Chapter One: To Death's Other Kingdom.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead or any of its characters. Title and chapter titles are all from the poem "The Hollow Men" by T. S. Eliot (however, the story has nothing with the poem).
Outside Woodbury.
His breathing echoed in his ears, drumming like a deafening silence. Something rang in the distance but he was unable to tell whether it was real or just something his mind had invented – just like it had invented Shane. What had he been thinking? Shane was dead, how could he have thought that the man was right there. It had shaken him thoroughly. So shaken that he had forgotten all about Daryl's begging tone and the pleading hidden in the hurt eyes as the hunter declared he'd cover them and follow behind. He could've guessed that Daryl would never follow them.
His head dropped in his hands as he tried to keep himself together. His breathing became shaky as unshed tears hung on the edge of falling down and drawing cracks in his façade. The others were busy with checking their guns, their ammo, everything. It didn't matter to him anymore. It just couldn't matter. He had to admit that to himself when his fist clenched around his knife and his vision went blurry. His knuckles turned white from the refusal of blood he gave them.
"Rick?" The voice seemed distant and he was unable to react to it the first couple of seconds after. Despite having only closed his eyes for some moments, the light was blinding to him and he started to understand what Daryl saw in the darkness and his preference to chat in the dark. He forced it out of his head, it wasn't good to focus on something he was about to lose. Tears fell out of his eyes, the palm of his hand quickly wiping them away as he held in his breath to choke back a sob.
"Rick!" Michonne was in front of him. Still angry at her, he didn't look at her, afraid he was going to do something he was going to regret later. He loosened the grip on the knife, placing it on top of a pulled up knee. He started pulling at the healing wounds on his arms, distracted and not at all capable of leading the group back to the prison – he couldn't even remember what way they would have to go. Back, he thought to himself, throwing another look at the walls around Woodbury and wishing Daryl wouldn't have been that pigheaded idiot he had been.
His eyes fluttered shut again, his mind not able to cope with any decisions that would start facing him with. The prison, Daryl, the Governor that was definitely going to attack the prison, and Glenn being on the verge of falling unconscious. Someone slapped him without restraining any force and he left his left ear being crushed between his head and the wall he was sitting against. A grunt slipped from his lips, a swift "fuck" following it as he turned his head back.
He ran a hand through his hair, eyes wide open as he lowered it again. Some sort of panic flared through his eyes as if realization of the moment had just dawned upon him. "We need to go back. We can't leave Daryl there." Not remembering how he got on his feet, he was confused at why Michonne was holding him back by pressing her katana to his chest. His head fall slightly to his right as he turned his head in her direction. She glared with all determination in her and Rick could nearly hear her hope that she could convince him.
"It's up to Daryl to get out of there. We can't risk the group for one person, we need to get them back to the Prison." Her words didn't make sense to Rick, who had wavered back into the obliviousness of reality again. His eyes were squeezed as he stared at her, trying to make sense out of her words. He found himself more lost than when Lori had passed away. He couldn't leave Daryl behind, not after everything the man had done for him. The bound that was created with Carl, the care he had taken of Judith. More tears appeared in his eyes as he thought of how Daryl at pressed upon saving the girl he had kept on calling Little Ass Kicker.
"Rick, stop blaming yourself," Maggie interrupted the silence from where she was sitting next to Glenn, whom shot Rick a sympathetic look before tossing his two pennies in the group between fits of coughing and the spitting of blood that seeped into his mouth.
"Merle's in there. He's a dick, but he's Daryl's brother." Rick felt like Glenn was going to say more but he heard the man coughing heavily and a grunt followed soon so he didn't pay attention to him anymore. The words, however, kept echoing in his ears. He found himself trying to convince his mind that Merle would care after Daryl but there was no real comfort to be found in the words. He couldn't leave Daryl with his brother, what if they never made it back from the prison. How would Daryl change with Merle?
"What if they never return? I can't go on, I already lost so many people." He sighed, running his tongue across his lips again. Desperation replaced the confusion as he pushed the katana away from his chest. "I can't leave him to fate, what if Merle goes against him? What if he gets killed?" He rubbed his hands over his face, biting on the inside of his cheek to refrain himself from lashing out at everyone. They didn't deserve the misery he had been giving them the last couple of weeks.
Michonne pressed him against the wall, katana near his neck and his breathing got stuck in the middle of his lungs. The swallowing he had to perform to clear his throat made the katana perform a shave on his skin and for a moment he swore he was going to cut his own throat by being careless. He could feel her breathing on his ears as she leaned in to say something that was only meant for him.
