Yet another emotional chapter ? I'm sorry. This one was incredibly difficult to write. You'll see why.
Chapter 4: Please, Don't Let Me Fall.
Past
Daryl was 4 years old the first time his father told him he wasn't good enough. He was 6 years old the first time his father decided to prove it to him. The physical abuse was second in the amount of damage left, it was the vocal and emotional abuse that truly hurt. That truly left the deepest scars.
There was a time in Daryl's life when he had become immune to the pain, numb to it. His best friends knew there was something pretty bad going on at his house, but they didn't know just how bad it truly was. If he was being honest with himself, he didn't want to believe it. It only got worse after Daryl's mother died in a house fire, still in bed and still drugged out of her mind. Before she died, she was the only one who would protect him. He mourned silently for weeks, afraid that his visible pain would only cause his father to irrationally lash out at him more. He had never felt more alone than that time when he was 8 years old.
There were times when Daryl would miss days, even weeks of school at a time. The pain would be so increasingly bad sometimes that he couldn't move. He'd just wait until his dad was done whipping him and he'd try his hardest not to cry afterwards. His older brother had told him time and time again that crying was for pussies.
'Boys don't cry, you pussy,' he heard his brother's words echoing painfully in his skull. Secretly, it was his way of trying to protect him from their father's wrath.
If his old man saw any tears or even a quivering bottom lip, the beatings would be worse. So much worse than he would've thought.
So he learned to be quiet and not to think about the pain that spread through his flesh every time his father decided that he needed to be taught a lesson. He went to his happy place when that happened, or he tried to. He thought about his best friends who were like family to him. If it hadn't been for them, he would've never known how good people could really be or how much they could really love you, despite what you may have done in the past.
Present
King County to Atlanta. 4:00 PM:
Daryl felt terrible having lied to Michonne, but he didn't want her to know why he really had to leave the pizza place. He couldn't stop seeing her obviously knowing, overly sympathetic eyes in his brain over and over. He was glad he only had to deal with the knowing, intelligent gaze of one of his friends and not all three of them at the same time. His brother was in prison and he needed to be bailed out again, for the second time this year.
Daryl drove his bike all the way to Atlanta with a wad of cash stuffed into his jacket. In King County, there was a jail but no prison, so Atlanta was the next best thing. The wind blew through Daryl's ever-growing hair as he tore through the highway just under the speed limit. He didn't want to go where he was going, a place he had unfortunately been many times before.
When he arrived at the familiar gates, a wave of nausea came over him. He found himself puking into one of the bushes out back to clear both his mind and his stomach. He hadn't seen Merle in weeks, and if he was being honest, that was the way he liked it.
It took all of two minutes to get through security and into the prison. "I'm here to bail out Merle Dixon?" Daryl said, his nerves on edge and making it sound like more of a question than a statement.
"What will your form of payment be?" asked a man in a deep voice behind the glass without once looking up, typing away on a computer.
"Cash," Daryl deadpanned, throwing the wad down on the cold, white desk. He hated the prison and being anywhere near it.
"Impressive," the man said in a slightly higher octave, "And how old are you?"
"I'm 18, sir." This was one of the first times it was true.
He nodded slowly in response before hitting a final key on the computer. "I think you should know what happened before you do this, kid," the man cautioned sincerely.
"What?" Daryl's head was pounding, sweat that wasn't from the heat forming over every one of his pulses.
"What your brother did-he is your brother right?" he continued when Daryl nodded subtly, biting his lip. "I was there, kid, it wasn't good, believe me."
"Well, what was it?" Daryl asked impatiently, not wanting to spend more time in this terrible place than he had to.
"He got drunk out of his mind, he assaulted two young girls, and tried to rob a corner store at gunpoint. He was yelling the entire time, some of the things he said I'd rather not repeat."
Daryl looked stunned, but he wasn't truly surprised. His brother wasn't exactly a good person, but he was still his brother. That was why he came, he wanted to make things right between them. He'd at least try.
Daryl found himself overcome with emotion, clearing his throat in an attempt to rid himself of the public humiliation, "Well, can I see 'im at least? To talk to 'im?"
Daryl had already made his decision. He wouldn't be bailing out his immature brother today. Deep down, he knew his brother deserved to be there, with other people who were far from innocent.
