Chapter 1 – Priorities

It wasn't often that Merle was the one waking his brother rather than the other way around—or, well, waking his brother on purpose rather than from inconsiderate shouting or loud sex. On such days, Daryl instantly knew that something was going on, for good or for bad.

Usually for bad.

"Up, boy," the elder Dixon admonished with a kick to the side of the younger's mattress on the floor of the pair's latest falling-apart rental trailer. "We got places ta be."

Daryl grunted, already preparing himself for one of his brother's schemes and the likely consequences.

Of course, that was before said brother added, "Gotta go see Uncle Jesse."

Freezing briefly in some remembered instinct of terror and self-preservation at the thought of returning to their hometown, Daryl demanded, "Why?"

"Hell if I know," grunted Merle. "Said he wouldn't say over the phone. I'm hopin the ol' man finally croaked."

Something untensed in Daryl's aching shoulders, and he had to agree, "That'd be worth the trip."

"'Xac'ly."

For all that the brothers were drifters, they rarely left Georgia and typically kept to the northern counties. So, while the drive to the tiny Podunk slice of nowhere that was Rose Ridge took them most of the day, they pulled up at their uncle's cabin well before dinner. The timing was fortunate because it gave Daryl a few hours to go and catch some damn dinner if their uncle hadn't felt inclined to provide any. Uncle Jesse wouldn't hurt a fly, but that didn't mean he was particularly social or welcoming. And his patience for his nephews' bad behavior had long since run out.

"'Bout time," the burly man greeted from his front porch, glowering down at the pair as though he'd caught them with meth again (really just Merle, but Daryl had been present so got blamed, too). "Either 'a y'all dumbasses know a girl named Ada Bell?"

The brothers frowned in tandem, wracking their brains. Merle was the first to remember, remarking, "Might'a given it to her a time or two. Not many in this county who haven't. Hell, even baby brotha-"

"Shut up," hissed Daryl. Waking from a drunken stupor to find a diseased crack-whore riding his dick to make his brother jealous wasn't something he liked to think about. That had been an expensive, embarrassing trip to the clinic to make sure his junk wouldn't rot off.

"Hmm," Uncle Jesse hummed, radiating disapproval as he scratched his steely gray scruff and furrowed his matching eyebrows hard enough to force them down into a harsh V. "That's what I thought. Y'all might as well come in." He turned and disappeared through the open doorway, leaving his confused nephews to follow.

Both remembered to kick off their boots before entering. (Aunt Grace had been dead for two years, but the memories of getting whacked with her wooden spoon for even the thought of tracking mud inside her house remained fresh and painful.) As soon as the pair stepped inside the small home, both paused at the sight that greeted them.

It was a baby. A toddler? Hell, Daryl had no idea of the difference. The big-eyed creature was old enough to support its own head and sit up unaided on the dingy old rug in front of the hearth but was still tiny. Telling whether it was a boy or a girl was difficult; it wore a plain yellow baby leotard thing and only had enough wispy blond fluff on its little round head to stick straight up in the air like a beanie made of cotton candy.

"Ya finally made us a cousin?" Merle questioned, a note of desperation in his gruff voice as more likely possibilities made themselves known.

Daryl didn't do much talking in general, but on that occasion, he couldn't force any words past the lump in his throat.

That face… That cute, chubby, rosy little baby face… It was pure Dixon, right down to the surly pout and the hint of The hell y'all lookin at?!

"Not quite," Uncle Jesse remarked, suddenly sounding faintly amused rather than disapproving and annoyed. "One 'a y'all idiots made me a great uncle."

When his knees gave out, Daryl barely managed to collapse into the nearest seat on the threadbare couch.

Merle's reaction was far more explosive, with a lot of cussing and kicking, denial and threats and a proper storm-off to finish.

Throughout that entire fit, which got quite loud, the baby didn't make a peep. Didn't whine or cry or show any sign of fear. It just… stared, blue eyes wide and solemn, expression unimpressed.

"She's a quiet little thang," Uncle Jesse remarked. Merle was still gone. Daryl was still speechless. But the old man had provided beer, and that seemed to help with the shock. "Reminds me more 'a ya than Merle, but we won't be able to tell fer sure which 'a y'all is the daddy without a DNA test."