"Listen. Daryl's stuck in there, and you're going to kill me if anything happens. Something happened, we are going back to the Prison. I'm quite certain the Dixon can handle himself." She lowered the katana but stayed close to Rick whom had frozen on the spot. His lower lip started shivering but the clouds vanished from his eyes and showed a determination that scared Michonne slightly.
It was up to the hunter himself, he tried to make himself believe. And his brother, his brain added but he couldn't wrap himself around the idea of Merle helping the one he'd hurt so many years ago. He forced it out of his head, times had changes, Merle probably hadn't been high since forever. That didn't calm Rick at all, wondering if the man would ever be aggressive if he wasn't drunk or high.
He leaned back heavily, avoiding to look at Glenn who was getting more critical with every minute Rick spend doubting himself and Daryl's life. The gun pressed into his side, the metal handle where it touched his skin through the thin, torn shirt. Blood was starting to stain on it, and the cold suddenly seemed to arrive quickly and he was pretty sure that it wasn't because of the weather. He stared at the sky, pretty sure it would be hard to reach the prison with the darkness that would make them vulnerable to walkers.
"You go back, we can't waver here. You can fend off any walkers you see, I'll take a flashlight and a knife and head back in. Guns won't do me any good on my own." He frowned at his own hastily made up plan before continuing with the part he hoped to avoid completely. "If I don't return before noon, leave. The prison won't be safe now the Governor is declaring war." He grabbed a flashlight from the mossy underground and threw his gun at Maggie, taking off the holster at the same time so it wouldn't be pressing against his leg.
Michonne nodded, giving up on the mental state of what the rest seemed to consider as their leader. She placed the katana back where it belonged when not needed to slaughter several zombies or people threatening her safety.
Rick had gone over to Glenn, trying together with Maggie to get him on his feet in some stable position so he wouldn't crash into the earth after a couple of steps. He let go as Glenn hung his own arm over Maggie and tried to shift his weight so Rick could let go. She seemed to have some trouble holding Glenn up but with Glenn balancing his weight on both his feet in terms they seemed to manage to stay upright and Rick removed his hand of Glenn's shoulder.
Michonne didn't say anything but merely nodded at Rick before she turned her back on him and tried to clear a path for Glenn and Maggie, who were trying to stay upright and therefore didn't pay any attention to the man staying behind for the good of a person he didn't even know where to find. The silence returned to him, making clear how alone he was in his mission. He crawled behind a car a few metres in front of him, avoiding the flashlights that were shone all over the street by the guards looking for them.
Woodbury.
Daryl didn't remember how he ended up where he was but he found himself closer to Merle than he'd ever wanted to be before. Blood ran down his hands from the cuts the chains had made in his skin. He already found himself going dizzy with blood loss and swayed on his legs, bumping into Merle every so often when he nearly toppled over on his toes.
Merle didn't reach out for him, or react in any way other than sheer panic that went through him upon acknowledging his brother standing so close to him since about a year. He wanted to help, to fight but the crowd cheering for their death just made him angry, angrier than he'd been his entire life, the fights with his father and the things he did to Daryl included. How could people root for the death of someone they didn't know and someone that had protected them for so long?
The lost look in Merle's eyes scared Daryl. How could Merle be afraid? He hadn't seen him afraid since Daryl had sprinted into the house when the risk of fire was still there. Those moments had showed that despite everything Merle still cared about him, but everything had changed. Merle had vanished, Daryl had started to trust the one that had made his brother leave and as latest thing they had almost killed each other. "Merle," he choked out, trying to get his brother out of the cold numbness he was slumbering in. His knees started to buckle together as he began to fail to keep standing upright. He swayed heavily, blood pooling around him but he could also feel it dry up, itching in some sort of self-destruction because if he scratched it, it would just start bleeding all over again.
Merle managed to ignore his brother completely, the wheezing of his breath being the only noise that reached the air, and with that his brother's ears. It wasn't comforting to neither men but it made clear that it was reality and that if they were wanting to get out of there, they were going to have to cooperate to get out of their captivation. Daryl lost every bit of support Merle had given him for the few minutes they had been reunited as the older of the two stepped backwards and sent a toppling Daryl straight to the dirty sand they were all standing in. Unable to relocate himself on his knees, he swayed back and forth until he fell on his most damaged side.
