Chapter 3

- Warnings – this chapter gets extremely dark. It may even shock and disgust you. It's a Merle POV after all!

What are Merle's true motives when it comes to his baby brother and what is the secret that lies between them? Why is Rick creeped out by the way he touches Daryl? Most importantly, can the younger Dixon move on from what he endured at Woodbury?

Mere hated seeing his tough, formerly bad-ass baby brother looking so vulnerable and fragile, scared of his own shadow and at times he wanted to grab him by the throat and shake him back to the way he was. Every flinch, cringe or whimper – (well he'd always been highly-strung, how their father had treated him hadn't helped - but not like this) grated on him making him clench his fists to stop him from beating him down for being a little pussy. But he couldn't hurt Daryl more than he'd already been hurt and he hated and blamed the group for what they'd let happen to him. Yet he admitted that part of him also enjoyed how much Daryl needed him when he was this broken. How his baby brother looked up to him like when they were kids when Merle had been his whole world. Had to be with their drunk, dumb-fuck parents. Part of Merle relished taking care of him, in some ways, he knew he was treating him like a child again. Daryl clung to him and him alone, those hurt, big blue eyes wide pleading with him silently to make it all better.

Make it all go away.

Make it like it had never have happened.

But as much as he wanted to turn back time, Merle couldn't. All he could do was hold him close and whisper sweet lies into his ear that everything was going to be OK.

It wasn't like Merle didn't have experience of this kind of thing. When Tammy came back – bruised and battered, her long, dark hair dishevelled, clothes ripped after she'd disappeared for days, the 100 yard stare in her eyes, the same look Daryl had in his eyes but less often now, he'd known immediately what had happened to her. He'd been searching for her, at the back of his mind he always knew that she'd been taken for his drugs debts.

When they dumped her off, she'd been half-drugged. Dazed.

Crazed. Barely decent. Clothes filthy, ripped and torn. She'd stunk of sex, booze, fags and blood.

Don't forget terror. The scent of fear hung heavily about her like it always would from then on, no matter how much Merle tried to take it away.

They'd taken the only thing – second to Daryl – that he'd cared about. Given her back to him like that - ruined, shattered. Driven off like cowards before he could confront them. Didn't matter – he knew who they were. Worse than if they'd just killed her so that he didn't have to look at how she'd been punished for him.

Now someone else -this time his baby brother no less – was paying for Merle, again. The Governor knew he was Merle's brother – he'd ordered them to fight to the death after all– brother against brother before they'd escaped the first time. Daryl initially unnerved and trembling from the feral calls for his blood from the Woodbury mob braying around them. Hyperventilating like he always did when things got too much for him. Nevertheless, after they ripped the sack of his face and undid his bonds but then he'd steeled himself and got himself into fighting mode pretty quickly.

The sick bastard's only one regret was probably that Merle hadn't been there to see his baby brother's degradation. Merle knew that if he could, he would have used Daryl as bait to lure Merle back to pay for what he saw as his betrayal.

He'd tried to put his arms around her, 'Come here, baby. What did they do?'. He'd embraced her only gently- gentle for him- but she'd still gasped in fear and he'd immediately let her go. Fear of him? Yeah – he knew he was pretty intimidating but he'd never hurt a woman before except with his barbed tongue. Memories of Mama's black eyes and purple and yellowing bruises covering her legs had always held him back - he'd never wanted to be like their - he never hurt them unless they wanted it – believe it, some of them did like her. Tammy had been one of those who enjoyed it rough. Very fucking rough. He'd given her a few scrapes and bruises but then he'd always come off worse – no blow had been to low for her in the throes of passion. That's one of the reasons he had loved her – her fire, her thirst for new experiences, her lack of fear. But now all she had – was consumed with was by fear no matter how much Merle tried to take her terror away. In the end, he'd done the only thing he could and gone and made the rapists pay.

So she'd finally feel safe.

But Tammy was never the same again, remained always broken and it had taken weeks after before she'd even let him touch her. He didn't know why he stayed so long – normally he would have got of there before, not put up with that but instead he stayed. He could always see the cracks in her. And she'd been the only woman he'd loved.

But Daryl was strong, he told himself. A Dixon. Tough. He'd get through this with the right handling.

