1

The afternoon sunlight shone through the boxcar's plastic-covered windows and everything was almost perfectly serene. The dust from the old aged wood swirled in the lazy light and Daryl lay back on the uncovered mattress, closed his eyes. The silence was haunting. It reminded him of the calm before a storm. Or being in the eye of one. He opened his eyes and brushed the hair from his face. This place was nice. It was theirs and only theirs. They found the old boxcar when they were little, he must have been about eleven and his brother about sixteen. It was off the tracks, the wheels were busted off. It looked like it had rolled, as it was on its side. Following his bothers lead, he and Daryl slid open the door and peered into a cavernous darkness. Merle laid flat on his stomach, dangled over the door, and flicked his lighter a few times.

"It's empty!" Merle had declared with a triumphant yell. "Empty as shit!"

Daryl saw a perfect opportunity to act tough as his brother, and nonchalantly shrugged his skinny shoulders. "So fucking what?"

Merle stood himself up on the overturned boxcar and looked down at his little brother. "'So fucking what', little brother? We got a hideout now, that's fucking what," he sneered.

Despite his skepticism, Daryl followed his brothers directions and dropped into the boxcar. At this point Merle was already inside, holding his lighter like Indiana Jones. Daryl had dropped in, and pointed out that there were actually small windows on the boxcars side, letting light in. So holding the lighter for two minutes was, in fact, pointless. Merle ignored Daryl, but did pocket the lighter.

"We could make this something, Daryl," Merle had whispered quietly.

And they did. They used spray paint from their dad's garage to camouflage the car more, just in case. They fixed the windows, and covered the missing ones with clear plastic. And it did become a hideout. It was just young boys in a fort, heading there just because they could. Daryl had seen it as an adventure. He was like an outlaw, he was Robin Hood, he was a hero. Then the time came that he really did need a hideout, and it changed everything in his mind. It wasn't fun, all of a sudden. He was huddled in a freezing cold boxcar in the dead of the night; he wasn't Robin Hood or a hero, he was just Daryl Dixon. Their parents had been arguing but it escalated to fighting, and the way that they fought was dirty.

At sixteen, Merle couldn't care less anymore. In fact, he hadn't even been there. But Daryl was wiser beyond his years about a few things, and knew when to make himself scarce. It was usually around the time that his mom threatened that she was leaving, because then dad would make a big scene well why don't you go tell your fucking sons you're going, and he would be dragged into the fight with absolutely no choice. And that night, he didn't want to do it. He didn't want to do it by himself. So he climbed out the bedroom window, and headed into the woods. Merle had found him there the next morning The next time that he was back in the car, he saw that Merle had somehow gotten a hold of two twin mattresses, and they were laid on the opposite ends of the car.

Two years had passed since they had discovered the boxcar. Not much in either of their lives had changed, except that Merle had been to reform school and jail a few times. Every other night one of his parens threatened to leave. Every other night, it felt like, Daryl found himself feeling trapped in the boxcar, staring at the Georgia stars. When Merle wasn't around, he found himself not going to school, and not doing much of anything. He was sure some people would call what he was doing 'pining'.

He was somewhat proud of himself in that he, unlike Merle at sixteen, hadn't gotten into trouble with the law. Yet, at least. The kids in school all knew Merle, and they were afraid of him. But they had quickly learned that Daryl was not his brother. They learned that Daryl could lose in fights, and that he wouldn't start them. He was shorter than his brother, and his usual attire consisted of dark jeans and a plain white (or what used to be white) t-shirt. Sometimes he wore his dads old biker vest, because it gave him an edge.

He remembered the time that he almost slid the door of the boxcar closed on Merle's hand. They had laughed. It was real laughter too. Before Daryl knew it, he fell asleep to his happier memories.

—-

Daryl woke up abruptly because he was cold. So cold. He almost panicked, he didn't realize where he was. As soon as his eyes adjusted he saw he was in the boxcar. In the boxcar. Shit, shit, shit. It had to have been late. He had fallen asleep. His sense of panic returned when he realized that his mom would be worried. He didn't blame her, he was her last chance at producing a somewhat decent member of society. He used their small ladder to climb out of the car, slid the heavy door shut with a grunt, and stashed the ladder behind a nearby tree. He tried to fight his drowsiness as he ran home.

He heard them before he saw them. The lights were all on in the small house, and it was lit up like the fourth of July. He heard his dad's deep and strained voice yelling over Merle's. He hesitated walking into it, but saw no other option. His brother saw his brother first, as father and son had begun to spill the fighting out onto the front porch. He noted that his dad was swaying and unsteady on his feet. He knew this was always an advantage. As his brain processed the situation, he saw their dad shove Merle, and Merle punched him back in the face a half second later. Their dad swayed.

"Merle!" Daryl screamed. Their dad's head picked up and he spun to face Daryl.

"This is your fucking fault!" He declared, pointing a drunken finger into Daryl's face. "She left because of your ass!"

As Daryl let his words register, he didn't notice the hit till he was on the ground. Before he could blink his dad was on top of him sending blind punches and hitting wherever he could. He felt Merle pull their dad off him, and as soon as he was off his back he ran like a bat out a hell into the house. He tore into the bedroom that he and his brother shared, Merle not far behind. They locked the door and waited. The silence in the eye of the storm.