"Ada just dropped her off?" the younger Dixon finally managed to rasp, even more freaked out to hear that his potential child was a girl.

The hell did he know about raising a girl?

With a soft hum into the neck of his cold brew, Uncle Jesse explained, "Guess she couldn' get 'hold 'a neither 'a y'all dumbasses, so she tracked down yer kin and came here. Lucky she picked me instead 'a yer pa."

Daryl had a brief heart attack at the thought.

"Poor woman's been in 'n outta rehab for years," Uncle Jesse continued. "Y'all happened to fuck her durin a shorter relapse, so she was sure one a' ya was the daddy. Just didn't know which one. She claimed that she went straight back to rehab after the weekend she spent with the two a' ya and managed to stay clean through the pregnancy. But she started relapsin again not long after. The latest was an OD that nearly killed her, and the baby got left alone for days. Ada said that as much as she wanted to be a good mama, she just couldn't. And she loves that little girl enough to make sure she's got somebody stable and sober to look after her."

"Yer takin her then?" Daryl wondered, unsure if he felt relieved or disappointed. Stable and sober would never describe a Dixon. Their pa, Will Dixon, was by far the worst, but Merle was pretty bad in his own way. Daryl wasn't as bad but wasn't much better.

But Uncle Jesse wasn't a Dixon. He was a Ray and therefore wasn't similarly cursed.

"Was hopin ya'd step up, actually," he reported, his gaze narrowed and shrewd. "I know Merle's a longshot for daddy material, but ya got potential. Ya ain't no junkie. Just a dumbass who follows his brother's shitty example far too often."

Back to speechlessness, Daryl stared at the old man (his dead mama's only sibling) like he'd gone senile. But the younger Dixon couldn't handle the measuring stare, equal parts skeptical and challenging and encouraging. So, he looked away, trying to look anywhere but at the baby—his daughter or his niece (his daughter regardless, if he agreed to this insane notion). But it was like his eyes were drawn to her.

She was still watching them with those big blues and that surly pout and that gravity-defying fluff, which was his mama's bold honey blond rather than Ada's dull dishwater blond. All of it made Daryl's heart do a weird twist.

He looked away again, settling for focusing on the floor. "Ya should take her," he insisted, knowing from experience that Uncle Jesse was a good man, and although he'd never had kids of his own, he was equipped to be a father. Hell, he deserved to be a father.

Daryl just… wasn't… and didn't.

"I considered it," Uncle Jesse declared. "Hell, I considered not even callin y'all two fuckups and just raisin her on my own." That would've been the smartest thing to do in the situation, but it did kind of hurt to hear. Uncle Jesse was the only man Daryl and Merle had ever looked up to, and lord knows he'd tried his best with the two hardheaded Dixon boys. "But it wouldn'a been fair ta y'all or ta her not ta even give y'all a chance. 'Sides, I'm an old man. I'm fuckin tired, and I got ten, maybe fifteen years left in me if I'm lucky. Every little girl deserves a daddy who's got the energy to actually play with her and who'll be around long enough to walk her down the aisle."

Choking on a sip of beer, possibly hyperventilating for a few moments, Daryl could only nod in agreement. It all sounded so reasonable… except for the part where he was being drafted as that daddy.

"Quit lookin like you're 'bout to faint," laughed Uncle Jesse, standing and moving toward the cramped kitchen, clapping his nephew sharply on the shoulder in passing. "I ain't lettin ya take her anywhere just yet. If ya wanna try ta make this work, yer gonna be livin here for now. Yer gettin a steady job and stayin off the hard stuff and outta jail. I think that's the least 'a what ya can manage."

Calming down quite a lot at the news that he'd have his uncle's support, Daryl found himself nodding… and then wondering when the hell he'd actually decided to give the whole thing a chance. But he honestly didn't think he could just walk away from a helpless baby girl who needed him.

"I'm gonna make dinner," Uncle Jesse reported. "Spend some time with yer kid. Oh, her name's Darla, by the way. Darla Rebel Dixon. She'll be six months old tomorrow."

