Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.
Authors Note #1: I head cannoned myself on tumblr from my own post: "So, I just got a mental image of Merle taking the place of Tyreese when the prison fell and he is like - baby on his hip in the forest and hating his entire god damned life and I am not sure whether to laugh or cry."
Warnings: This story is an AU after the middle of "This Sorrowful Life" (season three) – running off the premise that Merle somehow escaped from the Governor after their confrontation and made it back to the prison rather than dying and having Daryl find him as a walker. Basically picks up in season four after the Prison is attacked and spans into potential season 5 territory. *Contains: adult language, adult content, emotional baggage, Merle and Daryl's shitty childhood, mild racist language – as per canon concerning Merle's character, adult babies dealing with their feelings, actual babies doing baby things, and vague season three spoilers/four spoilers.
Sick and tired of legends untold (give me a happy ending goddammit)
Chapter One
He had to admit he was a bit late to the party – toughing it out alone in the woods with only his knife to cover his ass would do that to a man – late enough that by the time he'd snuck in through the back fence, whatever shitty ass party the Governor had thrown was already winding down for a finish.
He nearly fell flat on his ass, caught off guard trying to figure out which way the gunshots were coming from, when a walker lurched out from behind a wood pile. He cursed, taking a step back and letting his stump swoop in for the down swing – sending a few teeth and a thatch of stringy brown hair flinging back as he caught it under the chin – opening it up just enough for his knife to do the rest.
The line of his lips firmed – if only slightly – when he recognized the face.
Fucking shit.
What the hell had happened here?
He'd only been gone six god damned days.
Simple supply run his lily white ass.
He took the rest of the yard slow – crouching low, all cautious like. There was no sense in rushing in to be the hero when he knew full well that the herd could fend for themselves. Because they were still fighting, he knew that much, they weren't the sort to give up easy.
He should know after all, he'd helped train 'em up over the winter. He'd pulled his weight. Even when the others had got all prissy and shit, putting up a fuss about it. He wasn't no kept man. He'd do his part and say 'fuck you' afterwards like any other 'nine to fiver'.
He was a man, goddamnit.
Not some stray dog.
He cocked his head, listening. The gunshots had devolved – tricklin' down to a spit-spit every couple of seconds. It was distant now, like the bulk of the fighting was either on the run or movin' to a different part of the prison.
He was tempted to dump the pack he was still lugging around – heavy and catching between his shoulder blades – but the haul was too good to dump. Meds, booze, non-perishables, baby shit, maps; all stuff they needed, especially if he was right about how things were gonna end up. Because hell if there wasn't a god damned tank chilling in what was left of the courtyard. The tower was a mess of pulverized brick and milling shapes. And he couldn't see if-
This wasn't salvageable.
This was every motherfucker for themselves.
He blew out a breath, looking for Daryl as he scanned the grounds from behind the pit they'd been using to dump their trash. It stank to high heaven but it provided cover – at least for the time being – until he'd worked out some sort of game plan.
In truth, he must have just missed the show. He'd been a mile or two off when he'd first heard the blast – the gunshots – fuck knows how long the Governor and his people had been camped out before that. Couldn't be more than a day, tops. He'd only been gone a few days and as he remembered, the man wasn't known for patience.
He'd found a place, a solid block of houses where the pickings were good and plentiful. He would've been able to take it all if he'd had a few more hands, pardon the expression, but despite the months that'd spanned out since his little tete-a-tete with the Governor, no one was exactly jonesing to spend the day with Woodsbury's most wanted.
So, he'd gone off on his own.
And frankly, unless it was just him and Daryl, that was how he liked it. El solo.
He didn't need nobody. Hell, he wasn't a complicated man. He didn't need much. A place to sleep, food in his belly and a little something to wet his throat at night did him just fine. Wouldn't say no to a piece of tail, neither. But hey, sometimes even he had the occasional dry spell.
He frowned, ignoring the pull of the wrinkles through the dirt. Feeling the urge to do something stupid pressing up like the frustration that was itching just underneath his skin. What he wouldn't give to catch a glimpse of that one-eyed asshole in this mess.
There weren't no bigger slight to a one-handed man than to take a sampler of his remaining digits like that. Fuck if losing his hand had been bad, but learning to get by with less than a handful of fingers on top of it had been downright inhuman. It took a special sort of man to just lay into someone like that, snap-snapping, you'd think the man was half walker already.
