Chapter 16

Merle's RV was a hell of a lot nicer than Daryl had pictured. It had a bedroom in the back, and two bunks stacked on top of each other between there and the main living area that his brother had used like shelves, stuffing that space full of supplies like he was prepared to hit the road alone at a moment's notice. The tiny bathroom was put to a similar use.

"We don't none of us use the facilities. Got outhouses for that. This way, don't have to worry about dumping the damned tanks." Merle said.

Carol's head bobbed in something like a nod, careful and slow-like in a way that Daryl noted.

"You good?"

"Fine," she said. "How's your leg?"

"Hurts like a son of a bitch. Now you tell the truth."

Behind them, Merle snorted.

"My head hurts. My neck hurts. I want to go home," Carol said, then sighed, "But you knew all of that, and there's nothing you can do about it, so I'm fine."

Something blocked off his throat, and he swallowed three times to clear it before he said, "We safe here for the night. Get some sleep, and we'll work on goin' home in the mornin'."

She gave him a look that he couldn't really interpret. "Of course. We will. But Daryl — nothing. Nevermind. I'm just tired, I guess." Her hands moved, small and hesitant but absolutely on purpose, and he knew she wanted them to get some time to themselves.

Daryl wanted that too. They needed to figure out what the hell they were doing with the new information they'd gotten. And he just needed to make sure she was really okay. Neither of them could let their guards down enough just yet, at least not enough to figure out what needed figured out.

"You climb in that bed and get some sleep," he said, not even pretending to ask Merle where he wanted them. "I got watch."

It was a measure of how she was really feeling that she didn't argue with him even a little.

Merle was puttering around, clearing the bunks and stacking things on every available surface, and he didn't seem surprised that Daryl had just given his bed away. If anything, he looked like it was all he could do to keep from laughing. A wave of anxiety washed over Daryl as he took in the glint in his brother's eye.

No, this wasn't gonna be pleasant at all.

"Need to talk to you," he said, keeping his voice low. "Let's go smoke."

"Got an ashtray on the counter."

"See that," Daryl said, opening the door and stepping outside.

The night was cool without being cold, and the scent of fresh new leaves, budding flowers, and damp earth was nearly enough to push away the pervasive dead smell that covered everything these days. Merle came up next to him and leaned against the side of the driver's side door.

"You got somethin' you want to say?"

"Don't know," Daryl said. He took a couple of drags off his cigarette. He sure as shit wasn't in the mood to get into it with Merle. Even though he gave as good as he got and things usually ended in what some might call a tie, he never came away from those fights feelin' any way other than that he'd had a good ass kickin'. Goin' against Merle was like trying to fight a damn circle saw, and that was on days when he didn't have six damned stitches in his thigh.

But he'd said these assholes could come back to their place on some kind of wave of gratitude for helpin' Carol, and now his brain was doing things that made Daryl feel a little like he was gonna throw up.

"You just wanted company while you smoked?" Merle asked, shaking his head. "You got somethin' to say, kiddo, you just fuckin' say it."

The words slipped between Daryl's ribs and stole all the air from his lungs. He hadn't heard that nickname in a couple of decades, at least. That's not fair, he thought. You don't get to just call me that and act like everything's good.

"You're my brother. Always be my brother. But I gotta know, my real brother? The one left when I weren't no bigger than shit. He back? Or is he just the fuck visitin'? 'Cause I deserve to know that shit. You my brother whatever way it is, but don't jerk me the fuck around, Merle. Tell me flat out what the damned story is."

Merle jerked away from where he was leaning with enough force that Daryl wasn't able to keep himself from flinching. He moved to give himself more maneuvering room. Instead of coming at him, though, his brother paced back and forth in front of him for a minute.

"Figure I'm the one taught ya not to pull your punches," he muttered low enough that Daryl was pretty sure the words weren't for him. Merle stopped, rubbing at the back of his neck and shaking his head before saying, "Don't know what the hell to say to that, Daryl. Ain't on shit. Don't plan on bein' on nothin'. We both know I done tried this before. I can tell ya I ain't had nothin' today. I can tell ya I ain't gonna have nothin', say, the next five minutes. And I know, right now, that there's not a damned thing to be had around here, so I can even tell ya there's a better than even chance I ain't gonna have a damned thing tomorrow."

"Your head ain't clear these days and your ass is dead." Daryl said softly, making himself comfortable again.

Merle wasn't fighting. He wasn't rambling about people minding their own business. He wasn't bringing up every slight ever dealt him or telling Daryl he expected too much.

Daryl's hands started shaking. That was different. This was different. If Merle had been sober since they got separated, the way everybody said? That's the longest he ever went without getting messed up since he was a kid. This might be real.

"Ain't that the fuckin' truth," Merle said. He reached out his hand and Daryl passed him another cigarette before he was conscious of moving toward his pack.

"I'm countin' these. Ain't got an endless supply." His voice only shook a little. His heart was pounding away like a jackrabbit. Merle had months of sober under his belt. Not days. Not a week. Once, when they were working a roofing job outside of Savannah, his brother had gone sixteen days.

"Never thought different," Merle said, then chuckled. "So, you and the she-cat got a place, huh?"

