Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead or any of its characters or story lines.
Another NaNo WarmUp based on a request I received on Tumblr. I fell in love with this one so I'll definitely be continuing it as a multichapter fic. Hope you guys enjoy it! Please read and review and if you have any requests for me you can PM me with me on here or submit them to my ask on Tumblr (iaintbegginwho).
The road ahead stretched out like a great gray ribbon. The truck barreled on, wheels howling on the asphalt as Morales pumped the accelerator to get them as far away from that godforsaken city as possible. T-Dog's confession sat out in the open, balancing on a tightrope that stretched from one end of the long box truck to the other:
"I dropped the damn key."
Everyone was silent, the air thick with tension as each person took their turn glancing at T-Dog, then the newcomer, then out the window, and then cast their eyes to the floor. Rick, in turn, let his gaze sweep over them all before his eyes settled on the man in the driver's seat beside him. Everyone, including Rick himself, seemed to have something that they wanted to say taunting the tips of their tongues. None of them seemed to have the guts to let the words tumble out of their mouths and instead they let the silence linger on, uncomfortable as it was.
Morales broke first, the quiet ringing too long in ears. "I'll introduce you to everyone when we get to the quarry," he said, addressing Rick.
"I sure appreciate you lettin' me join you," Rick replied. "All of you," he said, turning to face the others. T-Dog nodded his head without looking at the cop. His eyes were trained on his shoes, mind clearly elsewhere. Andrea offered a small half-smile.
"Couldn't leave you out there after what you did for us," Jacqui assured, lighting touching Rick's arm with gratitude in her warm chocolate eyes.
"Listen," Morales said, turning Rick's attention back to truck's cab. "That man back there? Dixon? He wasn't exactly… sociable."
"Yeah, I gathered that," Rick replied. Morales smiled, laughing a bit with a slight shake of his head.
"Yeah," he said. "Well, all I'm tryin' to say is that no one's really gonna miss him."
"Except-" Andrea started, but then her brow furrowed and she bit her lip as though to stop herself. Rick looked at her quizzically but she sighed and shook her head.
"Except what?" he asked, glancing at everyone, waiting for one of them to speak up. Morales sighed again, even heavier this time. With no one else willing to speak, suddenly finding infinitely greater interest in their shoes than in the conversation, he answered for them.
"Merle."
The sun was beating down something fierce, burning his skin and the metal and the metal on his skin. Daryl was slumped over, his back supported by the thick piping he was chained to. His wrist had been rubbed raw and was peeling and blistering beneath the cuff. His shirt, already dirty, was completely soaked through with sweat and clung to his skin in all the wrong places. Sweat plastered his hair to his face and stung his eyes and the sun burned, burned, burned right to his core.
"Fuck," Daryl groaned. His voice was quiet, throat sore from shouting. He swiped at his forehead with the back of his unchained hand, although the only thing he really succeeded in doing was spreading the moisture around in a sticky mess. "Fuck!" he said again, louder.
Daryl let his head fall back, closing his eyes to the blaring sun. None of this fucking shit ever would've happened if hadn't have been for the damned cop, running in and acting like he owned the place. That's how they always acted. Fuckin' pigs, Merle used to snarl every time they passed one. He used to go on and on about how those idiots thought they ruled the world because their shiny badges gleamed like fuckin' royal crowns. Fuck them, Merle could conclude.
"Yeah," Daryl said to the empty air. "Fuck them."
His plan would have gone off without a damn hitch if that fuckin' Rick Grimes hadn't have come barreling up the stairs with the rest of the group.
"What the hell are you doing, Dixon?" the blonde woman, Andrea, he thought, had shouted.
"What's it look like I'm doin'?" he'd snapped back. In one swift motion he turned and stood and kicked back the open back he'd been rifling through. As he moved the bottle of pills he'd pilfered rattled in his pocket.
"It looks like you're stealing to me," Jacqui answered, lips pursed, arms crossed haughtily over her chest.
"You acusin' me 'a that?" Daryl growled, finger pointed, as he advanced on the woman.