Crazy bastard.
He lasted less than five minutes before restless feet did him in and had him inching towards what was left of the main courtyard. The fingers on his hand were aching, trying to do the work of a full set as he kept his knife up – ready.
He stepped around a pile of mowed down walkers.
Then another.
Keen eyes following a trail of blood spatter – fresh and still red – right to the source. He left the body - white shirt, dark brown hair, one hand stretched out - where he found it. He didn't bother turning her over to see if he recognized her. She'd eaten a bullet last minute, face a wreck of brain matter and ivory shards.
He reckoned she'd probably been pretty, once.
The gun was nowhere to be seen.
His lip curled, doing a mental count as close to half a dozen walkers started lurching towards him, moanin'. Roamers, lurkers, some of them even a few weeks from fresh. He squinted, near-sighted. He didn't see no bites. Just bloody eyes, noses, ears.
Where the fuck were all these newbies com'in from anyway?
He'd never seen a geek all purdied up like that.
It looked like they'd gone off like a fuckin' faucet.
The hair on the back of his neck prickled as the closest one stumbled into a fox-hole, face a nightmare of bloody streaks and hollow eyes. He took a step back, not letting them get too close. Deciding to lose them around the curve of the building rather than touch whatever the fuck all that was.
He shook his head, taking off at an uneasy run.
What kinda mess had his little bro gotten himself into this time?
He was ready to praise the jackass upstairs when he stumbled across a couple people he didn't recognize, they were bloody mess of bullet holes and fall damage. But more importantly, they were loaded. Glocks, semi-automatics, a T-bar and an old buck knife.
It was fuckin' Christmas in Georgia tonight!
He grinned – more grimy teeth and a silent snarl than anything, like his lips had forgotten what the real thing actually felt like – as he shouldered both of the semi-autos. Pausing long enough to unbuckle the thigh holsters before moving on. He shoved the two Glocks into his waistband. Figuring he'd have time to fiddle around with the buckles and snaps later as he zipped them into a side pocket.
He thought he'd caught the roar of an engine – low and heavy off by the gravel pit – the bus maybe. But by that point he was too close to the flames to tell the sounds apart. He paused, feeling the brick exterior rasp across the thick canvas of his pack. There was a group of walkers piling around what was left of the tower, probably just distracted enough to let him sneak around to the other side.
He chewed on the inside of his cheek, keeping an eye out for the sky-bridge that separated the maximum security cells from the rest of the blocks.
If Daryl was still around maybe he was-
He got to the inner courtyard just in time to get a glimpse of that dude – Tyreese whatever - herding the two Samuel girls out of the firefight, intent on getting to the cover of the treeline. He stayed quiet, watching, no use in hollerin' when they were already too far away. Hell, the big guy was too busy snapping off shots at the trio of assholes chasing them down to pay any mind to the little blonde pulling at his elbow - pointing backwards.
And as if on cue, a warbling cry – indignant and shrill pierced through the quiet.
He turned on his heel, good hand posed on his hip as he felt the sole of his boot catch on the loose gravel. And yep, god knows he recognized that screech. He took a quick look around – half expecting to see Papa Bear or at least the songbird come runnin' – but there was no one to be seen, just blood, spent rounds and walkers closin' in.
He spat on the ground and adjusted his belt, giving it a count through before he walked on over. Unease rippled through him like something fly-by-the-night, slippery and foul in a way he wasn't ready to inspect too closely as he peered over the side of the bloody car seat. Side-eying the contents like it might be combustible as a flurry of bullets – ricochets mostly – dug into the brick wall a few yards to his left.
He took one look at that red, squalling face before grimacing and turning away.
He weren't no fuckin' nurse maid.
He looked around, willin' someone to pop out and take charge. The silver fox, maybe. Hell, he'd take his Nubian Queen right about now if it meant a get outta' jail free card.
He caught a flash as the three of them made it into the treeline, Tyreese leaning down to scoop up the youngest as the people chasing them stalled - too busy dealing with a herd to give chase.
He wheeled around, keeping an eye on the stiffs as at least half a dozen started tottering towards them, makin' right for the noise-maker as two pudgy little legs kicked – fitful and steaming mad – as the little Grimes girl made her displeasure known.
Christ, how bad did someone have to fuck up that they forgot the god damned baby?!
A/N #1: Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – There will be two more chapters, so stay tuned.