Cast Your Stone
Disclaimer: The characters, Daryl and Merle Dixon belong to AMC.
Warning: In order to remain true to certain characters, some of the dialog is very offensive and racially insensitive. However this type of language is used only for the purpose of character development. It is definitely not my intention to offend anyone.
Our Way
It'd been four years since he'd seen the old farmhouse and it looked different. Darker, older, like creaking frame was slumping in exhaustion. The yard was still kept up, lawn mowed, hedges trimmed, but it still held a certain feel of abandonment.
Shouldering the worn olive drab duffle, Merle walked up to the porch, pausing a moment when the sole of his boot made contact with the first step. The main door was open, but the old rusted screen kept him from getting a clear view of the living room.
The smell of gasoline suddenly hit his nose and he heard a rustling sound coming from around the side of the house.
"Well hey there little brother, whachu doin'?"
Daryl looked up from the lawn mower, as he poured gas into the tank, spilling a bit over the side in his surprise.
The kid did not look good. He looked much scrawnier than even a boy of 12 rightfully should. His skin was filthy and his close cropped hair was chipped with scars. Seeing the kid against the green of the lawn and red of the gas can, almost made him appear to be in black and white compared to his surroundings, with his gray complexion and dirty undershirt. The only thing that made him appear alive was his eyes, they were sunken some but they were still that sharp steel blue.
"Jesus baby brother, ya look like hell." The twinge of guilt Merle felt was quickly blanked and smothered by anger. Anger at his daddy for neglecting his duties as a man. You take care of you and yours.
Growing up, Merle got their daddy's 'good years' before he drunk himself mean. The change started shortly after their momma let out, back when Daryl was still stumbling around in huggies. Seemed since then the mean ol'bastard had it out for the kid. What was the saying? Momma's baby, daddy's maybe? Merle never did get a good look at the man in the red truck, who sped off with their momma in tow.
By the time Merle turned 18 it'd gotten so bad, his daddy had put boot to ass and Merle stormed out of the Dixon home. With nowhere to go he enlisted in the army. He was old enough to find a way out but little eight year old Daryl was trapped.
Sure, part of him knew what it was going to be like for the kid, but it was a part that was easy to ignore. But seeing it, actually seeing it, was something you couldn't push to the back of your mind.
Daryl didn't say a word as he topped off the mower's tank and replaced the gas cap. He didn't quite know how to handle what was going on inside him. A flush of hate mixed with wash of relief. Part of him wanted to hate his brother for leaving him, yet he found himself fighting a strong urge to just run over and cling to Merle for dear life, because he wouldn't have to be alone anymore. The latter winning out the two brothers closed the distance between them with quick steps and slapped their arms around one another.
"What's all this, huh?" Merle palmed the top of Daryl's scarred head. "You grow it out like one o'them damn hippies ain't nobody's gonna see." Merle chuckled as he began leading Daryl to the back door to the kitchen. "Could even do it up with bows on if'in ya wanted, 'eh, little Daryleena."
"Shut up!" Daryl punched his brother in the arm, biting his lip to stifle a smile.
—~~~
"Well 'ere he is. Hasn't been up fer weeks. Goes in an' out but mostly out." Daryl said nodding the rental hospital bed set up in the middle of the living room. The ol' man couldn't make it up the stairs any more, not coughing and wheezing like he was.
Wasn't the show down Merle had been expecting but he could work with this.
In the corner of the room the oxygen machine hissed, and as Merle eyeballed the equipment, the worry of finances crept into his mind.
"How long this been goin' on?"
"'Bout a month er so."
"You been takin' care of 'im?"
"They got a lady ta come out twice a day, hospice nurse 'er sumthin'. …That waitress sold yer bike." Daryl added cautiously, as if just realizing the real reason Merle had been asking.
"He still runnin' with that tired ol' cunt?" Merle frowned at the thought of that plastic fingernailed, platinum haired, blue eyeshadow wearing harpy.
"Yeah, still lightin' them unfiltered Winstons fer 'im too." Daryl sourly spat, as he folded his arms, unconsciously hiding the spatter of round burn scars that covered them.
