How To Train Your Poltergeist

Beth and Daryl pulled up to her house just as the sun was beginning to disappear behind the horizon. He stopped the bike halfway down the driveway and silenced the engine. When she dismounted and took off her helmet, she found him gazing up at the brightly lit windows of the farmhouse somewhat warily.

She tucked the helmet into its bag and stepped back, clearing her throat to get his attention.

"Don't worry, I'm not gonna ask you to come in," she said teasingly, a smile on her face. "I think my family's embarrassed me enough for one day."

He snorted and pulled one hand off the handlebars to rest it atop his thigh. "They're not embarrassing. They care about ya."

She noted his lack of a smirk and her smile faltered. "Yeah, they do. I was just kiddin'."

"I know," he mumbled, stroking his chin hair awkwardly. He glanced away and said, "Jus' don't want 'em gettin' the wrong idea 'bout me."

"The wrong idea?" She repeated, a bit perplexed.

He shrugged and wrapped his hand around the handlebar once more, leaning forward on the motorcycle. "Forget it. You want me to text ya tomorra? Whenever Rick lets me know what the plan is?"

She wanted to ask him what he'd meant, but his body language and the tone of his voice told her that he wanted to drop it. For now, at least. So she simply nodded.

"Yeah. That sounds good."

There was an awkward silence, then Daryl glanced around and asked, "He back yet?"

She shrugged indifferently. "Probably. I'm sure I'll find out once I get to my room. He likes to pop up and scare me."

She'd hoped for a small smirk or even a snort of amusement, but all she got was a grunt. Then he started up the bike rather abruptly and gave her a clipped nod.

"See ya tomorrow," he said, speaking up over the rumble of the bike.

She offered him a warm smile regardless and nodded back. "Drive safe, Daryl."

A moment later, he was speeding down the driveway, slowing just long enough to turn onto the road before zipping off once more. Beth watched him until he crested the hill and disappeared over the other side. She let out a deep sigh and turned to walk up to the house.

She was replaying the past hour over and over in her head, trying to make sense of the human puzzle that was Daryl Dixon. But he was so hot and cold—holding her hand in front of her mother's grave one minute, then brushing her off like he was uncomfortable with her presence the next.

Maybe she was just reading too much into it. Maybe she just hadn't made a new friend in so freaking long that she no longer knew how.

That was a pretty sad thought. But she couldn't even say it was completely untrue. And mix in the other confusing feelings? The incessant fluttering in her stomach and the skipping of her heart? The way he kept making her blush?

Maybe it was all in her head. Maybe this 'seeing dead people thing' was really starting to mess her up. Or maybe isolating herself for the last seven years had screwed up her social skills; maybe it was starting to make her desperate. Maybe it was a combination of both, made all that much more complicated by the fact that she shared an unusual bond with Daryl.

It was like he'd said: they'd been through a hell of a lot of crazy shit over the last week. How could she not feel some kind of connection to him after all that?

But that still left her with the biggest and most unsettling question: should she be feeling this much of a connection with him?

Surely not.

Then again, there was—

"If you think this is gonna be some kinda happily ever after fuckin' fairytale, you ain't been payin' much goddamn attention."

Beth was harshly shaken from her thoughts by Merle's scratchy voice. She'd been staring down at the dying grass beneath her feet as she made her way to the back porch, and when she raised her head, she found him leaning against the side of the house with a burning cigarette between his fingers and a scowl on his face.

She frowned and opened her mouth to respond, but he took a step forward and jabbed a finger at her, cutting her off.

"Now you listen, sugartits, and you listen real good: I want my brother to at least get a piece of ass outta this whole ordeal just as much as the next guy, no matter how this clusterfuck might turn out. But that don't mean he's gonna go fallin' in love or some shit. So you best get it through that pretty li'l head a yers right now: Dixons don't settle down. They ain't the types ya bring home to Daddy. You can't fix us. We might be no more'an a bunch'a stray cats, but we're outdoor cats; you can feed us, we might keep comin' 'round, but we ain't ever gonna be no indoor cat. Daryl's real fuckin' soft, but he'll never be soft enough to go squeezin' himself into yer God-fearin', church-goin', white-picket-fence bullshit little box."

