Chapter Two – Merle and the Wind Up

A/N: Full disclosure, nothing is sacred in this crack fic. I plan to poke fun at pretty much every aspect of the Walking Dead fanfic universe, including the ship wars, slash, awkwardly-written sex scenes, tropes that have been done to death, RPF, etc. Rated M for Dixon mouth and really, really bad smut.

A big huge internet smooch (with tongue and bad oral hygiene)to jamie snow smith for being my first reviewer. Your account doesn't allow pms, so I'm letting you know here that I heard you and I've often wondered the same thing. Seriously, we're writers here - it ain't hard to work in a body of water, a scavenged bar of soap and some toothpaste to help our readers suppress their gag reflex when reading about our favorite characters' exchange of bodily fluids.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my potty mouth and bizarre sense of humor. All credit for the show and its characters goes to AMC and Robert Kirkman. Anyway, I'm certainly not making any money off this, so nothing here for any legal ferrets to worry about.

Daryl stared at Merle for a few seconds, looking for all the world like a frozen computer screen that needed a hard reboot, before shaking his head and muttering, "No. This ain't happening." He pulled his eyes away from Merle's and looked at his lap, still shaking his head. "I'm hallucinating again. Must have hit my head or I'm lying in a coma somewhere… This ain't happening, ain't no way."

Merle grinned. This was the first time he'd been present at a resurrection, other than his own of course, and watching it sink in was kind of fun. "You ain't hallucinating and you ain't tripping."

Daryl quickly peeked at Merle and looked down at his lap again. The stupid fucker still wasn't getting it, and none of the other knowledge he needed to drop on him was gonna penetrate until his brother accepted the fact that all of this was really happening.

Merle raised his voice a bit and tried again. "You ain't in heaven, you ain't in hell, and you ain't in Georgia no more."

Daryl still wouldn't look at him, just kept muttering to himself. Merle increased his volume again, but changed his tone to that slow, menacing one that told his brother he better pay attention. "What do I gotta do to make you understand, boy?"

Still no reaction. Merle needed to get serious. He'd raised the boy to distrust everything but cold, hard facts and he supposed that's what he was gonna have to give him.

He grabbed Daryl's chin, forcing him to raise his eyes and look at his big brother. "I know this shit's hard to wrap your brain around, but here's the facts. You may have got shot and died, but you're alive right now and you ain't one of those walking corpses. And this sure ain't some solipsistic dream, trip or hallucination neither."

"Solop-? What the fuck?" Daryl's scowl made it clear that he'd finally gotten the boy's attention, but the confusion in his eyes made it clear that using big words had gone and confused him even more.

Merle took a step back and sighed. "Some bullshit philosophical term, basically means you think you're the only one who's real, that your mind made everything else up."

Daryl still looked pissed off. Seems his brother didn't like him using nerdy words. Tough shit. Still, Merle couldn't pass up the opportunity to fuck with him a little more. "What? I been reading a lot. You get Milton away from the Governor, he's got a lot to say and some of it ain't boring. He gave me this book on Cartesian theory that'll blow your fucking mind. Lately, I've been reading up on existentialism, though. Puts all the shit we been through into perspective."

Now Daryl looked like his computer had done crashed. It was actually kind of funny, but stopped when his dipshit brother leaned forward to rub his face in his hands like it would help him wake up and started muttering again, "No. Nope. You ain't real…" Now the boy looked like he was trying to burrow a tunnel through his hands that would take him back to Alexandria.

Merle's patience was gone. He reached over, grabbed Daryl's nipple, gave it a hard twist, then smacked the side of his head. "This right here is real and I'm real. As real as it fucking gets. And you. Were. On. A. Reality. TV. Show."

That seemed to do the trick. The way Daryl was chewing his lip and flaring his nostrils, it was clear he'd finally accepted what Merle had told him, and was using it to reframe everything he thought he knew, instead of plugging it into a reality that no longer mattered.

Fucking finally. Merle took a seat, leaned back and got comfortable. Daryl had a process and they still hadn't gotten to the good and pissed phase. Once that was over, he'd be there to answer his questions.

But the expression on the boy's face? Eyes narrowed and teeth fixing to chew a hole through his lip? Priceless. Seriously. The Producers had approached him, offering a huge wad of cash to allow them to film Daryl's resurrection, and every time Merle had increased the price, the fuckers had met it without even blinking. He'd gotten them up to an even $2 million and the promise of a new arm, but who knows how much they would have paid out if Hershel and Dale hadn't gotten hold of him, yanking at his conscience? Didn't help when Lori piled on with her opinions about his "tasteless, immoral exploitation of such a vulnerable moment." For fuck's sake, didn't they know that's what sold?

