Although he loved his brother, had always loved him, he had been easier to like when he was missing. Daryl had always forgiven Merle for his verbal outbursts, his offensive language, the way that he seemed to terrorise others without a second thought, and a whole host of other things because they were blood. Nothing had been more sacred in the Dixon household than the bond of shared blood. No matter what they did, no matter how awful, it was to be forgiven and on account of his quieter nature he had always struggled to stand up to his relatives.
Now, on his own with his brother, Daryl found it difficult to remember why he had always bowed to Merle, why he had let his own instincts be butchered by first their father and then by Merle himself. He listened to the words that left his brother's mouth and he felt an irritation that had never been there before. Maybe it came from the fact that when he had been with the group his opinions had been valued, his instincts had been trusted. Maybe it was the pain in his chest that made him repeatedly reach up and rub his left pectoral through the fabric of his shirt. Maybe it was down to the fact that he proved to himself that he could survive without his brother in the months he had been missing. Now he was expected to follow and though he had always done so in the past, wary of his brother's temper and unpredictability, he found that it didn't sit right with him.
Hours passed by, and the feeling of peace, the sense that he had made the right choice, didn't come to him. Daryl found his steps getting heavier and heavier, the regret over leaving the others behind eating away at him until it felt like he had a cavernous hole in the centre of his chest. His brother's heavy booted footsteps and constant barbed remarks announced their arrival to all wildlife in the vicinity and ensured that they both remained hungry as they headed deeper into the forest. Any and all suggestions that he made were shot down in that old familiar way that had once made him feel inferior but now only stirred an anger in his gut that he had never felt toward his only sibling.
Not understanding his frustration, Daryl fell into a churning introspection, desperately trying to figure out why he wasn't happier about being reunited with his brother when once it had been the only thing he wanted. There was something close to resentment in the way he felt, an anger that he had been made to choose between the relationships he'd built and one which, when he was being brutally honest with himself, he had to admit wasn't healthy. When he had thought Merle was dead it had hurt like hell but it hadn't been the kind of pain he'd experienced when he had thought Carol was gone, now he was mourning again but not for another, for a part of himself. He mourned the chances lost by leaving and a potential future that he would never know with the woman who had indelibly altered him.
The argument started late in the afternoon, both of them pissed off and ready to swing for one another, Daryl because he no longer wanted to be 'baby brother' but treated as a man in his own right, and Merle because he couldn't understand the change in his brother and kept pushing at things that were better left alone. He had never understood the concept of leaving well alone. Some things, it seemed, never changed.
When he heard the cries, he had recognised them immediately, too much time spent around Lil Asskicker to mistake those cries for anything other than what they were, despite Merle's insistence that the sounds were the mating call of a cougar. Impulse drove him forward and into a clearing where he could see a family under attack by walkers on a nearby bridge. His feet were moving before his brain caught up, instinct demanding that he help the family as best he could and save the baby.
Barely aware of Merle's grumbling presence at his heels, he moved quickly to reduce the number of walkers. The family was Hispanic; a middle-aged man and teenage boy, defending themselves as best they could from the back of a flatbed truck while a woman took cover in the passenger seat of their car, the infant in her arms. Daryl unleashed his frustration on the creatures that came at him, with crossbow and blade he took them apart, saving the family and from almost certain death with only the most reluctant help from his brother. That was the difference between them, he realised as he watched his brother throw open the back door of the car and begin to rifle through the belongings of the people he had just risked his ass to save, Merle was still locked in the redneck mindset that their daddy had instilled in them. He had raised his weapon only once during the skirmish and then only to cover Daryl, never to help the those that he felt were beneath his notice, which seemed to cover anyone of any disposition or ethnicity other than white and American.
For the first and only time, he found himself putting a weapon to his brother's head and ordering him to let the family go. Tension flared between them, disbelief turning to anger on Merle's end and determination on Daryl's own. He didn't let Merle out of his sights until the car was gone, peeling off the bridge in a screech of tyres and exhaust fumes and only then did he move, striding away before he could say something that he would later regret. His brother once again followed in his wake.
Still seething he lashed out when Merle started in on him again, choosing words rather than fists as his weapons. Months with the others had taught him to curb his more instinctive violent impulses, now he rounded angrily on his brother, his words like daggers as he told him a few home truths that he knew Merle wouldn't want to hear. The barbed words hit home, he knew it the moment Merle realised that he meant it when he told him that he had deserved to be left on that rooftop in Atlanta. Words between them became heated, an exchange of criticism and accusations that just hammered home how much Daryl had evolved in the time spent out of his brother's shadow, culminating in Merle reaching out and tearing the shirt from Daryl's back.
The silence was terrible. Forced to his knee by the momentum of Merle's movement, Daryl bowed his head as the breeze brushed the exposed skin of his back, understanding what the silence meant. For much of his childhood and the entirety of his adult life he had carried the secret that was written into his skin. It was his own private shame, the evidence of his weakness and the building blocks of the man he had become. He had never shown anyone the scars. Not once had he told his brother what he had endured at the hands of their father, he had never admitted to anyone what was done to him in that house, all the times he was beaten, all the times he was left the fend for himself, all the times his childhood self had been forced to try to patch up his own wounds...
Nobody knew the scars that he bore; both physical and emotional. Except for one person who had sensed the fragility in him and moved only as quickly as he could tolerate. One person who had shown him day in, day out, in a thousand small ways, that scars did not have to unmake a person. One woman who carried the same kind of scars on her soul.
"I didn't know..." Merle's only comment. So much pain in his voice that Daryl hadn't been able to listen to it. Of course he had known, how could he not have known? Merle had scars just like his, true he didn't have as many, but they were there, Daryl had seen them with his own eyes. The difference was that Merle wore his scars like armour, made up stories of how he got them to impress women who liked hard men and the illusion of sleeping with the bad guy. He made his scars a part of himself, wove the truth into a fabric of lies that helped him to portray the image he wanted the world to see.
Covering up his back, feeling too exposed with the scars out in the open, he shrugged his pack back onto his shoulders and announced that he was going back to the prison, that he belonged there. He meant it too, knew that the words, however painful, were the ones that had circled in his chest all day. He no longer belonged in Merle's shadow, no longer wanted a life without the people he now considered to be family. He was the one walking away this time but unlike when he was a kid, he had given his brother the choice to follow. It wouldn't be easy, there were obstacles to be overcome, lots of obstacles, some of them so huge that he doubted there would ever be real trust between some of the others and his brother, but he was confident that he could keep Merle in line.
With every step back toward the prison, he fought the urge to hasten his pace, conscious always of his brother following a short distance behind and the reluctance of his steps. No matter how eager he was to get back, to see one particular face however mad she might be with him, he couldn't let his brother know what she meant to him. Merle had an instinct for weakness, if he sensed that Carol was special to him, he wouldn't be able to help himself from trying to exploit that. He didn't want his brother pulling any of that domineering crap with his woman, not ever. Though every step felt lighter than the last, his chest aching for the opportunity to breathe her in, his eyes desperate for a glimpse of her face, for the time being they would have to be nothing but friends in his brother's eyes. Daryl could keep his mouth shut for a little while longer, hell he would crawl over broken glass for the woman and that smile in her eyes, he'd never given her words yet but they'd gotten damn good at communicating without them. He would find a way to show her what she meant to him, away from the prying eyes of the others. He would find a way to keep the moment just between them and hope that she didn't shoot him down in flames.