Merle was pulled from the deep dark pit of his dangerously silent anger, when a knock sounded at the door. His neck snapped looking down at Daryl for an explanation.
"Oh, that'll be Irma Lee, the nurse."
"Sounds like a nigger name." Merle said absently.
"Well she is a colored lady." Daryl said grabbing the back of his neck as he headed for the door. Merle's hand suddenly reached out and grabbed Daryl by the back of his shirt, yanking him to a halt.
"You don' let her know I'm here."
"Why not?"
"Don'chu question me boy! Git her in an' out an' be quick 'bout it."
Merle hurried upstairs his duffle in tow. Leaning against the hallway he remained out of sight but not out of earshot.
He heard some muffled greetings and even heard a ma'ma in there somewhere, making him shake his head.
Carefully and silently Merle slid down the wall and sat with his bag flopped over his lap. Grabbing the zipper with both hands he gently inched it open, not making a sound. He reached in and pawed around until his fingertips found what they sought. Glad he'd transferred it to the glass vile from that plastic baggie. Merle unscrewed the cap and tapped out some of the white contents onto the back of his hand.
—~~~
"The hell took so damn long?" Merle came down the stairs, lazily letting his boots drop from step to step. There was no answer and no sign of Daryl as he scanned the living room.
Peering through the archway leading to the kitchen, he saw Daryl sitting happy, with dark molasses barbeque sauce smeared all over his face, and clutched in his fingers was a damn delicious looking fat pork rib.
Feeling Merle's presents, Daryl pulled himself away from the trance of his feeding frenzy and smiled up at his big brother.
"Should try this Merle." He said from behind a mouth full of bbq, as he gestured to the foil steam pan sitting in the middle of the table.
"Jesus boy!" Merle sauntered over and smacked the back of Daryl's head. "Got the manners of a damn stray dog."
"I's hungry." Daryl nodded at his justification and continued devouring the sweet rib meat.
"Where'd ya git all this?"
"Irma." He answered quickly between bits.
"You mean ta tell me that niggress nurse's been feedin' ya?"
"Sometimes. She brought slaw an' fried chicken last time. "S'good."
Merle sniffed then wiped his finger across a rib and licked it clean.
"Damn that is good! I tell ya one thing them niggers can cook by god." Merle said smiling as he plucked a particularly meaty rib off the pile and took a huge bite. Smacking his lips he smiled at his little brother. "As good as this is, you won't need ta be looked after by no coon no more, 'cause I'ma gonna take care a'ya little brother. It's jist gonna be you an' me from now on. The Dixon brothers." He chuckled as he took another bite.
Daryl stopped in mid chew, letting his jaw go slack as he noticed his brother's eyes. Once blue they seemed to have darkened, and with the shadow cast by the circular florescent tube hanging over the table, they even looked like they had gone completely black.
—~~~
"Well, ashes ta ashes, right brother?" While looking down at his little brother, Merle tugged the edges of the pillow as if to fluff it up. Nudging Daryl with an elbow, Merle nodded to the oxygen tube, sitting crooked under the old man's nose. "Git that off 'im, would ya."
With clammy and trembling fingers, Daryl reached over and pulled off the yellowing tube, then quickly stepped back, thinking the old man would suddenly lurch forward or something.
Stiff armed Merle brought the pillow clenched in his mitts, down over their daddy's face. Daryl swore he saw his eyes open right before the pillow fell.
"Easy peasy Japanesey." Merle said as he turned back and gave Daryl a strange smile, with a hint of a wink.
The old man's motionless body abruptly jerked, starting an instinctual fight for air, which caught Merle off guard.
Quickly shifting his attention back to the task at hand, Merle growled when withered fingers caught his arm just above the elbow. Dirty unkempt nails dug into his flesh, and drew blood. Merle's jaw clamped shut, as he strained against the old man's primal thrashing and flailing.
Adrenaline drawing the seconds out into minuets, allowed time for panic to stab into Merle's chest. An urgency to end this. The pain of those gouging nails going unfelt as Merle pressed his full weight down, and swung a knee up, right into the old man's quilt covered chest.
