Hey everyone, I know, why am I here, this is not my usual place. I'll get to my other stories eventually.

Anyway, something about the walking dead series really bugged me. I know Merle was a huge jackass but you don't just handcuff him to a roof. You just don't do it. So heres a thought of what might of happened if they didn't forget the saw or the tool box. I know merle would be more verbal then how I wrote him, but I can't seem to get my head around all the cusing and yelling I know he'd do. SO I did my best. But it is Merle and you cant have a Merle fic without some sort of cursing. Damn it Merle, Now it has to be rated M.

A Summers Breeze

When it comes down to it, summer in the south is a dangerous place to be. It's not really the people, though many of them can be, it's the heat. Everyone in the south has heard it a least once, when it's really hot, stay out of the sun and drink plenty of water. The less shade the more water you need. But the heats not all that's dangerous. You want to know whats it really is? The Humidity. When the heat rises and the humidity peeks, going outside is deadly. You might as well be breathing water. It's just better to remain indoors when days get like that, but if you can't you have to play it safe. Water, shade, and fresh flowing air are your best friends. Every southerner knows this or has at least heard of it, even if they don't know why. Some days it's so bad that people pray for a breeze and a cloud just to take away some of the Misery. That's where Merle was now. In misery.

He was past the point of cursing now, feeling like he couldn't draw enough air, drowning with every breath. And the heat, God Almighty it felt worse than the devils crack, the heat! In another world this was the point he would notice the tools T-dog had forgotten, but not this one. In this one, before abandoning their manic member, T-Dog scooped up the much needed tools into the little red toolbox and ran, blocking out the now familiar cursing and pleading. Inside he felt pure guilt at the abandonment, knowing it was his fault the crazy racist was up there. But as much as he hated to admit it, something in him was glad Merle wasn't leaving with them. Like that bastard finally got what was coming to him.

For the first few hours he had sat up there, Merle cursed and tugged at the cuff. He even dislocated his thumb trying to slip free. "Damn pig, couldn't make it easy for Ol' Merle now could you. No no, couldn't fuckin' resist makin' it so damn tight the shithead." He mumbled to himself, his words slurring together and repeated for hours.
The groans from the dead echoed behind him, driving him further into his anxiety, furthering his torment. That door couldn't hold them for long. Doors never did now days. He mumbled to himself, anger verging into fear. Eaten alive is no way for a man to go. He might still have his latest drug running in his blood but even he knew he had to get off this roof. Merle knew he shouldn't of used so much, if he hadn't the damn sheriff wouldn't of gotten the drop on him. Then he wouldn't be up here damned near melting. The sun beat down, mocking him and his pain. Already his skin was blistered, turning an offensive shade of red. Soaked in sweat he panted, waiting for the sun to set. If he was lucky the sun would take the humidity with it, giving him some peace through the night. He wasn't.

With the sun down he persisted in tugging and cursing his luck and all those that put him here. He hoped Daryl put a bolt in the fuckers asses. Sweat dripped down his back and ran into his eyes but he didn't care. If being with the marines couldn't kill him and his Pa couldn't kill him he sure as fuck wasn't dying up here. He just had to find the weak point and pull. So he did, over and over again. That damn chain wasn't budging. Twisting the chain only cut into his wrist. Pulling only cut his palm. But there wasn't anything else to try up here and the pipe sure as hell wasn't moving. Panting he wiped the sweat from his forehead, swearing at the nights heat. Finally he just rested on the pipe, exhausted, just breathing in the heated air. To think, hours and not a single breeze. That was Dixon luck right there, at its finest. He heard heat rises but this was ridiculous. He felt like he was being boiled alive. He didn't remember falling asleep.

Waking from a suffocating night into a burning morning was not what you could call pleasant, add to that a sunburn that would make an Irish cringe turned his miserable day into down right torture. He shuddered, looked like that drug was leaving his system. Just what he needed, on top of everything else he was crashing. He groaned, pulling at his arm. The night hadn't been kind to his wrist, waking up new pains his high mind had blocked out the day before. But Ol' Merle wasn't high now. The heat must of sweated out most of the problem that got him up here. He grimaced, finally noticing his headache pulsing behind his eyes.

"When I get my ass down from here I'm gonna show officer Friendly what it means to piss off a Dixon! I'm gonna damn near make my pa look friendly when I'm through with him. YOU HEAR ME JACKASS! DO YOU FUCKIN' HEAR ME! WHEN I GET DOWN FROM HERE YOU'LL GONNA BE FUCKIN' WISHIN' YOU HAD THE BALLS TO PUT A BULLET IN MA HEAD-"

Coughing he cut himself off, choking and wheezing. His throat burned, reminding him of his thirst. A strong throb left him groaning and his ears rung from his shouts something fierce. The groaning from the Geeks didn't help none, they must of gotten stirred up form his racket. Nausea rolled through him and only his will power kept him from spewing.

"Couldn't leave me no damn water, leavin' me to rot up on this dumbass roof. AND YALL NEED TO SHUT THE HELL UP, ya fuckin' smell worse than a hookers shithole," he groaned and shook his head, the headache in full swing. Dots blotted his vision and he panted. Dizziness churned his stomach and dear Lord did he burn! He was sure Daryl would say something about his burn, probably just give him that look of his and call him a dumbass.

