The Meth Pipe that Broke the Camel's Back
He shouldn't have picked up the phone. He should've just hit Ignore and rolled over in bed. He should've gone back to sleep, because he had to work in the morning and he didn't have time for this shit.
But whenever he got a call from an Unknown number—especially in the middle of the night—he could count on it being Merle calling from jail. And as much as he didn't like to admit it, he had a soft spot for his big brother. Even after all these years, he felt like he owed him somehow. For what, he couldn't figure out. Merle had sure as hell never saved him from anything. He'd never kept him out of trouble or given him proper guidance. In fact, he seemed to have a knack for making Daryl's life harder.
But that was his brother. The only real blood he had left. 'Cause his old man sure as hell wasn't worth thinking about. As far as Daryl was concerned, that piece of shit had been dead for years. Will Dixon wasn't no blood of his. They hadn't even spoken in at least five years. And Daryl liked it that way. His life was a lot more peaceful without his dad in it.
Merle, on the other hand… well, Merle was all he had left. The last connection to his mother. And probably the only person on earth who actually gave a shit whether he lived or died.
Sure, Rick and Dwight had started to become something that Daryl could call "friends." And Carol was… she was more than a roommate. She was a friend, too. Almost like a maternal figure, filling that gap in his soul that had been so deeply empty for the last thirty years. She was the female presence he'd always needed in his life.
Yet none of that erased the fact that he could never be his true self with them. Any of them. Not even Carol. He couldn't carry his past—his whole past—and look towards his future at the same time without expecting some kind of judgment. Some kind of doubt. That's just how they were. They didn't get it. They'd never get it. Not like Merle. It was an understanding that could only be shared by experiencing the same shitty childhood. The same silent trauma. By suffering under the boot of the same relentless abuser.
If pain were a spectrum—and Daryl was pretty sure it was—then his and Merle's upbringing was on the opposite end of what Dwight, Rick, and Carol could've experienced. Dwight knew suffering and sacrifice; Carol knew abuse and self-preservation; Rick knew betrayal and distrust. But the Dixon boys?
All they knew was Hell on earth.
From day one, it had been drilled into their skulls that they were worthless and destined for absolutely nothing at all. No hope. No love. No trust and nothing worth fighting for. Just anger. Lots and lots of anger. At a world that owed them everything. A world that had robbed them of their purpose long before Merle or Daryl had ever been born. A world that needed to pay for the curse it had thrust upon them. The curse of existence.
That was a connection that Daryl simply couldn't make with anyone else. A connection he didn't want to make with anyone else. Because quite frankly, he had no desire to meet another person who was as damaged as him. As damaged as Merle. Someone who knew better but refused to do better just because 'fuck everybody.'
But at the end of the day, his brother was his brother. Plain and simple. Merle had come back from overseas and he'd gotten Daryl out from under their dad's boot. He'd never made Daryl feel like shit for being the way he was. Probably because he was the same way, but still. And he'd done a piss poor job at being any sort of a role model, but he'd stuck around. He refused to ever leave Daryl behind. And that was something worth noting.
Also: blood was thicker than water and whatnot, blah blah blah. It all boiled down to the same thing.
Loyalty.
So here he was. Dressed hurriedly in jeans from the day before, a raggedy T-shirt with the sleeves ripped off, and his favorite vest. Picking his worthless brother up in the middle of the night. Driving all the way to Atlanta to find a bail bonds place, and then driving all the way back to King County Sheriff's Department to bail Merle out. Braving the cold winter weather. Sacrificing money and sleep and gas. And his own goddamn sanity.
By the time he pulled up to the Sheriff's Department and parked, it was almost five in the morning. The sky was beginning to lighten, stars disappearing as the sun threatened to rise from behind the dark blue horizon. Merle was standing outside and smoking a cigarette while he waited. He'd already been released thanks to Rick's willingness to bend the rules for Daryl's sake. As soon as Merle spotted Carol's familiar hatchback pulling into the parking lot, he threw his arms up and started stepping away from the building.
