A/N: Here's another chapter! I'm attempting to do weekly/biweekly posts from now on. Here's to hoping I actually succeed! Huge thanks to everyone who has been reading/reviewing/enjoying. And a special thanks to Minutecloser2failing, Sparrowoftruth93, and Ihasabukkit.
Not run by my BETA. All mistakes are my own. Feel free to point them out.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Obviously. Also, I don't own Breaking Bad.
Chapter Five
Glenn was doing homework one night when he heard it; a soft vibrating coming from the living room. He looked around for the offending noise but didn't see anything obvious. Daryl was in the shower, the TV was off and Glenn didn't own a radio. After a few seconds the noise stopped so Glenn went back to his work only to be interrupted by the insistent vibrations once again. With an annoyed huff Glenn rose and began picking through the pile of trash on the coffee table-Daryl was even messier than Glenn, if that was possible-and under a motorcycle magazine he found Daryl's cellphone, lighting up angrily. Glenn held it delicately in his hand as the call ended, prepared to ignore it when it began ringing for the third time in a row. Whoever it was must be desperate to reach Daryl. Perhaps it was an emergency. Hesitantly Glenn flipped it ion and held it up to his ear.
"Hello?" He asked drawing the word out nervously.
"Who the hell is this?" A man on the other end barked, accent even heavier than Daryl's.
"Glenn," he stuttered, wishing he had left the phone alone.
"Glenn who? Where's Daryl?"
"Oh he's in the shower. I'm his roommate."
"Roommate?" The man laughed loudly. "Who would let that baby brother of mine live with them?"
Realization dawned on Glenn, "You must be Merle!"
"You got that right. Now look, I need to see Daryl so can you tell me where y'all live?"
Glenn faltered, glancing back at the bathroom.
"Can you give me a number he can call you back on?" Glenn asked.
The man sighed. "Why don' you make this easy on everyone an' jus' give me yer address."
Daryl emerged from the bathroom then, clean and freshly shaved, smelling faintly of whatever aftershave he used. He froze when he saw Glenn.
"What the hell d'you think yer doin?" Daryl exclaimed rushing to yank the phone out of Glenn's hand, glaring at the Asian man even as he spoke. "Merle?"
Pause.
"Where have you been? … New Mexico? What the hell-" Daryl was cut off and Glenn could hear Merle yelling from a few feet away. "Come over," Daryl relented, running a tired hand over his face.
He gave Merle the address before hanging up, throwing the phone across the room.
It broke into three pieces against Glenn's Captain America poster.
Daryl rounded on Glenn. "Who do you think you are?"
"I-" But Daryl didn't let him explain, inching closer to poke a finger roughly at the middle of his chest. Glenn would never admit out loud that it hurt.
"My phone ain't none a yer damn business you fuckin' chink. You ever think that maybe I don' want to talk to Merle?"
"But he's your brother."
Daryl sneered. "Yeah well, sometimes blood ain't got yer best interest in mind. Where're yer folks, huh?"
Glenn didn't respond, felt his whole body tense up.
"Are they dead?" Daryl asked.
"No."
"Then where are they? You never talk 'bout them, they obviously ain't helpin' you pay yer bills. So," Daryl gestured to the open space around them, "why ain't they here?"
Glenn set his jaw and felt his hands tighten into fists. "Because they're not welcome here."
Daryl just looked at him sourly. "He's gonna be here in an hour. You might wanna get gone," he warned.
"What? Why?"
"You know how I call you chink all the time?" Glenn nodded. "Well Merle knows a lot more insults than I do. And he'll mean 'em."
"So? I can handle a few racial slurs. I live with you, after all."
Daryl regaurded him carefully.
"Suit yerself, kid."
A loud banging on the door startled Glenn and he could already feel the tension. Daryl squared his shoulders and walked down the hallway. Glenn couldn't see the front door from where he sat on the couch but heard the two men greeting each other and Merle's heavy footsteps drawing near. The man's boots echoed ominously. Daryl entered the living room first, a big man following not far behind. The Dixon brothers were almost exactly equal in height but Merle carried himself in such a way that made him seem much taller, more domineering. He was all muscle and hard lines, older than Daryl but very obviously related. Glenn stood and Merle stopped, looking at Glenn before breaking down in a fit of mocking laughter.
"What's this?" Merle asked, jerking a thumb at Glenn, "You shackin' up with Jackie Chan?"
