AN: I dunno what else I can do with this. I... I didn't intend for this to be an origin story, go figure. Anyway, thanks for waiting.
-Shazzy
-Change of Stripes-
It had been nearly ten years since they'd run away from their father and started over, just the two of them. The brothers had somehow managed to carve out a place for themselves, tooth and nail. It wasn't always a bed of roses, though. Two broken young men trying to make a life for themselves? Blood was shed and fists were thrown, but in the end, they always had each other.
He'd found himself driven further and further into the bottle, and when that wasn't enough, he found other ways to ease the hate and rage and pain he felt every time things went even slightly south. He watched the world go by through bleary, bloodshot eyes. He'd fallen out of love with being the doting older brother as Daryl pushed him further away, chasing his own violent desires.
Merle found himself in trouble more and more often, disappearing on his brother for longer and longer stretches of time.
The worst was when he'd find himself in prison for various reasons.
But he always called Daryl, and Daryl always came to check on him.
Now, however, he found himself too messed up to even get back on his bike and run away. His head swam with drink and drugs and his limbs felt like lead. He wondered, vaguely, if this was how he was going to die – drunk and high and alone.
No, he decided. He wasn't going to die, not like this. He'd live on until the world ended. He was a Dixon after all.
Merle groaned to himself, unable to get up, unable to move, barely able to think. Everything hurt, everything was bleak and he was so goddamn tired.
Movement.
Merle squeezed his eyes shut, willing the motion away.
A rustle of fabric and the sound of footsteps getting closer.
"Go away..." Merle begged weakly, wanting nothing more than to just ride out his high and his daze in peace.
"No such luck, big brother." Daryl said quietly as he crouched by Merle's bed.
The house was a mess, it almost always was these days. Daryl was never home, and Merle didn't care. Now, though, Daryl was home long enough to find his brother at his weakest.
"What'd you take?" Daryl asked, eyeing the prescription bottles scattered about the bedside table and floor.
"None a' yer business." Merle replied.
"Like hell it ain't." Daryl sneered back. "You wanna die, Merle? Issat it?"
Merle groaned again and tried to roll over, to little luck. He managed instead to place his arm over his eyes. "Go away."
"I ain't leavin' you." Daryl said, picking up the bottles and looking at each one. "You've never left me, no matter how shitty things have gotten, and I ain't about t' leave you." He frowned to himself, feeling so out of his depth and lost as he watched his brother slowly destroy himself.
Merle chuckled mirthlessly from his spot on the bed. "No, you won't will you?" He drawled. "You're too much of a pussy t' leave ol' Merle here. You need me, doncha, Daryl? No way you'll make it on yer own without yer big brother there t' fight off the things that go bump in th' night."
"Shut up." Daryl demanded angrily. "Seriously, Merle, just shut up for one goddamn minute and try not to swallow your own tongue."
Merle laughed again.
A long moment of silence passed between the brothers.
"Thank you." Merle said quietly.
Daryl patted his brother's arm in response.
The two Dixon boys would always have each other. No matter what.