Hello everybody!

I watched the last ep and just died... and then I had a dream about Daryl trying to bury Merle and Walkers attacking and there were tears and screaming and- and-and... yeah... this is pretty much what this story is...

I do not own The Walking Dead. If I did, there would be a whole lot more of Daryl ;)


Michonne finally made it back to the prison. The afternoon sun was quickly getting lower and, though she'd never openly admit it, she was glad she wasn't going to have to spend the night alone in the woods. She skirted the edge of the prison compound until she saw Carol walking the perimeter. Michonne ambled up to the outer gate. No Walkers were close enough to cause her any trouble, but she kept her sword out just in case.

It took a few minutes for Carl to notice Michonne, but when he did the reaction was immediate. The boy turned and ran to the door, yelling for his father. Rick, Glenn, Maggie, and Carol joined Carl outside. Michonne watched Rick point in various directions and issue orders. She didn't move, her dark eyes watching intently. Glenn jumped in the Hyundai and drove up to the gate that Rick opened. Everyone else distracted the Walkers inside the gate. Michonne turned with a spin and strode to the opening of the main gate, cutting down two Walkers that approached her. Glenn was waiting and Michonne jumped into the passenger seat. Multiple Walkers were heading for the car, but Glenn sped back up the drive and through the gate before they could get close.

Rick opened Michonne's door before she had a chance. "Where's Merle?" he demanded.

Michonne looked at him silently.

"And Daryl?" Carol spoke up from the side, her hands white on the rifle she held.

"Merle tried to give me to the Governor." Michonne stared directly at Rick, making sure he knew that Merle had told her it had been Rick's plan to begin with.

"Michonne." Rick took her arm in his hand.

She looked around at everyone else. "He let me go. Went after the Governor himself. Last I saw of Daryl he was headed after him."


Daryl didn't know how long he had lain on the ground.

Seconds.

Minutes.

Hours.

Did it even matter?

His brother—his blood—was dead. Merle was supposed to be the only one who could kill Merle. Not a gunshot wound to the chest.

Daryl had felt it as soon as he saw the hunched over form tearing into the corpse. But he didn't want to believe it. He couldn't believe it. Not until Merle had looked up at him with those strange eyes; the eyes of a Walker.

Those eyes would haunt him for whatever miserable life he had ahead of him. Whether it'd been out of anger, shock, sorrow, pain, or a swirling, chaotic mess of all, Daryl had destroyed his brother's face, leaving the final image of his brother embedded in his brain. Even as he laid on the ground his closed lids were filled with a terrible instant replay of what he had seen.

"Damn you, Merle," Daryl croaked. He rubbed angrily at his eyes before realizing his hands were covered in his brother's blood. He frantically wiped his hands on the ground. On his clothes. On anything to get the stain off of them as if trying to erase everything that had just occurred. A high whining sound, something he never thought he was capable of making escaped his mouth as tears continued to leak from the corner of his eyes.

Come on now, Little Brother. A little blood never hurt no one.

Daryl's head snapped up involuntarily to look at Merle's prone form. The body hadn't moved. But the shock got Daryl thinking enough to move. He stumbled toward the nearest building and jerked open the door. His hands flipped trays and his feet kicked buckets and bins as he looked around the large room. The loud clanks rang in his ears and his head began to ache.

"How come I can' find a God damn shovel in this place?" He grabbed a hoe and some type of hand trowel he spotted in an overturned bucket. The tools were heavy and uncomfortable in his shaking hands.

He walked back outside, forcing himself to look at Merle's body. His stomach churned uneasily as he heard his brother's words echo in his head again.

A little blood never hurt no one.

Daryl was no pansy. He could do this. He had to.

He stopped a few feet away from what was left of his older brother. Mechanically, his arms stretched above his head and used all his strength to crash the tool into the ground. The jolt of impact traveled up the handle and shook his hands. He tightened his grip and repeated the process until he had cracked the dry ground. Barely any progress was made, but he didn't care. He kept hitting the ground like he had kept driving that knife into Merle's face. Over and over and over again.

Sweat dripped down his face and mixed with the tears on his cheeks. He furiously wiped at the mixture that clouded his vision in between swings of the heavy tool. His hands slipped on its wooden handle causing a large splinter to jam into his palm.