As Daryl looked on in fear his hands involuntarily tightened into fists, and then it was just all too much. He slammed his eyes shut and the pulse pounding in his ears muffled the sounds of the struggle.
—~~~
"Whoo, the ol'man had more fight left in 'im than I thought." Plunking his ass down on the dusty hard wood floor, Merle wiped the sweat from his brow. His gaze strayed to the limp hand dangling from the bedside, eyeing the blood caked under the fingernails. "Like he was savin' it up for sumthin'." He said breathlessly.
Merle's mind was racing with genuine surprise. With the old man's health, he figured it'd go quick and easy, that the ol' timer would just sort of slip away. He was sweating for god's sake! Hell, his arms were even sore. "Stubborn ol' bastard." Merle mumbled as he held out his hand to Daryl, who stood motionless and wide-eyed. Looking up at the kid, Merle impatiently snapped his fingers, grabbing Daryl's attention.
Merle threw an arm over his little brother's shoulders and led him to the kitchen, sitting the kid down at the table.
Ransacking several cupboards Merle grabbed a bottle of Jim Beam and slammed a glass down in front of Daryl.
"Here bud, knock that back." It was really the only comfort Merle rightly knew how to give.
The amber liquid burned on its way down, and set fire to Daryl's stomach, the smoky bourbon taking its effect on the gangly 12 year old instantly.
"If there is anything that needs sayin' now's the time. After ta'night you never, and I mean never, talk 'bout this again. Not ta no one, not even ta me. Ya' understand?"
Daryl kept his mouth shut and just nodded his head, being sure not to break eye contact with his brother.
"Good. Now tamarra morrin' when that stuck-up nigger nursemaid comes 'round, you jist bawl ya lil' eyes out, like it's the first time ya seein' 'im. Ya' hear?"
Again remaining silent Daryl nodded.
Pulling the bottle from his frowning lips Merle, slammed the booze down on the tabletop.
"I asked ya a question now! You'd do well to answer me, 'stead'a all that stupid noddin' yer doin'!"
"Yeah Merle, I hear ya'." This time despite his efforts Daryl's gaze fell to the floor.
"That's better. We did the right thing here, little brother. Ain't no way fer a man ta live. But not everyone's gonna see it our way." He sniffed and sloppily poured Daryl another shot, making it look like an accident that any of the liquid made it into the glass at all. Pointing at the full shot, Merle gestured to his brother to down it quick.
"Now, did daddy talk to any suits comin' 'round the house lately? Sign papers, anything like that?"
Daryl stopped himself in mid nod, pretending to clear his throat instead.
"Yeah, that Nancy, she come 'round with some kinda papers an' he signed 'em."
"That succu'bus bitch." Frowning Merle took another long pull from the bottle, the furrows in his brow deepening in contemplation. "Ya' know where they might be?"
"I don' know, prob'ly with her I guess."
"Well ya better find out!" The Jim Beam suddenly when flying across the room and shattered against the greasy yellow wallpaper. Merle grabbed Daryl by the shoulders, pulling him in close, face to face. "She's tryin' to take the house kid, don'cha see that? Tryin' to keep us apart. Ya don' wanna end up in a damn foster cult with some perv faggot fer a daddy, do ya?"
Daryl urgently shook his head, but was suddenly rocked by a sharp slap from Merle's sweaty palm. Grabbing a fist full of Daryl's stained undershirt, Merle pointed a thick digit in his face. "You find out!" Hissing through clenched teeth, Merle didn't release the grip on him for what felt like an eternity in Daryl's mind.
—~~~
Author's note:
Chapter inspired by:
One- Johnny Cash
So yeah… first chapter of my first FF… Not really sure how well this story's going to be received, but thank you so much for taking the time to read it. Since this is pre Z day, I do apologize for there not being any zombie bashing and all grossly awesome stuff, but if you are a Dixon fan I hope that you will enjoy it all the same (^.~)b
Any feedback would be wonderful and greatly appreciated!