Daryl pulled up and stopped. Merle jogged over to the passenger side and opened the door, climbing in and plopping himself down in the seat with a deep sigh. He shut the door and rolled down the window with the burning cigarette still pinched between his fingers.
"Christ, baby brother!" He exclaimed. "Took ya long enough!" He cackled and took a long drag off his cigarette.
Daryl could tell he was still high from the sound of his voice and the way he squirmed restlessly in the passenger seat. He scowled and began driving away from the Sheriff's Department, cranking up the heat to compensate for the open window.
"Put yer seatbelt on," he growled.
Merle sighed in exasperation but did as he was told. Then he kicked back in his seat and took another puff off his smoke. "Borrowed the dyke's car, huh? Not bad."
"Don't fuckin' call her that," Daryl snapped, his hands tightening around the steering wheel.
"Why not?" Merle argued. "She ain't givin' it up, is she? An' she's got that fuckin' haircut—I just call 'em as I see 'em."
Daryl's knuckles were turning white and he fought the urge to reach over and smack his brother. He shook his head and said, "Best be grateful she was nice enough ta let me borrow 'er car in the middle of the fuckin' night just to pick up your worthless ass. Can't stay outta jail fer six goddamn months—"
"'Cause yer so fuckin' perfect," Merle fought back, all the humor in his voice quickly vanishing. "What, now ya got a job an' some shitty li'l trailer, you think yer better'an me? 'S that it?! Too fuckin' good fer your own brother now?"
Daryl rolled his eyes and kept his focus on the road. "Yer so fuckin' small-minded. The hell'd you expect? Want me ta follow you around forever? You want me sittin' right beside ya in that cell? Yer still high right now. Stupid asshole."
Merle flicked his cigarette butt out the window and scowled. "So fucking what? Least I'm not the one settlin' down an' wastin' my time with some bitch that ain't ever gonna put out."
"That's all that matters to you, huh?" Daryl shook his head and scoffed. "Like talkin' to a brick fuckin' wall. Why the fuck do I even bother."
"The brick wall that kept you alive fer the last twenty years," Merle quipped. "Don't fuckin' forget it, Darylina."
Daryl chose to bite his tongue this time. He kept his eyes on the road and pressed down a little harder on the accelerator. Merle was grumbling angrily under his breath, but Daryl just rolled the window down farther until the roar of the wind drowned out the sound.
A couple miles passed. Then Daryl took a definitive left turn at the intersection right outside of town and Merle spoke up again.
"Ain't we goin' back to yer place?"
"Fuck no," Daryl replied. "I got a little girl livin' in my house. Can't be bringin' some methed-out criminal ta stay the night."
"Aw fuck you!" Merle cried, outraged. "The hell kinda sick bastard you think I am? I ain't no fuckin' kid-diddler!"
"I didn't say you were, asshole," Daryl said. "But yer high off yer ass an' I just bailed you outta jail—ain't no shit that girl needs. You got yer own fuckin' place to wreck."
Merle scoffed and leaned back in his seat. "Whatever. I'd rather go to my place anyhow. Home is where the crystal is." He cackled at his own stupid joke.
Daryl bit his tongue and kept driving. He already knew his brother was gonna go home and get a little more high, it was just aggravating to hear. Especially after spending money to bail him out for that exact reason.
Merle got bored and leaned over to crank up the radio before lighting up another smoke while Daryl continued to drive. The streets grew darker, rows of houses passing by and streetlights becoming fewer and farther in between. He sped up a bit as they passed city limits. Cold early morning air roared in through the open windows, whipping his shagging hair to one side. Carol kept bugging him about getting a haircut, but he just couldn't be bothered. A part of him wanted to see how long it could get—to see how different he might look from his dad and brother for the first time in his life. He'd always kept it short, just like Merle, and sometimes the resemblance to Will that he saw in the mirror was too much to take. So maybe he'd wait a while before he let anybody touch his mop with a pair of scissors. Maybe he'd see how long it could get before it started impeding his daily actions.