"Damn it!" he yelled as he dropped the tool. With a growl he kicked the hoe across the ground. He pressed his thumb against his injury to suppress the pain until he finally tore it from his tender flesh with his teeth.

You ain't gonna give up now, are ya? Come on now, I taught ya better than this.

Daryl turned a tight circle and fell to his knees near the small dent he'd managed to make in the hard soil. He grabbed the trowel and started piercing the dirt viciously. One stab for every curse word he knew; allowing each word to surge off his tongue in angry, shaking hisses. Tossing the hand tool aside he dug in with his bare hands attempting to scoop the loosened dirt out of the hole.

Grabbing the trowel again he continued to dig deeper. This time each jab counted for every zombie he'd killed after Merle had disappeared. He'd been keeping count so he could brag to his brother later in hopes to gain a proud smile. But the two were never given the opportunity to have the conversation. Seventy-eight. Seventy-nine if he counted Merle. Daryl thrust the tool harder into the ground with that thought.

Everyone he knew that had died got a stab. One for Amy; Andrea's kid sister. One for Jim and Jacqui. One for Sophia. He'd risked his life searching for Carol's little girl and seeing her amble out of that barn as one of those God forsaken creatures broke his heart in more ways than one. Another blow for T Dog and Lori. Even one for Shane. From the beginning the guy had been a jackass, but he'd had his reasons. Family, real or not, was a reason to do crazy shit.

Breathing heavily, Daryl sat back on his heels and wiped at his forehead. Dirt smeared across his damp face. His eyes flicked up to the sky. He hadn't realized how late it had gotten. There was no way he'd be able to make it back to the prison before dark now. "Damn it Merle, you're screwin' me over even when you're. . ." Daryl couldn't make himself say it. Not now.

He kept digging.

"Ya know, Merle-" his voice sounded strange to him as he spoke to the empty air. "- that time you left for good, Dad kept on yellin' for ya when he got drunk. Screamin' and cursin'. Knocking shit off shelves for the Hell of it. He always got piss drunk on Mondays. Had to make up for missin' out on Sunday." Daryl lapsed into silence for a few more strikes. "I always thought ya'd come back. Come get yer stupid kid brother and run away from that place. But ya didn't. Ya left me there with the old man." He flinched. Daryl could still feel belt whip across his bare back.

A stab in the earth for each scar on his back. One. Two. Three. . . There were too many to count entirely.

"And now ya done gone and left me again." Daryl sat back, his hands falling to his side and the trowel falling to the ground. The open blisters on his filthy hands bled and throbbed. "Durin' the friggin apocalypse. Damn jackass."

He wiped at his nose and glanced at the sky. The sun was almost set and the temperature was growing cooler. He should be looking for a place to spend the night, somewhere where neither the Walkers nor the Governor could find him. Instead, he started digging again. He didn't want to do anything else even though he was utterly exposed, his hands buried in the crumbling dirt and his decaying brother a few feet away.

And he would have kept digging until his strength gave out if it wasn't for Merle.

We ain't alone no more, Little Brother.

His brother's voice was crystal clear inside Daryl's mind and it jolted the younger man. He glanced around in the haze of the Georgia twilight and like the voice had warned, the brothers were not alone. A single Walker was struggling toward Daryl, groaning with outstretched arms. Its tattered clothes hung loosely around its shriveling body and its twisted leg moved awkwardly as it lurched closer.

Daryl's hands immediately moved to where his crossbow should have been slung over his shoulder, but it wasn't there. His head whipped around to try and locate it. The creature's injury was doing little to hinder its advance. It seemed that the Walker sped up in the seconds it took Daryl to spot his crossbow almost ten feet away, on the other side of Merle.

He scrambled to stand on his legs, numb from lack of movement, and half tripped to get to the weapon. His fingers strained to pull the string back and notch an arrow, but he knew even as he did it he's be too late. The Walker was much too close. And behind it he could see others emerging from the woods. For a momentary lapse of time he wanted to give up. His body ached from injury, exhaustion, malnourishment. Emotional beaten, his sanity had been dwindling from the beginning, now it was virtually gone. He was alone. What did he have left?