"Hey, Dixon, ease off," Morales said, stepping between them. His hand bumped against Daryl's chest, causing the man to round on him.
"Don' touch me!" he snarled.
"Hey, hey, hey!" T-Dog interjected, trying to fit himself between the two. Daryl glanced between the two like a cornered animal, nostrils flaring, eyes narrowed. He shrugged his shoulder to get his crossbow off his back and lunged at whoever was closest- Morales.
Daryl had the other man pinned beneath him in seconds. There was a huge commotion behind him as Andrea shrieked and Jacqui yelped and T-Dog dove in to intervene.
"Git off'a me," Daryl ground out as his attention turned to T-Dog. He swung around, clipping T-Dog on the jaw his a heavy fist. In response, T-Dog's jaw set and he threw a punch of his own, catching Daryl's shoulder. The two went back and forth, punching and pushing at each other, grunting and breathing heavily. Andrea and Jacqui rushed to help Morales to his feet, all three of them screaming at the fighters to stop.
"That's enough," an unfamiliar voice decided. Daryl felt hands on his back, fists curling around the fabric of shirt.
"Hey!" he shouted, spinning around and swinging his arm knock the offender off balance. The cop- Daryl caught a flash of the tell-tale uniform- stumbled backwards and Daryl took the opportunity to elbow him hard in the ribs. He advanced further, pushing the cop backwards until the other man's eyes turned hard. He threw himself at Daryl, arm slamming against his throat and curling around his neck. Daryl coughed and choked and sputtered, pushing against the cop, barely managing to bite out, "Chokehold's illegal!"
"Yeah," the cop grunted. He shoved Daryl against the metal piping and then there was something cold on Daryl's wrist and the rattling of a chain and the click of a lock and when his assailant moved away Daryl tried to follow and was yanked harshly back by his new restraint.
"Fuckin'-" he started, head whipping back and forth between the handcuffs and the cop that had put them there. "What the fuck- you fuckin'- who th' hell are you?!"
"Officer Friendly," the cop answered sarcastically, back turned to Daryl as he made his way towards the others. How long ago had that been now? An hour? Two? And then the group split up, half going down into the store and the others staying up there on the rough, entirely ignoring Daryl as they tried to get a signal for their radio. And then they had an escape- a sports car siren blared down the street, a chorus of undead groans following after it until the sound of a rumbling engine and a creaking cab drowned it. They could hear the scrape of gravel and asphalt on heavy rubber tires and there was a scramble to get down to the truck before it pulled away.
"Th' hell're y'all doin'?" Daryl shouted. Jacqui glanced at him for the briefest of seconds before she swung open the heavy door to the staircase. He could hear her footsteps echo down the hall. Andrea stopped and looked to T-Dog, saying something like, "Hurry," before she, too, disappeared into the stairwell. T-Dog watched them both go. "What, yer gonna leave me here?" Daryl asked, voice much more desperate than he'd intended. "That yer plan?" he went on.
T-Dog's jaw set seriously and he dug his pocket until he was able to produce a small key, brandishing it for Daryl to see. Daryl strained against the cuffs, reaching his free out towards the other man. "What're ya waitin' fer? Hand tha' thing over, c'mon!" he said, rushed. A horn sounded, its residual ring in the air swallowed whole by the snapping teeth and hungry moans of the lingering geeks on the street. T-Dog swallowed thickly and, with one last glance thrown towards the door, he began to race towards Daryl.
Daryl stretched out his arm as far as he could, palm open and waiting.
And T-Dog tripped- over thin air or his own feet or some stray pebble, he wasn't sure- and he landed hard on his stomach beside Daryl, his hand opening to catch himself and the key tumbling free from his grip.
Daryl lunged for the key but the chain held him back. He barely felt the cool metal graze the worn, calloused pads of his fingers before the key bounced off the rooftop and rattled down the drain.
Daryl, eyes narrowed, glared daggers at T-Dog who was gaping at the drain that had swallowed Daryl's escape.
