EM: A big, huge, Dixon thank you to letmefallasleep for your Southern wisdom. And, in response to your last chapter question (for others who also might be wonderin'): I put Daryl at 20, making Merle 33. And thank you to everyone else who keeps coming back. Honestly, you guys are freakin' awesome.
Disclaimer: Daryl and Merle Dixon belong to Robert Kirkman and AMC.
Rated: M for Language, Violence, and Child Abuse
Doe
A branch snapped beneath his foot.
"Be fuckin' quiet boy," daddy snapped at him. Daddy didn't even turn around, his big back hulking in front of him. A flock of wild birds took flight. His daddy cursed. He took an involuntary step back, trying to avoid a smack if one was comin'. But daddy just kept moving, his huge black boots never makin' a sound, even as he crashed over crispy leaves, tree branches and whatever the hell else was on the ground. And it was loud.
This time he stepped into a hole and pitched forward, giving a cry and crashing to the ground.
And daddy did turn around this time, glaring at him from beneath his bushy black eyebrows. "I'll tan yur hide boy if you don't fuckin' shut it." Daryl pulled back, his shoulders caving in, his body curling inward protectively. He could see in daddy's eyes that he wanted to hit him.
But he knew, and daddy knew, that it would just scare off the game more than he had already done it.
He stood up, as quietly as he could manage, and picked up the rifle off the ground.
The rifle.
He shifted it in his hands. It was his first time holding it. It was heavy and uncomfortable. Like a dead weight, forboding and terrible in his hands.
He didn't like the way it felt. It made him feel weak and stupid. Like he couldn't handle the weapon, like he didn't know how too.
But really, it made him feel dangerous.
Daddy was dangerous. Merle was dangerous. The whole world was dangerous.
And he knew that he didn't want to be like the whole world. He didn't want to be like Merle.
And he sure as hell didn't want to be like daddy.
"Git down!" Daddy's hand grabbed him by the collar and dragged him behind some brush, where he crouched with daddy. The rifle was suddenly shaking in his hands.
He saw daddy glance down at the rifle, then at his face, and he swallowed hard, hoping that his fear would go with it.
Daddy pointed to something through the brush. Daryl looked but he couldn't see anything. He took a glance back at daddy and received a smack to the back of the head. He winced, and waited for the spinnin' to stop. Then he looked harder.
And there it was. The most beautiful beast he'd ever seen.
The doe was light brown, but her underbelly was white. And she had all these spots on her. She weren't very big, but she was so sweet and innocent lookin' that he didn't even know that daddy was talkin' to him until he got another smack to the head.
He winced, rubbing the spot.
"Pay attention boy. Else you won't be gettin' no dinner." Daryl swallowed and nodded.
"Rifle up." He pulled it up.
"Stock on yur shoulder." He pulled the butt against his shoulder.
"Steady it." He held it tight.
"Trigger." Right hand set.
"Look down the line boy." He looked down the barrel of the gun, the doe now in his sight. He couldn't see it very well, so he closed one eye.
"Open your fuckin' eye," daddy whispered hotly. So he did. And he waited. Staring. Holding that gun. Breathing hard.
"Shoot it." Daryl blanched, his breath stuck in his throat.
Shoot it?
How could he shoot something so beautiful, so innocent? It didn't do nothing wrong. All it was doin' was livin' and who could blame it for that?
"But-" This time he saw black, his face exploding in pain. He fell to the ground, hand clasping his face. Daryl didn't cry out this time, but the tears still fell down his face.
"But nothin' you fuckin' worthless sack a dog shit. Even that little prick Merle could do it, and he ain't done nothin' right since the day he was born." Daryl cringed, as his daddy's face pinched tighter, grew redder and his voice never went higher than that hoarse whisper. Daddy had never said so much before in one go. And daddy never talked about Merle, never.
And just when he thought daddy was gonna clob him again, he whipped his own rifle up and bam.
Daryl whipped his head and watched, in stunned silence, as the doe fell to the ground, its body now limp, lifeless and utterly devoid of anything it once held as beautiful. Birds took flight to the sky.
It hit the ground with a thud, and Daryl could hear his heart beating hard against his chest.
Daddy rose to his feet. But Daryl couldn't move.
A knife fell at his feet, and there was somethin' dark in daddy's eyes, somethin' that Daryl had never seen before.
"You get to take care of that now," daddy said, low and dangerous.
Daryl said nothing, got up, and walked to the dead doe, just inches from it.
And blood pooled around his boots, the harsh crimson bright against the green leaves, staining them both.
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A/N: Ask me if I know anything about guns? That's right, nothing. So I did some quick, fancy internet searching. I got a teensy basic stuff. If you find you really need to correct me on it, then just send me a nice PM about it. Otherwise, leave it be.
Thanks for being here, with me and Daryl.
