A/N: Aaaand there goes my perfect 20,000 word story. Oh well, hope you like!
Thank you all for the faves/follows and especially those reviews! I appreciate all the love this fic's gotten.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Dog Days of Dixon
Merle shut his brother's door behind him before his back hit the wall and he slid to the floor, face in his hands. He was so lost. How were they supposed to get past this? How was he supposed to help his brother? He really didn't know what else to do other than leave Daryl alone, give him some space. Merle wanted things to go back to normal; he just wanted his brother back. But he had no idea how to get him back or if it was even possible.
It was midmorning but he was exhausted. Too tired to even move, Merle sighed, leaned his head back and closed his eyes, letting himself drift.
He was in the shed again, trapped, unable to move. The monster's face grinned at him from behind his brother, Daryl's body was jerking with the motions of his father. The sound of it nearly made Merle sick. His little brother's eyes met his but they were cold as ice, glaring at him accusingly. Daryl didn't say anything but he didn't have to – his face said everything. This was Merle's fault.
The monster finished, a blade appearing in his hand, and that wicked smile split his face. Before Merle could even scream, the monster plunged the blade into his brother's back, the point sticking out of his chest. Daryl didn't make a sound, his eyes went dark and his chin dropped to his chest, going limp.
Merle's eyes shot open as he jerked awake. His neck cracked, stiff from sleeping upright and he was shaking. It was becoming too much, this whole situation – the nightmares, the memories, the guilt, losing his brother, failing his brother. Not even Merle "Badass" Dixon could handle this shit. Standing on shaky legs he made his way to the living room stretching out the kinks in his neck and back.
He didn't know what time it was but there was still light streaming through the living room windows so night hadn't fallen. Figuring it was late enough in the day for the bar to be open, Merle grabbed his motorcycle keys and left.
-TWD-
It was well after midnight when Merle stumbled back into the house, drunk and high from a night of partying. A wide grin was plastered on his face and he spotted Daryl sitting on the couch. He wasn't doing anything, just sitting, staring blankly ahead; he didn't even acknowledge his brother's return. There was an empty bottle of whiskey sitting on the table in front of him and if Merle was thinking straight, he would have remembered that bottle was unopened just that morning.
Daryl had woken up not long after Merle had left. He was angry and frustrated with his pitiful display that morning and just didn't want to feel anything anymore. So he had walked into the kitchen, grabbed that bottle of whiskey, and spent the rest of the day drowning his sorrows and going numb.
"Heeeey, lil bro. Whatcha doin'?" Merle slurred. Daryl barely responded, shrugging a shoulder without even looking at him.
His brother's unresponsive behavior annoyed Merle. He was too trashed to be thinking clearly and simply wanted to have his little brother back. What was this dead thing sitting on the couch? Where'd his little brother go?
"Hey, 'm talkin' to ya," Merle stumbled over to the couch and jammed a finger into Daryl's shoulder, trying to get a reaction. Daryl slapped his hand away and finally, finally, their eyes met and Daryl was annoyed. The whiskey was like a fuse, igniting his temper; he didn't want to be touched, he didn't want his brother in his face asking stupid questions, he wanted to be left alone to his misery.
But in his brother's angry eyes Merle saw something he thought he'd never see again – a spark, a spark of something alive. And he wanted to see more of it, even if it meant pissing his brother off to see it, because angry was better than dead. Furious was better than a blank face with unseeing eyes. So Merle kept pushing, drunken grin on his face, riling his brother up – continuing to poke and prod, invading his space and laughing about it. A part of him really wanted Daryl furious at him, really wanted his little brother to unleash all the anger on him that Merle thought he deserved. And no one was better at pushing buttons than Merle Dixon. Sometimes, he was too good.
Daryl was shaking, not from fear, but anger. Merle was in his space and he knew his brother was doing it on purpose. His shoulders were tensing and he had his fists clenched glaring at Merle.
"Yer too fuckin' tense. Ya need ta get laid or somethin,' virgin," Merle teased then paused, pretending to be thoughtful. If he wasn't so trashed he would have never uttered what came out of his mouth next but his drunk self was willing to try anything to piss Daryl off. "Not really a virgin no more, huh? Daddy took care a' that, din' he?"
"FUCK YOU!" Daryl roared and lunged at Merle, hands enclosing his throat as he knocked his brother to the floor and started throwing punches. And the button was pushed; Daryl's anger was unleashed. Merle felt his cheek and lip split but only laughed with a bloody grin. The air was knocked from his lungs when Daryl's fists beat his chest. Merle may have thought he deserved the beating but he weren't no pussy – he wasn't one to just lay down and take it. He fought back, shoving his brother off him and into the coffee table.
