The Stars Look Different Today
By Cider Sky
Together, they would rewrite history.
A/N: Sorry for the delay all. Was in the Caribean for a month, working and then came home to my dog on her deathbed. I had to put her down on Monday due to brain cancer. She was 7 years old and I miss her terribly. Anyway, sorry to angst for a moment; thank you for being patient. Writing this and reading your reviews were very cathartic.
Warning: Racist language.
I believe things cannot make themselves impossible.
– Steven Hawking
"Wait up Darylena, what the hells the rush –" Daryl picked his way through the undergrowth, his teeth grit so hard he was sure he would crack a tooth.
Merle was meandering slowly behind him, branches cracking loudly beneath his feet. They'd only just resumed their hunt – the man had spent the whole morning sleeping off a fierce hangover, all thanks to a bottle of rum Daryl hadn't known about.
"Ain't never gonna catch that doe foolin' around. Wasted enough time."
"Shit, I thought that was just some piss poor excuse to come out here for a little private time – " Merle grinned and Daryl rolled his eyes; at least he managed to swallow the insult at the tip of his tongue.
It had been hard, keeping himself in check the past two days.
"Then why the hell am I trackin' this damn deer?" Daryl spat as he squint against the glare of the sun – the woods were thinning out, the deer would be in the clearing, not too far from here, just like it had been before.
Merle let out a sharp chuckle, the pandering kind; Daryl hated that shit.
" – you know what I mean, just you, the woods, thoughts of Ed's old lady's grey pus-"
"Shut the fuck up!" Daryl cut him off and couldn't help but whirl to face him; he had nearly forgotten some of this shit that came out of his older brother's mouth. Daryl knew that he himself was no saint but his brother had always had a way with words, a way that made even the foul-mouthed cringe.
"What in the hell is your problem, boy?" Merle stepped forward; the humor that had been there before when he had slipped was gone. Merle was inching on pissed.
Daryl had to take a deep breath before speaking. He doesn't know, things are the same for him. He doesn't know. Daryl had to remind himself three times before finding the rights words, the ones that would fix this situation.
Forget keeping himself in check. Dealing with his brother was proving to be far harder than he ever though it could be. The thought made a wave of guilt wash over him.
Some brother he was.
"We came here to hunt, t' get away from those fools. Don't want to waste my breath talkin' about 'em."
Merle huffed at that.
"Could've fooled me. Couldn't shut you up about 'em near three days ago." Daryl couldn't possibly remember that conversation; it must've been the night before all of … this.
"Yeah, well, got tired of it. Now let's go." He'd have the deer by noon, just like he was suuposed to; he'd keep the walkers from getting it, he'd fill everyone's stomachs and Merle would still be there, safe at camp, at the end of the day.
Merle eyed him, uncrossing his arms. A long moment of silence passed between them, the two of them staring each other down. Daryl tried to remind himself that this too was out of character for himself then.
Daryl averted his gaze and he could see Merle shift in his periphery.
"We go when I say we go." Daryl didn't look at him and instead stared straight ahead, the weight of the task at hand pushing down on him.
To Merle it seemed as though he'd grown suddenly defiant over night, that he'd become cocky and confident, aggressive even. Merle had always been a lot like his Pa and he knew enough to know that Merle wouldn't take too kindly to this level of sass.
"Merle – "
"I'll be back."
"Wait, what?" Daryl bit out, genuinely surprised. This wasn't going to plan, not at all.
"Easy, little brother," Merle's voice had returned to some normalcy, "jus' gonna drain the snake."
Daryl stared, his gut churning slightly. He watched as his brother turned his back and disappeared into the woods.
Beth raked the peeler over the potato and hissed as it caught her thumb; a dot of red welled up and she brought the small wound to her mouth.
"Oh, you nick yourself, honey?"
"I'm fine." She said as she tossed Patricia a reassuring smile.
"Good. The darn things' old, too full of jagged edges." They continued their work in silence and soon Beth's hands found a good rhythm allowing her the luxury to stare of the window.
She stared out into the field and beyond towards the tree line. Beth watched the grass undulate, the wind make it look as though the field was an ocean of green and yellow. She released a contented sigh and let her eyes drift.
Eventually they landed on a lone figure, shambling out of the woods.
"Walker." It was out of her mouth before she had any time to think.
"What?" Patricia asked, her eyes still on the vegetables before her.
"Walker." She repeated as she traded the peeler for a knife. Just one walker. An easy kill. She'd run down there and put the knife into it's temple. Just like she had been taught.
Patricia leaned over, tracing her gaze.