"What the fuck are you on about now?" Beth spat.

Merle lowered his hand, still scowling. He took a drag off his cigarette, glaring at her with narrowed eyes, and exhaled the smoke as he said, "How many times I gotta tell you I'm not as stupid as I look? Don't forget I'm a ghost, darlin'. I see everything."

She blinked dumbly.

He flicked an ash and it disappeared before it hit the ground. "The flirtin', the fuckin' nudges an' the cutesy li'l hand-holding. Tellin' him you care about 'im. You think I don't see the way yer tryin' ta wrap yer hand 'round my baby's brother's nutsack?"

She sneered in disgust and said, "Get over yourself. I told him I care about him because I do—I'm doin' this to help him, not because I give a crap about you. Don't get it twisted."

Merle rolled his eyes. "That's not the part that's gettin' twisted, brainiac. You're the one crushin' on the guy whose soul yer supposed to be saving!"

Beth barked out a laugh and quipped, "'Crushing on'? What is this, 1997?"

"Don't change the subject," he said flatly.

"What is the subject, exactly?" She glared back at him, unwavering. "You think I'm crossin' some sorta line by wanting to be friends with Daryl? Are you jealous? Is that it?"

He scoffed and grew a little angrier, the half-smoked cigarette in his hand nearly forgotten. "Stop playin' dumb, princess. You don't wanna be friends—Christ, ya already forced the guy to meet yer family; poured yer sad li'l heart out to him 'bout yer dead mama, shared a buncha secrets an' held his fuckin' hand. You think this is gonna turn out like some kinda cheesy movie, don'tcha? The lonely girl who could see ghosts an' the insecure redneck that had no choice but to rely on her, 's that it? Well newsflash: this ain't one of yer rom-coms, blondie. You can't go messin' with his head like that, 'cause you ain't gonna like how it turns out for ya."

Beth didn't hesitate to argue back, "So, what—you disappear when things get too stressful and then you eavesdrop anyway?"

Merle took a harsh drag off his cigarette that would've made any other person cough, but he held it in his lungs and glared daggers at her, exhaling the cloud of smoke through gritted teeth. Then he growled, "I'm always around somewhere, sweetheart. Always listening. Ya only know I'm there if I want you to know."

She brushed off the threatening tone to his statement and countered, "Oh yeah, I bet—just in case we're talking about you, huh? Just so you can be sure to intervene whenever you think your brother might be emotionally maturing farther than you ever could?" She gave him a mocking smirk. "That's what this is, isn't it? Jealousy? You wanna make sure Daryl remembers his place so he doesn't threaten the legacy you left behind?"

He grunted and shook his head. "Real cute. But smug don't suit you, sunshine." He put the cigarette to his lips and inhaled the final bits of nicotine and tar before tossing the burnt-out butt aside. Then he breathed out the gray smoke and said, "Y'wanna act like you know him after no more'an a few days. Think y'all can connect through some mommy issues—but you got no fuckin' idea what that boy's been through… He's damaged goods, girlfriend."

Beth burst out, "And so am I. What of it?"

Merle laughed, cold and humorless. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared down his nose at her, still scowling heavily. "Ain't the same kinda damaged. He tells ya what you can handle—no more, no less. He might trust you, might wanna stick his dick inside ya 'fore this is all over, but he ain't gonna stick around." His lips curled up into a taunting smile. "I see you catchin' feelings, blondie. And I'm tryn'a save you some heartache—tryn'a give you a heads up. You should be thanking me."

She reached down and grasped her purse pointedly. "You've yet to do a damn thing that would earn my gratitude."

He scoffed. "Key word: yet. Yer still actin' like you know it all. Fuckin' ignorant—"

But as soon as Beth opened up her purse and pulled out the Djab Idol, he stopped talking. His eyes widened and he looked from the doghead statue clasped in her hand up to her face.

"The fuck? Yer jus' carryin' that thing around all willy nilly?!"

