A/N: I DO NOT own any part of The Walking Dead. I don't usually do AU, but there's a time for everything I suppose! My plan is to simply add a character so I'll be incorporating the show TL into this, along with the same situations but I'll add a few things here and there. This will be starting before the Walker apocalypse, because we all seem to love our Daryl. Let me know what you think, and enjoy!
Intro
4 Days before Wildfire
"BARTENDER!"
The word sent shivers down Scarlett's spine as she stood in a dark corner of the bar, attempting to get past the childproof cap on a bottle of Aleve with shaking hands. Just as the summon reached her ears, her hands lurched violently as if on their own accord and the cap popped off, sending dozens of little blue pills raining onto the floor.
As the pills scattered onto the ground Scarlett looked down, staring with overwhelming emotion at the tiny ovals as her chest heaved wildly, a scream preparing to rip its way through her belly and fire from her full red mouth.
Running a hand through her brown curls, she grasped a handful of hair tightly, squeezing it in her hand so that it tugged against her scalp, pain radiating from her follicles and offering just a moment of escape as she focused on the pinching sensation, instead of the throbbing in her head, the aching in her feet, and the sharp pain in her right knee from being on her fee all day after a lifetime of knee problems.
"Can I get a refill please?" another voice called, this one female and before she could stop herself, Scarlett sank down into a crouch, ignoring the searing pain in her knee and gripping one of the shelves with her hands, back to the rest of the tavern.
She could barely think as the sounds wrapped around her brain tightly, as if squeezing her brain stem tightly and restraining all thought process and cognitive action. It was all too much, it was all overwhelming, and Scarlett found herself crouching with tears pricking the back of her eyes, rocking slightly in an effort to stop herself from crying.
"Take a deep breath and close your eyes, try and empty your mind." Came the voice of her adolescent psychiatrist, Dr. Martin who had diagnosed her with Generalized Anxiety Disorder and panic attacks at the age of 13, neither of which she had experienced so intensely in years, not until this night.
This particular night, the reason for the gradual undoing of years of medication and meditation was Scarlett's first night of work at Harry's, a local tavern owned and operated by her boyfriend Michael, which had been in his family for nearly six decades now.
In the sparsely populated North Georgia Mountains, Harry's was the one and only place in which residents chose to dwell, a choice that had been made many years ago when the place opened up to sustain the at home Southern values that area residents were dead set on holding onto, even with the emergence of a new world.
The thought of Michael's grandfather caused a deep chuckle to rumble in Scarlett's belly as she wondered how he would react to his grandson employing a girl with African-American heritage, but also hiring her as well. After being raised in a predominately-Italian town in Ohio, she was uncertain just what to expect with moving to the south. She had only ever been to Disney World and Montgomery in travel, and after years of northern living, Scarlett was absolutely certain she would be met with contempt from Michael's friends and neighbors.
Much to her surprise though, after moving in with the 26-year-old to prepare for a semester at the University of Georgia in Athens, she found that her ethnocentric view of the southern United States as a whole was challenged, as she was met with more friendliness than she expected.
Michael had been quick to assure her that it was not in fact because she was dating him, but because she was a genuinely likeable person that the local folk seemed to catch on to her, and after only a week, Scarlett found herself thinking that when she moved on campus, she just might miss a few of them.
In the particular moment when Scarlett found herself trying not to lose her mind however, it was not the people she was thinking about, but the tidal wave of emotion within her that churned like a the silver-lined Maytag she had come to love with her former roommate back at Syracuse.
A part of her was frustrated, yet another part was ashamed, ashamed that she could not even withstand a day of busy work after her boyfriend had agreed to hire her on the promise that she would be an asset to Harry's, not a liability. Because Michael covered the grill and he had more than enough waitresses, the bartending position was the only one left, and even with little experience except a crash course in drink mixing the night before, Michael had been more than generous. That thought that Scarlett was proving to be a disappointment didn't quite sit well, especially while the world seemed to cave in around her.
"Hey, hey." A voice said softly in her ear, and Scarlett gripped the shelf tightly as soft hands landed on her shoulders, rubbing them tenderly. Crouching down beside her, Michael Everheart gazed at her with soft brown eyes that studied her intently.
"You okay?" he asked gently, and Scarlett found herself unable to look at him, flushing brightly beneath his studious stare. She felt as though he was breaking through the very boundaries of her mind, reading every thought and examining each problem, and Scarlett, very much liked to pretend that she had no problems. She yearned with every fiber of her being to be perfect, and in that, having to acknowledge her problems brought about such self-loathing that she refused to even think about it.