"Is there someone out there –" When she found the source of Beth's interest the response was immediate. Beth gasped in surprise as Patricia pulled her back from the window.
"Otis! Otis, get Herschel!" Patricia shouted, her hand wrapped tightly around Beth's wrist. She was so surprised she could only follow as Patricia tugged her towards the staircase.
"It's just one walker –" She let out as Patricia pushed her towards the first step.
"Get upstairs, Beth. Don't come out until we say so." Beth was pushed up towards the second step, so forcefully she nearly fell. She could hear Otis' heavy footfalls as he crossed the house, making his way for the porch, animal noose in hand.
Beth didn't understand.
It was just one walker.
Daryl waited for fifteen minutes, his knife stabbing a deep hole into a rotted log - a relaxation technique that wasn't doing its job. He listened to the thunk thunk thunk of the blade meeting wood as thoughts of his brother consumed his thoughts.
"Damnit, Merle." He grit as he stabbed the knife into the log one final time.
He rose, forgetting the deer and repaired relations with the others, and set off in the direction Merle had gone.
Daryl held his crossbow at the ready while he followed the older man's tracks. He hardly had to go far – within minutes he was staring at the hunch of his brothers bent over form.
Merle had his back to him, had taken a seat on the ground – for a brief, terrifying moment, Daryl had thought him bitten. That would be his fucking luck, to kill his own brother before this had even truly begun, but his fears were quickly drowned by the sound of his brother's voice.
"Ain't hard at all –" The man said and Daryl stepped tentatively forward; had Merle heard his approach? What the hell was he talking about.
"Ain't hard to kill a man. Done it myself, bunch o' towelheads, sand niggers. Done it in Kandahar, poppy-farming fucks –" his older brother laughed and shook his head.
"Merle, what the hell –" Daryl reached out and grabbed his brother shoulder; the man didn't jerk I surprised, no, he turned slowly and lazily, unbothered by the sudden intrusion.
"There y' are, baby brother –" His brother faced him, his eyes blood shot and his upper lip and left nostril dusted with white powder. His face was slack and relaxed in that way it always got when he did coke.
Coke. Fuckin' coke in the middle of the goddamn woods with walkers.
"Are you fucking kidding me? You usin'?" He was furious. He was beyond furious.
"Merle, you fucking asshole –" He grabbed at his brother, trying to force him onto his feet – the older man didn't take too kindly to his attempt and reeled back, hands slapping at Daryl's own.
Daryl stepped back as Merle assumed a stance that suggested he was ready for a fight; the man's right hand rested on his knife and the other clenched and unclenched.
"Now, I'm gonna give you a chance to get off that high fuckin' horse of yours." His brother's voice dropped, a moment of lucidity offering him a credibly, threatening air. It wouldn't be the first time he and Merle had gotten into it while he was high; it usually ended with broken ribs and black eyes.
"The hell'r you talkin' 'bout?" Daryl asked his voice wary; had he forgotten so much about who his brother had been. Or had he forgotten so much about himself?
"You gonna stand there and pretend y'ain't never had a little fun with your old pal Merle. Hell, spent plenty of nights listenin' to you ramble 'bout the pussy I know you weren't getting'."
Daryl huffed slightly unable to believe they were this stupid, to be having this conversation with walkers about. But then again, they had done plenty of stupid shit, before and after all this.
Daryl gripped his crossbow a little tighter as his brother shifted his weight, aggression clear in his stance.
"That was a long time ago, Merle." Merle shook his head, looking angry.
"A long time – baby brother, a year ain't so long." Daryl swallowed the briefly forgotten information; for him it had been years since he'd touched anything. Sure, he had used before, had had his fun with it, but he had never become what Merle or his Pa had.
Daryl felt an ache gather in his right temple – it was already becoming clear that it would be damn near impossible to keep everything straight.
"Don't matter much now –" Daryl had to bite his tongue as the word 'jackass' tried to form. He briefly turned away but the fire came back; he stepped forward, finger pointed in his brother's face. "Ain't weak enough t' need it and sure as fuck ain't thick enough to do it with walkers about –"
Daryl saw it coming; Merle's pupils were blown, his movements so loudly broadcasted he might as well have told him he was going in for the punch. Still, it didn't matter much as he had been standing too damn close.
Daryl jerked to the side as Merle's fist caught his cheekbone; he had managed to move just enough to avoid a full impact blow but it still hurt like a bitch.
Daryl used the momentum to get out of Merle's reach, just narrowly avoiding Merle's grasps, the older man's fingertips nearly closing around the fabric of his vest.
