AN: Here we are. Another chapter here.
I just want to remind everyone that characters may (read will) be different than they are in the show. I may have enjoyed characters in the show, but all of them could have used a bit more depth in my opinion. Fanfic is my safe place to give them all the depth that I want. The thing about it, though, is that it often makes them something more than what we saw in limited screen time. I'm certainly taking liberties here. I hope that it doesn't bother anyone to the point of turning you off to the story, but if it does, I totally understand your need to read something that lines up better with the way you see things.
I do, however, hope you enjoy the chapter. Let me know what you think!
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Daryl hadn't realized how much of the night they'd spent with their trip to Woodbury. They'd left the prison after the cover of darkness had fallen on them, yet even as he reached the porch of the house that Merle was escorting him to, Daryl could see the very first hints that the dawn was beginning to break. In a few hours, it would be light. He pointed out as much to his brother as they reached the steps. They were the first words exchanged between the two of them.
"We'll sleep a couple hours," Merle said. "Eat somethin'. Governor ain't expectin' me back at Woodbury for a couple days. He'll be glad to have you, brother. He won't put you out. Not like some people."
"But he'll sure as shit kill you," Daryl said. He followed Merle into the house and watched as his brother walked over to an oil lamp and lit it. He slipped a glass cover over it. With the living room of the house illuminated, it was clear that the house wasn't one that had been chosen at random. It was clean of the heavy layers of dust that usually coated the houses that they found abandoned these days, and it appeared to be commonly frequented.
Merle laughed to himself. He apparently had the ability to read Daryl's mind.
"Home away from home," Merle said. "Use this place a lot when we're out scoutin' an' shit. Got a couple houses like this that's just about halfway between Woodbury an' wherever the hell you wanna be."
"But you ain't never found the prison?" Daryl asked.
"Found it," Merle said. "Hell—it weren't like the prison was some place we ain't never heard of, brother. Just that it's in the red zone."
"Red zone?" Daryl asked, walking around and surveying the living room.
"Walkers—Biters—as thick there as blowflies on shit," Merle said. "Scouts that went out that way said nobody couldn't live there an' it wouldn't be worth the effort to try to clear it."
Daryl laughed to himself.
"Then that's some army or whatever your Governor has built himself, because we cleared the place with a handful of people and not nearly enough bullets to impress anyone," Daryl said.
Merle hummed at him.
"You do what the hell you gotta," he mused.
He walked over to the lamp that he'd lit, lifted the glass, placed it on the table, and lit a cigarette with the open flame before he replaced the glass. Daryl watched him out of the corner of his eye, not wanting to draw attention to the fact that he was interested in seeing how his brother got along without his right hand. Daryl assumed, though he'd never lost a limb, that it wasn't something that Merle would simply want to sit and chat about.
"How'd you end up with that asshole, Merle?" Daryl asked. "How the fuck did'ja end up somebody's henchman?"
Merle laughed to himself, but Daryl was sure it wasn't genuine. He watched as his brother found a seat in a recliner that he clearly considered "his" in some way. He pulled a small table over that held an ashtray.
Merle Dixon was sober. Stone cold sober. And Daryl hadn't seen his brother that way in a long time. Sober had always looked good on Merle—all things considered. And it gave Daryl some hope, because sober Merle was a man that could be reasoned with, at least, most of the time.
Daryl might not like the life that it appeared his brother had stumbled into living, but at least it had gotten him off the crystal or whatever the hell he'd been chasing before.
"After Officer Friendly an' the gang left me—in Atlanta—I had to get the fuck off the roof. I was dyin' up there. Weren't gonna be no kinda time 'fore them things got through. I weren't gonna die like that. Got the saw."
"I know," Daryl said. "You—uh—you don't gotta give the details unless you want."
Merle laughed again.
"Bleedin' out," Merle said. "Flesh-eatin' bastards everywhere. Damn near died. But he showed up outta nowhere—like some kinda damn savior. That's what he was to me at the time. Jerked my ass up outta the streets. There was days 'fore I could even figure out who he was. If it was even real. Come back into myself an' the doc had healed the damn stump up kinda nice. Sewed it up alright. Still ugly as shit to look at but...found me a supply place. Made this." He held up the prosthetic. "Not a bad trade," he said. "All things considerin'."
"So you decided to kill for this guy?" Daryl asked.
"What the hell would you have done, lil' brother? Huh? You been—stuck up Officer Friendly's ass a couple years, I guess. Think you'da done better. Think you better'n me? Got me a place to live—better'n I ever had before. Food to eat. My bed ain't cold these days—nah ah. Hell—I'm good at what I do an' I get recognized for that."
"Good at killin', Merle," Daryl said.
"That ain't all I do," Merle said. "I'm not defendin' the job, brother. It's a job. Same as any other. Gets me what the hell I need, don't it?"
"Come back to the prison with me, Merle," Daryl said.