Daryl drove down the old dirt roads solely on muscle memory, taking the route that was so familiar, he could probably navigate it in his sleep. The run-down, little one-bedroom house that Merle called home was several miles away from the cabin their dad had been inhabiting for the last couple decades, and the only reason Merle could afford it was because Daryl had already paid it off. He'd lived there with his brother for a few years, ever since they decided to settle back in Senoia and stop couch-surfing and drifting all over Georgia. But he had to get out of there. As soon as an opportunity arose for him to move in with Carol and help her with the rent on her mobile home, he snatched it up. It was closer to work, quieter, cleaner, and completely free of tweakers and drunken strippers—which was exactly what Daryl needed. Merle had bitched and moaned, but at the end of the day, he couldn't keep Daryl there. There came a point when they both agreed that a little space would do them some good. And though Merle probably thought it was temporary, Daryl had more permanent plans in mind. Besides, Carol and Sophia liked having him around. Genuinely liked it. Daryl could tell that having a secure male presence in the house gave Carol a little peace of mind. And she needed that more than anyone he'd ever met.
He just kept telling himself that it wasn't like he was abandoning his brother. They were still only a few miles apart. Still in the same town. He was still the one picking Merle's worthless ass up from the holding cell every other weekend. He just refused to have anything to do with the criminal activity, or their dad. Because he knew his brother couldn't quite cut Will off like Daryl had. Merle would never be able to do that. He was too old-fashioned, in the sense that he could never say no to his dear old dad. Even though Will hadn't done a goddamn thing for either of them, even as adults. Merle and Will still had too much in common. Mostly the drinking and the drugs and the loose women. But still, that was more that they had in common than could be said for Daryl.
Merle chain-smoked and squirmed in his seat, tapping his foot incessantly to the music on the radio. He kept grinding his teeth and clicking his jaw—annoying habits that he couldn't seem to control whenever he was smoking dope. Daryl was just thankful that he was keeping his mouth shut, because he usually couldn't stop talking when he was high.
They finally pulled up to the dark little house just as the sun was cresting the horizon. Rays of bright morning sunlight broke through the thin layer of fog, sending a sheen across the dew-covered grass. Daryl slowed and pulled into the gravel driveway, reaching over and turning off the radio as the tires crunched over rocks and the engine rumbled quietly. Merle tossed out his half-smoked cigarette and unbuckled his seatbelt before Daryl could even shift into Park.
"Gonna ha'fta take me to the impound later ta get my bike out," Merle said as he reached for the door handle.
Daryl grunted. "Got busted on yer bike? Really?"
Merle shot him a look. "No shit, the hell you think I was doin'? Walkin'?"
"I gotta work. Ain't got time ta drive you all over hell an' back," Daryl said.
"So we'll go after ya get off," Merle said, way more presumptuously than Daryl liked. "No biggie. Won't take but a couple hours." He pushed open his door and stepped out.
"A couple hours I ain't got," Daryl called through the open passenger window.
Merle turned back and flashed a scowl. "Whatever. We'll figure it out."
Daryl didn't say anything. He put his hand on the gearstick, preparing to shift into Reverse.
Merle's scowl turned into a quizzical frown. "Ain't you comin' in? Got a nice bottle of whiskey that stripper left behind last weekend."
"Just told you, I gotta work," Daryl repeated.
Merle leaned down and rested his forearms on the open window. "In what? Three, four hours? That's plenty'a time to get a little lit. We can work out a time for ya to take me down to the impound."
"Nah," Daryl said firmly. "I'm goin' home an' goin' back to bed. You can figure out how to get down there on yer own. I got shit ta do."