Seems his decision to keep cameras out of the room had been a good one, though. Footage of Daryl pointing his crossbow at an hysterical fan wouldn't have gone down too well with the rest of the fangirls. And now that the truth had sunk in, he was sure his shy little fucker of a brother wouldn't want anyone watching the epic freakout that was brewing. Because anyone who knew Daryl could measure the approach of one of his hissy fits by his breathing, each inhale deeper and longer, the exhales louder and more forced, until he sounded like a bull about to tear apart a sea of red capes.

Hold the fucking phone! That's the kind of shit that drenched fangirl panties! Who says he couldn't take out the middle man and sell that footage directly to one of the TV stations? That new channel running back-to-back Daryl specials would pay top dollar, he was sure of it. And once Daryl saw how much money they'd get for it, once Merle explained that this is what his fans wanted to see, once he understood that losing his shit was part of his motherfucking brand… His brother would be okay with it. He would. He had to.

But first, he had to get it on film and do it on the sneak, or the moody little fuck would get all self-conscious and hold back. Merle glanced over to make sure Daryl was still distracted, before pulling out his phone and casually strolling over to a row of shelves on the far wall. Turning his back briefly, he started the video and leaned the device against a box of sterile cotton swabs. All he could do at this point was cross his fingers and hope the angle was right. And get rid of that crossbow, of course, because if Daryl shot and killed him, whoever found his phone would be the one making money off his hard work.

After tucking Daryl's weapon out of sight, Merle got to work. He wasn't sure how much space was left on his phone and he needed to get this show on the road.

Speaking loudly enough so that Daryl could hear him, but softly enough so that his brother would think he was sympathetic, Merle began. "Pretty fucked up, I know. People watching your life without you knowing… It's a damn shame. No respect for privacy anymore…"

Daryl looked up and the glare he shot Merle was pure acid. Bingo. "Who. Who's been doing this?" The gravel in Daryl's voice sounded like an avalanche picking up speed. Oh, this was gonna be good.

Merle shook his head slowly. "Dunno, little brother. They call themselves The Producers. They run things around here, but keep out of sight except for some TV announcements and a town meeting every few months."

Daryl stood up and made for the door again, a steely, determined look on his face. That wouldn't do. That wouldn't do at all. Merle quickly stepped in front of the exit and gave his brother's shoulders a squeeze, halting his progress. "I know you're upset. I get it. But there's more you need to know and I'm not telling you until you sit your ass back down."

He steered Daryl back to the bed, glancing over at the camera to make sure his brother was still in the shot. "Like I told you, I understand. You have every right to be pissed. It's okay to get mad, maybe even throw some shit around and yell a bit. I sure did when I found out."

Daryl shouted, "Found out what? You still haven't told me shit!" Oh, yeah. This was a good fucking start… His brother was doing that breathing thing again and now his ears were turning red. It wouldn't take much more to make him blow his stack, but Merle had to get it on film before his phone crapped out.

"You want to know? You really think you're ready for the truth, little brother?" Merle took a step back to clear the shot and caught his brother's eye to make sure he was paying attention. Yup. It was go time. The next words out of his mouth needed to be precise, aimed to hit every single one of the twitchy little fucker's insecurities.

"Every second of your life, ever since we hooked up with Deputy Roid Rage and all those assholes at the quarry, has been filmed." He pointed his finger at Daryl and used it to emphasize his words. "Every shit, every piss, every fart. Every time you scratched your balls and picked your nose, everybody here watched it on a live feed, eight channels of it, running 24/7."

Technically, every word of what Merle had said was true. Every moment of his brother's life had been filmed and watched. Daryl didn't need to know they blurred out the pink parts - that would only mess with the vivid image he was trying to paint of strangers watching him take a dump and pull out his dick.

Merle waited, but instead of blowing his stack, Daryl spat out, "Who? Who's watching?"

Oh, seems his brother didn't understand how many people had violated his privacy. "About ten million or so, basically every single person in North America who's died since it all went to hell. I mean died died, not walking around dead. That includes a bunch of people you know, like everyone from the quarry and the prison. Santa Claus and his vanilla cupcake, too. But everybody tunes in, watches every move you make."

Daryl leveled him with a glare that could slice through steel and asked in a low, menacing voice, "What about the Governor? He here?"

Shit. Merle should have been expecting that question. Hell, it was one of first ones he'd asked when he woke up. Maybe he could use that… "Oh yeah, he's here. He's in Guantanamo. That's what we call the place they keep all the assholes - there's him, those Terminus freaks. Those Wolves Carol killed and Negan's group's are there, too. Can't get at them, though. Got round-the-clock security over there, and the smart ones don't leave." He paused and shook his head sadly. "Yup, all the bad guys you took out are still walking around, getting three squares a day, not having to worry about geeks chewing their throat out… Oh, except for Joe." He smirked, knowing his new buddy had watched Rick's death the night before. "I have no doubt he's paying attention now that Rick's here."