She quirked an eyebrow and held the idol in front of her like a silent threat. "Yeah. Never know when I might need it."

He waved her off dismissively. "Oh please, you won't—"

"Don't tempt me," she interjected, lowering her voice. "You were no help today. In fact, you managed to screw up the one job we gave you. All you've done is throw temper tantrums an' break my stuff."

He narrowed his eyes and said, "I've done what I can. The fuck d'you expect from a dead guy?"

"Bullshit," she argued. "You can wreak havoc on a whole police precinct, but you can't throw some things around for two full minutes when we actually need you to? Yer bein' stubborn and vengeful, just admit it."

Anger flashed across his face and his icy blue eyes darkened. "I'll admit that once you admit that you'rebein' a lovesick li'l cunt."

Beth's temper flared and she snapped back, "So what if I care about Daryl?! Maybe I do like him—that's none of yer goddamn business one way or the other."

"The hell it ain't!" Merle said, his voice rising and his spine going stiff. "You're supposed to be solving my fucking murder, not fawnin' over my brother an' losin' track of what's important! Yer gonna get both of y'all killed with them teenage hormones leadin' ya 'round, you dumb bitch!"

She bit back a retort and swiftly reached into her purse with her free hand, pulling out a folded slip of paper. She glared at Merle as she unfolded it, clutching the idol in her other hand almost threateningly.

"Y'know, I'm gonna be kickin' myself for a long time once I realize how much easier everything is without you around," she said spitefully.

But Merle didn't appear spooked this time. Or he just wasn't letting his apprehension show. He snarled at her and said, "G'on then. Do it, blondie. Banish me. Let's see how far ya get 'fore ya go crawlin' back to that spook in the swamps, beggin' him to bring me back."

She huffed out, half-amused, "You really think I won't do it."

"Oh, I know ya won't do it," he quipped. "You ain't got the fuckin' balls. You need me." Then he put his hands on his hips and leaned back a bit, looking her up and down like he was sizing her up. He sucked on his teeth and chortled. "'Sides… how ya gonna explain that one to Daryl? I reckon he won't be rushin' to hold yer hand once he realizes you banished his brother's fucking soul away."

She managed to hide the sudden wave of doubt that washed over her, forcing a smug smirk.

She'd fought like this a million times before, bluffing her way to success. That was the one good thing sibling rivalry had taught her.

"I'm sure he'll understand," she said, squaring her shoulders and feigning confidence.

No, he absolutely wouldn't. And she had no desire to attempt to do such a thing, let alone try to explain it, even in the heat of her rage. But Merle needed a reality check.

Merle scoffed, clearly unconvinced. "Y'think so, huh? What'cha gonna tell him? That I hurt yer wittle feewings?" He laughed. "You really don't know him like ya think you do, sweetcheeks. Trust me."

Beth gritted her teeth and exhaled a frustrated sigh through her nose.

Why was she arguing with a ghost? The more he pushed her, the more she seriously contemplated banishing him. The closer he urged her towards a justified solution.

Maybe Daryl would understand. Eventually. It wasn't like he didn't know how insufferable his own brother could be.

Merle was useless. He did nothing but taunt her and berate her and make her life so much harder than it had to be. And when she stopped and realized how much she'd uncovered with absolutely zero help from him—who was to say she needed to keep him around for anything? She could do it all on her own, really; she could figure out how to use her Gift. She could track down this Philip Blake guy. She could save Daryl's soul from Hell.

"You ain't shit without me," he growled, as though he could read the serious contemplation on her face. As though he were eager to challenge it. "No Merle means no Daryl. You best remember that 'fore you go diggin' a hole ya can't climb out of, Greene."

Ya know what? Daryl would get over it.

Because quite frankly, Merle could go fuck himself.

She squinted down at the crinkled paper grasped in her hand, tilting it towards the porchlight that poured out across the grass and through Merle's entire body. His chest was puffed out like he'd just won something, his eyes set on her as though he expected the argument to continue. He didn't waiver until her voice rang out around him, loud and meaningful, reading from the paper while she gripped the doghead statue in her other hand.

