TWD Kinkmeme Prompt: Daryl, Merle, gen. As a kid Daryl used to climb into Merle's bed at night, searching safety in his big brother's presence, because of nightmares, because he was afraid of their dad or the monsters under the bed or whatever else you can think of.
At first, Merle was not amused and kicked his brother out, but Daryl didn't give up and always came back until Merle finally gave in and let Daryl sleep in his bed. Times change and years later it is Merle who climbs into his brother's bed, just to ensure himself of Daryl's heartbeat, that his baby brother is unhurt, breathing and most importantly *alive*.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own any part of The Walking Dead. This is for entertainment purposes only.
A/N: Well, here's part two. It's a little short. I really should have waited till the end of season 3 to truly see how the brothers interact but alas, my brain was impatient. Who knows, maybe I'll write another little snippet of the Dixon brothers down the road. Hope y'all enjoy this regardless.
"That's one hell of a show you put on back there for your little buddy back in Woodbury," Daryl grumbled. He worked on pulling the mattress down from off the top bunk, succeeding with a thump of the thin material as it landed down on its side. Daryl pushed it over to allow it to fall flat before he kicked it over towards the wall opposite of the beds.
"You still hung up on that? Thought we was passed all that." Merle sat down on the remaining bottom bunk and watched his brother's reactions. Daryl glanced back at him with a scoff, blatantly ignoring him afterwards. "I had to make it look real, didn't I?"
"Coulda fooled me…" Daryl muttered as he took a seat on the thin mattress, propping his back against the wall staring straight ahead at Merle. But Merle registered something there in his face, something close to fear. He couldn't recall that look on Daryl's face since they were kids.
Then it clicked. "You can't be serious. You really thought I was gonna kill you?" Merle could see him chew on his bottom lip obviously holding back from saying what was really on his mind.
"Nah," Daryl just shook his head.
Merle felt a pang of guilt, maybe even a flash of anger for Daryl ever thinking that he'd kill him. He couldn't help but notice how quiet he had been though since they made it back to the prison. Apparently right on time too, considering they had saved Officer Friendly's ass out there from becoming walker bait. And yet the man was oh so kind enough to lock him in a cell. Daryl didn't hesitate to speak up and join him, claiming that if they were going to lock Merle up then they could lock him up too. Merle enjoyed the look of betrayal on Rick's face at that—much similar to the look he provided when Daryl chose to leave with him earlier. They might still have a lot to work on regarding where their current relationship stood but at least Merle had his baby brother back after all this time.
Come to think of it, as he stared back at Daryl he realized how much he had changed since he'd been gone. Running out to risk his life to save a bunch of damn beaners. Running back to the prison like a dog with its tail between its legs. He even worked up the nerve to yell back at him and insult him. You're a simple minded piece of shit! The words played over and over in his head. Was that how Daryl truly felt? And the scars. When Merle saw the scars… He couldn't help but follow his brother back to the prison even though he knew he wouldn't be welcome there—he wasn't welcome.
"If you're finished, I'm goin' to sleep." Daryl kicked his boots off and shot one last glance in Merle's direction before he laid down facing the wall with his back to him.
Merle couldn't blame him for being pissed. He'd been a real asshole since he had Daryl back, like it boosted his confidence or some shit. Daryl had initially chosen his own brother over Rick and company, and that meant a lot to him. Part of him didn't think he'd do it. Part of him thought he only did it because he was afraid of being embarrassed. It didn't matter how much Merle regretted everything. What mattered was that he was going to try and make a change. Of course it wouldn't be anything real noticeable—it would have to be gradual. He wanted to be on Daryl's side, and that meant he'd have to work together with the rest of these people. Philip turned out to be one sick bastard pinning them against each other in a fight to the death. So he was all for attacking Woodbury and seeking revenge.
A couple minutes passed before Merle laid down himself. His eyes felt heavy and he wanted to get some sleep. Staring up at the underside of the top bunk was unnerving as memories from his past came back full force in bits and pieces. Funny how the world worked. He had been locked up in jail before the world went to shit and here he was, locked in a damn cell with dead people walking the Earth.
As his mind drifted through distant memories, he lost track of how long he had truly been laying there. He turned his head and glanced over towards Daryl's still form. He could see the steady rise and fall of his chest with each slow, rhythmic breath he took suggesting that he was asleep. Even though Merle was tired, he felt restless. He threw his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. How long had it been since he last saw his baby brother? It felt like years. He seemed much smaller—thinner. His hair had grown out quite a bit, probably the longest he had ever even seen it. He seemed a lot more levelheaded, a little calmer.
"Daryl?" Merle softly called out his name only to receive no response. Daryl didn't even stir. But Merle knew his brother was a light sleeper and the fact that he didn't wake threw him off. Perhaps he was too exhausted. Perhaps he just felt safe.
Merle rubbed his face and sighed before he lay back down. His mind was still reeling at the thought of Woodbury. He was always a pro at hiding any sign of emotion which he realized was a good thing now, considering. He knew how sick and twisted Philip was, so what he ordered came as no surprise. But Daryl… Daryl wasn't so great at hiding his emotions as Merle was because Merle could see the trepidation plain as day. He was panicked with his arms bound behind his back and surrounded by all of those goons. Merle knew it was the one thing that his baby brother couldn't do—couldn't handle being defenseless, cornered.
It still didn't seem real to be where he was with Daryl by his side. He wasn't hurt too bad, he was breathing, and furthermore, he was alive. Merle never once doubted that his brother was still out there somewhere. Daryl never gave up without a fight.
A sharp inhale tore Merle's attention back to his brother. He glanced over and watched as Daryl slightly squirmed, turning to lay on his other side. Merle directed his attention back to the underside of the top bunk and shut his eyes, listening. He didn't want to get caught staring.
"…Merle?" He could hear Daryl's voice, real soft and quiet. But Merle didn't let on that he was still awake. He lay there on his back and pretended to be asleep. He knew Daryl needed to rest and the only way he was going to was if he thought he was asleep.
Merle listened to Daryl sigh before tossing and turning, mostly likely with his back facing him again. And Merle lay still and quiet until he could hear his brother's breaths even out again, being lulled back to sleep.
Merle gave some thought about the others. When morning would come, he knew all hell would break loose. He damn near killed that Asian—or Korean, as Daryl had corrected him. He attacked that black bitch. She was the one to have ratted him out to Philip. If she hadn't ever come back, things probably wouldn't have been so bad. Or maybe if he would have actually killed her in the first place…
No, none of that mattered. He had to behave himself now. Those people had names, they weren't just stereotypes or races. If Daryl could stand to be around them, then Merle would have to make that change. He'd have to face them in the morning and he'd have to keep a calm composure if he was going to stay. He couldn't lose Daryl again. Especially after everything they'd been through, after what he had seen—what he had learned.
These people hating him and Woodbury on the move—none of it truly mattered in the end. He had Daryl back now. So they could lock him up in a damn cell as much as they wanted and as long as they pleased, as long as he had his baby brother, breathing and alive.
"It's good to have ya back, Daryl."