He hated Merle. He could never hate Merle himself; he loved his brother in a way that made him hate him. He knew nothing but hate for everything Merle stood for, everything he embodied, everything he had always vowed he would never be. But most of all, he hated the way he had to rely on Merle, the way he had let himself need him, but he had to love him for those very same reasons, it was a twisted love, the kind that could only grow in the darkness of abuse and drugs and alcohol. They were blood, and blood stuck together, but the parts of himself he wanted to change more than anything were the parts of him that so closely resembled the brother he had been forced to look to his whole life solely for lack of the presence of anyone else. In some ways Merle had made him so strong, but in the same vein he had created some of his biggest weaknesses. He was a survivor, well equipped to take care of himself, self sufficient to a degree that made him question his ability to connect with others at times. For years he had only two people in his life, Merle and his father, Merle was one hell of a bad role model, but at least he had never beaten him, it was truly a choice between the lesser of two evils. There had always been times when Merle had tried to take care of him, in his own rough kind of way, forcing him to be tough and capable, sometimes unintentionally, enough to somehow get him through the years of his fathers drunken rages, but leaving him in a position of complete ignorance to the rest of the world.
He had finally started to become his own person, separate from his brothers' looming shadow of drugs and racism, missing him in a way one couldn't help but miss someone who had been such a part of their past, in a way that was different from all the times Merle had disappeared for weeks, months, sometimes into juvenile facilities sometimes into places he would never know. A part of him had always hated Merle for abandoning him to the violent urges of their father, leaving him behind despite knowing their father's temper all too well. But it was impossible to hate him completely, they were still family and family mattered, something he had needed to teach himself over the years.
The ragtag group of survivors had become just as much his family as Merle, as painful as it was to admit most of the time lately they seemed more like family than Merle ever had. Choosing between the two was something he wished he never would have had to face, a choice between blood and those who chose to accept him as one of their own. He had been thrilled to discover his brother, alive and mostly well, letting himself for a few brief stupid moments believe that they could reunite, join the rest of the survivors and do what they did best, take care of themselves and each other. Only to find himself agonizing over which of the two he would team up with almost immediately. He and Merle had been a team for so long it was impossible to leave him behind, especially with the things he had felt when he thought he had lost Merle the first time churning through him at the thought of leaving him again.
He had chosen Merle out of familiarity and loyalty, a sense of debt to him for all the years Merle had basically had to raise him. But it hadn't taken long for him to realize that over the past months he had become his own person, free from Merle's influence he had developed his own sense of self, no longer Merle's shadow, his extension, he would always be damaged by his past, both physically and mentally, but for the first time he had felt separate. That was when it finally came to him; he didn't need Merle the way he used to, he could exist without him, without having to fear whatever might be lurking wherever he let his guard down he no longer needed his protection, however vague and question able it was. There was an unspoken necessity born of love and shared pain between the two of them, but they had both found places away from each other, and maybe that was where they belonged now. The last thing he wanted after having come so far was to fall back into his old patterns and behaviors, he knew Merle was alive and well and maybe now that was enough. He belonged with Rick, and Maggie, and Hershel and everyone else he had left behind in pursuit of the only thing he had ever known. They had chosen to allow him stay, be one of them; Merle had been stuck with him, their twisted relationship one of necessity that neither had any say in. He had decided to go back to the people he now saw were his real family, he knew Merle would be fine, he always had been.
He had killed his own brother. It was a thought that plagued him every night and day now, if he had stayed with Merle maybe they would have had a chance at getting out alive, whatever had happened there, maybe it could have been avoided if they had just stayed together. He had chosen the group over his own flesh and blood only to lose the only person who had managed to get him through so many years. He wanted to blame them, for not accepting Merle back into the group, casting him out again. But it was his fault; he would rather have died with Merle than have to live with this weight on his shoulders. They had forced him to leave behind the only real relation he ever had, he was stuck with them now, he had made his choice, but if the person he had become while away from all the other influences in his life was someone who would betray his own family, maybe he didn't want to be someone else after all, if there was one thing Merle had understood it was loyalty, in everything he had gained had he lost that? Or had he just realized his loyalties were no longer to Merle. The technicalities made no difference, he had allowed his brother to become the very monsters they had fought, then had to strike the final blows himself. It was done in mercy, better than the alternative, but nothing would ever change the feeling of Merle's blood oozing between his fingers, the cold dead blue of his eyes, the sensation's of stabbing, of bone shattering and flesh ripping that he thought had become so familiar haunting his every move.
Daryl ran his fingers through his hair; unable to think of anything but what he had done, desperate for an escape, huddled in the corner of a distant wing praying no one would find him. Nothing had changed after all; he was still a scared child hiding in the dark, afraid of the consequences of being discovered. The only real difference now was now he knew his brother would never come back for him again.
Author's Note- So I'm only just getting back into fanfiction on a regular basis, and I'm also a relatively new walking dead fan, so if this is just god awful please just tell me I promise you wont hurt my feelings by being honest, this is the first time i've ever tried to write Daryl or anything walking dead for that matter so if I got any facts wrong or the whole personality is just off just let me know what it is and how I could best fix it. Also if anyone is interested in reading more walking dead stuff from me let me know that too :)