Wings Part 1/?
A Walking Dead AU fanfiction by Ikkleosu.
Caryl
Rated: MA
Summary: Merle Dixon convinces his brother to help him rob the house of the Peletier family. Daryl Dixon isn't so sure it's a good idea. He thinks robbing people's houses makes you somehow get involved in their lives. He doesn't realise how right he is.
NB: This is a slow burner Caryl, don't be hoping for smut any time soon. :D
"Don't be such a pussy, little brother. I've scoped it out. It's gonna be a breeze."
"I don't like it Merle. Stores, sheds, they're one thing, but robbing a house. It don't sit right with me." Daryl hissed at his brother, as they leaned against their bikes in the parking lot.
"A lot of shit don't sit right with you! But we gotta eat, and Phil ain't gonna be asking about your moral fortitude when he's breaking your arm over that two grand we owe."
"I know, I know," Daryl ducked his head to avoid his brother's gaze. "I just don't like it. Going into folk's houses? It's like you're getting into their lives, you know?"
"We ain't gonna be involved in no one's life, don't you worry brother. I told you. I got a tip on this place from Danny. He mows the yards for the whole street. The family's going away, camping or some such. And even if we did cross paths, they ain't gonna be a fuss. He's a fat pencil pusher with a mousey wife and a little girl. So boring you'd fall asleep just looking at them. But Danny says they got some lovely little trinkets. Easy to liberate, easy to sell. East money all round. But I can't do it without you."
"All right, quit the sales pitch. I never said I wouldn't do it. I just don't like it."
"So you said, so can we get going now you've made your little protest? Danny said they'll be gone all weekend anyway, but I want to get in there quick."
"Whatever." Daryl scuffed his boot in the dirt and shrugged his leather jacket more securely onto his shoulders. Merle was always pushing it, getting him involved in some scheme or plot or some ridiculous plan that he'd always swear would be the last. He felt the knot in his stomach that always seemed to grow and twist when he was following Merle. But what else could he do? He was sleeping on Merle's couch and the new brakes for the bike wouldn't pay for themselves.
They boarded their bikes and Merle led the way to the target house. They parked a block away behind some lock ups and climbed over a wall, fought through some trees and scrub before they landed square in white-picket-fence-land.
Merle indicated the house as they hopped over the fence and into the backyard. Daryl crouched behind some kind of tall shed while Merle poked around to check no one was home. After a moment Daryl realised the noise of bird song wasn't coming from the trees but were much closer. He poked his head up and saw that he was hiding behind a bird house.
Behind the mesh wire were a dozen or so little birds, most blue and yellow, hopping around, ruffling their feathers and trilling. He gave a half smile at their antics before a hiss from Merle brought him back to the job at hand. Swiftly he joined Merle at the door facing out to the yard.
"It's all clear. Car's gone from the drive." Merle took out his knife and started working on the lock, while Daryl looked around nervously.
"If any of the neighbours have those spy cameras, we're screwed Merle."
"Relax brother, I told you Danny done all the leg work. He's been in every John in the neighbourhood, and hell, half the bedrooms the way he tells it. This is the sweetest spot, no one will notice a thing. We'll be in and out in no time. That's got it." Merle silently pushed the door open. "You start down here, I'll go upstairs. Let's see what delights little Mrs Mousey has in her boudoir."
Daryl nodded his agreement. Even though the place was deserted he was still cautious. He liked to do thing quietly, his way, not like Merle shouting and swaggering.
He wandered from the utility room into the kitchen and swung his backpack down, ready to be filled with whatever would be easy to sell.
Shit, this wasn't going to be as easy as Danny had made out. The place was spotless; The countertops completely bare. No ornaments, no gadgets, radio, hell not even a microwave. The only sign of life was a couple of colourful pots on the window with some herbs sprouting out of them. He opened the drawers hoping for some silver and saw they too were a shrine to order. Each item was tidily resting in an appropriate compartment, all facing the same way. This was one fucked up housewife. She probably made her husband shower after he took a dump. Neat freaks made him uneasy.
A crash and a whoop from above him told him Merle was having more success than him and he sped up his search. The lower drawers gave up more joy, with some antique looking silverware and serving cutlery. He stuffed it into his bag.