She struggled to pronounce the foreign language correctly, but she put weight behind the words and sounded them out to the best of her ability, slow and steady: "Pulvis quem… projicit… ventus…"

She didn't have to look up from the scrawled words to know his face had fallen, because she could hear it in his tone when he took a quick step forward and put out his hands. "The fuck d'you think yer doin'?! Cut it out!"

She ignored him and continued, "—illius implebit a… generationibus… Merle Dixon!"

As soon as his name poured from her mouth, she felt the idol in her hand growing warm. She tore her eyes away from the paper and glanced at it, fingers wrapping tighter around the intricately carved statue. It seemed to pulsate softly against her palm, warmer than her own skin. Inviting.

Merle didn't try to hide his panic. "Stop that! Jesus Christ, Beth! You got any idea what yer fuckin' doing?!"

Beth looked at him, eyes narrowed and full of fiery determination, and said, "Getting rid of you."

Fear flashed across his face and before she could glance back down at the paper, he swatted at the Djab Idol with one open-palmed hand. There was a brief sensation of hard muscle against her curled fingers, and then the statue flew out of her grasp and landed in the gravel of the long driveway several feet away.

She turned her wide-eyed, shocked gaze on Merle, who appeared just as surprised as she was.

"Why couldn't you do that at Terminus?!" She cried out, almost accusatory. "It was literally all we asked of you!"

Merle took a step back, frowning in bewilderment and glancing back and forth from the doghead statue on the ground to Beth. "'Cause it don't fuckin' work like that—the hell you want from me, girl?! I'm doin' my goddamn best here!"

"Then how does it work?" She snapped, clenching her empty fist at her side and taking a step toward him. "'Cause from where I'm standin', it looks like you only help out when you feel like it. Like this is some kinda fucking game to you!"

His fear disappeared, replaced with fury once again. He slashed an arm through the air and heatedly argued, spittle flying from his lips, "This ain't no fucking game—this is my soul, it's Daryl's soul, Jesus FUCK! You think I'm that goddamn stupid?! If this is a game, then I sure as shit ain't the one makin' up the rules!"

Beth continued to stand her ground, insistent. "You know more than yer lettin' on and I'm sick of it—I'm sick of the puzzles and the guessing and the bullshit, Merle Dixon. You'd better have a damn good excuse for why you can only help us when it's convenient fer you, or I swear…" She trailed off with a stiff jaw and clenched teeth, glaring daggers at him.

Merle's mouth twitched and his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his stance unwavering. "Only thing I got ta tell you is what I think, an' it ain't much. So I hope yer swearin' to that precious messiah of yers." He gestured lazily towards the small gold cross hanging from her neck. "Whatever it is that yer fuckin' swearin'."

She gave a pointed look at the Djab Idol lying in the gravel several feet away and said, "I swear I'll banish you. I have no reason not to at this point. And I really don't care what Daryl will think, 'cause my own sanity is worth a lot more than anybody else's approval."

"Well that's a selfish way to look at things," Merle sneered. But his eyes were glancing warily over at the doghead statue. "Not very Christian-like of you."

"I don't care anymore. I'm bein' nice enough to give you a chance to convince me why I shouldn't, and that's a lot more than anybody else would give you. After the way you've talked to me, I shouldn't even be givin' you one more second of my time. But I am. So go on, explain yourself," she said, stern and confident. "This is your last chance to plead your case. Or I will finish reading this spell." She held up the crinkled paper grasped in her hand.

His jaw ticked to the side and he retained the stubborn frown on his face, yet he didn't try to argue. She still wasn't sure that he fully believed her threat, but he must've believed it enough to start taking it seriously. He put up his hands in reluctant half-surrender.

"Fine," he growled. "But it's no more'an a theory. I still got no idea how all this works, I only been dead a few weeks an' I never tried doin' even half a this stuff till I found you in them woods. I'm learnin' as I go, alrigh'? Just like you are."

Beth quirked an eyebrow and gave a clipped nod. "Uh-huh. So what's this theory, then?"

This oughta be rich, she thought.