"Sonnuva –" Merle grunted as he stumbled forward; Daryl took the opportunity and spun, whipping his crossbow around, the butt of the weapon landing heavily against his brother's skull.
The man dropped like a sack of rocks.
Daryl heaved a breath in bit the inside of his lip – a habit he had thought had died a while back – and stared at his brother's prone figure.
A quick, hot flash of anger washed over him and for a moment he hated his brother. As soon as the feeling came it vanished as he imagined his brother's face, eyes cloudy and flesh hanging from his teeth.
All there was now was guilt, failure hanging over him like a shadow.
When Merle awoke an hour later he didn't acknowledge Daryl. He simply got up and began to make his way back towards the camp.
They broke the clearing and went their separate ways. Daryl shouldered the short string of squirrels he had managed – no thanks to Merle - and watched as his brother steadily crossed the camp, giving people the nastiest looks he could muster as he passed by.
"What're you lookin' at gramps?" He spat at Dale as he passed the RV. The older man shook his head; they all watched as he stomped back to his tent, listing slightly as he leaned over to pull at the zipper. He disappeared inside and Daryl felt his frustrations mount.
He would sleep the rest of the day, no doubt. He always did after using that shit. What a massive shit show this had already turned out to be.
Daryl frowned and huffed before he realized, with an uncomfortable sinking feeling, that the entire camp was now looking at him.
His eyes darted between the members of the camp – right – he thought, he had been just like Merle back then, had told them all to fuck off a time or five, once upon a time.
They had probably been expecting him to trail behind his brother like a moody, kicked puppy. The thought made him cringe.
He shifted his weight as his mind raced through possible responses, expectations warring with reality. Was it so hard to act the part? It's not like he didn't remember it, the anger, the faceless hatred …
Say somethin' you jackass. Now they were nervous; he was standing there, crossbow in hand, staring back when just a few days before he probably hadn't even made eye contact.
"Squirrel –"
He could've kicked his own ass; he should have told them to mind their own business. That would've been far more believable than … this.
He swallowed and did his best to look pissed.
"Y'all just gonna stand there or is someone gonna string 'em up; already done my part."
Some continued to stare while others turned away, their faces alight with brief distaste.
"Carol –" Ed called out and Daryl's head snapped to the man's location. He was sitting at their campfire, gun laid across his lap, and MRE ripped open at his side.
A moment later she appeared from behind their car, one hand holding a pair of pants, the other a strung needle.
He had nearly forgotten – she and Jaqui had proven somewhat decent when it came to gutting and preparing small game; Jaqui because of her father's influence and Carol because Ed was a cheap son of a bitch.
"String those up n' do it right." Ed pointed in Daryl's direction with his rifle – that idiot – and spit into the dirt.
Carol looked up at him and immediately looked away when she realized he was returning her gaze; she looked so different, so small, so … scared.
He watched as she crossed the camp and he felt an incredible urge to back away, to turn back towards the forest – he never wanted to see her this way again. The abuse was written all over her – in bruises and in the way she carried herself.
It made him sick.
His eyes snapped towards Ed for a brief moment – there was a lot he wanted to change but Ed's fate, hell, his fate had been too kind the last time.
Carol stopped before him and her mouth quirked in discomfort.
"I'll take that." She said, her voice meek, barely above a whisper.
He couldn't keep this act up, not with her; not when she had to return to that slob of a husband.
"Don't worry, Dixon. I'll keep an eye on 'er." Ed had read his hesitation for distrust; it wasn't a ridiculous assumption, considering who he had been those years ago.
Daryl felt his grasp tighten around the cord or rope – sonnuva bitch'll get his – and handed it to her, gently.
As soon as it was in her hand she grasped it and turned to leave; she didn't get far, however, as Daryl had yet to release the thing.
The moment was brief, unnoticed by the others, by Ed.
She looked back up at him, distress clear in the tense way she held herself. She wouldn't be able to handle much more. She thought he was toying her and it tore him apart.
"Thank you, Carol." He murmured, loud enough only for their ears.
Her brow furrowed, a thing caught between confusion and distrust. She gave him a small nod, her gaze averted, before turning away.
He watched her go, watched Ed as he licked his lips and took her in as she passed him by.
He could have done something right there and then, could have cross the camp and put his hands around the bastard's neck, so intense was his hatred for Ed.
However, he'd have to wait.
"They're back!" Someone cried and Daryl's thoughts did a compete 180; he had nearly forgotten.
Rick.
Daryl did his best to not look to eager as he joined the others as they watched the truck amble up the hill.
He hung back a few paces, squinting through the sunlight; he could make out T-Dog in the driver's seat, Andrea in the passenger's.