"Yeah," the man said sadly, "Just come this way. The meeting area is down the hall, the second door to the left."
Daryl found his hands shaking profusely. How would he tell his brother he wasn't there to get him out this time? Don't be a pussy, Daryl thought to himself as he kept walking. He swore his heart stopped in time during the trip though the too-white hallway.
Before he knew it, the door was open and there was his brother at the furthest table in the room, looking terrible and definitely on some type of intoxicating drug. He could practically smell it from where he stood and it only got worse as he walked up to the table.
"Well, I'll be damned," drawled Merle, "Is that really my baby brother? Haven't seen you in a little while."
"I just want to talk," Daryl said lowly.
"What was that?" Merle said a little too loudly, causing other people in the visitation room to peek their way.
"Keep your voice down! I said," Daryl repeated, a bit irritated now, "I just want to talk with you."
"Well," Merle blew out warily, "You shoulda said so in the first place, Darlina."
Daryl tried his best to ignore the last part of what was said, knowing he was just trying to piss him off further.
"The point is," Daryl began, finding bravery deep down in his lungs as he pulled out one of the metal chairs to sit down and look his brother right in the face, "I ain't bailing you out this time. You deserved to be put in here."
Daryl could tell that his brother wanted to jump across the table and strangle him, but fortunately for him, his hands were cuffed down to the metal table. "After everything I done for you?! After I protected you-looked out for your well bein'?!" he yelled out loudly.
"Keep your voice down," Daryl hissed out uncomfortably a second time. "This is for your own good. I'm doin' this for you."
With that, Daryl couldn't take his brother's hateful glare any longer and he stood, pulling his pants back into place as he did too.
"Come on, little brother," Merle begged pathetically, knowing Daryl was his only chance to get out, "Don't be like that. I was just playin' around."
"Playin' around?" Daryl breathed out cooly, "Sprewin' your ignorant bullshit around town and touching two girls against their wills is just playin' around? Nah, man. I'm done. I wish I had never gotten you out at all," he finished with obvious disdain.
Merle looked at him with disbelief, Daryl had never been able to stand up to him the way he just did. Even though the fact that his brother was restrained had a lot to do with it, he was still proud of himself for saying those important words.
"So you're just gonna walk away, then? You're just gonna leave me here alone?" Merle asked, obviously trying to make Daryl feel guilty for something that wasn't his fault in the least. "Fine. Just get the fuck outta here then. Go home or wherever it is you fuckin' go to out there."
Contradicting Daryl's thoughts about not caring one way or the other, he felt a lump forming in his throat and tears filling up his blue-grey eyes.
"You know," Daryl let out shakily, his voice trembling as he turned to face his brother for one last time in what he knew would be a while, "I may be the one walking away, but you're the one that's leaving. Again." With that, he turned away before his brother could see the tears waterfalling down his tired face. Those tears held everything from disappointment to plain sadness. Things were supposed to better between the two of them.
Daryl kept walking even when he heard his brother yelling again and slamming the table, causing the guards to come rushing into the room to get him under control. Though he left the prison doors with his brother's heartbroken voice echoing in his thoughts, he felt like he could breathe properly for the first time in years.
King County. 8:45 PM:
For a while, Daryl just rode around town. Trying to stop the flow of tears he had been taught were sinful and unbecoming. It took a while, but he finally came down from his emotional high enough to drive home, pulling his keys out as he pulled up to the tiny house just near the woods.
When Daryl arrived inside, he was stunned to see Will Dixon standing right there in the front room. The bastard had the nerve to look smug and spiteful at the same time. Daryl said nothing as the two sized each other up, Daryl doing his best to hide his nerves. He refused to look down this time. He wouldn't be afraid today.
His father had been off on a bender with some waitress for the eighth time this summer alone. He was back and he was already drunk. Unbelievable.
"Where you been at, boy?" the old man gurgled pathetically.
"Just out to gas up my bike and run some errands," Daryl lied smoothly. A skill he unwillingly acquired years ago which worked on nearly everybody, his dad included.
"You sure you weren't with the policeman's boy and those two lower class degenerates-"
"You would think that," Daryl mumbled under his breath angrily. Glenn and Michonne didn't deserve for some piece of shit, ignorant racist to speak badly about them. A person who didn't even know them and never would.
