A/N: This chapter was like pulling teeth for me, but I finally got it out. The final three chapters, which I will be posting tomorrow and this weekend, I couldn't write fast enough. I knew where I wanted these two to end up, but Daryl needed time to deal with his anger at EVERYTHING and I wanted to let him do that. I hope you enjoy. ~ CeeCee
Chaos, not the Governor, reigns in Woodbury as the sun sinks along the bloody horizon. They are a congregation without a preacher, a bus full of children without their teacher.
Rick's group of not-so-merry bandits waits beyond the town's protected perimeter, but it's easy to see that defense from the outer world is not the concern it was, even a few days ago: one agitated female gunman stands on the wall. She keeps turning around, glancing behind her towards the town beyond, leaving herself completely open for enemy attack. Daryl thinks, coldly, if he had to, he could take her down with one shot.
"They got no idea what t'do," Merle mutters, and Daryl can detect disappointment in his voice. "It's all fallin' apart in there."
"You say that as if it's a bad thing," Michonne murmurs. Her hatred for his brother radiates off of her as a palpable force. Daryl simultaneously despises her for it and completely understands it.
She had also dropped the bomb on the way over that Andrea was alive and well, and screwing the Governor. Apparently, she had been in the death arena, in plain sight, while he was two inches away from death at his brother's hand. Was I really? Would Merle have gone through with it, if it came to that? Daryl, in the most secret corner of his heart, is glad he never found out. Part of him is still that 11-year-old boy who followed his big brother with the thoughtless hope and hero-worship of the young and beaten.
Merle's right, though. The sounds coming from beyond the fortified defense wall are ones of panic and confusion. It's clear that the Governor's grip is weakening on the townspeople.
Rick gestures to Daryl, who creeps towards him. "We gotta take that woman down quietly," he gestures to the wall. "Go over the wall, into the main street. Maggie and Michonne say the Governor and his main cadre of guys will probably be holed up in the third building on the left side of the street. We make sure they're in there, eliminate the whole building."
Daryl nods, but Merle, who's been eavesdropping, shakes his head. "You don't think the Gov'nor can see the writing on the wall? He's losing these people. Can'tcha hear it in there?" Almost as if emphasize his point, there's the tinkle and shatter of glass, someone screaming. Before their group can register their disbelief, the single guard on the wall jumps down on the town side, out of their view.
"Okay, let's go up and over," Rick gestures and everyone creeps in a breathless line towards the wall. "Whatever's happenin' over there, we should use it to our advantage."
Daryl heaves himself up and peers down at the town, along with the others. It's like Main Street USA in hell down there: dozens of people are running, aimlessly, smashing windows with broken pieces of furniture. Others are huddled in small groups, especially those standing with small children, staring blank-eyed and passive as glass shatters and fires blaze up around them. Daryl would feel sorry for them if they hadn't been shrieking for his blood twenty-four hours ago.
A rotund, older man, wearing nothing but saggy red boxer shorts and a strappy tee, stumbles out of one of the houses, staggering. He's blindingly drunk, loosely gripping a bottle with the remnants of a fifth of whiskey in it. "Where's the Governor, goddammit!" He slurs, and a few of the townspeople turn and look at him with interest. He staggers unevenly to the middle of the street, waving his bottle like a victory flag. "Where is he, say I? These...these…" the man searches for the right word, and a foggy memory pops to the surface, "...these TERRORISTS come in, wreak havoc, create discord…and where's our fearless leader? We…need…the…GOVERNOR! The Governor! The GOVERNOR!"
His chanting was having an effect on those around him: both groups of people, the ones rampaging aimlessly and the others, standing passively, took up his call. Soon, nearly sixty people are rhythmically shouting the word into the darkening sky.
Suddenly, an uneven rumbling sound erupts from the distant edges of the long road. The mass of people below, as well as Rick's group, who are now, unnoticed, standing along the perimeter wall, weapons at the ready, gaze breathlessly as a gigantic, fortified cammo'd truck appears. And it's moving fast. Really fast. Before anyone can react, the man in the ratty boxer shorts is crushed beneath its wheels.