That would mean Jaqui, Glenn, Rick and Morales would be in the back with whatever supplies they had managed.
Rick didn't know him, not yet – he would be the easiest to make an ally of. That's where he would start. If he managed to forge a slow friendship with the man, the others may come to accept his sudden 'change of heart'.
That still didn't solve his problems with Merle; he sure as hell hadn't taken to his friendship with the man so well the first time.
Another minute passed and the truck slowed to a stop in front of the group; T-Dog and Andrea hopped out, the latter of whom was immediately barreled down by her sister.
Daryl couldn't help but let a grin tug at his lip; he could fix that too.
"C'mon man!" Daryl could hear Glenn's muffled voice from behind the truck's sliding door.
T-Dog laughed and hurried over, giving the back door a quick slap before releasing the locking mechanism and throwing the metal upwards.
Glenn hopped down, his face alight with self-satisfaction – he looked carefree and a bit skittish, more a boy than a man.
Next came Morales and then Jaqui, who took the man's offered hand as she stepped down.
"Hey, Dale! You're gonna love what we found –" Jaqui called out but Daryl wasn't listening. He stepped forward, head ducking, searching, but there wasn't much to see.
All that remained in the cargo bed was a few bags of supplies, a tool kit, spare tires …
Rick wasn't with them.
Before he could really think about what he was doing he was walking towards Glenn.
"Glenn." The younger man spotted him rather immediately and his expression dropped; he whispered a panicked "shit" and nearly dropped the bag he was carrying.
It would have been amusing if Daryl hadn't been about to force them back in the truck, demanding they go into Atlanta again.
"Where did you go in Atlanta?" He asked Glenn, his voice commanding; the Korean shrunk at the sound of it, his eyes screaming both 'help' and 'why me' at the same time.
"The Department Store on Peach –" Fuck, Daryl thought, that was hardly within the city limits.
"Did you see anyone?" He pushed
"Well, walkers –" Glenn started and Daryl cut him off, his voice short and impatient.
"A man, did you see a man?"
"Uh –" Glenn stepped back, nervous. Daryl fully realized this was probably the first conversation they were having, that anything he had said prior had been racist, condescending or down right mean.
"A cop, wearin' a sheriff's hat –" Daryl nearly had the young man stumbling over his own feet now but fuck, he couldn't deal with this right now.
"No, no, just the Walkers, man, calm down –"
"Why the hell not?" Daryl spat, his frustration so intense it was a physical ache in his chest. The question didn't make a lick of sense without context but he couldn't give a shit.
"I'm, uh, sorry –" Glenn said out of pure misery, his desire to end the interaction evident.
Daryl abided him, turning away without so much as a thanks, knowing there wouldn't be much he could get from Glenn; the man had no idea about Rick, about how much he his decision to take Merle with him had changed things for them.
He made his way to the far end of the camp, towards his truck, leaving Glenn behind.
Glenn watched the younger Dixon brother walk away and released a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding.
He nearly jumped when T-Dog appeared beside him.
"What the hell was that?" T-Dog asked as he too stared after the retreating hunter.
"I have no freaking idea, T," he paused, "but I'm pretty sure I just pissed my pants."
For the first time since this shit had begun panic welled up inside of him.
Daryl didn't know what had gone wrong. Rick should have been in the truck. This was the day they had found Rick in Atlanta.
What in the hell had changed –
Daryl looked over at his tent, the his brother was undoubtedly snoring in, and his stomach dropped like a stone.
Fuck. Fuck …
He hadn't known the exact story, the exact events of that day; all he had known was that Merle had ben left behind. Handcuffed to a roof.
It had been all he had cared about at the time.
But something had happened, clearly. Had his brother been so important to that run? Had he been that fucking important?
Daryl punched the side of his truck, not caring about the dent as he might have before – he hadn't even considered that his brother might have been the one to choose where they had gone.
Thin the group …
That's what Merle had been trying to do; the bastard had probably led them right into the center of the city, into an area too dangerous to venture, towards where Rick had been.
In a matter of days he had changed everything.
Daryl paced, a hundred plans filtering through his mind, though he knew the chances of finding his friend were thin; he knew Glenn had saved him from some dire situation. If he were being honest with himself, the man was probably dead.
The thought made him physically sick; Daryl slumped against his truck.
He couldn't do this without Rick.
I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Thank you for your patience; the next update will not take so long. Things will also be moving a little quicker from here and Daryl's interactions with the others, most notably his brother, will prove more difficult. There are plenty of twists to come!
Thank you, as always, for taking the time to read, follow, favorite and review. It means a lot to me!