He rubbed his eyes, trying to work out the blurriness from them. He had to lay down or something. This roof was sweltering. He could literally see the rising heat from the concrete. And the only shade to be seen was under that damn pipe. Just touching it stung. But at this point he was beyond caring about that anymore. At nearly noon the sun was at its hottest and he knew it. He no longer even noticed the blood from his puffed up wrist, or the agony from his reddened skin scraping the concrete. He had to try, for Daryl. No way was he leaving his baby brother alone with those assholes. He needed to keep his brother safe. Always had to keep him safe.

His panting doubled and he closed his eyes. Sweat was making them sting that's all. Merle refused to acknowledge the fact his body had stopped sweating hours ago or the fact he couldn't see anymore. His heart sped up and he couldn't seem to draw enough air. He just had to wait for Daryl. Shivers wracked his limbs, jolting him aware again from his unconscious state. Daryl would come, he always came to bail him out when he needed it and this time would be no different. Merle would do the same for him if he ever got that stick out of his ass and had some fun now and then. He just had to wait. Then they would ditch that fucked up gang and head to the hills. It was cooler in the woods where the trees blocked the sun. He'd keep his brother safe. No one was going to hurt his brother, never again. Not as long as he was there.

"Well hell brother, what the hell are you doin' under there? Damn Merle, aren't ya taking this redneck thing a little far? Ya startn' to look like a lobster," Merle's eyes shot open, not even realizing he had passed out. Turning he lifted his head to meet the familiar Dixon blue. His cracked lips lifted up into a grin and he slid out, no longer feeling his burn. One dirty palm met his and helped him up. Looking right showed the blood covered cuffs snapped off, a bolt through the joint. His grin widened as he stood, his baby brother not even commenting about his stagger. He knew his brother would come.

"Damn Darylenna, ya took your sweet ass time about it didn't cha?" he elbowed his brother, seeing the eye roll even as he laughed. Good Ol' Daryl.

"Come on dumbass, lets get off this fuckin' roof before your fan club gets any bright ideas,"

"Ya don't have to tell me twice, lets ditch the posse and head up to that old hunting cabin uncle was always talking about," The groaning had stopped at some point, but neither paid it any mind, just glad to be together again. Neither could wait to be off that roof, free of the shackles it held.

A blessed breeze finally blew.

"See there he is! I Told you he was fine. I Told you I bolted the door!" T-Dog stepped through the bloodied door, for some reason void of Geeks, stumbling as Daryl shoved him out of his way. He rubbed his chest, scowling at the redneck. Glenn twitched through, Rick coming in last. The sheriff clapped the larger man on his back nodding to him as he passed.

"Come on dumbass, You dragged me all the way out here now lets get the hell off this roof!" Daryl's shout drew their attention back to the matter at hand. Merle could be seen jammed up under the pipe, his skin an angry red. Glenn, knowing Merle would not be pleasant when he got out form under there, mumbled something about keeping watch and turned from the others towards the door.

"Damn, I didn't think he would be this bad man, that had to hurt," T-dog winced at the glare on Daryl's face, but stepped forward to help. It was their fault he was like that. They had to get that cuff off. The whole time Merle didn't move.

"Come on Merle! We don't have time for this shit! Get yer ass up!" Daryl stomped over to his brother leaning down to shake him. Despite his tone, he was careful where he touched the downed man. The other two followed, leaving Glenn at the door. The whole time Glenn felt a growing unease about all this. It just felt wrong. Even the Geeks had wondered off at some point, leaving the old redneck alone up here. Geeks never left you alone.

"Merle?" He glanced over his shoulder at the name seeing the sheriff and T-Dog share a look. Something was wrong. Real bad wrong. None of them had ever heard the crossbowman sound like that, quiet, questioning, and soft, unlike either brother was.

"Come on Merle, we ha-have ta go," He tugged him out from his spot, hands shaking at the limp weight. Rolling him over he shook his brothers shoulder again, this time harder, less concerned by the awful redness. The old marine just laid there, his eyes closed and his mouth open as if he were sleeping. But his chest did not rise and his heart held still. The last Dixon blue eyes blurred.

"Shit," none of the group knew who said it but they all were thinking it looking at the brothers.

On that Summer day no cloud sat in the sky and no breeze kissed their skin. Merle's hand still stretched outward, as if taking a hand that was never there.

End

Ok guys, what did you think. I still find my writing style strange, but here it is. I would like to say that as a southerner born an' raised myself I always hated how they left him up there. Heatstroke is a serious issue and should never be taken lightly. I named all the symptoms in my work and know that down here it can be deadly. I live in that area and I know we have a heat that should never be just brushed off like they did. I have seen a professional outdoor sports group from California come down here to practice and they had to change their times to evenings because of the heat and the humidity. They had to get drinks constantly and sit down. I am in that same sport and practice in the time of day they couldn't so I know it has to be bad. Even I have had blurred vision a time or to from the heat. California is supposed to be hot. Without shade and without water Merle could of died. If he hadn't cut off his hand I thinks its highly likely. Its a bad way to go.

It also angers me that that happened to him. A lot. Even if he was dangerous at the time that shouldn't of happened. They should of just knocked him out and took him to the car. Or better yet, not let him go if he was showing signs of aggression. Maybe sent him off to hunt with Daryl or something.

Also, as a southerner myself, the language was fun to work with. We have some strange turn of phrase down here and I know it. I couldn't completely slur the language out like it sounds though because I hate reading it like that and know others that do as well.

About Merle not turning, it states that it could take hours for someone to turn, Merle just hasn't yet.

And the other stories are not abandoned. I just went through some personal issues and don't want to write in a way that changes how it was supposed to be written. It wouldn't feel right. But YAY, i'm not gone get.