Sand entered his mouth, crunching between his teeth and drying up his tongue. He felt as urge to gag, but he managed to ignore it for a while, merely spitting out the dirt. It could hear the people around him laughing as he struggled to get back up, his eyes wandering up to search Merle, hoping for help but his brother looked away with anger in his eyes. It wasn't clear to Daryl to whom he was looking but it seemed to be someone that stood behind him. The look frightened him like it had when Merle had showed his worst side so many years ago, before he had met Rick, before the misery had started. Even after the misery had started. He'd always been too slow, too clumsy and a burden to the elderly one, who searched for nothing but the survival of himself.
"What shall we do now?" The Governor's voice made Daryl swallow hard to get a lump out of his throat that would have resulted in a sob of despair. A grunt escaped from him as a boot hit his side before turning him onto his back. His eyes went from the Governor's face to Merle, still being lost and not quite there, but also angry, knuckles turning white from the force he squeezed his fist together with.
"Leave 'm alone." There were a couple of steps towards him before one of the guards pushed his rifle into Merle's back. A badly reloaded crossbow, Daryl's crossbow as the owner noticed with pain, joined the riffle near his head. Daryl tried to shake his head, but stopped once cold metal got pressed just above his ear. He closed his eyes, shivering badly in awaiting of the final sound he'd ever hear. Or the one that would mean his death, just not quite so soon as he was expecting. He couldn't see Merle die, he didn't want to see Merle die despite everything that had ever happened between them.
"I said: leave 'm alone." His eyes flared open again, looking at Merle in shock for still speaking up to the man holding their lives. The Governor turned his eyes away from Daryl and motioned to two armed men to get him away from the arena, or however they called it but it looked an awful lot to a fighting arena to Daryl.
He got pulled onto his feet, the wounds on his wrists getting ripped open again and the blood running over the dried one. His vision went black for a couple of moments and he was quite sure he was going to faint any minute by blood loss. "Merle…" Half the word got stuck in his throat but he managed to catch Merle's attention by something else than utter surprise. "Merle."
"Shut up, little brother. This ain't a time to be a pussy." It made Daryl curse within himself. The begging he had done to Rick, the determination he had had to see Merle at least a second, the thought that there was some sort of reason within his brother. It slapped him like a whip, ripping open old wounds and long healed scars. Merle wasn't interested in him, he just thought that saving Daryl would maybe not get himself killed.
"Get him out of my sight," the Governor barked whilst motioning the two guards holding Daryl to carry him off. Unable to stand on his legs, he swung his entire weight forward so he clashed into the sand again, pulling the two men with him. He found himself eating sand again, not minding as long as his rash actions could save Merle from death.
The crowd went silent on the sound of a gun being fired. No one knew who got shot until the man facing dirt screamed louder than he had ever before. Not a single blow, a single knife, any other gunshot wound, or even a crossbow bolt had hurt him as much as the bullet in his side did. The bruises of the guards got torn open as the bullet worked its way into his ribs. Air got knocked out of his lungs, eyes clamped shut and his boots dug themselves in the ground as he curled up in a tight ball. He could feel the blood run out of his side, pooling underneath him and creating a stench that would attract every walker in a forty miles radius.
He didn't expect Merle to react to it, assuming his brother would just want him to bite away the pain and keep on going. The pain flared through his body, running through his veins like poison and disabling every movement he could ever make. Even opening his eyes started to hurt, because for the first time in his life, the only thing he wanted to do was sleep. Just to close his eyes, not minding the fuss happening around him.
Rest was not granted to man of his mindset, hands rough on him again, this time effectively dragging him away. Screaming hurt him, kicking would rip open the shot wound even more so he didn't move. He went limp in the hold of his worst enemies like a man who realized that there was nothing to live for anymore. There wasn't anything to live for, he wouldn't live anymore. And if he would turn, he was hoping he would at least eat whoever that was holding him. But of all, he didn't want Merle to get hurt. Not by him, not by the Governor, not even by Rick. Rick.
The stones were hard, the metal clashing against each other shattering all fantasies of surviving and turning them into the dust he was lying on. He tried sitting up, merely spilling more blood in the process of trying and failing. He fell on his undamaged side with a smash that knocked all the air out of his lungs. His breath came in irregular shocks as he tried to compose himself without screaming or crying. The tears lingered unshed in his eyes, waiting for him to crack so they could fall without any problems.
He pulled up his legs against his chest, trying to ignore the pain that got caused by stretching the skin on his waist. He shivered heavily, closing his eyes in the hope they'd stop burning in his sockets. No amount of tears could make it stop burning and they crept from under his eyelids. The cracks were inevitable drawn in the mask of the young Dixon, everything coming to the surface in the moments he considered to be before his death.