"I'm Korean," Glenn corrected. Daryl shook his head in a silent order to shut up. "Jackie Chan is Chinese."
Merle's brows furrowed and he took a menacing step closer to Glenn. "What'd you say to me?"
Glenn stood his ground. "I said I'm Korean, not Chinese."
"All you rice eaters look the same so what's the difference?"
"You mean besides the fact that we're born in different countries?"
Merle stared at him long and hard. Glenn could feel sweat beading on his forehead and he braced himself for the hit that was sure to come. But it never did. Merle started laughing again, expression open and welcoming. He clapped Glenn on the back hard enough to make him stumbled forward a few steps.
"You don't scare easy, do you?" Merle said, gripping the back of Glenn's neck briefly. The hold was a little too tight despite its friendly intentions. "I like that."
Glenn glanced at Daryl who was looking at the two of them wide-eyed. Confused. He smirked smugly at Daryl feeling a sense of pride that he had gained Merle's respect-at least as much respect as he would probably get from a racist redneck who looked more like a neo-Nazi than anything else. Merle released his hold to sling an arm around Daryl's shoulders, pulling his brother close. Daryl looked skeptical but Merle appeared extremely pleased. At ease.
"Alright Darleena, le's go to yer room. We need to talk business."
The two disappeared into Daryl's room.
Glenn wasn't trying to eavesdrop. Really, he wasn't, but he was doing his homework on the couch and Merle's voice carried. He couldn't hear everything; they were both speaking in hushed voices, conversation muffled by the door. But the apartment was old, the walls thin and Glenn picked up a few words here and there. The name Heisenberg was repeated more than once and Merle said the phrase blue sky as if he was talking about gold.
Curiosity peaked, Glenn started straining his ears in an attempt to catch more of the conversation. Daryl was talking but his words were too low, spoken too quickly. There was a thump that made Glenn startle followed by silence. Glenn was just about to rush into the room when the door slid open, bouncing off the wall as Merle sauntered out, a wilted Daryl close behind him.
"We're goin' out fer drinks," Merle announced. He stuffed one big hand down the front of his leather pants to adjust himself. "You comin' zipperhead?"
"Merle," Daryl hissed under his breath, sparing Glenn a quick glance.
Glenn tried to grin, his smile wavering. "At least you got the right country," he said, a quick, forced chuckle escaping his lips.
Merle looked confused, head tilted just so and Glenn could tell he was trying to figure out what Glenn had just said. Then he turned to Daryl and punched him playfully on the arm.
"C'mon, le's get goin'." He pointed at Glenn. "You too, Jet Li. We're gonna see how red yer face can get."
Glenn didn't argue, only grabbed his wallet and keys and followed the two men out of the apartment wondering what he had just gotten himself into.
Merle led them to a little dive bar five blocks away that Glenn had never noticed before. It was small, probably only slightly larger than their living room and full of loud music and the heavy smell of leather. The furniture was wood and old, scarred and dented from years of misuse and the TV on the wall had an honest-to-god VHS built into it. Everyone occupying the bar looked at least ten years older than Glenn and all of them were white, covered in tattoos and more than a little intimidating. Glenn felt out of place in his jeans and hoodie, his different skin color and obvious racial differences making him stick out like a sore thumb. He inched closer to Daryl, their elbows brushing and instantly felt a little more at ease.
They sat at the bar, Glenn between Merle and Daryl and he didn't argue when Merle ordered them a round of shots. Whiskey. Merle was grinning broadly, scoping the place out with a feral grin on his face. There weren't a lot of women but the ones who were there were scantily clad, bottle blondes and appeared ready and willing for whoever came at them. The whiskey burned going down, the cheap liquor tangy on tongue. He coughed and Merle peered over his head at Daryl, a ghost of a smile on his lips.
"This one can't shoot whiskey, huh?"
"I prefer tequila," Glenn defended.
"Alrigh' then, tequila it is. Hey darlin'!" Merle yelled down the bar, signaling the woman making a rum and coke. She was pretty and young but definitely looked like she had been around.
She walked up to them, hips sashaying back and forth and she leaned in toward Daryl who had up until that point been silently drawn in on himself. She fluttered her eyelashes and crossed her arms in a way that pushed her breasts up.
"What can I get you boys?" She asked.
"We need another round, darlin', tequila this time," Merle requested, reaching around Glenn's back to nudge Daryl. "An' another shot of whiskey fer my baby brother."