Merle lowered his hands and squared his shoulders, his eyes tinged with trepidation, though his face remained stoic and defiant. "I can move shit, break stuff an' play music an' whatnot… but only when I really want to."

Beth sighed in exasperation, rolling her eyes. "No shit."

"Nah, nah, 's not what I mean," he insisted. "It's not like I can control it. When it happens, it's not necessarily when I really want to—just when I'm… feelin' some type'a way. When it gets to feelin' particularly strong."

She paused, contemplating his flimsy explanation. "You mean, when you get emotional?" She almost laughed, smiling crookedly. "Are you tryin' to tell me that all your little outbursts are just because you're feeling strong emotions?"

He scowled in disgust and leaned back like he was offended. "I don't get emotional."

She rolled her eyes again. "Yes, you do—I've seen it. Several times. Everyone gets emotional, Merle. Even your new BFF, Legba. And he's a demon."

"I get pissed," he argued, ticking off fingers on his hand. "I get happy. I get horny. And I get bored. That's it. Ain't no emotional about it."

"Good lord," Beth muttered. "You can't even name five of your own emotions? You're more of a wreck than I thought."

Merle scoffed and flipped her the bird before crossing his arms over his puffed-out chest. "That good enough for ya? Huh? Can we call this therapy session-slash-hostage situation a wrap an' get back to figurin' out how to track down the guy who killed me and my dealer?"

She raised her chin and returned his look of defiance with one of her own. "No, actually. I wanna know exactly what you mean, 'cause it still doesn't make much sense. And I'm not sure yer even being honest."

"The hell else you think I'm gonna tell ya? I done admitted I ain't no expert."

"You could break my mirror, throw Daryl's beer mug through a window, turn on radios, screw with everything in the Sheriff's Department—hell, I saw how far you went with Shane. And yer tryin' to tell me that you could do all that, but for some odd reason, you weren't 'feeling strongly enough' to cause a distraction at Terminus?"

Merle shrugged. "Yeah. Basically."

Beth sighed, exasperated. "How does that make any sense?"

"I don't know those people. I didn't give two shits about 'em," he claimed. "Hauntin' Walsh was different—I've had a burnin' hatred fer that motherfucker for years. It was easy. And when we was inside Terminus, sure. I got a li'l buzzed by the thrill of helping y'all sneak around, a li'l psyched up. But once I pushed a cabinet over an' nearly squashed that dude's mama, I got bored. Real fuckin' fast."

Beth blinked. "Seriously? You got bored? That's your excuse?"

"It's not an excuse, it's the fuckin' truth," Merle snapped back. "Might not be what ya wanna hear, but there it is. 'Sall I got for ya, blondie. Take it or leave it."

She cleared her throat and gave him a stern look, lifting one eyebrow. "You don't think it was Legba intervening on what you can do?"

The color drained from his face rather quickly at that, but he responded, "Fuck no. Jus' trust me on this one—if it was that asshole's doin', I'd tell ya. He ain't got that much power over me. Wasn't the deal we made."

For the sake of her own fragile anxiety, she chose to believe him. "Fine. I'll trust you on this one. But you haven't done a very good job of convincing me not to banish you."

"What?!" He cried out, indignant. "How? I told ya everythin' you wanted to know. Everythin' I know!"

"And you basically proved to me that you're useless," she quipped. "I'm supposed to put up with the way you treat me just because you might feel strongly enough to kinda help us every now and then? That doesn't seem very fair to me."

"Not a goddamn thing about this that's fair, princess," he spat, glaring back at her with pure contempt. "But sooner or later, you're gonna end up draggin' my brother into somethin' that could get him killed. And I've earned the fucking right to be there—to have the chance to intervene. One a these days, yer gonna be thanking God and Jesus and even Lucifer for giftin' you with Merle Dixon's presence."

"Yeah, and one day Hell will freeze over," she said bitterly. "You're so convinced that I'm gonna screw this up somehow, yet I'm the only reason you even know how you died."