Merle's brow creased and anger flashed in his icy blue eyes. "You fuckin' blowin' me off, Daryl? That what this is?"
"'M not blowin' you off, I just got shit to do—"
"Nah, yer blowin' me off fer that butchy girlfriend a yers an' that bratty li'l girl. Over yer own fucking brother, huh?"
Daryl heaved a sigh, jaw clenching. "Ain't like that. Don't be an asshole."
"Yer the one bein' a fuckin' asshole," Merle quipped, shoving himself back and away from the car. "Selfish piece'a shit. Ain't known that cunt more'an a couple years and suddenly she takes precedence over yer own blood?!"
"Don't fucking call her that," Daryl snapped.
"Fuck you! The hell you gonna do about it, ya pussy-whipped bitch?!" Merle circled the front of the car and came around to the driver's side, glaring at Daryl the whole time and holding his arms out like he was provoking an attack. And he probably was. He was even more eager to fight than usual when he was tweaking.
Daryl clenched his jaw a little tighter, gripped the steering wheel a little harder, knuckles going white and teeth grinding reflexively.
"Not a goddamn thing, that's what!" Merle taunted. "'Cause yer too chickenshit. Li'l mama's boy, jus' searchin' fer a woman you can follow around like a lost li'l puppy dog. Shit, it's downright pathetic, baby brother. How fuckin' soft you've gotten! Tell ya what, Pa sure as hell didn't raise you ta be such a pussy—an' neither did I! Thought I taught you not ta leave family behind!"
Daryl didn't want to feed into the argument, but he couldn't help himself. "Neither one'a you worthless assholes taught me a goddamn thing. Stop actin' like you came back to try an' rectify yer mistakes. You only came back 'cause you didn't have nowhere else ta go. I was the only one stupid enough to believe yer bullshit—but them days is over. I got my own fuckin' life now. Can't be dependin' on me to bail you out at every fucking turn."
The fire flared in Merle's eyes and he approached the driver's side window, glaring down at Daryl with absolute loathing. "You ungrateful little prick—you owe me, motherfucker! You realize that? I kept you alive all these years, I taught you how to fuckin' survive! And that was after I went overseas to fight for your goddamn freedom! You wanna turn yer back on me like that? You think you can turn yer back on me like that?!"
An unpleasant flashback rushed through Daryl's head. For just a brief second, as he looked at and listened to Merle, all he could see and hear was their father.
The fury. The tone of voice. The entitlement. The guilt trip. The cycle that just kept going and never seemed to end. It sent a chill down his spine and raised all his hackles.
Suddenly, for the most fleeting of moments, he was that little boy again. Cowering beneath Will Dixon's fist. Subjected to his cruelty and unrelenting abuse. Fighting a battle not only against outer forces, but also against the whispering voice inside his head that echoed all the things he'd been told.
'You owe me. You're nothing without me. I've kept you alive. I put a roof over your head and food in your belly; I allowed you to live. I taught you how to be a functioning person. I spent immeasurable amounts of time and money on you, and you alone. You can never repay my debt, but you have to keep paying it back regardless. If it weren't for me, you would be nothing. If I'm not around, you'll never be anything. Remember where you came from, because that's where you'll always be. All thanks to me.
'You. Owe. Me.'
Daryl was sick of it. He wasn't that helpless little boy anymore. He didn't owe shit to anyone, least of all his twacked-out brother.
He turned his head and returned Merle's glare with one of his own. Then he growled, "I'll turn my back whenever I damn well please. You sure as fuck did."
Merle huffed out an indignant breath. "The fuck's that s'posed ta mean?!" But the expression on his face betrayed his enraged ignorance.
Daryl's hand tightened around the gearstick. "You know good an' goddamn well what it means. Fuck off." Then he moved to shift into Reverse.
But before he could even grab the gear stick, Merle was lurching towards the driver's door and yanking it open, reaching in to unsnap Daryl's seatbelt and yank him from the seat in one swift, meth-fueled motion. "You petulant li'l sonuvabitch, getthefuckouthere—!"