The four doors of the truck pop open like a round of gunfire; the Governor, a patch covering his right eye, gets out, along with six other men. Daryl marvels at the man's calm. He watches the Governor meander into the center of the crowd, walking around the man's prone body with little more than a glance. Like he hit a piece of garbage in the road. Ain't nothin' to him. None of these people are, 'cept as pawns in his game. Daryl takes a quick look at Merle, who's mesmerized by the appearance of his (former?) leader. Disgust and adulation battle for supremacy on Merle's face as he stares down at the scene below, and Daryl realizes something: the look on Merle's face? That's exactly how he, Daryl looks…when he's lookin' at Merle. It's like a meal you can't stop eating, even though you know it's poisoning you.
"The Governor is back," this nondescript-looking maniac practically whispers. "And…if you haven't learned. I am watching. I am always watching. I am your leader. I know everything you do. When you do it. Who you do it with. Remember that. Remember who's in charge here," he speaks forcefully, rhythmically.
"What are we waiting for? Shoot him, Rick," Michonne mutters. If she had a gun on her, the Governor would already be dead. Rick shakes his head, as if to clear a fog. He had us listenin' to his b.s., too, Daryl marvels, lifting his crossbow, honing in on the eye patch. As good of a target as any.
Rick and Maggie are also leveling and aiming their weapons, ready to fire. But someone is being dragged by one of the Governor's henchmen out of the back of the truck. Blond, blindfolded. Andrea. The Governor grabs her roughly and holds her in front of him. The clear shot it gone.
"You idiots! He knows we're here!" Merle rasps out. And indeed, he does. He knew all along.
"The terrorists are back! Andrea, who we thought was one of us, has been working for them the entire time," he points his finger up at the group on the wall. "Stop questioning your leader, and excise the real poison. Kill them! Kill them all – except the sheriff. Leave him for me." Without a warning, he slits Andrea's throat, shoves the knife into the side of her face.
Goddamn, Daryl thinks, aims his crossbow. Takes out one, two of the men that came out of the army truck. Maggie and Rick are firing their guns; Michonne leaps from the wall, jumps into the fray, her katana slicing through the rabble like a strong swimmer through still water. Maggie cries out, spins, nearly lose her balance. Daryl reaches out and steadies her, his hand coming away slick and red. She's been hit.
"It bad?" he asks.
"Stings like a bitch, but I am ok," she grimaces as blood rolls down her shoulder and drips off her elbow. She fires again into the fray, taking a guy with a rifle out.
Daryl can vaguely here the Governor bellowing. Merle is still just standing on the wall. Not fighting for or with either side. "TRAITORS EVERYWHERE YOU TURN!" The Governor is shrieking, surrounded by a rush of town folk. "Merle! Another one of your own, turned against you! And his terrorist brother!" The Governor, in his zeal, doesn't notice Merle's inertia, but now Daryl feels the fury of the crowd below turn towards him.
"Daryl!" Both Rick and Merle shout his name at the same time, from either side. The past and the future, with him stuck in the middle. He sees the three remaining members of the Governor's inner cadre focus their guns at him, like three black holes to infinity. The bullets roar towards him but he's tackled to the wall roughly. Merle is on top of him, unbalanced, sliding over the edge, towards the raging crowd.
"I owed ya one," Merle cackles madly, trying to gain his balance. "I owed ya one, little brother." He slides further over the edge. Daryl desperately grabs at him, but the angle is bad; he's being crushed and pulled forward by Merle. Rick and the others are firing rapidly, picking out the crowd. Daryl wraps his right forearm around Merle's, struggling to keep him on the wall. A terrific jolt goes through his body as the crowd yanks Merle to the ground. Daryl is left with the metal contraption and throws it to the side, rises shakily to his feet, aims his crossbow wildly.
He lowers it almost immediately. Merle is being hoisted by a half a dozen people towards the Governor. And he's smiling, grinning crazily up at them on the wall.
"You people!" He screams hoarsely, rummaging around in his pockets. "You people! The problem with you, is ya'll don't think big enough!" He proffers two grenades, like some secret, juicy fruit he's been keeping for himself. "Get the hell outta here, Daryl!"
"MEEEEERRRLLLLLLEEEEE! NOOOOOOO!"
ooooooOOOOOooooo
The morning is already warm, and Rick, Daryl, Maggie, Michonne and Tyrese, who's collected them at the prison two days after the decimation of Woodbury, are somber and sweaty.