"I'm fine." Scarlett replied sharply, standing up and trying not to scream out as a jolt of pain tore through her right knee. She had forgotten to wear her brace, a foolish decision that now was now coming back to bite her in the ass.
"Look, you've been working for 12 hours, you haven't even taken a break. Let me make you a burger or something, I can tell your knee is hurting." Michael shoved his hands into his pockets, and Scarlett replied by pushing a mass of curls out of her face, shaking her head and crossing her arms.
"I don't need a break, I can wait until I get off." She shrugged, and Michael replied by rolling his eyes, sending a buzz of irritation through her.
"You're taking a break, and that's an order. I can't force you to eat but I can and will make you sit down."
"What about the bar?"
"I'll take care of it. Go, get out of here."
Michael had a voice so imperative that Scarlett dared not argue with him further. Grabbing a pack of Marlboro Reds from her purse, she shoved them into the back pocket of her jeans before stepping from behind the bar, weaving her way in and out of packed tables, boisterous chatter, and raucous laughter.
Making her way outside, she sat down on a rocking bench on the front deck of the tavern and lit a cigarette with shaky hands, inhaling the tobacco gratefully and letting it soothe her frazzled nerves. As she exhaled a plume of smoke into the darkness, Scarlett could not help but dip her head gently and wonder if perhaps she had made the right decision.
A Syracuse Journalism Major, she had taken the path which had been laid out before her by everyone she knew, a path made solid by assumptions, forced decisions, and knowledge about just how she should be living her own life. It was deafening, the voices that rang in her head with suggestions and excitement for a future that she neither wanted nor cared for.
In truth, she dreamed of becoming a world-renowned artist, a decision which her parents had branded as nothing more than a "childish fantasy" that would likely end in bankruptcy, rather than financial success. And after all, wasn't that what was the most important thing in life? Being able to say you made enough to afford beach houses in the Hamptons and Beluga caviar each and every night? Yes, those were the things that were considered "important" to Scarlett's parents, having grown up in the upper-middle class in a blue-collar town.
Being accepted into Syracuse's Journalism program should have been the happiest day of Scarlett's young life, however that emotion belonged solely to her parents, and her parents only. In her heart, she would have been content to stay and go to community college if it meant doing what she loved the most, something that her mother and father refused to hear.
So, after merely one year at the school, Scarlett finally elected to make a decision that would cause such a rift between her and her parents that she would find herself kicked out permanently.
Taking the money that she had saved over the past few years, Scarlett decided to backpack across Europe, a dream that became quite real and offered her the experience of a lifetime. In part, Scarlett considered herself a naturalist, absolutely adoring nature and the beauty of simplicity. She would often go on hunting expeditions with her grandfather, spending the final days of summer recess before returning to school in the woods where he taught her all about hunting, hiking, and surviving in a world where a rifle was your only ally. Surviving in a way that her ancestors had, before the invention of technology shot everyone into state of frenzied dependence.
Scarlett savored those memories with her grandfather, indeed knowing that one day, memories were all she would have left of him. He passed after a battle with Pancreatic Cancer on her 16th birthday, leaving behind several rifles, each of which she would acquire on her 18th birthday after apprehension from her mother.
After several weeks across the pond, Scarlett returned home to find that her parents (more of her mother, along with her father's refusal to argue with her mother) refused to fund her sophomore year, or cover any other sort of expenses. In fact, they even banned her from returning home, and so, Scarlett found herself stranded and alone in the world, becoming progressively fueled with rage at the fact that her own parents were so determined not to let her follow her own path that they would not even help fund simple living expenses.
Luckily enough, her roommate Jessica was kind enough to allow Scarlett to continue residing in the small apartment they shared, even with an inability to pay the rent, and while Scarlett found herself helpless and lost, her knight in shining armor appeared, valiant and chivalrous in all his Southern glory.
Michael was the first serious boyfriend that she had ever had, and at 21 years old, Scarlett had never been in love with a boy, nor was she sure exactly what it felt like, however she knew that if she was not in love with Michael, it was something close. They had been together for five months now after all, and while their living arrangements were temporary, they certainly felt right.
It was an incredible feeling to Scarlett, to go to bed in someone's arms, and wake up with them there. Sleeping beside him in bed somehow felt more intimate than any sexual act she could think of, and somehow, Michael had a way of understanding her that no one else could. He knew the things she was thinking, he knew when she needed to be alone, and when she couldn't bear the very thought. Most of all though, he knew how important her dream was, and supported her fully in a way she longed for her parents to.