Darla Rebel Dixon…

Daryl liked it, though he knew it would cause Merle to start up with those stupid Darylina jokes again. Actually, the younger Dixon kind of suspected that the name Darla might have been Ada's attempt at combining the names of both possible baby daddies… and Rebel was probably a nod to the woman's own last name, Bell. Or he seemed to remember that Rebel Yell bourbon was her favorite drink. Whatever. The first option was the more kid-friendly one, so it was what he'd be going with.

Cautiously, he approached the kid and squatted down in front of her. He grabbed the first toy in reach, a colorful wood block, and offered it out.

With equal caution, never looking away from him, the girl reached for the toy. Once she had it in her itty-bitty hands, she clumsily turned the block over a few times before placing it gently on top of a stack of two others. The tower teetered… but didn't fall. And when it finally steadied, she smiled up at him. She had only her two bottom-front teeth, so it was a goofy little smile.

But Daryl knew that he was a goner.

xxXxx

Merle figured the odds of him being the baby daddy were about three to one. From what he remembered of that weekend, he'd picked up Ada in a seedy biker bar, fucked her once in the bathroom stalls and then once when they got back to his place. They'd gotten in a fight, which had been when she wandered out to assault poor Daryl with her dirty pussy. (Man, the noise he'd made while he'd been half-asleep and jizzing inside her and trying to shove her off all at once had been pure comedy.) Then, after a lot more fighting, Merle had fucked the dumb bitch yet again before sending her on her way, apparently straight back to rehab with a bun in the oven.

Three to one. Or was it three out of four? Was that the same thing? Aw, hell, he'd always hated any math that wasn't counting money or calculating sniper shots. The gist of it was that Merle knew he had the higher chance of owning the dick that had squirted out the little problem occupying his uncle's living room.

Of course, there was plenty of evidence that Daryl had defied those odds. The girl's coloring was mostly their mama's, but the shape of her face and those big blue eyes and the fact that she was quiet and thoughtful all pointed to Daryl owning the dick that'd done the deed.

Still, they wouldn't know without getting a DNA test. Or going on Maury or Jerry or some shit. But none of that interested Merle in the slightest.

No matter what, he damn well knew that he wasn't daddy material. Hell, he'd given it a good shot with Daryl and failed miserably. The kid had turned out alright, but the fact that he could've been something more—could still be something more with the slightest hint of guidance and encouragement—was a weight on Merle's shoulders. If Merle had done better, had been more present, had built the little bastard up instead of breaking him down—just like their pathetic pa had—then Daryl might've grown up to be his own man. To be somebody better than some washout junkie loser's pathetic shadow.

Merle was selfish enough to recognize that he liked having his little brother follow him around, that the situation suited him just fine, that he got more than he gave in allowing the younger Dixon to waste his life on being the loyal dog that was too stupid to slink off no matter how many times it was kicked—rare and long-ago scraps of affection enough to sustain the toxic bond.

But with a kid in the mix, things were different. No matter who'd squirted the bastard, only one of the brothers was capable of being a daddy.

And said brother was only capable of doing so if Merle bowed out gracefully and stayed away as much as possible.

"Yer back," Uncle Jesse greeted, shirtless and yet again glaring from the porch like some judgmental gargoyle, the crag-faced son of a bitch.

Merle grunted and slung the duffels of stuff he'd fetched at the man's feet. "There's Daryl's shit," reported the elder Dixon. "I'll swing by in a few weeks." Probably closer to a few months, maybe a year. But no one was really going to miss him.

"Boy, ya lost yer damn mind?" the old man sighed, blearily rubbing a calloused hand down his weathered face. "It's 'bout four in the goddamn mornin, and I am sick 'a yer shit."

"Ain't this 'xac'ly what ya wanted?" Merle snarled. "Heard it from ya enough times 'bout how I'm always the one ta run out on everythin."

Sneering, Uncle Jesse bit back, "Ya don' like my complainin, then prove me wrong, dumbass. I was never sayin it to make ya keep doin it. I was tryin ta make ya stay."