"Nice digs," Rick notes.
"Not a bad spot," Tyrese nods, helping Maggie over the iron gate. "At least, for a little bit. Guess we'll have to go back to the prison, eventually."
"Sorry about Ben," Rick says. Tyrese rubs his face.
"Yeah, man, and we all thought we were pretty much okay after clearin' the yard. Sasha's takin' it hard. They were friends," the big man shakes his head. "Sorry about your brother." He turns toward Daryl.
"What would you know about it?" Daryl feels nothing but a sticky, thick ball of anger in his gut. Nothing, no one, is going to take that anger away from him. It's all he's got now. He pulls himself over the gate, lands next to Maggie.
She helps him to his feet, sizes him up. "What Merle did? He's a hero, Daryl."
"No, no he ain't. My brother ain't no hero. He never was," he's just so angry. "He was crazy, he didn't think, he, he just –"
"Saved your life," Rick interjects.
"Don't you get it? She gets it," he gestures to Michonne. Someone even quieter than he is. "My brother didn't pull those grenade pins to do the right thing, to be honorable. He did it – dammit – he did it because when you corner a bear, taunt it, poke it with a stick, it'll come after you, its own safety be damned."
They're all standing there by the gate. Suddenly, the front door of the house opens, and Hershel's form appears. Maggie dashes towards him. They all follow her at a slower pace.
Michonne is walking next to Daryl. She looks at him for a moment. "The grenades, taking the crowd down with him," she says. "That was for him. But on the wall? When they were all firing on you? That was for you." She doesn't wait for a response, just walks ahead, keeping pace with Rick.
The others are emerging from the house: Beth, Sasha, Axel. Carl, who runs to Rick for a hug and a slap on the back. Daryl doesn't see her. He's not sure that he wants to. What he wants is to be pissed off. Pissed at himself, at Merle, at the Governor, at Rick, at the freakin' world. This piece of shit world. He kicks up a spray of white stones.
Glenn appears at the door, with Judith in his arms. "My god...Maggie!" He runs to her, and the baby gets squished between them. Daryl's about to take L'il Asskicker from Glenn, but the baby seems content enough. "Your arm!" he exclaims.
"It's nothin'," she shakes his concern off, smiling through her tears. "Where's Carol?" Daryl notices her eyes flit towards him when she asks the question. Almost as if she knew he wanted to ask, but couldn't.
"Oh, Carol's new obsession is the storage shed over there. She thinks she can re-outfit everyone in our group and equip the prison with some modern luxuries," Glenn smiles, not taking his eyes off Maggie.
"You look pretty good with a baby in your arms," Maggie beams at him, and the group laughs.
"Let's not be gettin' any crazy ideas," Hershel mutters, but he's smiling.
Daryl can hardly stand it. Maybe Merle had it right. Babies? Who would want to bring a baby into this world?
"Well, maybe we should make things official, then. Less scandal in it," Glenn grins at her. "Marry me."
Wolf whistles and applause. Daryl feels like he's lost his mind. What was wrong with them? Couldn't they see there was no point? To any of it?
"Ok," Maggie is laughing and crying, kissing Glenn and Judith, her father and sister. "Rick, will you do the honors?"
"Well, Maggie, I don't really have the authority to –" and suddenly everyone's laughing. Even Michonne's still mask of a face bears something resembling a smile. Rick realizes what he's said. "Okay, okay, I guess my job description now include post-apocalyptic wedding services."
They all head inside the house in a loud, cheerful group, not noticing that he's not with them. He stands there for a minute, kicking the ground, sending up spray after spray of white stones. Some hit his legs, arms, even his face. But he doesn't care.
The door to the storage building opens and Carol walks out. She's fifty feet away, but she may as well be on the moon. He can't reach her, not now. She makes a small noise, but doesn't move towards him. He looks up at her. And he can see she knows, about Merle. That Merle's gone, this time for good. Her face changes, a look of deep sorrow crosses over its features. She nods, smiles sadly at him, and goes back into the shed.
Daryl stands in the gravel driveway, kicking at the stones. The ball of anger in his stomach weighing him down, the silvery thread of hope unraveling, unbroken, towards the storage shed.
Anger and hope, in equal measure.