Daryl grabbed the empty whiskey bottle from the table top and flung it at his brother but his drunken aim was terrible and it smashed against the wall behind Merle who laughed.
"There ya are lil brother, wonderin' where ya went!"
His brother just growled and lunged at him again but Merle landed a solid punch to his gut that put Daryl on his knees, hunched over and trying to breathe. Merle circled him, laughing and prodding him with his foot. He was enjoying this; it was almost like old times. He and his brother would fight all the time, they really didn't know how else to handle conflict. But it was better than walking on eggshells, it was better than looking at the shell his brother had become.
"C'mon little bro, ain't ya got more than that? Don' pussy out on me!"
"Go ta Hell!" Daryl snapped, wrapping his arms around his brother's legs and pushing back, forcing Merle to fall backward onto the coffee table. The rickety old table collapsed under his weight but he was lucky enough to avoid serious injury from the large splinters of wood.
Merle didn't realize just what he was unleashing by provoking his brother. All of the hurt, the sadness, the pain that Daryl had held onto over the years; the frustration and helplessness he felt over what had been done to him, it was all bubbling up to the surface and turning into rage. A rage that would stay with him for the rest of his life. Daryl was tired of feeling helpless and weak and the anger his brother unleashed gave him a shield, a mask to hide behind – a barrier to keep everyone out and away from his deep, raw wounds. He wasn't going to let anyone hurt him again.
Daryl was on Merle again, pummeling his chest and abdomen with every ounce of strength he had. Merle was sure he felt a rib break and decided he'd had enough. He swung his fist and slammed it into Daryl's temple, knocking him to the side and followed that with a kick to the chest, further distancing himself from his brother. Daryl was disoriented and could barely draw in breath as he tried to get up and go after his brother again.
But neither brother had any energy left; the adrenaline was waning and the pain setting in. Both of them collapsed where they were, passing out until midday the following day.
-TWD-
Daryl was the first to open his eyes, groaning at the headache throbbing through his skull. He could tell he had some serious bruising on his chest from the pain he was feeling but he had no idea how he got it or why he was waking up on the living room floor. He just remembered being furious; he could still feel the anger in him, under the surface. He didn't know what pissed him off but he was fine with angry, he could handle that emotion – it felt better than the other crap he'd been dealing with lately. His brother's waking groans drew his attention to the other side of the room; Daryl was surprised to see Merle's choice of bed – the broken coffee table.
"The Hell happened?" Merle mumbled, rubbing his forehead – he was hung over too.
"No idea. Looks like we had it out or somethin,'" Merle was surprised his brother even responded and stole a glance at him. Flashes of the night before ran through his head – the desire to have his brother back, drawing the life out of him by pissing him off, the fight itself. He didn't remember just what he said to set Daryl off but he was happy with the result. He knew Daryl wasn't okay – you don't recover from what was done to him over night; Merle knew his brother had shoved it down, buried it, and now hid behind thick walls he helped him build. But he didn't have to look into dead eyes; he didn't have to feel the heavy burden of guilt quite so much because his failure wasn't right there for him to look at anymore, Merle could bury it and pretend he was fine too.
"You alright? Din' hurt ya too bad?" Merle asked.
"Nah, 'm fine. You?"
"Ya couldn' hurt me if ya tried little brother," Merle huffed a laugh that was cut short as his ribs protested the movement. Of course he was bluffing but he'd never admit he got his ass kicked by his younger brother. Never. Daryl snorted and rolled his eyes – the bruises on his brother's face were proof enough that he'd done some damage but he figured he'd let Merle keep his pride.
"Ya hungry? 'M starvin,' how 'bout we go get some breakfast?"
"Sure," Daryl shrugged a reply. Both men grabbed showers and decent clothes before heading to a diner nearby that served breakfast all day.
-TWD-
The days and weeks passed. Daryl found another job in construction after getting fired from the auto shop. Turns out employers don't appreciate employees that disappear for nearly two weeks and return without explanation – Daryl refused to tell his boss why he had missed work, unable to even come up with a lie so the man let him go. It probably didn't help arriving to work hung over - he'd taken to drinking himself to sleep in order to avoid nightmares. It worked, most of the time.
Luckily it was difficult to find people to do construction work in the middle of winter, even in Georgia, so Daryl managed to get a job working for a contractor in downtown Atlanta putting up a new skyscraper. Working outside didn't bother him and neither did heights.
The other guys left him alone – they just thought him a stupid, angry, redneck not worth their time. Daryl was perfectly fine with being left alone; he didn't figure he was worth getting to know anyway. So he'd come into work and do what he was supposed to, interacting with his coworkers as little as possible, then call it a day and head home while the other guys would go hang out and have a drink together. Daryl spent his whole life being alone, he didn't need friends now and he certainly didn't want them. He didn't want anyone getting close to him.