It wasn't that he liked living in chaos, which with Merle and his Pop was all he knew growing up. He liked to be clean, even keeping his own set of dishes under his bed because he hated the way those two let mould grow on stuff before they washed it. But once he was living alone, he'd found a happy medium. He liked having his stuff around him - his favourite blanket on the sofa, his hunting stuff resting against the fireplace. Damn he missed that place.
Well, he best start making some money if he wanted to be free of Merle's couch and the screeching women he brought back most nights. He went back to his search with more vigour.
"That's more like it," he involuntarily said aloud as he entered the dining room. The far wall was covered in display cabinets full of silver trophies and those model houses some folks seemed to collect.
He started to empty the shelves into his bag. There were sports trophies, football, baseball, bowling and a few with little silver birds on top he guessed were for showing or breeding those birds he saw in the yard.
Everything was shiny and pristine except for one ragged looking little statue of a child in prayer. Daryl hesitated over it. It was pretty bashed up and worn, but it did look old. He slipped it into the bag alongside the clanging trophies and pulled open the drawers in the base of the cabinet as he heard Merle stomping about upstairs.
Here we go again.
The drawers were regimented and ordered beyond belief. Folders of paperwork neatly separated and labelled and colour-freaking-coded. He rifled through them swiftly. Credit card swiping and identity stealing weren't his thing, he didn't even know why he was looking or what for.
A piece of rough paper sticking out from the back caught his eye. He pulled on it and dislodged a folder that was labelled "recipes". It spilled open as he yanked it from the back of the drawer.
Inside it wasn't filled with pages torn out of homemaker magazines, but with various sizes and shapes of coloured paper. Each was adorned with glitter or dried macaroni or daubed with childish paint strokes. The kind of stuff he'd expected to see stuck to the fridge.
He frowned, remembering a drawing of a unicorn he'd done that his mom had taped to the pantry door. He'd been so proud of it for a few days, until Merle drew a dick on the unicorn and his dad had torn it down.
The memory of the irritation and resentment distracted him for a few moments, or he would have heard it - the sound of a car pulling up.
It was only the sound of several car doors slamming and a man's raised voice that broke him back to life.
He slid over to the corner and looked out the window.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. The family were back. There they were exactly as Danny described, unloading the car while the man shouted and gesticulated.
Daryl hoped the silence from upstairs meant that Merle had seen them too.
Before he had a chance to call to his brother the front door opened and the woman came in and dumped a bag wearily in the hallway.
Daryl slipped back into the kitchen silently and unseen.
"Go into the bathroom and get cleaned up, sweetie. I'll bring you in a clean T-shirt in a bit."
From behind the kitchen door Daryl could see through the gap straight into the hall. He saw the woman usher a small blonde girl down the corridor.
The woman stroked the girl's hair softly as she spoke.
"And don't worry about your Dad, he'll calm down," she said in a quieter voice to the child who was hanging her head and trailing a denim jacket on the ground.
The woman stood looking out of the open front door as the girl disappeared from view.
Shit, she was just going to stand there at the bottom of the stairs blocking Merle's only exit.
"That's the last time I do anything nice for this family. You always find a way to ruin it," the man exclaimed angrily as he entered the house, his arms full of sleeping bags that he dumped at his feet.
"Ed, it's not her fault. You know Sophia gets car sick in the back. She'd have been ok if you'd have let her ride up front." The woman replied in a pleading voice to her husband's back.
He turned round angrily and Daryl saw the woman take an instinctive step back.
"I'm going to let a nine year old navigate, am I? She can't sit up front, that's your position, helping me. She needs to learn her position. It'll be a lesson for her. It's all in her head anyway, she could have stopped herself getting sick if she wanted to. You mollycoddle her."
The woman stayed silent at his tirade and dipped her head.
"And now I have to put all this crap back in the attic," he continued.
"Leave it, Ed. Maybe we could try again tomorrow before breakfast, we'd still get 2 nights out." The woman had reached out and put a calming hand on her husband's arm.
"No, you had your chance. The pair of you are so ungrateful for all I do, I don't think you deserve to go camping. We'll stay here, and tell Sophia she's grounded once she cleans up. And you make sure you wash everything she had on. I don't want this house stinking of vomit."