The similarities between his brother's and his dead girlfriend's fates were ironic really – even if Daryl was a man. All because of Merle. He nearly laughed out loud bitterly at the irony of it all.

Daryl didn't know about Tammy or the other girls. Him and Merle hadn't shared much about the times when they'd been separated.

He wondered dully whether Daryl had ever had a woman or even got laid with one. The boy used to get into a panic and shied away from anyone who touched him- except for his brother. Even when someone merely brushed past him or laid an innocent hand on his shoulder, his breathing would get ragged and he'd squirm away. Merle knew he'd always been skittish but even his brother's reactions seemed on the extreme side. Nevertheless, he hadn't wanted to dwell on the reasons for Daryl's reluctance to being touched. But before Woodbury, he'd been getting better. Smirking back at him when he sensed Merle's jealously whenever Rick slung a brotherly arm around his shoulders and Daryl let it stay! Or Carol – the horny old bitch - touched his arm or hand and he didn't flinch back!

Was Daryl doing it just to rile him up? Show him that the wasn't the only one in his life anymore?

Now, he'd only just got his brother back but it wasn't his baby brother any more and he'd have given anything to have that exasperating Daryl back – mocking him for his anger when he saw how he allowed the others to touch them. Not everyone though – only a select few from the group. Instead of this shadow of what he used to be.

He hated those men who had reduced his little brother to this and he vowed that as soon as he could leave Daryl, he was going to make every one of those bastards suffer. Fuck them to death and rip their limbs from their bodies if he could. Drag it out –long and slow that they felt every bit of pain they'd inflicted on Daryl ten times over. His brother had already told him some of their names – they hadn't cared because the Governor was going to kill him once he'd used him all up until there was nothing even a reaction or a moan of pain or a whimper of protest - just an empty shell with dead eyes like Merle had dispassionately watched many other prisoners become. No use to the Governor – without their suffering, he didn't get off on them so well. But luckily Rick and the others had stumbled on Daryl before that happened. While they were trying to rescue that blonde bitch Andrea.

The boy had lasted five days of that torture – he was strong. His baby brother was tough and he felt pride well up at how long Daryl had survived. He knew that they would have been going at him day and night – if he was lucky, they'd allow him a couple of hours to rest. Gave him the bare minimum of food and water and the occasional toilet break.

But Merle knew that the bastard would have enjoyed his baby brother more than the others – Daryl had that effect on predators. Like their Daddy, for example. There was something sweet and fragile about the boy that turned them on despite his obvious toughness – Daryl's inner beauty was his curse. It was more enduring and endearing than mere physical good looks. Which his brother had too, he thought, looking down at his sleeping brother admiringly. Ran his forefinger lightly down his brother's back, just grazing the scarred skin as his slept so that he wouldn't wake up, whispering to him.

'So fuckin' beautiful – inside and out, brother. No wonder he – they - wanted ya.' Merle shuddered. 'Poor baby Darlena. Did the bad men hurt ya real bad?' He crooned sympathetically to him like he was addressing a child. Despite himself, he was getting aroused at the thought of Daryl being held down and violated, fucked in his mouth, his ass – maybe two at the same time back there. Semen from multiple men leaking out of him everywhere. Their hands all over him while he squirmed, trying to escape their rough groping when he'd gone in there already with his aversion to harmless, every day physical contact from strangers. Merle groaned at the vision. Did he cry? No, he would never have cried – Merle corrected himself, no matter what the bastards did to him. Only Merle could have brought him to tears afterwards, knowing how badly Daryl needed to let them out. Would he have whimpered? Probably but he would never have begged for mercy. But he would have fought back as much as he could. Until they beat him down and finally ovewhelmed him. He would have fought like a Dixon. Like Merle had taught him to fight. He hoped that he had killed at least one of them before they tied him down and gagged him. Would he have come? Had he moaned, or cried out, his muscles spasming despite himself as they forced orgasm after orgasm out of him with the pain? Daryl hadn't told him the full details – they'd drugged him and his recollection was fuzzy in some places. No doubt, though he would have done some of his torturers damage – lashed out with his foot and broken a nose or bit one of his rapist's cocks off...