"What the fuck for, Daryl?" Merle asked. "You heard what the hell they said. They ain't want me there. Don't nobody want me there. Too damn good for me an' it's just a matter of time 'fore they toss me out. Throw me to the wolves. Leave my ass high an' dry again."
"It ain't like that, Merle," Daryl said.
"That's exactly what it's like, brother," Merle said. "You a fool if you don't see it. Officer Friendly—he's just pickin' an' choosin' who to keep an' who to throw away."
Daryl's stomach clenched. Merle wasn't wrong. Not entirely. But he hadn't even been with the group since the rock quarry outside Atlanta. He hadn't even known Rick for more than a couple of hours at best. He had no idea what had taken place in the years since he'd been handcuffed to a roof.
Yet he still wasn't entirely wrong.
"It's been that way," Daryl said. "But—it ain't that way no more. Rick ain't in charge no more. Not like you thinkin'. We all got a say now. And we all say what the hell we gotta say. I got some importance now, brother. Got a voice."
"You think I'ma run back to him? He handcuffed me to a roof, Daryl! Left me for dead!"
"And we come back for you!" Daryl barked at him. "All you had to do was wait, Merle! We come back for you! I come back for you! But you weren't there! You were fuckin' gone! Run off...like always."
Daryl surprised himself when he heard the words rush out of his mouth. He was surprised, too, at the amount of feeling behind them. He'd known the feeling was there, of course, but he'd thought that he'd managed to swallow it all down a little deeper. It seemed, though, that it was right near the surface and more than ready to bubble out at a moment's notice.
"Fuck you," was Merle's short response. "I left because I was gonna fuckin' die!"
"We'da got back 'fore you died!" Daryl said. "You weren't gonna die!"
"I didn't fuckin' know that!" Merle said.
"You shoulda trusted me to come," Daryl said.
"I weren't just talkin' about the damned roof, Daryl," Merle said. "An' neither was you."
Daryl found a chair and sat down, tired of staying on his feet. He lit a cigarette and, finding himself without an ashtray, reached for a dirty glass that was nearby on the floor—evidence that someone who didn't care to keep their space clean had been there before.
"You always left, Merle," Daryl said. "It's what the hell you done. An' you know—I ain't hardly ever been able to say shit about it because, if I did? You fuckin' left then, too."
"I've always come back," Merle said.
"Sometimes it ain't the comin' back I wanted," Daryl said. "It was the fuckin' stayin'. Shit—never said that shit out loud. It was the—it was the knowin' you was gonna fuckin' stay, Merle." He hummed to himself. "Hell—even when you stayed you didn't stay. Stayed outta your fuckin' head with whatever you could scratch off some dealer."
"I seem to remember you puttin' away more'n your fair fuckin' share of rot gut," Merle said.
"I didn't mind the drinkin'," Daryl said. "The weed either. It was the other shit. The shit that made you—made you not fuckin' Merle. Not my damn big brother. The shit that got your ass handcuffed to a fuckin' roof."
Merle laughed to himself, but there wasn't a single bit of humor behind the hollow sound.
"Ain't touched the shit in—a while," Merle mused.
"The Governor do that for you, too?" Daryl asked.
The hollow laughter rang out again.
"No," Merle said. "There's—there's things that matter more'n the Governor. Sometimes—you see shit clearly that'cha ain't seen before, Daryl."
Daryl swallowed against the lump in his throat.
"I wanted you back, Merle," Daryl said. "I've wanted you back for—a long damn time. Since the first time I caught you takin' that shit."
"Here I fuckin' sit," Merle said. The laughter rumbled in his throat. "Pretty as a mother fuckin' picture an' smellin' fresh as a damn daisy. You happy to have me back now, lil' brother?"
Daryl nodded his head.
"Just wonderin' when you gonna leave again," Daryl said. "That's what the hell you do."
"You always was holdin' shit against me," Merle said. "Ever since you was a snot-nosed kid an' couldn't see that I was steady tryin' to take care a' both our asses."
"You weren't hardly around," Daryl said.
"I weren't hardly gone," Merle said. "But you only remembered the times I was gone. Especially once—once she was gone."
"You weren't there—dealin' with the ole man."
"I left 'cause he'da put me in a damned hole," Merle said. "Or got me locked up for life—maybe in that fine establishment you callin' home right now. I couldn't stand dealin' with him no more. Weren't gonna let him keep on. Left to save my fuckin' life...it's the only reason I leave—to save my fuckin' life."
"Sounds real damn big of ya," Daryl said. "When you put it like that."
"You don't know what the hell he could be like to me," Merle growled.
"Who the hell you think he was beatin' on when you weren't there, Merle? An' after she died? You think he just stopped 'cause she was dead an' you was gone? It's who the hell he was."
Merle swallowed like he had briars in his throat.
"Shit—Daryl, if I'da knowed..." he started.
"You had to know," Daryl said. "But just like if you'da knowed about the damned roof—you shoulda just not runned off."
Merle simply nodded his head.
"There's plenty of room for us both in Woodbury," Merle said.