"Y'all don't need-"

"Daryl's the daddy." The two men glared tiredly for a while before the older of the two finally insisted, "Stay the night. Get some sleep 'fore ya drive yerself off the damn road. Have breakfast. Or lunch, more likely. Meet yer niece. Wish yer brother well. Then, if ya still wanna go, ain't nobody gonna stop ya."

Tempted but sensing a trap, Merle growled, "The brat's gonna wake me screamin-"

"She's the quietest baby I've ever even heard of," Uncle Jesse declared. "Hasn't cried once in the week she's been here. If I hadn't already brought her to get checked, I'd swear she was mute."

Merle gritted his teeth, still fighting against the urge to hang around, clinging to all the reasons that he shouldn't—all the reasons that he was furious at the whole damn world. "That Ada bitch didn't hurt her, did she?"

"Come inside, and I'll tell ya what I know," the gray-haired asshole spat, turning on his heel and disappearing into the dark cabin.

After pacing back and forth a while—cursing the nosy, manipulative old bastard to hell and back—Merle relented. He stepped inside feeling like some asshole who wasn't Daniel entering the lion's den.

The surroundings were sparse and well-worn but homey and familiar. The cabin had been a frequent haven in his younger years. Hell, Aunt Grace had sworn time and again that Merle and Daryl didn't have to go back to their pa, that they were allowed to stay. But the cabin was only one bedroom, one bathroom, and one main room (a combined living room and kitchen). There wasn't much space for even one extra person, let alone two, so the boys hadn't imposed more than a few nights at a time, a week at most (when Will was at his worst). So, seeing Daryl asleep on the floor in a nest of blankets and pillows was nothing new to Merle, who'd always gotten the couch by virtue of seniority (and of being willing to throw fists for it).

Seeing Daryl asleep on the floor beside a pink Moses basket, however, was a fucking trip.

The pudgy little gremlin cuddled up inside said basket blew Merle's entire damn mind.

A daughter or a niece. Either way, a niece. Kin. Blood. Another damned Dixon.

She woke with a long yawn, cooing quietly and blinking up at him in the barest hint of awareness. Still, the girl pouted and held out her arms, demanding to be picked up. Despite Uncle Jesse's assurances, the wobble of the girl's bottom lip and the wetness gathering in her blazing blue eyes implied an impending tantrum if her needs weren't met with all haste.

Merle must've been operating on some long-forgotten muscle memory from Daryl's childhood. There certainly wasn't any conscious thought in the elder Dixon's reflex to scoop up the baby and tuck it tight to his chest and kiss its little curls and start swaying and humming Mama's favorite song.

Uncle Jesse did him the absolute favor of not uttering a damn word or laughing his ancient ass off throughout the entire humiliating production.

xxXxx

The whole reincarnation thing had been… unexpected. But she'd gotten over it pretty quickly. Confirmation of an immutable soul and some sort of… Well, higher power seemed like a cop-out of a label, but she couldn't think of a better one. Anyways, there was life beyond death. Huzzah.

The time travel thing—backward, no less—had been kind of fascinating. So, time wasn't linear. Far out.

However, the big reveal of an alternate universe—one that her previous universe considered fictional several times over, no less—had been just…

Well, she was handling it.

Sure, there were scores of 'verses and fandoms that she would've preferred, but she wasn't about to lose her shit over the hand she'd been dealt…

Ok, yes, an impending zombie apocalypse was pretty damn terrifying and pretty damn low on her list of acceptable living situations, but she'd been granted a bad-ass family to keep her safe. She just had to hope and pray that she'd be afforded at least a decade to prepare, preferably two. Fighting zombies while she still had a child's body did not sound fun.

"C'mon now," one of the most controversial characters in the fandom coaxed in a soft voice that bordered on actual babytalk. "Say Uncle Merle. Un… cle… Mer… le…"

Darla said nothing, just to be petty and contrary. Well, and because her first word was going to have to be something a hell of a lot simpler. Fewer syllables, for sure. She was debating whether to spring Daddy on Daryl at just the right moment to induce a spit-take or to set the tone for her new existence with a good old-fashioned fuck or cunt. She was trying to be the most well-behaved baby in the history of the multiverse, but she was still kind of an asshole at heart.