Keeping people at a distance was easy, especially when they thought he was going to turn on them at any second. One of the construction workers, Jake, made the mistake of approaching Daryl from behind and grabbing his shoulder to get his attention – the site was loud and noisy making it near impossible to hear someone approaching. Before he even knew what happened, Daryl had spun around and struck him across the jaw, hard enough to land him on his ass. Only Merle would have caught the flash of fear in Daryl's eyes.
"What the fuck, man? The Hell's your problem, Dixon?"
"Don' fuckin' touch me," Daryl snarled and with that, he stalked off, disappearing to an alley nearby so he could calm himself down from the flashback in private. It wasn't as intense as previous flashbacks but it was still enough to get a violent reaction out of him. Frustrated, he slammed his fist into the brick wall before sliding to the ground, waiting for his heart to stop beating so fast.
The other workers had seen what happened and approached Jake; they thought he should report it to the foreman and get rid of the hotheaded redneck. But Jake refused – being a veteran of the first Gulf War allowed him to recognize what happened with Daryl. He didn't know what the kid went through but he knew his behavior was in response to some sort of trauma. Jake didn't bother explaining that to the guys, he just told them not to sneak up on the kid.
Afterwards the guys kept an even greater distance from Daryl but he didn't miss the dirty looks they gave him and knew when they were talking about him. He just glared right back and flipped them the bird before walking off. No, he didn't need any friends.
-TWD-
Yet another weekend had arrived and Merle finally managed to drag Daryl to the bar to watch the game. They had eaten and played some pool before settling down at the bar to watch the TV. Half time hadn't even arrived before Merle disappeared with a woman, leaving Daryl by himself nursing a beer. He sat hunched over the bar trying to avoid contact with the guys sitting next to him and keeping his eyes trained on the TV to keep from having to talk to anyone. Unfortunately, that didn't keep everyone away.
"Hey sugar, how 'bout you 'n' me have some fun, hm?" a woman with a sickeningly sweet voice approached him without his notice, pressing her chest against his back and wrapping her arms around his middle, a hand ghosting over his crotch.
He could feel the monster pressed against his back, hands gripping his hips as he begged him to stop-
Daryl jerked violently, dropping his beer and pushing away from the bar. He grabbed the invasive limbs and shoved them away before spinning around and bolting to the back door. The very intoxicated woman stumbled after him, completely unaware he was fleeing from her, not taking her to a more private place. She found him crouched next to the wall, breathing heavily which she mistook for excitement, not fear.
"Ya wanna go down first, huh? Gentleman, I see . . ." she giggled and approached, standing before him and hiking her skirt up but before it got very far Daryl pushed her away and stood up, flattening his back against the wall, wishing he could disappear into it. Why wouldn't this bitch take a hint and leave him alone? Still, she was persistent, pressing herself against him, a knee pushing between his legs, hands finding their way under his shirt and dangerously close to his scars. That was the final straw. He gripped her upper arms and shoved her away violently, hard enough to send her to the ground.
"Ouch! I don' mind rough honey but ya need to work on ya touch!"
"Fuck off, not interested bitch. Keep ya damn hands to yourself!" Daryl stormed off before she could get back up. "Ya wouldn' want me anyway . . . ain't no good," he mumbled out of earshot. Daryl hated his body's response to her touch - walking with an erection was an unpleasant experience and having gotten turned on at all soured his stomach. He knew he'd never be with a woman, not with how dirty and used he felt. No woman wants to sleep with that and he really didn't want to be intimate with someone anyway. It was too close to home, too close to those deep wounds. He hadn't been too interested in sex before his father raped him; he was already averse to physical contact at that point. Now Daryl was one hundred percent sure he didn't want any part of it, didn't think he was even worth some poor woman's time anyway.
So he made his way home and finished himself off in the shower just to get rid of the sexual tension. He grabbed another bottle of whiskey and disappeared to his room - beer had been working just fine lately but he knew he'd have to try harder to avoid the nightmares tonight after current events.
He was coping as best he could and simply figured this was his life, this is what he'd been stuck with. He was ugly, stupid, damaged, and worthless stuck behind a wall of anger he put up to keep people out. That's it. Having friends and a good woman by his side weren't a part of the hand he was dealt; the one thing he had in this world was his brother and Daryl was content with that. He knew Merle was relieved to see him acting normal and he was happy to put his brother out of his misery, forcing himself to be strong so Merle wouldn't have to put up with the burden of a weak brother anymore.
Things would never get better for him; no, he'd just get better at hiding how bad it was. And Daryl simply learned to be content with what little he did have left.
-TWD-
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