"I… I," T-Dog stammered. He pushed himself to his feet, shaking his head and backing away from Daryl. He looked at the door. The horn beeped again. Daryl was growling, breathing heavily, and swearing at him and all T-Dog could say was, "I'm sorry," before he turned on his heel and rushed towards the jail.
"What the fuck!" Daryl yelled, twisting against his restraints to look at T-Dog. "Th' fuck're you doin', man?! Yer jus' gonna fuckin' leave me?!" T-Dog met his eyes. Daryl slammed his open hand against the metal pipe he was tethered to, the thudding sound echoing in the air around him. "Yer gonna leave me here?!"
T-Dog wanted to say more but found himself unable. He shook his head, swallowed hard, and turned away.
"Maybe he won't come back," Amy said hopefully. The flickering firelight illuminated her face hauntingly as she clung to her sister- she'd barely let Andrea out of her sight since the group's return.
"His brother was with them," Dale said with a long sigh. "He's coming back."
"So what do we tell him?" Glenn asked, worriedly wringing his hands.
"The truth," Andrea stated matter-of-factly. "Daryl snapped, he was out of control. He could've done some serious damage if you-" she looked to Rick, settled between his wife and son, his arms pulling both of them close to his sides "-hadn't stepped in."
"I'm not sure Merle will take kindly to that," Dale mused.
"I'm the one who dropped the key," T-Dog said, glancing around the fire. "I'll tell him."
"Man, do you really wanna do that?" Glenn asked, concerned. "I've heard the way he's talked to you. And you saw how Daryl was today. What makes you think Merle'll be any different?"
"I cuffed him," Rick said, drawing everyone's attention to him. He looked at them all before proceeding. "I'll tell his brother."
"It's not a competition," Glenn said.
"Do you want to tell him?" Jacqui asked, eyebrows raised.
"No way!" Glenn replied. "I'm just saying." He sighed, ran a hand through his hair.
"I dropped the key," T-Dog repeated. "And I boarded up that door."
"What are you saying?" Andrea inquired.
"That Daryl's still alive up there," T-Dog said. "Before I left, I barricaded the door- not much, but enough. No more than twelve geeks could squeeze up there anyway. That wouldn't be enough to push the door open." He paused, staring intently at the fire. "He's still alive."
"We'll go back, then," Rick decided. "That's what we'll tell his brother. That he's still there, and that we're goin' to get him."
"We still need to decide who's gonna talk to him," Jacqui reminded.
"With the way that Merle is…" Glenn started, and then he chewed at his lower lip. "It just might sound better coming from a white guy."
"It's settled then," Rick said. "I'll talk to Merle."
Daryl didn't sleep much that night. He'd doze off here and there and then jerk awake in a cold sweat, heart racing. He was parched. His lips were dry. He could feel heat radiating off his sunburnt skin. His throat was raw and every now and again he'd allow a soft groan to slip past his lips just to be sure his vocal chords were still working.
"Fuckin' cop," he moaned. His eyes were open, head lolled back as he stared at the velvet sky. The stars danced a strange ballet across that deep blue stage. He blinked a few times but the world wouldn't stop its spinning.
His wrist hurt real bad. Blood was dried on his peeling skin and every miniscule movement aggravated the wounds. He tried really hard to stay still but he was just so uncomfortable and his stomach was in knots and his there was a dull ache in all of his muscles and all he could say was, "Fuckin' cop."
"He better be okay," was all that Merle said. He'd taken the news about well as the group predicted. He'd barely wanted to acknowledge Rick when he'd returned from his hunt with no more than a string of squirrels and two rabbits. A decent haul to the untrained eyes of the quarry group, but shit luck to a Dixon. He'd been tracking a deer, but a corpse beat him to it.
When Rick told Merle that Daryl had been left behind, the elder Dixon launched himself at the cop. Shane had been there, jumping at Merle, grabbing his arms and pinning the older man beneath his weight long enough for his partner to explain the situation.
"I'll git 'im myself," Merle had ground out.