The last time Scarlett had spoken to her mother and father, was when she left a message on the home answering machine, letting them know she had received a full-ride scholarship to the University of Georgia's Lamar Dodd School of Art, something that she hoped would show them she had true potential, and was not just chasing after a dream. This dream, had the potential to become a reality, and with that, Scarlett refused to let it go.
The sound of screeching tires pulled Scarlett from her thoughts, and she looked up across the gravel parking lot as a gleaming black 1970 Ford Torino Cobra swept across, pulling up a cloud of dust and dirt behind it.
With great dramatics, the car swerved into a halt and Scarlett looked on from her spot as a man threw open the door, staggering around with the engine still running and making his way up the steps, taking no notices of her. From where she sat, the gentlest breeze pushed the aroma of heavy liquor, stale sweat and God knew what else at her, and with pale skin the man threw open the front door of the tavern, stumbling in.
Standing up, Scarlett discarded her cigarette butt, tossing it off the porch and storming into the tavern behind the man, her stomach sinking with each step. Perhaps it had been the fact that her day had been so overwhelming, but in the bottom of her stomach, Scarlett felt as though something bad was about it happen.
It may have simply been the very look of the man, the way his sunken eyes glowered darkly beneath barely there eyebrows.
As she stepped into the tavern, Scarlett's assumptions were rendered correct as the man staggered to the bra, tapping on the shoulder of a heavyset fellow in his 40's or so before raising a fist and sending it across his face.
The tavern exploded in discord, and acting solely on impulse, Scarlett found herself sprinting across the crowded tavern and throwing people out of her way to get to the altercation before it got any more out of hand.
The drunk pale man was now straddling the heavier one, throwing punches so violently that in the back of her mind, Scarlett feared his might kill his victim. Without thinking, she leapt forward, wrapping her arms around his neck tightly and attempting to pull him backward.
In the mixture of limbs and grunts, it all happened so quickly that no one knew exactly what happened, however they all decided that due to their mutual hatred of Merle Dixon that when they talked to the police that night, it would have been the savage drunk who had given the beautiful bartender a black eye.
Scarlett was sent reeling as a fist connected with her eyes, sending her to the ground that intense pain that seeped through her skull, reverberating throughout her brain. Gritting her teeth, a hand immediately flew to the organ which had already begun to water, just as the sound of Michael's angry roar ripped through the room.
Daryl Dixon stalked through the night, a bag of game slung over his shoulder as he stepped out of the woods and onto a dirt road, glancing up at the night sky.
Beneath the darkness, he felt each of his footsteps sink into the packed dirt beneath him, boots crunching dirt and rocks as he made his way home after a quick bout of hunting.
It was the only thing that gave him a sense of livelihood, the only thing that made him feel real through all the shit. He trudged through each day with eyes closed, waiting for some sense of satisfaction that he knew would never come. Daryl had so far lived a life of 28 years so bleak and dismal that he no longer believed in the life of satisfaction people longed to live, only survival.
He had learned a lesson or two about survival at the age of nine years old, when he got lost in the woods for over a week, surviving on nothing but berries and wiping his ass with poison oak. It was in those nine days that Daryl learned the true meaning of pain and discomfort, it was in those days that he learned about fear and loneliness, and in the end, he conquered, he made his way home to a place where his absence had not even been noted, and from that day forth, Daryl Dixon knew the true meaning of life.
The true meaning of life, was simply to survive. Not the finding happiness and the shit that people came up with to give themselves some sort of purpose and meaning to their lives, their selfish lives where they indulged in the unnecessary and forgot about all the suffering of others.
Gripping his bag tightly, Daryl felt the weight of several rabbits he had managed to trip within a matter of minutes, giving him a mere half hour in the forest, a half hour that he thoroughly enjoyed. When he was alone with nothing but the sounds of nature around him, going back to the roots of his great grandfather and his before him, he felt more fulfilled than pampered and greedy pigs that sat around all day in their corporate desk jobs. All he needed were the necessities, and he could be happy.
As Daryl traipsed through the darkness, making his way up the mountain to his home he stopped, listening to the sounds of a running motor behind him. Turning around, he watched as two headlights appeared, growing large and larger until he finally found himself looking at the grill of a cop car, swallowing down his disgust as the cruiser slowed down to a stop beside him, the window rolling down.
"Evening Daryl." Officer Morgan said, a liberal bureaucrat who had a nasty habit of pinning every crime in the mountains on Merle, even when they knew it not to be possible. They used his brother as a scapegoat for just about anything, and while Daryl could agree that Merle had committed his fair share of crimes, there was an equal number of those he hadn't committed.