Merle moaned quietly, he was getting hard at the fantasy of his brother's violation without even touching himself, at where his imagination was taking him. He shook his head and tried to calm himself down. Looked down at his bulging erection. He was either going to leave the tent for a cold shower or undo his pants and take care of himself. Even with his little brother sleeping nearby – the main star in his jerk-off gang- rape fantasy. Thoughts couldn't hurt Daryl, could they? He wouldn't even be touching him. Because he'd joined in the gang-rapes himself, men and women with Tammy's face in his mind all the time. 'How could you?' She was saying. 'When you know what they did to me?'But he'd shut her bruised and battered image out of his mind when he got down and dirty- fucking some unfortunate against their will. And no, Merle didn't indulge in rape under normal circumstances – he may be an asshole but he wasn't that sick but something about the Governor – something about the pack mentality of the men under him had driven him on. And he couldn't deny that he'd enjoyed it. The sick fuck had found out the darkness inside of Merle from their Daddy that had always been close to the surface and brought it out into the light to give it full reign. Like he did with most people. Most people had some darkness in them and the bastard knew how to use it. No - Merle couldn't even use the drugs and alcohol as an excuse. They had merely helped him to see the victims as nothing, nobodies. Once they were prisoners, they were as good as dead anyway. If they had any sense, they'd be begging for death.

He was a sick fuck. No better than the fucking Governor but at least he'd left him. If Daryl knew the things he'd done...had enjoyed doing...but all these memories that should have horrified him, filled him with remorse and regret were making him horny...

Merle was about to unzip his pants and get his hard dick out, he'd still refrained from touching himself with great difficulty and his breathing almost coming in pants now. But then he looked over at his brother lying next to him like an accusation. If he knew how Merle had done those things in Woodbury, things his baby brother would never have stooped to – Daryl would despise him forever. He was smart – he probably knew or at least suspected. But he'd never asked Merle if he'd participated in the gang-rapes on the Governor's orders.

His arousal died as he ripped his hand away from his flies at this thought.

He wasn't asking him now but that didn't mean he wouldn't demand answers later. Daryl knew he'd been the Governor's second man.

A short time after – enough time anyway for Merle's hard-one to shrink, he didn't want Daryl to see, the younger Dixon stirred beside him. 'M...Merle...'. He looked up at him, those blue eyes wide, those full, red lips trembling that those bastards must have found so irresistable. Making Merle feel another surge of impotent rage and hatred for those animals who had defiled him. The sweet boy's first thought when he woke was for his big brother, of course. Merle had to stop the thoughts and impulses kaleidoscoping around his head when he saw him like that – hair mussed from sleep, disorientated and looking more vulnerable and younger than ever.

The side he had usually only allowed Merle to see. But since the rapes...

Instead, bringing himself under control, Merle brushed the loose hair back off his baby brother's face with one hand, one side gently after the other.

'Come here.' He told him before Daryl went to him willingly enough, burying his face in his chest as Merle wrapped his arms around him.

'They don't care about ya.' He whispered to his younger brother as he rocked him back and forth in a soothing rhythm. 'Ya know that, don't ya? To them, ya jus' a piece of throw-away redneck trash, like me that's why they weren't even lookin' for ya. It's only me who really cares about ya. Understands ya.'

He landed a kiss on his cheek near his ear.

'Yeah, we all know how ya show you care.' Daryl suddenly snarled, words muffled into his chest with bitter sarcasm, sounding like his old self but still not looking up at him.

'What's that supposed to mean?' Merle tightened his arms about his him.

'It means get the fuck off me.' He growled back, fighting to free himself from his brother.

Merle released him. 'Well, well.' He mocked. 'Got ya balls back in ya pants at last, baby brother?'. But inside,he concealed an icy chill went through him . Did Daryl remember? Was that the reason for the sudden turn around?

'Fuck you.' Daryl eye-balled him mercilessly, his expression stony hard, unreadable. 'Ya tryin' to drive a wedge between me and Rick and the others? Ya no better. Ya left me behind for years and ya my brother. My family. They didn't know where I was, thought I was with you. What's ya excuse?'

Merle found that he was uncharacteristically struck speechless with no comeback as his brother brusehd past him almost rudely and got out of the tent. Strode with angry, purposeful steps towards the camp. Followed by anxious calls, 'Daryl, ya OK?' and 'Where ya goin'?'.

Even 'Did Merle upset ya?' coming from the older and sexier Greene bitch who would always hate him.