Daryl didn't have a chance to resist or defend himself. He was caught off-guard—he knew Merle had a nasty temper when he was doped up, but it rarely resulted in him lashing out physically at his own brother, so Daryl truly wasn't prepared.
The next thing he knew, he was being dragged out of the driver's seat by the thin collar of his raggedy T-shirt and thrown to the ground. He caught himself with his hands, immediately jumping to his feet and regaining his balance, only to be met with Merle's swinging fist.
Goddammit. Merle was just a little bigger than Daryl, and when he was high, he was just a little stronger. So Daryl had no choice but to take the brunt of the hit straight to his eye. He reeled and stumbled backward, cursing Merle's name under his breath while struggling not to fight back.
He wouldn't fight his own brother. He just wouldn't.
"Hit me back, you yellow-bellied piece'a shit!" Merle demanded, face gone bright red, all the veins on his neck and forehead popping up. He was practically foaming at the mouth.
"No," Daryl said simply, holding his sore eye. He could already feel it swelling beneath his palm.
"'Cause yer too fucking soft! Mama never taught ya how ta fight, did she?!" Merle yelled. "Nah, she jus' taught ya how to take a fuckin' hit! Now you think yer better than me?! Wanna leave me behind just 'cause you got some fancy new friends—yer a fuckin' blood traitor! I oughta whoop the white off yer pussy ass, boy!"
Daryl was shaking. From anger or fear, he couldn't tell. Maybe it was a mixture of both.
He hated this. He really fucking hated it. Merle sounded just like their dad right now. The vicious scowl on his face was nearly a mirror image of Will Dixon. It made Daryl sick to his stomach.
Merle took a threatening step forward, but Daryl stood his ground. He wouldn't fight back. But he wouldn't stand here and get beaten on, either.
For a split-second, he thought about Carol. Sophia. Rick. Dwight. Like a distant echo, he heard Carol's voice, which seemed to grow more confident with every day she spent free of her abuser:
"You're a good man, Daryl Dixon. Taking the high road isn't always easy, but it ends in a better place every time."
Maybe she was right. Maybe he'd just have to take a risk and find out.
Merle was still yelling at him. Berating him. Calling him every name in the book. Spittle flew from his lips, and his face was nearly purple at this point. He took another step forward and lifted a hand like he was gonna smack Daryl across the face. That's when Daryl finally reacted.
With open hands, he reached out and shoved Merle as hard as he could. His brother's barrel chest was beneath his flat palms for just a second, and then he was stumbling backward, unprepared for the force of the contact. Merle ended up flat on his ass in the dew-dampened grass, blinking and staring up at Daryl in bewilderment. The rage quickly returned, though.
But Daryl wasn't going to stand around and listen to any more of this. He stepped around Merle, as the older man pushed himself up from the ground, and headed straight for the open door of the hatchback. He got one leg inside before he heard a ferocious grunt, and then he felt jagged nails on the back of his neck and a strong hand yanking him back out by the collar of his shirt and vest.
The fabric of the old T-shirt finally gave way and ripped, loudly. As did the vest. Merle didn't know his own strength when he was this twacked out. Or he did and he didn't care. Daryl wasn't sure anymore.
Either way, Merle got what he wanted: Daryl on the ground. Defenseless. Shaken and bruised. Clutching weakly to the frame of the door, knees in the gravel, afraid to turn around.
He felt the cold morning breeze on the bare skin of his back. He heard the audible gasp that escaped Merle's lips. He recognized the choked sound of outrage and shock that his brother made.
And then he felt Merle's fingers on his back once more, and they were yanking down the rest of the ripped shirt and vest, tearing the fabric until Daryl's full back was exposed. The tattered remnants of his shirt and vest slid down to pool around his waist, a few pieces still clinging to his arms.
