brought you up. You owe me, not them double crossin' bastards."

"I owe you nothin'," snarled Daryl. "You never took care've me. You didn't give a damn 'bout me. I raised myself and I've survived 'cuz of it. I didn't need you then and I don't need you now, so you can clear out."

"Maybe the reason I didn' give a shit 'bout you was 'cuz you was juss the runt Dad said you was. Still are. And you think that them bastards give any more've a shit 'bout you, huh? They'll leave you to rot, juss like they left me."

"You deserved it," said Daryl savagely. "They trust me and I've earned it."

"Watch your tongue, boy!" shouted Merle.

"Call me boy again and I'll take your other hand," threatened Daryl, standing abruptly and going green. "You can't come back and start tellin' me who to trust and love, 'cuz you don't understand the first thing about either of those! My life was better when you wasn't around, so get the hell out and this time stay out!"

Merle grabbed Daryl's arm, digging his fingernails deep into his brother's skin. "You'll mind me, son, or someone's gonna get hurt. While I'm here, you—will—mind—me."

"If anything happens to them, you'll be sorrier than you were when you had to cut off your own worthless hand, Merle. Mark my words. I've got a new family now and I ain't lettin' you nowhere near 'em. So piss off."

Merle threw Daryl away from him and shouted, pointing a finger, "And you wonder why I never showed you any respect? Iss 'cuz you're stupid and ignorant, juss like your momma! See if that ain't your undoin', lil' brother! You'll wish I was on your side in the end!"

"Go to hell!"

Andrea rushed in between the two brothers and wrapped an arm around Daryl's waist. "Come on, Daryl, let's get you back to bed."

"Get off me, I ain't goin', not till I've slugged that son've a bitch!"

"Daryl! If you try to swing a punch you'll open up your stitches, now come on, or I'll have Hershel put you out of it. Come on."

Daryl shot Merle a look of pure hatred before allowing Andrea to lead him away. Merle sat back down heavily in his seat and skewered a slice of apple viciously on the tip of his knife. Isn't this what he had expected? His own brother turned on him for—for them. Now he knew there was nothing and no one except himself to live for. Now he was truly alone.

"Merle?"

Andrea had returned. "Um, there's a loft upstairs that you can sleep in if you want to lay down for a while. You don't have to help out or anything, but we sort of need the kitchen clear so that we can get started on dinner."

Merle didn't move. He felt disgusted and cheated and utterly lost. There had always been a glimmer of hope in the back of his mind that when and if he saw Daryl again his brother would choose his side. Well, that certainly hadn't worked out like how he had intended.

Andrea slid her hand over his arm to take his plate and he grabbed her wrist, though not as harshly as he had done to Daryl. He didn't look at her, but kept his grip firm so that she had to stay and listen. "Where's your sister?"

"I don't really want to talk about it," said Andrea uncomfortably, tugging slightly at her wrist so that he would let go.

"Naw, I seen it your face, you need to talk 'bout it, juss like I need to talk 'bout what's got me riled. Sit down and tell ol' Merle what happened to her."

Andrea bit her lip, holding back tears. "I—I can't. It's still too soon."

"S'always gonna be too soon 'till you git it off your chest, honey. Tell me." He steered her into Daryl's empty seat with his hand still on her wrist.

Andrea gulped, lowering her gaze to the crumbs on his plate. She took a deep breath as if she were steeling herself for the task ahead. Finally, she began, "It was a walker. It bit her and I had to shoot her. A few days later I had the chance to commit suicide, but Dale wouldn't let me, so now I'm stuck living in this hellhole. I have no one to live for, not even myself. Amy was all I had left and now that I don't have her, what do I have? Don't say life, because that doesn't mean a damn thing to me if I have to live it alone. See, I'm not like you and Daryl; I need someone else, because what is the point of living if you have to do it alone? I could have been with my sister and escaped, but Dale took that from me and now I can't take my life. I had a ready-made opportunity and now I don't, so I can't do it. I want to die, but I'm afraid to. Can you understand that?"

Merle cocked his head to the side, trying to read her bright and yet pale blue yes. "Naw, I ain't too sure I can, but I get what you mean' bout livin' 'lone. Thing is, I prefer it that way. Now I can live for myself."

"And are you happy with that? What do you have to look forward to every day, Merle? Do you wake up and feel inner joy that you get to see someone's face whom you love, get to talk to that person and know that there is someone left for you to treasure, or do you wake up and wonder what you're going to eat for the day and where you're going to piss? Do you see what I'm getting at? Life is not worth living if it's just you because whether you want to believe it or not, you'll get tired of yourself and wish for company and if that company isn't the one you want to be with, there's just no point to keep going.

That's why Daryl had to let you go. He didn't want to and he tried not to show it, but we all could see. He had real grief for you and held onto the hope that you would make it, but even with one good hand still left, your chances seemed slim. He would wait up at night just watching the woods or the road, hoping to see you show up somewhere and when we moved on, so did he. He had to let you go and take hold of someone else because he truly thought you were gone. He may seem like he hates you, but it's only because he's trying to hide the fact that he's actually relieved. You're his brother—all he has, and even though you put him down, he sees past that and forgives you for not being there for him."

Merle let go of Andrea's wrist. "And juss how the hell d'you know that?"

Andrea took his dishes and stood up. "Because I was never there for Amy, but she forgave me because in the end, I was right beside her."

Merle frowned to himself, watching Andrea clean his plate and cup until finally moving upstairs to the loft she had mentioned for a well-earned nap.