"Calm down, baby brother. Just breathe."
Daryl shoved him away, stumbling back. His chest was heaving with each breath. He was hyperventilating.
Merle raised his hands, stepping closer. "Hey, it's alright. Jus' calm down."
Shaking his head, the hunter's hands balled up into fists. Merle tried to get closer, but the younger man staggered backward.
"You need to calm down, little brother. Come on, now, come here."
"He's gone," Daryl hissed. "He's gone."
Merle sighed. "Yeah, he is. Bound to happen if you're drunk when the dead start walkin'."
"He's gonna kill me," Daryl muttered, gabbing a fistful of his own hair.
"Woah there, Daryl," The older man drawled. "The old man's gone, remember?"
This happened, sometimes, when their old man really fucked with Daryl's head. When they were kids, Daryl was so afraid when he got cornered, he'd hyperventilate and cry and try to be as small a target as possible. Over the years, the panic attacks developed in the wake of the more brutal punishments. Sometimes he'd forget he was hurt and try to stand on a broken ankle or make a fist with broken fingers. When he realized he was hurt but didn't know why, he'd go into a panic. Then, it started happening when he wasn't even hurt, especially if he thought he was doing something wrong. He'd start looking around all frantic like, then his breaths would get quick and shallow. Only Merle could bring him back before he passed out or broke into tears, which were both dangerous things to do in their house.
They weren't kids anymore. Daryl hadn't had a panic attack in a long time. Watching their dad die must have shaken him bad enough to make him feel as scared as he used to, because this was definitely a panic attack.
Merle laid his hand on the younger man's shoulder. Daryl flinched.
"He's dead, ya hear?"
Daryl shook his head, too many thoughts distracting him.
Merle punched him square in the jaw. Daryl fell with the force of the blow and Merle pinned him to the ground.
"Look at me, kid."
Daryl looked up at him, fazed.
"Repeat after me. The old man is dead. Say it. He's dead."
"He's dead."
"That's right. Nothin's gonna happen to you, baby brother. No one's angry at you, ya hear me? You didn't do anything wrong."
Daryl blinked, focus returning. He took a shaky breath.
"Say it. You did nothing wrong."
"I did nothin' wrong."
"You back yet?"
Daryl nodded and tried to get up. Merle moved, and they both stood.
"Why you even feel bad about it, huh? Asshole deserved it."
Daryl gave a lopsided shrug.
Merle spat at the ground. "Dead's dead, talkin' don't make a difference. You don't gotta talk about it. Just get your head on straight. I am not losin' you like that, baby brother. You got it?"