"What you want?" Daryl grumbled, grasping the bag of rabbits tighter in his hand and wondering just what they could try and pin on him now. It was already getting late, and he had to get to work in the morning at a nearby auto-repair joint. No matter what they tried to say, Daryl made his money the honest way, something he longed to shove in their despicable faces.
"We just got a call from Harry's, seems your brother got into it and roughed up the new bartender down there and grand theft auto on top of that. You should probably get there, you want a ride?" Morgan asked, and Daryl turned around, wanting to put his hands around the fat man's neck and wring the very breath out of him.
"What you need me for?" he grumbled.
"Just get down to Harry's son, we'll see you there."
Without another word he rolled up the window, leaving Daryl in the middle of the road with the bag of rabbits still slung over his back. He was closer to Harry's than he was to home, and with an angry sigh, he shuffled down the dirt road, wondering just what lay in store from him at the tavern.
Harry's, the place his good for nothing father loved to go and get drunk, and by God did he drink. Daryl wasn't sure what pissed him off more, the fact that they continued to serve him there, knowing he had two kids he couldn't take care of at home or the fact that the guy who ran the place had a habit of making comments on the way Daryl and Merle lived. Michael Everheart was a brat with a silver spoon, handing down anything and everything he could have ever wanted from his granddaddy, a family that sat on money dating back to the Confederacy. Word was they were beginning to run low now, and Daryl longed to see the day when they fell from grace. He could look upon the proud asses and spit in the faces, the way they did all over the Dixon name.
With sullen anger Daryl made his way to Harry's dropping the bag of rabbits by the door and stepping inside. By now, the place had cleared out and when he walked into the tavern he found his brother passed out on the floor along with Everheart and Officer Morgan with his partner Officer Fritch.
"I don't understand what else you possibly need to know, you just got eyewitness accounts, he assaulted one of my customers, punched my girlfriend in the face and upturned half my bar!"
The simple sound of Everheart's voice brought about a rush of anger as Daryl approached the group, fists curling immediately as he set eyes upon the pretentious brat with his long dark hair and brown scruff set against a pale face. With the sound of his loud footsteps, Everheart along with the officers turned around, facing Daryl who suddenly found himself without words to say.
"Great, no we've got both of them in here." Everheart muttered beneath his breath, loud enough for Daryl to hear. Stepping forward, he glanced down at the sleeping form of Merle who snored loudly on the floor, face surrounded by a pool of his own saliva.
"Look, we're going to need to talk to her, she's the only one we haven't spoken to yet Michael. She is the one who got nailed in the face."
"Wait what are you saying?" Daryl finally spoke up as he took into full account the words they were saying. When he had briefly spoken to Morgan outside, he had been given the impression that his brother had maybe gotten into it with a bartender, but the thought of Merle outright hitting a woman unprovoked was a completely new and unlikely story.
"According to eyewitnesses, your brother got into it with Irving Hake and the new bartender Mike's girlfriend got involved, they're saying he lost it and hit her."
"My brother don't hit girls." Daryl spoke up, temper glaring as Morgan chuckled under his breath.
"You forget about last March? Roughed up his girlfriend so bad he broke her nose?"
"That was different and you know it." Daryl shot back, doing everything in his power not to lash out at the officer and pummel his bones to a fine pulp. Glaring harshly, he simply stared at the man, flexing his calloused hands violently, rage seething within him.
"Sorry, I was in the bathroom. You guys wanted to talk to me?"
The voice was soft and warm, a slight husky tone that carried across the way, completely foreign to Daryl's ears. Turning sharply, he looked over to the bar where a girl stood, and girl he had never see around in the mountains before.
She had deep olive skin that covered lean arms, well defined and exposed by a sleeveless t-shirt that was cropped at the midriff. As Daryl studied her features intently, he noted her flat stomach, hip bones jutting from low-cut jeans that made disgust well within Daryl's stomach. The shirt clung to full breasts, cut low enough just to expose a hint of cleavage and rid him of any notion that she was some completely innocent girl who might have gotten on Merle's bad side. From the way she was dressed, she had it coming, flaunting curves in tight, revealing clothing.
Moving up to her face, he took in a slightly crooked nose that sat center between sharp cheekbones. She had deep green almond eyes beneath thick dark lashes and arched eyebrows, one eye covered by a bag of ice held with a small-albeit strong looking hand. Her wide pink lips were turned down into a frown, a small mole just shy of her left eyebrow. Luscious dark curls tumbled from her head, stopping about shoulder length. She was definitely an attractive looking girl, if not for the makeup caked on her eyelids and face, which made her look cheap and plastic.
"Can you tell us what happened tonight Miss..." Morgan trailed off.