He sucked on his teeth and glared down his nose at her, back to his usual smugness. "You've gotten lucky this whole time. With yer li'l Gift. Shit, it ain't like you knew what the fuck you were doin'. Just so happens ya got some random visions. Yer gettin' an awful big head already for bein' so goddamn clueless." He scoffed, turning his body away from her and waving her off like he was bored with the conversation. "'S like the blind leadin' the blind over here. Li'l miss Can't Leave My Daddy thinks she's got it a-a-a-all figured out just 'cause she fainted a few times an' had some lucid dreams. Jesus Christ, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you was—"

Beth had opened her mouth, prepared to go off for the hundredth time tonight, but Merle's little rant was interrupted by the sound of the backdoor slamming shut. He whipped his head around and she snapped her lips shut, and they both looked towards the back porch, watching curiously for a second to see who'd stepped out.

She suddenly realized how loud she'd probably been. It was a wonder the whole family hadn't come out to see who she was arguing so heatedly with.

She was hoping for Maggie, but it was Hershel who stepped down from the porch and glanced around with furrowed brows and confusion. Merle huffed out a sigh that sounded like a mixture of amusement and annoyance before disappearing. Hershel approached his youngest daughter, walking slowly over the dying grass.

"Beth?" He asked. "Who're you talkin' to out here, sweetheart?"

"Sorry, Daddy," she immediately apologized, folding the paper in her hand and hurriedly shoving it back into her purse. "I was on the phone."

He didn't seem to doubt her, though his confusion changed to concern. "Oh—with who? It sounded like you were arguing. Is everything alright?"

She bit her lip, hating herself for lying to her father. But she had no choice. "Nobody, it was—it's fine. I wasn't arguin', I just got a little excited."

He stepped closer and reached out to put a large, gentle hand on her shoulder. "You sure, Doodlebug? Didn't sound like excitement. I could hear you from inside the kitchen." He paused and looked her up and down, frowning. "Were you talkin' to Daryl? Is he bein'—"

Beth interjected before he could say anything else, "Daddy, no. It wasn't Daryl. It's fine, I promise. He's been nothin' less than a perfect gentleman."

Hershel didn't look entirely convinced. "You sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure," she insisted. Then she smiled, unable to be anything but grateful for her father's everlasting overprotectiveness. "He, um… he took me to Mom's grave today. And picked some flowers to leave for her. It was really nice."

That did the trick. The sparkle in Hershel's blue eyes returned, and he smiled down at her with relief. He gave her shoulder a squeeze before pulling his hand back.

"That's good, Bethy. I'm glad to hear it. That boy's not so bad as some people say, is he?" He winked playfully.

She chuckled. "No, he's definitely not. He's, uh. He's a real good friend, I think."

Her father raised his eyebrows and gave her a look that made her want to end the conversation right here and now. But then he chuckled as well and said, "Friend, huh? Is that what they call it nowadays?"

Beth could feel her face turning bright red and she quickly shook her head, stifling a laugh. "Dad! Stop it. I mean it—we're friends. We barely even know each other."

Hershel put up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay, I get it. Maybe I'm just gettin' a little ahead of myself. It's been too long since I've seen you make a new friend, Doodlebug."

She frowned and fidgeted with the strap of her purse self-consciously. "I know…"

Don't remind me, she wanted to say.

He could see the discomfort brought on by his statement and he gazed down at her apologetically. "I don't mean it like that. It's a good thing. I'm happy for you, honey."

She smiled weakly and shrugged, cheeks still warm.

Then he turned and gestured back towards the house. "C'mon, let's go inside. Everybody's in the den. We were goin' through your mama's old scrapbooks—you always loved those, remember? Why don'tcha come join us fer a little while? Your sister's only here for a few days, I want you girls to spend some time together."

Beth quickly nodded and agreed, "Alright. Yeah. That might be nice."

She waited until he'd turned around and begun heading back to the porch before she rushed over and snatched up the Djab Idol from where it lay in the gravel of the driveway. She shoved it back into her purse and followed after her dad. When he glanced back to make sure she was right behind him, she offered a reassuring smile.

But she could still feel Merle's presence somewhere nearby. And she knew their little argument was far from over.

to be continued…