"What was that?" his father asked, unbuckling the first part of his belt and stepping up to be closer to Daryl. He held his ground. But he could practically feel the scars all over his back pulsing at the same time. The place where the silver belt buckle occasionally struck him time and time again.
"Nothin'. I'm just tellin' you not to speak that way about my friends-about Glenn and Michonne," he said, not phased by his father's pathetic threats at this point. The man was clearly ill and far too weak to hurt him today.
"It ain't good for yer brain," his father said ignorantly, "Hangin' out with a black bitch and a stuck up, intelligent japanese kid."
"They're better to me than you ever were you white trash, piece of shit," Daryl yelled out back, no longer holding back as his father blatantly insulted his friends. Tears burned at the corners of his eyes, but this time, they weren't sad ones, they were pissed off ones.
"You better hope you didn't just say what I think you did, boy," Will Dixon drawled out, his threats idle. Unimportant.
"I did," Daryl said instantly, his heart pounding wildly, "I ain't scared a' you anymore like I was when I was a kid, old man. You can't touch me."
His father looked disgusted with him, knowing he wasn't up to physically hurt him today. So he would use words this time.
"You should be more like your brother," he bit out.
"Why? So I can end up in prison too? So I can lose any opportunity that might come my way?" Daryl was the one to step forward this time, face to face with the man who had haunted his dreams and his waking life all of his childhood.
"You're good for nothin', you know that? Who would ever give you an opportunity?"
Daryl just laughed out, knowing that was all his father had to use, something that was outdated and untrue. Pathetic.
In this moment he was afraid, but not of his father. The world outside was his home now, it was where he belonged. Just knowing that each of his friends were probably waiting up for him was all he needed to know about his worth. Nobody would take that from him. Never again. The phone in his pocket felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. It felt good. The phone buzzed twice and his lips twitched up, him still looking his dad right in the cold, hard eyes. Taking his life back was scary, but he had to do it. He had been under this roof for far too long.
This time, he wasn't so sure if he would ever see that house again after today. His smile was so big it hurt, sparkling white teeth and all. He left his dad standing there dumbstruck, with his mouth wide open while he walked out the door without a word. He just kept walking.
Past
"Ma?!" Daryl yelled out, throwing down his bike un-carefully in the nearly empty street as he saw the house lit to flames on the upstairs level. He ignored the people standing in the lawn with water hoses. "Where's my ma?!" he cried out panicked as he ran straight for the house, his vision already blurred up.
A tall firefighter grabbed him just as he was reaching the door and held him tightly as he sobbed frantically, his knees scraped up and his throat dry. He already knew what happened before the man told him.
"Son, I'm sorry," the man said, kneeling down to his height, "Your mother died today." She was probably smoking before it went down and that was why it happened. King County was a place where a lot of things happened and people outside it didn't hear about it.
"W-what?" Daryl hiccuped in disbelief, "No, no, you're lyin'!" he yelled out, snot and tears all over his young face. "How can she be dead just like that?!"
"I'm so sorry," the man repeated, not knowing how to comfort the panicking kid who was now kicking him all over the place in an attempt to get to the house. They were weak, overly frantic attempts. Traumatic situations were an ingrained part of Daryl's life now.
"Ma!" he cried out a second time, his voice barely understandable, as if she would appear at the window upstairs and everything would be okay. The group of firefighters watched sadly as the kid tried desperately to reach the dead woman from where they were outside. There was nothing they could do. "Tell me you're not dead, ma, please!"
The man holding him carried him all the way to the truck as the others hosed down the house with water. He fought the entire way as the kind man set him down on the side of the truck. News cameras with their white vans had already pulled up. Who knew where his 14 year old brother was or his pathetic excuse for a father. Today wasn't a win. It was a tragedy.
"Kid," the man said gently but sternly, causing Daryl to flinch involuntarily as he rested his big hands on his tiny shoulders, "I'm going to let you go, okay? But you have to promise me you won't go anywhere near that house, you understand?"
Daryl just nodded at the man through heartbreaking, stinging tears that seemed to be incessantly unending. He couldn't help but to think about what, at 8 years old, he had done to deserve this traumatic occurrence. What he could have possibly done wrong for this to happen. It was too much to deal with on his own.