"Scarlett. My name is Scarlett. Yeah, I was outside having a smoke when I saw him"-she nodded towards Merle-"come in like the devil was behind him. He got out of his car and stumbled in, and I figured that something was going to happen, so I came in just as he started beating the crap out of this guy. And…I don't know, I wasn't thinking, I just sort of jumped into it, and next thing I knew I was on my black and someone was screaming I had a black eye." She shrugged, clutching the bag of ice tightly. As she did so, Daryl watched Everheart put a hand around her protectively, a gesture that made him just about want to vomit. He wondered how he even met the girl, who was evidently not from around the area.
"Did he say anything when he hit you?" Fritch stepped in.
"He didn't hit me. And if he did, it was completely by accident. In fact in all the confusion I could've even hit myself." She said with a chuckle that was greeted by absolute silence. Looking around at all the faces her eyes widened before she momentarily glanced at Daryl, her brown furrowing.
"What do you mean he didn't hit you? Bar full of eyewitnesses say he clocked you right in the face when you tried to jump in.
"Look, it was such a mess, I don't think he even knew I was there. It was an accident, plain and simple."
"Now don't you go defending him Scarlett!" Michael exclaimed, stepping forward and ripping the bag of ice away from her eye so that for the first time, everyone present got a view of the extend of the damage.
Even Daryl found himself mildly shocked as he stared at the nasty purple discoloration that surrounded a swollen-shut eye, moist with some sort of unnamed wetness. Immediately, the girl's hand flew back to the spot and Daryl swallowed, vividly remembering the feeling of having such a shiner himself, whether inflicted upon him by his father, but other kids, or by Merle himself.
"Jesus." Morgan breathed under his breath and the girl looked down, her face reddening deeply under the gaze of four pairs of eyes.
"Look, it was an accident, I'm not defending anybody, I just won't have someone get in trouble with the law for something they didn't do."
"Honey, we've got an entire place full of people who say-"
"Didn't you hear her she said she doesn't even know he did it!" Daryl exclaimed, shifting all eyes to him. He stole a glance at his brother, unwavering devotion flowing through his veins no matter what Merle did or had done. He was his brother, and the only one left at that. Even if the girl was lying, if she was dumb enough to do that then why should Merle still take the blame.
"Who the hell even let you in here?" Everheart snarled, pushing away from the bar and stepping towards Daryl. Chest heaving, Daryl steadied himself, prepared and more than willing to take the bearded bastard on at any moment.
"Stop!" the girl named Scarlett exclaimed, grabbing onto his sleeve tightly and jerking him back with brute force, biceps momentarily bulging against her skin.
"Okay enough! We're taking Merle to the station, Daryl you know how far it is you want a ride?" Morgan turned to him.
"For what, she said he didn't do it!"
"We've still got him on drunk and disorderly conduct, grand theft auto, and assault on Irving. Look, I don't think Irving is going to press charges, we could just have him there overnight."
"This is fucking bullshit, I want that bastard locked up!" Michael exclaimed, instilling fury in Daryl's heart so intense that he could not restrain himself from lunging forward, stepping across the room as the need for violence raged through him.
His poorly controlled temper was the result of simply growing up in the Dixon household, and Daryl saw no problem with his behavior, seeing as how anyone who got on his bad side generally deserved it, and he could think of no one who deserved it than the pathetic piece of a man standing before him right at that moment.
"Okay boy, none of that! Merle's gotta have someone to come home to!" Officer Morgan exclaimed, wrapping his hands around Darryl and restraining him so that he jerked wildly, kicking and flailing his legs as Fritch contained his enemy.
"YOU COME AROUND HERE AGAIN I'LL KICK YOUR ASS YOU HEAR!" Michael screamed, as his girlfriend stood beside him looking back and forth between the mess, panic rising in her face.
With that, Daryl was dragged outside by Officer Morgan who assured him they'd do their best to have Merle out and back home within a few days, however Daryl could have cared less. He didn't give a shit about his brother or Everheart, the cops, or the slut that his brother may or may not have punched out. All he cared about was living in a world where he existed and alone, where he could move in and out of tree trunks, stalking prey quietly and becoming one with nature around him, surviving like he always had.
Daryl hated the world. He hated every part of it, every being, every belief, and every damn person that breathed. Humanity was vile, appalling, and the trivial pettiness of people truly disgusted him. He wanted to get as far away from it all as he could, away from all trace of the people who soiled the planet with their hypocritical "values" and their strange desire to do whatever it took to please others.
Each day he wondered what the downfall of the planet would be, and what sort of event would inspire the apocalypse, and with a smile he rested his head on his pillow, knowing that when the world ended, he would stand in the face of Armageddon and welcome it with open harms.