"I got me a life at the prison, Merle," Daryl said. "I ain't goin' to this Woodbury place an' I ain't gonna be the goon of this asshole."
"I can't go there, Daryl," Merle said.
"We'll make it work," Daryl said. "They said we would. We'll figure it out. You can be important there, too, Merle. For the right damned reasons."
"Your life at the prison's more important than the life I got me...that it? Ole Merle's supposed to just drop shit an' go where his baby brother wants. Ain't that what it's always been—no matter how the hell you wanna paint it? Merle makes sure his baby brother gets what the hell he wants an' you just piss on me if there's somethin' that ain't quite like you like it?"
Daryl frowned at him.
"That ain't all true," Daryl said.
"But it ain't all untrue, Daryl," Merle said. "An' you fuckin' know it. They gonna—put my ass in chains? Ask me to kiss their asses?"
"We'll make it work, Merle," Daryl said. "You can make somethin' of yourself there where you don't gotta be ashamed of who you are an' what'cha do."
"Fuck you," Merle said. "I ain't ashamed of shit."
"You can say it," Daryl offered. "But I see it ain't true." Daryl shook his head at Merle. "I ain't goin' with you to Woodbury. And that's all there is to it. I don't wanna lose you, Merle. Not again. Not after I spent years wonderin' if you was alive or dead. Not—not now that'cha ain't outta your damned skull on shit. But—I got a life you wouldn't believe. A life I don't hardly believe. I got a wife, Merle. Or—we gonna marry soon, but we good as married. Got me a kid. Another one on the way ain't big as a damn minute yet. I got a fuckin' life. I'm somebody an' I got me a family—a real family. I ain't goin' to Woodbury. Not even for you."
Merle swallowed. He laughed to himself. This time it wasn't the same hollow sound as before.
"A wife?" He mused.
Daryl swallowed and nodded. Merle had spent months at the quarry with Carol and Ed there, and he knew her. He knew Sophia, too, as Ed's infant daughter. Daryl could tell him all that—but there was time for that. For now the details didn't matter.
"Kids, too," Daryl said. "A daughter. Don't know what the baby'll be."
"Fuck—fuck—my lil' brother's got a wife an' kids," Merle mused. "I go off a couple damn years an' you go an' turn into Ward fuckin' Cleaver."
Daryl laughed to himself. Merle looked pleased, and he found that promising.
"Yeah—I'm a Daddy. A damn OK one, too, if I do say so myself. Makes you an uncle, Merle," Daryl offered. "If you got a mind to be one. You just gotta—come back to the prison. They gonna leave you be. Just gotta come back an' learn how the hell to live with people. Accept 'em for who they are. Know—you ain't always gonna like 'em but, hell, they prob'ly gotta accept shit about you that they don't like neither."
"An uncle," Merle mused.
Daryl's heart did a strange dance. He felt confident, for the first time, that Merle was coming back with him. He relaxed into his seat.
"An uncle," he said. "You just gotta come with me, Merle."
Merle sat quietly and thought on it. At least, that's what Daryl assumed he was doing. He got up once to light another cigarette with the lamp as he'd done before, but otherwise he didn't say anything. Out of nowhere, though, he finally broke the silence by standing straight up.
"I still gotta go back to Woodbury," Merle said.
Daryl stood up, too.
"Are you fuckin' serious?" He spat, almost instantly overcome with anger. "Did you hear anything I said, Merle? All that an' you just gonna run the fuck away again? I meant what I said—I ain't goin' with you."
"Simmer your ass down, Daryl," Merle said. "I'll do what the hell you want—same as I always fuckin' do. But I gotta go back to Woodbury. You ain't the only one what's got a damn life. She ain't my wife, but I got somebody too. Welcome or not—if I'm goin' to the prison, she is. I gotta go back to Woodbury, Daryl. I gotta get her ass. 'Cause if I don't go soon? The fuckin' Governor's gonna figure out that I run off sooner or later—that I ain't comin' back. An' just to fuck with me an' just 'cause he likes her—an' he can't stand to go without what he wants—he's liable to take from her what she ain't gonna wanna give an' he's liable to kill her. I can't let that shit happen. So—I gotta go back. I gotta sneak her outta there."
"What about him?" Daryl asked.
"We'll figure out what to do about him," Merle said. "But—first I gotta know she's outta there. Gotta know she's safe."
Daryl swallowed and nodded his head.
He could understand that and, for once, he found it was a sentiment from his brother that he truly respected.
"I'll go with you," Daryl assured him. "Help you however I can. Get her back to the prison. You, too. But then—you gotta help us figure out how we get rid of this asshole or else we're all losin' shit we wanna keep. And—I can't let that happen."
Merle simply nodded at him. He didn't offer any words, but Daryl heard what he had to say loud and clear. Merle got up, blew out the lamp that he'd lit earlier and, forgetting the nap and the food that he'd come there to get, he started out the door. Daryl closed the door behind them, confident that his brother knew the way back to Woodbury.