He was already coming up with reasons for why it was his fault, kicking himself internally for being at the park most of the day and not here where he was obviously needed. He said fuck you to his dad and brother for not being there. He said fuck you to the world for not protecting his innocent mother. Why couldn't one of them have died instead? He felt terrible just for thinking the thought.
He wanted to show the kind man what his dad did to him. He wanted to show him every individual scar that would never go away because he felt like he could trust this person. But he couldn't speak. His throat hurt. Domestic abuse was something he didn't quite understand yet, or the ptsd he had developed over time. He had been taught to think he deserved it for the things he did. So he just nodded, keeping his promise as the man let him go and he ran straight the other direction, as fast as his legs would let him. He went straight into the woods and then back out, turning quickly.
Daryl didn't stop running until he got to Rick's house, the one place his mind which was racing in a thousand different directions would think to take him. The sun was already down by the time he got there, the stars' unforgiving twinkle lighting up the sky instead. The oxygen around him was suffocating and he found it difficult to breathe. He suddenly felt like the smallest thing in the universe.
"Daryl?" Rick's dad asked, who was just pulling up at the house in his police cruiser. A worried look quickly fell upon his face as he took in the kid's demeanor. He was dirty and tired beyond logic by the time he got to the house, nearly tripping over himself in the driveway.
Daryl couldn't say anything besides one word through swollen, bloody lips. "R-Rick."
It was on the news displayed on the tiny t.v. as soon as they were inside. Rick's dad instantly knew why Daryl was so upset. Ultimately and inevitably, the pain was visceral. It was too unignorable.
"He's upstairs," Rick's mother said as she descended the steps. She knew too. Any tranquility in the Grimes' household was dissipated into thin air. The intensity was overwhelming.
And even though she had never particularly liked her son spending time with the troubled, problematic Daryl Dixon with the infamous big brother, she was heartbroken by the look in the kids tear-filled eyes. Eyes that were wise beyond his young years. Too wise. He had seen things no kid should ever have to see.
"You can walk up, sweetie," she said to Daryl softly before leaning down to kiss the top of his head, her own heart breaking. For the time being, she would push her skepticism of the kid aside to see the innocent, scared child who was trembling just inches in front of her.
Rick's dad watched him the entire way, wondering why god felt the need to punish this kid who had done nothing truly wrong his whole life. Daryl just nodded thankfully as he tried and failed to swallow back more painful sobs.
"I didn't want anybody to die," he whispered on his way up.
One of them said, "I know you didn't." He didn't pay attention to know which one.
He stayed up with his best friend the entire night up there, more thankful than ever to have to him in his life. He didn't know what he did to deserve a kid as good as Rick was. He didn't tell Rick his mom died until the next morning, he didn't want the pity. The tears didn't stop, but somehow, Rick got him to smile and even laugh a bit under the sheet fort they built together.
Daryl was usually defensive with every person, but he didn't have to be with Rick. They made a pact that night to never push each other away. Under that fort were unbreakable promises and protection.
Right now, Rick was his brother in every way that counted and the one person who truly gave a damn about his well being, even at the tender young age they were. Things wouldn't be okay, they both knew that at this point in time. But the two of them had each other's backs in this world, anyway, no matter what.
While that old house burned down, Daryl's mother burned down with it. Along with every promise she made him. She couldn't keep them now that she was dead. Nobody could but the innocent woman who would forever live in Daryl's thoughts as well as six feet under in the King County graveyard. His dad was wrong. His dad was wrong about the whole world.
'Childhood is the kingdom where nobody dies.' What a bullshit lie.
"Quit these pretentious things and just punch the clock,
These days, my life, I feel it has no purpose,
but late at night the feelings swim to the surface..
'cause on the suburbs the city lights shine,
they're calling at me, 'come and find your kind.." sprawl ii, arcade fire
I felt like this Daryl individual chapter was definitely necessary & I'm glad I wrote & included it. I wanted to go deep into his past to show you why he's so defensive & uses jokes as a coping mechanism so often. I promise, the next chapter will go back to Michonne's predicament with her dad. Please tell me what you think!