For some reason, Daryl couldn't move. He felt paralyzed. He felt cornered. Weak. Helpless.
Most of all… he felt humiliated.
"What the fuck," Merle muttered. His voice quickly rose, "What the fuck, Daryl?!"
Daryl would never admit it to anyone, but in this moment, he felt like he might die. He had no idea why, because obviously he wasn't going to die, but suddenly his heart was racing, his vision was dark and caught in a tunnel, and his lungs weren't working the way they were supposed to. His chest heaved. The cold breeze sent goosebumps up and down his back.
He could've swore he could feel the scars pulsating. Glowing. Demanding attention. He could feel Merle's eyes dragging up and down the damage, assessing it, growing sick from the sight.
His mind said, 'Not again. Not again. Not again.'
His shame. His deepest, darkest secret. The one thing he'd always known would send Merle into a destructive spiral if he were to ever find out about it… Daryl had done his best to hide it. Yet here he was, unable to conceal it any longer. Completely powerless to the outcome of this certain disaster.
All he'd ever wanted was to forget.
And then he couldn't breathe. His chest heaved, his body went through the motions of breathing, but it wasn't working. His head was growing light from a lack of oxygen, vision narrowing and speckled with dark spots. He could hear his own blood rushing through every single one of his veins. He thought he might throw up. Or pass out. Or both.
Merle's voice sounded distant. Almost staticky. And filled with a whole new, fresh rage. "How the fuck have I never seen this shit? You been hidin' this from me! Who the fuck did that to you?! What the fuck ain't you been tellin' me, you snot-nosed li'l bastard?!"
It went on. More names, more degradation, more of the same old abuse Daryl had become accustomed to. Meanwhile, he was fighting the wave of nausea rising in his throat and desperately trying to blink away the tunnel vision and dark spots. His arms were all pins and needles, and his fingers were tingling like they were about to go numb. Somehow, he managed to fumble with clumsy hands and grasp at the bits of remaining shirt, pulling them up in a half-assed attempt to cover the grisly scars that marked his back. A last-ditch effort to preserve anything that might remain of his dignity.
He'd never wanted his brother to know just how weak he truly was. But now he knew, and there was nothing Daryl could do to fix it.
Merle was still ranting and raving, growing angrier and angrier by the second, but Daryl was just trying to gather his senses. He finally found the strength in his legs to raise himself and turn around, albeit shakily. He leaned back against the car for support. The tunnel vision was fading away. All he saw was Merle standing a few feet away in the early morning sun, face bright red and eyes nearly bulging from his skull, arms swinging wildly through the air as he hollered and cursed. Berating. Taunting. But most of all, enraged. Absolutely furious.
Merle had never liked secrets. And it seemed he especially hated them when they pertained to his only brother.
He turned his head and spat on the ground. Then he pointed an accusatory finger and narrowed his eyes, and his voice lowered to a threatening growl. "'F I find out you let that stupid motherfucker do that shit ta you, I'mma add some more goddamn scars of my own! I didn't raise you ta take his shit like that. Hell, if I'da been there, I would'a—"
"But you weren't there!" Daryl cried out. He had no idea where it was coming from; it poured from his mouth in a slew of repressed frustration. Years and years of repressed frustration. Repressed pain. His arm slashed through the air angrily and he took a step forward, quickly finding his strength. "You left! Just like you always fucking do when shit gets tough. You signed up fer the Service an' fucking LEFTUS! You knew what he'd fuckin' do, and you didn't give a rat's ass. Now look! She's dead 'cause you left! These fuckin' marks on my back? Shit, them's the nicest fuckin' things he ever left me. You got no fucking clue how ugly that shit got once you weren't there—and you never will! I do, though! I gotta live with that shit! Not YOU!"
Merle sputtered and went speechless. He physically reeled from Daryl's words, his face rapidly draining of color. All the confidence in his stance and body language disappeared.