Besides, being good hadn't gotten her much so far. Darla had graciously treated her new mother to easy-mode parenting, and what had the dumb bitch gone and done? She'd abandoned a five-month-old infant for a three-day weekend of debauchery. The poor girl had been forced to stew in her own piss and shit while starving and dehydrating and nearly dying from a stupid teething fever—all while dear Ada had been getting drunk, getting high, and getting fucked. Darla had been more than willing to give her new mother a chance, but after that? The nicest thing the girl could say about the junkie whore was that she'd recognized her own shortcomings and passed off her crotch fruit to more competent hands. Good fucking riddance.

"Jesus," Merle cackled. "Look at that face! Don' she look just like Daryl when she scowls like that?"

"She looks like both 'a y'all dumbasses did when ya was lil'uns," Jesse declared as he stood at the stove, manning one pan of scrambled eggs and another of bacon. He'd eaten the same thing every morning for the entire week she'd been ditched with him. His scrambled eggs were pretty bomb (cooked in the previous day's bacon grease and topped with generous handfuls of cheddar cheese and homegrown chives), but she hoped to introduce some healthier options into his diet once she got big enough to do so. She didn't want the kind old man dropping dead of clogged arteries on her watch.

He was, after all, the absolute superstar who'd put her right onto solid food—no more sweaty boob juice, chalky formula, or pureed mystery mush for her! Sure, in deference to her stunning but solitary pair of teeth, the foods were all soft—eggs, applesauce, mashed potatoes, etc.—but they weren't cold jarred slop that ran through her like lightning and shot out the other end in the same exact consistency and color.

Things are lookin up for ol' Darla!

Daryl—her new daddy, it had been decided—wandered in and grunted something that probably passed for a hearty good-morning among the glorified cavemen. But as he sat beside his brother at the small kitchen table, he managed a warm smile for the baby girl.

She grinned right back, reaching her arms out in the universal gesture of Pick my ass up, peasant.

Daryl obliged, albeit nervously. He clearly wasn't confident in his baby-handling skills, but he'd get there with practice.

Doing her best not to squirm (as she had no desire whatsoever to get dropped, thanks), Darla let herself be cuddled against his chest. With a happy sigh, she grabbed a handful of (hopefully clean) sleeveless T-shirt and gnawed to her heart's content. Her top teeth weren't very far behind her bottom ones in erupting from her gums like fiery spears, and anything to help along the process and soothe the accompanying ache was very much welcome.

"Hungry, sweet girl?" Daryl's voice rumbled in her ear as he rubbed her back and kissed her temple. "We'll get ya fed real soon." Man was a fucking natural at this nurturing shit.

"Da," she babbled, making his breath hitch audibly beneath her little body.

"Ya tryin ta say Daddy?" he wondered in awe.

Merle half-heartedly groused, "Just ain't fair. I spent the whole damn mornin tryin ta get her ta say Uncle Merle."

"Girl's got her priorities in order," Jesse taunted, starting to plate up their breakfast.

"Da," she repeated, looking up into Daryl's face and giving him an impish smirk as she finished, "Da'la!" and then giggled like a lunatic.

The three men froze… and then the two older ones burst out laughing. "Priorities!" Merle cackled. "Damn right! Her own name 'fore anybody else's! Nice job, sugar!"

Daryl chuckled along, rolling his eyes but maybe looking a bit disappointed.

She did feel slightly bad about that, but the spur of the moment impulse had been too tempting to ignore. Besides, there was plenty of time left in the day to debut Daddy as her second word. Daryl certainly deserved to hear it.

xxxxxxxxxx

Daryl's encounter with Ada was rape, obviously. Ada raped Daryl. Neither Daryl nor Merle saw it that way, but that doesn't minimize or excuse what happened. Yes, men can be raped. No, it is not ok to touch, molest, assault, etc. any person of any gender in general or in their sleep. Basically, unless you have express permission from the other party, keep your grubby hands to yourself. That's like first-day-of-kindergarten shit, and I shouldn't have to explain it. But I do, unfortunately.

Silence is not consent.

Consent is consent.

Anyways, hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Please let me know what you think of it and if you want more WD stories :)