"You wouldn't have much luck," Rick said. "That place is crawlin' with walkers. You'd have to pick through 'em all just to find the building your brother's stuck on. Besides," he added "I've got personal interest in goin' back. Dropped a bag of guns on the street. I'm lookin' to retrieve it."
Merle growled, fists curling and uncurling at his sides. "Fine," he spat. "Then ya 'kin show me th'way," he said. T-Dog had tried to offer his assistance but Merle wouldn't have it- Shane and Rick had to, once again, hold the older Dixon back until T-Dog withdrew his offer.
"If he's not goin', than I will," Shane said.
"My lucky day," Merle snarked. "Two fuckin' pigs goin' on th'road with me."
"We'll take Glenn, too," Rick said, choosing to ignore Merle's statement. Merle snarled but Rick held up his hand, explaining that Glenn knew the city streets better than any of them. Merle had consented, and then raised hell in any way he could until the small party was loaded into the box truck and on their way to Atlanta.
Daryl didn't know a whole lot about sunstroke, but unfortunately not having the signs and symptoms memorized did not except him from suffering it.
His brain had been jumping around all morning. The sun was a spark that set the whole city aflame in his eyes, tongues of flame lapping at him from every direction. He jerked to get away from them and every sudden movement sent waves of pain vibrating up his arm from the reopened wounds on his wrist. Fresh blood trickled along his skin, mingling with salty sweat old and new.
The morning songs of birds, few and far between, morphed into ugly, angry grunts and groans and then he heard the door creaking and his chest rose and fell rapidly as his lungs pushed out panicked breaths. His eyes darted towards the door that moaned under pressure and then flicked all around the space for something, anything, that might help him escape.
They landed on the toolbox, overturned near him, and the hacksaw lying just out of reach.
"Daryl!" Merle bellowed as he led the group inside the vacant department store. He was fast on his feet, hardly caring if the others were following. He found the stairs quickly and bounded up them two at a time in a desperate scramble to reach his baby brother. "Daryl!"
He threw aside the boards that T-Dog had used to protect Daryl and forced open the door. He couldn't see Daryl, not at first, but heard heavy breathing and a strangled, muffled sort of whimpering. Merle's heart was hammering hard against his ribs, panic bubbling just below the surface as his feet carried him towards the metal pipes in front of him.
Daryl was curled in on himself, shoulders shaking, body trembling. There were little specks of scarlet red decorating the gray slab of concrete beneath him and his hand was- a saw?
"Daryl!" Merle shouted and his brother's head snapped up. His eyes seemed unfocused, glazed over with pain, and Merle dropped down in front of him and tore the hacksaw out of his hand. "Th'fuck're ya doin', lil' D?" he asked much more harshly than intended as he reached towards Daryl's injured hand. "Fuck," he swore when he saw how deep the cut was- he was sure that flash of white underneath all the stringy tissue and slick blood was bone. There was a strip of cloth tied around his arm- a tourniquet, Merle realized. Another strip of fabric was in Daryl's mouth- something to bite down on to deal with the pain.
"M-Merle," Daryl breathed, the fabric dropping out of his mouth soaked in saliva and stained with bile. He was squinting at his brother like he was ghost. His chest rose and fell painfully and his breaths were worryingly short. He tried to turn his head as the footsteps of the others registered in his brain but it seemed to throw him off and he swayed before pitching to the side.
"Shit," Merle cursed, catching his brother. Daryl slumped against his chest. Merle growled deep in his throat. "You did this!" he yelled, looking over his brother's head to stare hard at Rick. His hands were gripping Daryl's shoulders, knuckles nearly paper-white. Daryl was still trembling, blood still seeping out of his self-inflicted wound. His breaths were getting slower. He pushed weakly against Merle, trying to sit himself up, but he hardly had the strength to lift his head. His free hand, coated with his own blood, wrapped around Merle's bicep and squeezed as tightly as he could managed. "You fuckin' pig!" Merle shouted at Rick. "You fuckin' did this!"