A/N: Alright, so firstly this chapter goes out to Endoh Misaki; here is more Merle, just like I've been promising lol. Also because the latest chapter of her AWESOME story The Bad, The Ugly, And The Dixons, sort of, kind of inspired this in a weird way. Y'all should definitely go check that out if you haven't already. As always, thanks for reading, special thanks for reviewing. : )

Merle hadn't really thought about where he was going when he stomped off. He'd just... left. Needed air, or some stupid shit like that. Just needed some damn space to breath, to try and figure out how the hell he was gonna figure his way out of the mess he found himself in. Needed to get away from Savannah before he said something stupid that he'd have regretted later. Hadn't had a destination, other than 'away'.

So he was a little surprised when he found himself staring at his house. The house he'd grown up in. The house his mama had died in.

The house him and Daryl had spent their entire lives being tortured in.

He couldn't bring himself to take the few steps that would put him on the porch. The few feet that would put him inside the door.

The old man was passed out somewhere inside, laying in his own piss and puke. No 'maybe', or 'probably' about it; he'd seen it just about every night of his damn life before he'd left for boot camp. He'd be laying somewhere on the floor, surrounded by beer cans and whiskey bottles, stinking like a swamp in June. Maybe he'd have made his way into the kitchen, or the bathroom; more likely, he'd passed out in the front hallway.

Somewhere inside that fucking house.

How many nights had he spent locked in that damn basement? How many nights had him and Daryl gone hungry in that fucking basement, locked in, and forgotten after their parents passed out? How many nights had he laid awake, listening to the screams, and the fights, the crashing and stumbling from downstairs?

His frown deepened. How many years had it been since his mother had died? Passed out drunk with a cigarette in her mouth while he was locked up in juvie?

Daryl had just started school, he remembered that. He'd missed his little brother's first day of school because of his sentencing hearing. So had to be about five years. Maybe closer to six. Not that it really mattered any; wasn't like life had been any better before she'd died.

The stupid little bitch. She'd always whined and cried about how hard life was, how much hell him and Daryl had given her, how Harold and the boys had ruined her damn life.

Like she hadn't turned right around and ruined his and Daryl's life right back. Annie Dixon had been just as like to smack her boys around as Harold was. Until he'd gotten bigger than her, Merle had been more wary of Annie's hair-trigger temper, her outbursts of rage than he had of his father.

His hand went up to his still-nearly bald head, feeling at the long scar that ran from the back of his ear to the back of his head, stopping just above his hairline. He'd gotten that courtesy of a plate she'd cracked over his skull when he was twelve.

All because he hadn't been able to stop Daryl from crying quick enough. Like it was Merle's damn fault they didn't have anything to eat in the whole fucking house. He'd tried walking him, tried playing peek-a-boo... Hell, he'd been just about desperate enough to try singing when he'd caught sight of Annie out of the corner of his eye.

He'd still been holding his little brother, his efforts to shush him turning frantic, when he felt the dish connect with his head.

He wasn't sure how long he'd blacked out for. When he'd come to, Daryl had been squirming underneath him, still screeching bloody murder, both of them coated in Merle's blood. Annie was gone, apparently choosing to leave over listening to Daryl, leaving Merle to clean them both up. Clean up the kitchen floor after he'd managed to get Daryl to sleep. Crawl onto the small twin mattress he shared with his little brother, head still bleeding, praying to God he wouldn't wake up the next morning.

One of many fond memories, he thought darkly, still glaring at the house. Too bad the whole damn thing hadn't burnt down to ash along with Annie.

Too bad Pop hadn't been in there, passed out beside her on the bed.

And sometimes... Sometimes, he briefly thought that it was too bad he and Daryl hadn't been locked in the basement. That they hadn't burnt down to nothing along with the whore who'd given birth to them, and then thrown them to the wolves.

It was pushing on three o'clock when Savannah heard the door open.

Daryl hadn't spoken to her the rest of the night, although that hadn't stopped him from curling up next to her on the bed, falling asleep on her arm.

She hadn't been able to sleep. She'd tried telling herself that it was the cartoons still flashing across the old TV set, but she knew even if she shut the damn thing off, she wouldn't have gotten any sleep.

"How's he doin'?"

She shrugged up at Merle, who stared down at her bleary-eyed, his face carefully blank.

"Fell 'sleep after we came back from de diner. Went an' got few burgers, we did. Didn't 'tink ta bring you back some'tin dough; sorry."

"S'fine. I jus' had ta go an' clear my head, ya know?"

She opened her mouth to say something, when Daryl shifted beside her, a small frown crossing his face in his sleep. Almost without thinking, her hand moved to his head, brushing his long, dark hair off of his face, before turning back to Merle.

"So what's de plan, huh?" She asked quietly, watching as Merle collapsed on the other bed, scrubbing at his face with both hands, looking far older than his twenty-one years.

"Guess I'm gonna have to learn to speak French," Came the muttered reply.

She ducked her head, careful not to let him see her smile as she pulled Daryl a little closer to her, closing her eyes, the exhaustion of the long day finally catching up to her.