As Daryl's voice echoed out around them and faded, Merle remained silent. He was at a loss for words. Opening and closing his mouth like some kind of stupid fish.
What the fuck kind of excuse could he possibly make now? There were none left, Daryl knew. He could never rectify his mistakes.
Never.
Daryl was no longer in control of his own voice. It was just coming out. All the shit he'd never said. All the shit he'd wanted to say and wanted to forget at the same time.
"You fuckin' left us, man. I was eight years old! How the fuck was I supposed ta defend myself? How was I supposed to protect her?"
Merle's eyes were watering. He scowled, and Daryl could see his adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed hard. His shoulders went stiff and his jaw tightened. "I taught you how to stay on his good side, you stupid motherfucker. I did everythin' I could—ain't my fault you couldn't fuckin' listen."
Daryl's spine went rigid and suddenly, a horrible anger was brewing in his belly. A white-hot rage. But he suppressed it. Fought it back. Forced himself to speak evenly. His throat was already hoarse from yelling. "Nah. It's never your fault, is it? I begged you not to go. So did she. You knew what would happen, and you turned yer back on us. Like the selfish piece of shit you are. Y'ain't no better than him. Never have been."
His eyes suddenly felt wet and there was a dampness on his cheeks—was he crying? He didn't even care. Wasn't even worth the effort to reach his hand up and wipe away the tear. It was hot on his skin, a relief from the cool air around him.
"Fuck you," Merle spat, practically snarling. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, though his eyes were still shining with unshed tears. "I had a plan, goddammit. I was gonna get you both outta there, I was gonna give y'all the kinda life ya only could'a dreamed of—"
"But you didn't!" Daryl cut him off, voice rising once again. "You fucking didn't! Just accept it already! Eight years, Merle—you left me alone with that sick asshole for eight fucking years! When you came back, it was too little, too late—you didn't fuckin' raise me, I raised myself! And I'm not like you, an' I never fucking will be! You never did shit fer me, or fer her—all you did was run away like a fuckin' coward! I was the one wakin' up to a house full'a smoke, I was the one that spent a week in ICU. I was the one that damn-near died 'cause I wanted to save her! You. Weren't. There!"
Daryl could practically see his words falling upon Merle like a ton of bricks. The older man's scowl disappeared and his face fell, and Daryl wasn't sure, but it almost looked like his eyes were pooling with tears. It was such a rare sight, he didn't even recognize it. But he could tell when Merle felt cornered. And right now was one of those times.
Merle's voice came out much weaker, lacking nearly all the anger and vitriol from before. Though he was still plenty defensive. "What the fuck d'you want me to do about it now? Huh?! I'll admit it—I fucked up, alrigh'? I saw that pretty reenlistment bonus after the first four years an' I got all kinds'a ideas in my head 'bout how I could use that money. I FUCKED up! I shouldn'ta left to begin with. I know!" He heaved a deep sigh, shaking his head slowly and staring directly into Daryl's eyes with drug-enlarged pupils. His tone softened even more, to the point of audible remorse. "But Jesus Christ, what choice did I fuckin' have? I didn't see no way a makin' things better without leavin' fer a little bit. An' now… shit. I can't change the past, baby brother. So what the hell d'you expect me t'do that could ever make up fer not bein' there?"
There was a beat. A heavy silence that hung between them, pregnant with all the unspoken apologies that would never matter.
Daryl choked out, "You coulda tried. You coulda fuckin' tried. That's all I ever expected—'sall I ever wanted from you… an' ya still let me down. Every damn time."
"I'm sorry!" Merle spat, the anger and defiance returning in a flash. "Is that what you wanna hear? I fucked up! I was wrong! I'm fucking sorry!"
Any other day, this would be a groundbreaking moment. To hear Merle admitting to being wrong, to hear him genuinely apologizing. But today… it didn't mean shit.