A scream that reached his ears seconds after the other had screamed made him flinch. His breathing hitched at the sudden movement he couldn't control. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out everything that surrounded him. His lips parted slightly in search for more oxygen, the cold, damp air hurting the dry inside of his mouth and rubbing unpleasantly against his tongue.
"Merle… Merle!" His voice vanished after the second yell, only groans and incoherent noises rolling from his lips as the screams started to pierce through the walls, bars and his hands. They made him shake violently, tears streaming over his face as he remembered his entire past with Merle. The crap he'd faced with him, against him, side by side with him. He'd never heard Merle scream in pain. Never. Not when Daryl had kicked him down the stone stairs in front of their house, not when the man himself had crashed his bike in a wall, not when their father had turned from Daryl onto his brother, throwing knives and shattered glass around like it was paper.
He couldn't remember it properly, he didn't want to remember it properly. The blood loss was already taking its toll on him and he didn't want to bully his brain with memories he hated in the moments before his death. Any memory hated… he hated all of them.
The Prison.
It was a slumber he awakened from on an hour he expected to be near the morning again. He remembered people had been screaming in his dream but he couldn't depict whether it was real or fantasy. His legs weren't willing to cooperate as he got an urge to go check on the rest, make sure that he really had been dreaming.
His shoes patted silently on the stone that made for the floor in the warming up prison. He was glad that spring and summer were arriving after the brutal winter they had encountered. He wasn't quite sure how they had managed to survive it but he was quite sure that he didn't mind it at all, despite the losses they had had lately. Biting on the inside of his cheek to keep away all the memories of the people and walkers he had killed, he turned another corner in the prison, sneaking up on a walker that had snuck in under his watch. It went down too easily and reminded him of how he had lost his childhood in less than a year.
"Carl?" Carol's voice came from around the final corner he was going to have to take to reach the rest again. She nearly bumped into him as he carefully made his way around the corner, carefully checking both sides as he always did when he came into parts with a lot of cells. She smiled, mildly and with relief but it didn't feel to genuine to him. Nothing of Carol but her worry for the ones that left seemed to be genuine.
"Here and alive. Did someone scream?" He gave his hat a tap to keep it from sliding down his forehead. He waited for Carol to turn around and follow him back to Beth, Judith and the prisoner he managed to keep forgetting the name of. "Carol? What happened."
"Didn't you hear Judith? She attracted walkers. And I'm not sure if your safe building for the other group was as safe as you thought. That, or the woman turned and they couldn't put her down. There's nothing we could've done." Carl sunk down in the middle of the wide corridor with wide eyes after Carol's brief explanations of what he thought had originally happened in his dream. Nothing they could have done… it seemed like such a big understatement in a world were humanity had died out in a lot of countries.
"Nothing… we… could've done," he repeated slowly. The words were heavy and numbing on his tongue. It seemed so believable, but at the same time it seemed so unjustified of him to believe that it was as simple as that. He let his head hang in his hands, hat getting pushed back until it wrinkled against the wall. "What if dad don't come back? Or Daryl? Or Glenn or Maggie? Couldn't we have done anything against that either?" His question got muffled by his hands but he was sure that Carol had understood every word.
"That's different," she mumbled. He could hear her sit down next to him, her arm touching his shoulder and again he was remembered of how small he was, the child he had been so long ago. He rubbed his face before lowering his hands, folding them over his pulled up knees.
"How's it different? Apart from that we got no idea what dad's going out there, and those people are not even in another building? We could've let them in the group. Join us, try to survive. They had weapons. Still have weapons. Well, I assume they're ours now." He could see Carol turn away from him like it was too much for her to take. He liked Carol, she was nice and all that but at moments he had the feeling she didn't really belong in a world like this.
"Because we don't know them. We have no idea what's happened to them before, that is what makes the difference. We wouldn't help a total stranger before all this happened, and we wouldn't now."
"You offered me and mo-" He swallowed hard, trying to get away the bitter taste that the name brought with it away. "me and mom something to eat. Why was that then? We were strangers too. Who knows what she and Shane could have been up to."
"You were heading for the refugee center. People with kids are gentler than people without. And you liked Sophia. You grow instinct for friendly people after a while in life." She gave him a small smile to accompany her answer but it didn't convince Carl all that much so he decided he'd change the subject to something that seemed more relevant to their near future.
"You think they'll come back?"