I know what yer thinkin'. You ain't gonna give up are ya? Givin' ups fer pussies.

Daryl wanted to argue with the voice in his head, tell it to shut up. Merle was already free from this nightmare. Why couldn't Daryl join him? The sound of an engine yanked him out of his self-destructive thoughts. Whether the approaching vehicle was friend or foe he had to think quickly or he was done for. Behind the Walker he could see others emerging from the woods. In a rush, Daryl dislodged the bolt and gripped it tight, ready to fight until the end however near or far it might be.

Until he would join his brother.

Just as the Walker closed in, a shot rang out. The creature froze mid-step and collapsed backwards, its dripping jaw slack. Daryl turned to see Rick and Glenn emerging from that stupid green car they always drove.

Rick jogged over to Daryl while Glenn kept gunfire on the Walkers. The repetitive shots rand out like the slow rhythm of a heartbeat.

"Daryl, what. . ." Rick's voice died off as his mind registered the faceless corpse with the strange arm mechanism and the shallow grave next to it. "Daryl, I'm so-"

Before he could finish, Daryl turned away and shot an approaching Walker.

"Rick! There's more!" Glenn called. The beat of his gunfire started speeding up. "We should go."

"Come on, Daryl." Rick turned to leave, but paused when the other man didn't follow.

"I'm not leavin' 'im." Daryl set another bolt and drew back the string. "I can't jus' leave 'im here to rot."

"Daryl, please!" Rick's tired face held both sympathy and concern as more of those vile creatures surrounded them.

"We bury our own. Ain't you the one tha' said that?" Daryl refused to look at the ex-officer and shook his head. "I can' leave 'im like he left me."

Rick looked helplessly between Daryl, Merle, and the oncoming dead. Finally he strode over and grabbed one of Merle's arms. "Come on."

Daryl bent and grabbed his brother's other arm. The dead weight would have been difficult to move, but together the two men were able to drag the body to the back of the tiny car and somehow managed to jam it into the trunk. As they did Glenn cut off the Walkers that got too close.

The men got in the car, Daryl in the backseat. Rick had left the engine running and floored the pedal.

Glenn glanced back at Daryl as the former sheriff drove the car back toward the prison. "Is that. . ."

Daryl nodded stiffly. "Jackass didn't wait for me."

There was a beat of silence.

"I'm sorry," the Korean offered.

"Don' lie. I know ya both hated each other's guts." Daryl kept his gaze at his hands; his crossbow abandoned in the seat next to him. The dirt and blood were caked into every crack and crevice of his skin. "It don' make it any easier, sayin' yer sorry. Don' change a damn thing."

Not another word was spoken the rest of the way to their refuge. The only sound came from the soft hum of the engine as they drove down the vacant streets.


Night had fallen when they finally pulled into the gates of the prison; finding the others anxiously waiting for them. Silence was the only sound when Daryl and Rick pulled Merle's body from the trunk and gently laid it on the ground. The others stood around with solemn expressions visible only by moonlight.

"We'll bury him in the morning," Rick assured Daryl. "You were right. We always bury our own."

Maggie and Glenn were the first to leave the yard, followed closely by Hershel, Beth, and the baby. Rick lingered longer and laid a hand on Daryl's shoulder before finally leaving.

"I'm sorry about your brother," Carl murmured before following his father inside.

Carol was the only one left standing after the boy left. Daryl squatted next to his brother's corpse, his hand limp across his knees. He didn't utter a word for the fact that he couldn't take his eyes away from his brother's corpse. Seeing Merle laying there took everything out of him. Never in his life did he actually think his brother would cease to exist. Once again he swallowed back the tears he could feel building.

A light hand on his shoulder let him know Carol was there. She didn't have to say anything, being there was enough.

Daryl's shoulders slumped a bit more.

"All I wanted was my brother back."


Did you like it? Hate it? Laugh? Cry? Swear?

What ever you did tell me!

I live for comments!

And quick shout out to my cuz Fallings Just Like Flying ( u/3747341/) for her awesome help editing.

Hope you enjoyed this!

~MyDarkAngel