Daryl scoffed and waved away his brother's words. "You can be sorry all ya want. That don't bring her back. Doesn't fix all the scars I got. Doesn't take away the nightmares I have nearly every fuckin' night of the smoke and the screaming. You got no goddamn clue—"
"What d'you want from me, boy?! You want me grovelin' for yer forgiveness down on my hands an' knees? Want me ta beg you an' God to cleanse me of my sins?! Would that make you happy, ya sad little fucker?"
The words rolled off Daryl's shoulders. He shrugged. "Wouldn't matter even if ya did."
"You act like I ain't been the one by yer side every fucking day fer the last twenty years," Merle argued, taking a step closer. "Like I ain't done nearly everythin' I could ta make up fer my absence. Twenty years ain't enough ta make up fer a measly fuckin' eight? I wasn't off havin' the time'a my life, ya know! I was sleepin' in sand an' gettin' shot at by ragheads, jerkin' off three feet away from my battle buddies. You think I fuckin' enjoyed that shit?! I did it fer you! For her! I was tryin' ta break the fuckin' cycle!"
Daryl nearly laughed aloud. He shook his head. "Well ya did a shit fuckin' job. You ran away then, an' you been runnin' away ever since. I'm the only reason you got a place to call home instead'a sleepin' on somebody's couch or inside a cell! I'm the only reason we're not in prison right now! 'Cause all you know how ta do is run away, all over Georgia an' back, and for what? What the fuck do we got to show fer these last two decades? Huh? Look around you, Merle!" He gestured vaguely towards their surroundings. The run-down little house and the borrowed hatchback and the stained clothing they wore. "We got NOTHING!"
He'd had so many yelling matches and downright brawls with Merle, but this was somehow different. He couldn't stop shaking. His chest ached with every beat of his heart. His stomach was dropping lower and lower, as though it might plummet straight down to his feet. Yet at the same time, it felt so freeing. He'd been holding this shit inside for too damn long. He'd been putting up with his brother's shit for much longer than he should have.
All it took was one word uttered from Merle's sneering mouth: "Bullshit."
Talking to Merle was like talking to a brick fucking wall. Or a ghost. It would never change.
And that was it. Daryl was done. He threw up his hands and spun around, getting into the driver's seat of the hatchback and slamming the door shut as hard as he could. The sound echoed off the trees behind the house, and then he pressed his foot on the accelerator and gave the engine a mean rev. Merle was still standing in the grass, frozen and befuddled.
When Merle realized Daryl was actually shifting into Reverse, actually backing out of the driveway and preparing to leave, he raced towards the open driver's side window and grasped the edge. His face was red, teeth bared like some kind of snarling dog.
The rage on his face was a level of anger that Daryl had only seen a handful of times in his life. All the more reason to keep his foot on the gas pedal.
"You ungrateful little prick! I made you! I came back fer your sorry ass, even when I didn't have to! You had one job! ONE! To keep her alive! And you couldn't even do that! I should'a left you in my dust when I had the fuckin' chance! You'd be dead right now if it wasn't fer me—you hear me, boy?! You'd be DEAD!"
Daryl didn't turn his head to meet Merle's poisonous glare. He just kept backing slowly out of the driveway, speeding up as he got closer to the road.
Merle got sick of jogging alongside the car to keep up and finally released the edge of the window from his grasp. But he was still screaming at Daryl, pointing a finger and waving his arms angrily.
"You're nothing without me, Daryl! I hope you fuckin' remember that! You ain't no Dixon! You're NOBODY!"
But Daryl was already shifting into Drive.
He took one last glance towards his brother. Took in the uninhibited hatred and rage plastered so vividly across his aging face.
And as he pressed down on the accelerator and drove away, he shook his head and turned forward to stare straight ahead through the windshield. He could still hear Merle screaming down the road after him.
"I've always been nothin'... Nobody," Daryl muttered aloud, as though his brother could hear him. "Just like you. Ain't no breakin' that cycle, big brother."
to be continued…