He ranted as he gathered up the bags and started up the stairs.
Daryl drew in his breath. If the man confronted Merle, this could get messy. His mind swiftly played through the possibilities and he flashed through a vision of the Dixon brothers standing trial for robbery with manslaughter. He'd managed to avoid jail for 36 years, he didn't want to start now over some freaking bird trophies.
And Merle, with his record he wouldn't see daylight again.
His heart stopped as the woman walked into the dining room, a balled up towel in her arms.
Before Daryl could decide which way to run a shout came from upstairs.
"What the he..."
The man didn't even finish the sentence before he heard Merle's voice give an unintelligible groan and the ceiling shook with a thud.
"Carol! Get my gun!" the man's strained voice came from above.
The woman froze then hurried over to the dresser in the dining room and with shaking hands searched in one of the drawers.
Sweat began to trickle down Daryl's back. If he made a run for the back door he'd pass her line of vision. If he ran past her, she might already have the gun in her hand and shoot at him. Should he grab her, hold his knife to her throat and use her as collateral to get him and Merle out of there? The thought made him feel sick.
For seemingly endless moments he stood watching her search, while thuds, rumbles and shouts reigned above them. He really wasn't going to have much choice.
Just as he took a step from behind the door a crash from the hallway attracted both their attentions and she turned away.
They watched as Merle leapt from the stairs and sprinted out the still open front door. The man rolled after him, tangled in sleeping bags. He struggled to his feet as Merle ran down the drive and swiftly swerved into another yard and out of sight.
Daryl's heart nearly leapt out of his chest as he fought with relief that Merle had escaped without killing anyone; terror that he was still trapped; and anger that Merle had just left him there. He was even sure he could hear the distant purr of Merle's bike.
He took a step back to his hiding spot behind the door, and breathed hard. Okay, keep calm, all you have to do is wait for the attention to be elsewhere and you can go out the back door. Just wait, he told himself.
The man staggered into the dining room as the woman rushed over to him.
"Ed, what happened?"
"Some sick bastard was upstairs. We need to call 911, he had a knife. He could have killed me. Shit, look it was a burglary." He pointed to the empty shelves in the cabinet.
"Oh. Thank goodness Sophia is still in the bathroom. Good job we got home when we did and disturbed him." The woman put her hand to her mouth and looked around anxiously.
"Good job? He could have killed me! And where the hell were you with my gun?" The man's tone had suddenly changed. Daryl recognised it and it made him uneasy.
"I.. I couldn't find the key for the cabinet." The woman half -heartedly rummaged in the still open dresser drawer.
"I told you to leave it in the lock. You never listen to me! Your stupidity could have got me killed! You're a waste of time!" He rounded on his wife, who visibly shrank away from him.
"I'm sorry Ed, but you're okay. It's okay now."
He grabbed her wrist as she tried to reach out to placate him.
"No thanks to you, stupid woman!" He raised his other hand and slapped her across the face.
The sound made Daryl flinch and every sinew in him tense.
The woman involuntarily twisted away from the slap but her husband still had hold of her wrist. He pulled her arm up and back. The woman gasped and winced.
"You never learn! And this time your stupidity could have left you a useless fucking widow. What would you do without me, huh? You'd be sorry then." He twisted her wrist further and further.
From his spot in the kitchen Daryl could see her face, see the pain and the fear. Memories flooded back to him. It was all too familiar. The words. The tone. The pain.
"I'm sorry now, Ed, I am. Please. Sophia will be out any second," she pleaded.
"Then she'll know what a useless fucking specimen of a mother she has who's so stupid she got her Daddy killed!"
With every other word he hit her.
The first span her around as he let go her wrist.
The second sent her sprawling to the ground.
The third made her cover her head with her hands.
But the fourth was the one that did it.
It was the punch that tipped the watching man over the edge.
As Ed raised his fist for the fifth time, towering over the huddled figure of his wife he felt a hand on his shoulder. He spun round, but before he could see a face or a figure, a fist came through the air, connected with his jaw and knocked him back. A second punch was all it took to knock him out cold.