The question seemed to catch Carol off guard as she waited quite long before answering it, though it didn't look like she had to think of her answer. Or Carl mistook her look for surprised and she was in fact trying to built up courage for the beliefs she had lost. "Yes, they will. Your father's a strong man and it's a strong group. They'll return to us, even if it takes a while."
"My dad's rubbish these days. He doesn't sleep, or he turns around a lot when he does. I can hear him talk to himself when he walks past when he's on guard. Daryl shouted at him once." Carl chuckles at the memory of Daryl shouting louder than all the noise his dad made when he'd sat down on the stairs. "He's shit. It's a wonder he hasn't killed himself yet." He spoke the words lighthearted, trying to ignore the weight that laid upon them.
"You shouldn't say that about your dad. Where would we be if it wasn't for him?" Carol replied quicker than she thought she would if she had to defense Rick. "Rick's a good man, and good men is what we need right now."
"Daryl's a good man." They hadn't heard Hershel walk up to them, crotch being muted by the cotton bound on the end of it. Their reactions were quite similar: one of surprise and they turned their heads to the old man on the exact same moment. Hershel came to a stop in front of them, leaning heavily on the crutch like his other leg couldn't take most of his weight anymore. No one would doubt the goodness of Daryl anymore, but still it seemed like sometimes the entire group had to be reminded of it, like the tracker didn't deserve enough attention.
"He's reckless, but yes he's good," Carol had to agree. Carl stood up like he was going to leave but he merely went to check if other people were right behind the corner and if they could possibly overhear the conversation he wanted to have with the older two. He placed the door on an inch, pretty certain that if he closed it, it would be hard to open it again.
"I'm not sure if having Daryl is good. I'm pretty sure that he'll take a chance at trying to find his brother in Woodbury – it's impossible to survive alone with that much blood loss." He added the last bit when Hershel opened his mouth to protest. "I'm not saying he's bad, but he has this reckless bit that makes him more dangerous than dad when he's not thinking straight."
"Point made, Carl but I think we shouldn't draw conclusion. Daryl's a rough bastard and I have no idea what he was like when Merle was still around – from what I've heard Merle's like Daryl but worse? – so I can't judge that at all. I think in times like these, we got to trust the people we have and try to see all the positive things in them." Hershel leaned in a rather non-Hershel way against the wall, trying to relief all the strain he put on his good leg and arms to keep himself upright at all times.
Carol went silent in the discussion, letting Carl and Hershel bicker back and forth about the place of Daryl's loyalty. Carl noticed her silence, his brain making connections quickly. It was probably his argument that she didn't like, that Daryl would always return to Merle if he had the chance rather than stay with the group like his dad always seemed to want. He didn't get his dad anymore, the loss of mum seemed to have much more of an impact than it should have with the loss of love he had noticed.
"You're silent." Carl turned his vocal attention to Carol because he wasn't quite sure how to respond to Hershel. "Are you…" He hoped the tone of his voice would imply the right thing and not just ask if she was okay. Rather sure about the answer that would come, he hoped her facial expression would say a different thing.
"I'm not sure about which one of the two you are talking but I'm rather sure it's a no anyway." Carl nodded silently, trying to keep an eye on her face but she turned away towards the closed door. "Is it good to have it shut? I don't trust that guy alone with Beth and Judith."
Carl couldn't hide half a smile when she changed subject so quickly, but she did raise a fair point. He stood up, hat tumbling of his head in the process of brushing some dirt of his trousers and walked towards the door again, this time needing quite some force to pull it open as he had only opened and closed prison cells recently, not heavy iron fire doors.
The corridor of their current place of iving was better lit than any other corridor in the prison and the bright, white sunlight played heavy on his eyes as he hadn't thought of picking up his hat after letting it drop. He held a hand above his eyebrows and made his way to where he assumed Judith would be but a sound distracted him.
His breathing became irregular as he tried to remain calm. He pulled out his gun and removed the safety almost immediately after. Raising himself on tiptoes, he took the biggest steps he could take towards another door that they never used unless to leave and enter the prison completely.
More noises. Followed by a grunt. Carl wasn't sure what to think of it. Wouldn't the group try to be as silent as possible in entering? Or at least try a bit more to not raise a walker alarm in half the people still in the Prison? He reached the door rather quickly, motioning to the ones still in one of the cells to keep quiet for a while so he could hear better.
"Someone open this door! Help for God's sake!"
A/N: This story is written by someone who writes really slow – that I wrote 5k in about 10 days proves nothing in my speed of writing. This story is not beta'd since I can't find one. Comments and criticism are always loved and welcomed – I know I'm not doing a perfect job.