EM: Thank you so much for still being here, my beautiful, awesome readers. Your reviews mean so much to me. But please do me a favor. Read ALL of that warning. I don't care if you don't care about that stuff after you've read it. I don't need any hate.

Disclaimer: The Dixons belong to Robert Kirkman and AMC.

Rated: Mature. Please read warning below. I do not joke.

WARNING: This is Merle folks. And I wrote him like Merle. Which means there is foul, foul language. If you take offense to slangs, slurs or racial comments, I suggest you leave through that door right now (or be forewarned). Because Merle, he holds nothing back from me. And I hold nothing back from you.

Domestic Violence, Language, Racial Slurs and Abortion (mentioned) are also present.

Hell on Earth

Juvie was like hell on earth. You couldn't do nothing, you couldn't say nothing, you couldn't even piss without pissing some fat, sonuvabitch blue vest off. And you sure as hell couldn't talk to nobody without comin' off as a patsy ass wuss.

Only thing that was good was that he were in here, and the ol' man were out there.

Dammit if he didn't wish he were at home with Daryl though. Daryl at least listened to him, even if he was just a baby. Like hell if he would ever admit that to anybody though.

He hated them. These kids, they were all fuckin' idiots. All in here doing time for something that was nothing. And ya couldn't actually call it time when you got a real bed to sleep in, real food to eat, and you even got to go outside when the weather was nice.

And the weather was nice every-fuckin'-day in Georgia.

And he hated goin' outside. They wanted him to play games like he was some fuckin' freak. Like tossing around a damn ball, throwing it in the hoop was gonna change him. Basketball.

Basketball was for them niggers. They hopped around on that court, running back and forth like fuckin' fags, tossing a ball the size of their heads round. Their heads were filled with nothing but air too, just like that fuckin' ball.

He hated going to juvie coz they never seemed to understand they he never got along with nobody. They were trash.

Everybody was trash. Nobody was excluded from the pile of shit they all came from.

The spics huddled in the corner, hustlin' their cigs and their fuckin' homemade shanks. Who the fuck did that? And then them niggers sat there on them benches like they owned the fuckin' place. He could show them a thing or two. And then them fuckin' hillbillies. Gave him a bad fuckin' name. Yeah, he were a redneck, but he weren't no fuckin' mountain man who didn't have no fuckin' sense of what was up and what was down.

They were all fuckin' stupid.

They all belonged there. They weren't worth nothing.

Except one.

His baby brother had come into the world, unexpected, almost discarded, and had landed right at his feet, and Merle hadn't a been the same since.

He remembered the day his mama came down the stair in a fit of rage, smoke in one hand, stick pisser in the other, screaming bloody fuckin' murder. She tossed that little baby marker right at the ol' man's face, yelling about fuckin' her over this, knockin' her up that.

She didn't want no more kids, she'd said. She was done with all that raisin' shit, she said. She'd already had one, and look what he'd turned into.

He remembered lookin' right at his mama's face when she'd said that. She looked him square in the face, took a drag on that cigarette, and said "what? Don't you got somethin' to do elsewhere, boy?"

They argued. Or his mama yelled, and his daddy just sat there, drinking his booze.

And then he just up and knocked her ass flat on the floor. He remembered the blood dripping off her lip. And daddy's voice, deep and grating against his ears. "I don't much care what you fuckin' want."

And that was that. Mama got up, picked up her smoke, and trailed back up the stairs to do fuck knows what in that room of hers.

Eight months later, he was looking at this wrinkled, piece of innocence. Weak. Vulnerable.

And he had felt...

No. He wouldn't admit to that.

Coz Merle wasn't weak. He wasn't vulnerable. He didn't cry.

Daryl didn't cry though. Never cried once. It wasn't until he were grown, walking on his own two legs, talking but not talking, when he realized that Daryl had something in that chest of his that he didn't.

And living in that house, would be like hell on earth for his baby brother.

He tried to make it easier. But he'd just ended up givin' his baby brother hell as well. Turned out, he weren't no different than the ol' man.

And Daryl was home, alone, with the ol' man and their good-for-shit mama.

And he was stuck in juvie, not able to do shit about it. The thought made his blood run hot and all he wanted to do was knock somebodies teeth in, again.

That's what got him into this hell in the first place.

Hell was always waitin' for him at home or in juvie. Don't matter where he go.

Except if he were with Daryl.

But he'd suffer hell on earth before he'd admit that to anybody.

Reviews mean a lot.

A/N: Did you take my warning seriously? Don't say I didn't warn you. Take it, or leave it.

Thanks for being here, with Merle and I.