"Brother, huh? You got a name sugar?" She leaned in closer to Daryl, hair falling over her shoulders.
Daryl leaned away, arms crossed over his chest.
"Daryl," He stated simply. Short and crude.
"Daryl," She repeated, words purring. "It fits you. What kind of whiskey can I get for you, Daryl?"
"Well's fine. Don't need nothin' fancy." Daryl looked away from the bartended and at Glenn instead, catching his eye. Glenn had never seen Daryl so vulnerable. "C'mon kid, you shoot pool?"
"A little," Glenn said, tugging on the sleeves of his hoodie, "I'm not very good."
Daryl grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him away from the bar toward an empty pool table. Glenn looked back just in time to see the disappointed pout on the bartender's face. Daryl racked up the table, arranging the balls precisely and more accurately than the guys at the frat parties always did. A cue was shoved into Glenn's hand and Daryl chalked it up for him, moving to break all without conversing with Glenn. Daryl made two solids in at the same time.
"Great. I'm playing with a damn pool shark," Glenn muttered humorously.
Daryl smirked, one corner of his mouth turning up devilishly.
Glenn never played pool by the official rules so Daryl had to stop him every so often to explain a few things. They moved around the table fluidly, never getting in one another's way, their bodies whispering past each other almost gracefully. Daryl had popped the top three buttons of his sleeveless plaid shirt at some point exposing a few inches of skin. It was the most naked Glenn had ever seen him.
"So," Glenn said leaning against his pool cue, "that bartender was totally checking you out."
Daryl shrugged, leaning over the table to line up a shot. "She's not really my type."
"Huge rack isn't your type?"
Daryl stood up and arched his eyebrow. "I'm more of an ass man."
Glenn choked on a laugh, mouth open to respond when a beer was shoved into his free hand. Merle passed one to Daryl and grabbed the cue from Glenn, taking a perfect shot, pocketing the striped 12 ball.
"C'mon chink, Daryl is kickin' yer ass. Don' you know how to shoot pool?"
"Lay off the kid," Daryl said, shoving past Merle so close their shoulders knocked.
"What? He yer boyfriend, Darleena?" Merle taunted, ruffling Daryl's hair.
"Well ain't you just hilarious," Daryl was grinning, sipping his beer.
A server came over with three shot glasses and a bottle of Johnny Walker and Merle kissed her on the cheek, handing over a few bills. Glenn was pretty sure one of them was a hundred.
"Drink up boys, I don' want us to remember our names by the end of the night.
Glenn groaned, rolling over only to find himself face first on the floor. The wood was hard but cool on his over-heated face, fingers curling against the rough grains. He opened his eyes and realized he was in the living room and his fall off the couch had nearly ended with him cracking his head on the coffee table. Painfully Glenn looked around and saw Daryl a few feet away, sprawled on top of a sleeping bag in front of the TV. Daryl's mouth was open, arm thrown over his eyes, legs spread wide. His shirt was unbuttoned halfway, one side sliding off his tan shoulder. Glenn squinted, zeroing in on a large, raised scar marring Daryl's collarbone. It looked old, jagged and deep and painful.
A can snicking open caught his attention.
"Woo!" Merle yelled, stumbling in from the kitchen in nothing but his boxer-briefs, beer in hand. He looked as bad as Glenn felt. "You sure can hold yer own chink."
"What?" Glenn asked voice scratchy. His tongue felt like it weighed a ton.
"Most people can't keep up with us Dixon men." Merle sat on the couch with a grunt.
"I know I didn't drink as much as you two," Glenn said, pushing himself up slowly. He crawled on hands and knees to the couch, pulling himself up onto the opposite side, sinking into the cushions.
"Hell no! 'Course you didn't." Merle puffed out his chest proudly. "But you came close. An' you didn't puke."
"Yer face got real red, though," Daryl said, peaking at them from under his arm.
"I'm going back to bed," Glenn whimpered, holding his head in his hands.
Merle laughed him all the way to his room.
TBC…
A/N: Please review and let me know what you think!
For those of you who watch Breaking Bad I'm sure you caught on to the references. YES, this is going to be a slight crossover with the show. But for those of you who don't watch Breaking Bad don't fret, it isn't necessary for you to have prior knowledge of the series. Also, I am insanely excited about this.
Also, there are a few quotes taken directly from season one/three of TWD. I'm sure you noticed.