"Don't mess with Carol. She ain't used to your shit. And the shit she's used to — just don't, Merle."

"Hell, ain't messin' with her. I admit, you showed up here followin' after her like a love-sick pup I was…we'll call it worried. Shit, you showed up with a hole in your leg goin' on about her head bump."

"Hell of a lot more than a head bump," Daryl interrupted. "Woman's tough as shit, and she went and fell out on me."

Merle went on as if Daryl hadn't said a word. "I figure, though, the way she stood there with every bit of her wobbly except that gun, just 'cause you squawked? Me and her, we'll learn how the hell to handle each other. Learned my lesson with that damned bear."

Once, when Daryl was still small enough to hide in the cabinet underneath the sink, Merle had ripped the head off the stuffed bear that Daryl slept with as punishment for something. Daryl couldn't remember what he did that caused Merle to feel the need to set him straight, but he remembered what it felt like to see that stupid, nearly bald, stuffed animal destroyed.

"I was four years old!"

"You wailed for a solid week over a piece of fluff didn't even have no more stuffin' left in it," Merle was grinning and shaking his head, a look on his face that made Daryl's chest hurt. Some kind of mixture of nostalgia and something else. Something Daryl wouldn't name if someone went at him with hot pokers. "Pitiful lookin' little thing you was, too. Like I done murdered your only friend."

"You had, you stupid asshole," Daryl muttered.

"Figured that out. Learned my damned lesson, yeah? You precious over your bits and bobs. Always have been. Reckon, woman's looks to be even more important than any other little thing you ever had squirreled away."

"Ain't like that," Daryl muttered. "You don't —"

Merle scoffed, "You ain't figured that shit out yet? Really?"

"Shut up, Merle." He could feel heat riding up the back of his neck.

Merle's teasing look took on an edge of concern. Or curiosity. Something uncomfortable. He opened his mouth like he was going to ask a question that Daryl had absolutely no intention of answering. Merle must have noticed that they were crossing over from teasing to serious shit, though, because he proved his sobriety again when instead of asking he said, "Time to wake her up and make sure she knows who the president is and shit. I'm gonna take a walk, check on the guys on the perimeter. You check your woman."

Your woman. Daryl shook his head as he ground the remains of the cigarette beneath his heel. The phrase gave him an odd, desperate, feeling. Sure, he had soft feelings about Carol, but he really hadn't thought it was that obvious. Maybe it wasn't. Maybe it was just that Merle always knew every damned thing that went in Daryl's head when he was of the mind to pay attention.

Carol was frowning in her sleep, the little wrinkle between her eyebrows deep and distinct. His fingers itched to reach out and smooth it, but he didn't dare.

"Hey," he said it a little louder than he would normally talk. "Carol." She rubbed her cheek against the pillow, burrowing, but didn't open her eyes. He upped the volume a little. "Gonna have to shake you if you don't wake up.

She opened one eye, still frowning, and said, "Daryl?"

"Who's the president?"

She snorted. "You know, odds are there's probably somebody walking around out there who is ought to be. Some first term congressperson who's the last living member of the government, but it doesn't matter because no one ever clarified the line of succession after the Cabinet."

"Fine. How many fingers am I holdin' up?"

"That's rude." The frown finally disappeared, and her lips twitched. "One finger. There's plenty of room, if you want to put your leg up."

Damn straight he wanted to climb in there with her. He wasn't at all sure of his ability to sleep in one of those damned bunks. "Wanted to talk to you about that. About — they ain't no women here. And we done asked 'em all back to our place. Gonna make sure they know they takin' RVs. As many of 'em as we get down the damned road. Just a couple places we'll need to clear between here and there. Make sure they know not to come in the damned house lest they's invited. But that ain't gonna work forever.

"We can rethink them coming, Daryl. If you want? We can say we changed our minds. Thank them for the help. Give them some of our supplies in payment."

"Could. Hell, Carol, I don't know. Wanted to stay the fuck away, yeah? Just visit? But then — two people ain't enough, not if there's some assholes out there being assholes. Need the people. Think these guys are okay. It's just…we still in this together, is all I'm saying. Worse comes to worse and we get in a bad way? It's you and me. As long as you still want, I mean."

"I do. I absolutely want."

"Don't go showin' 'em any of our signs. Merle knows enough of my old ones, ain't no cause for them learning ours. Might need 'em, things go to shit, yeah?"

"Yes. Yeah. I like that idea," her eyes were drooping. "I don't know why I'm so tired."

"It's cause you got a concussion and I woke your ass up. Take another hour. We can finish hammering this shit out next round."

"Just one more hour. Then it's your turn."

"I'm gonna put my leg up. Close my eyes a second. Wait on my brother to get back."

"Are you cold?" She never looked at him when she asked, especially when it wasn't even the least bit cool.

Daryl grinned. "Little chilly, yeah," he said, moving just a bit closer. Close enough that they may as well be touching, even if they weren't.

Sleep came quickly.

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Author's Note:

Thank you to everyone who is reading, following, and reviewing this story. It's taken a while and I appreciate all of you, especially those of you who have hung in there since the "it's a one shot!' beginning until now.