"Carol here too?" Daryl had calmed down some and now had a focused air about him. This was not good…

Merle answered his brother's question while trying to figure out he could use his brother's death to wind him up again. "Yeah, along with a couple preppies that got caught in the crossfire."

Daryl nodded slowly and started chewing his lip again. Merle realized his brother had no idea who'd killed him. "You do know what took you out, don't you?"

Daryl shrugged, making it clear that he was finally at peace with the fact that he'd been killed. "Just remember a bunch of bullets. We all knew some assholes would come calling, just thought we'd have more time to get ready…"

Merle cocked an eyebrow and shook his head slowly. "Oh, hell no. It was those preppies." Daryl looked at Merle to see if he was fucking with him. Merle nodded and continued. "Yup. I watched the whole thing play out on TV. Seems that fucking halfwit Spencer decided to hold a firearms training session, then someone else had the bright idea to shoot off fireworks to cover the sound, and then, because it's Mayberry, they decided to go big and have a Fourth of July picnic, parade and all."

That should do it. Daryl needed a target and those dumbasses deserved every bit of his wrath. Merle didn't, though, so he scratched his chin an attempt to hide the grin he was having a hell of time keeping down.

"You're not telling me shit. Again. Who fired the shots?" The cold, determined look on his brother's face made it clear that he was looking to narrow his focus, and that anyone who remained a target was gonna be one sorry motherfucker. Merle was sorry to disappoint him.

"Wish I could tell you, brother, but they blacked out the screen. I'm figuring the Powers That Be knew all hell was gonna break loose when you kicked it. They had to put Deanna and rest of the preppies here in protective custody. Smart move on their part, because with you three gone, the rest of those fuckers will be here soon and, holy shit, if your fan club knows who exactly shot you, no way they'll be able to keep them safe."

Daryl was starting to get that puzzled look on his face again, so Merle explained. "I wasn't fucking with you when I told you about being a TV star. You got a hardcore fanbase and they are pissed! Been stalking my house, raising a stink about how it wasn't your time to go yet. Soon as I came over and settled in, I started noticing a bunch of bitches walking around with, 'If Daryl Dies, We Riot,' T-shirts. I shit you not, little brother. And fuck if they didn't follow through, because those ladies went apeshit. You should have seen it - they were throwing TVs, blocking traffic, a few tried to burn down the TV station and hell if they didn't almost succeed."

The boy's expression made it clear that he was still too confused to get pissed. Since Merle was planning to work the crazy-ass fan angle next, he needed to explain the magnitude and diversity of what was waiting for him as soon as he stepped foot outside the clinic. Daryl understood violent outbursts of anger, but the idea of more Bonnies should send his twitchy, socially retarded brother into an epileptic fit. Hopefully, a loud one.

He squeezed Daryl's shoulder, hoping it would come off as reassuring. "Now, I don't want you thinking all your fangirls are violent. Sure, some are fucking scary as shit, but a lot of them are real sweet and pretty, like Bonnie. They're just glad to see you make it over here, can't wait to meet you and… Um…" He caught his brother's eye to make sure he was paying attention. "Let's just say, there's a bunch of ladies looking to jump your joystick, and if you don't get laid at least twice by the end of the day, I'm out a hundred bucks."

Merle was glad that he'd actually been the one to bet against Daryl getting his pipe drained. His brother's reaction to Bonnie confirmed Merle's pretty reliable gut that told him the boy's cherry was still hanging from the tree, and he respected himself too much to take the losing side on a stupid bet. But that hundred dollars he'd be getting from Joe? Hell, that was a drop in the bucket compared to the money he stood to make off the footage of Daryl's imminent freakout. Nothing pissed that boy off more than people talking about his sex life, except maybe aggressive women who tried to get down his pants.

"I tell you, boy… The things they want to get up to with you are gonna make your hair curl. They write all about it on these web sites - you're gonna get a kick out of it when you read up on it. Half of it's just fucking weird, but there's some really hot stuff that might give you some ideas… And now that you're here, well, there's a lot of ladies looking to make their fantasy a reality."

Daryl's jaw dropped, but his breathing was too even. Merle decided to play up the public exposure bit. "And that's not all. There's the live feed channels, but there's a bunch more that run specials and talk shows on the fan favorites. And you, little brother? You are the fan favorite. Seriously. Not fucking with you. Rick and Carol run a close second, and even though I've been off the air for a while, I got quite the little fan club of my own." He chuckled. All that fan love he got was better than meth, better than oxy, better than the most primo pot he'd ever smoked. Good thing, too, because he still hadn't found a way to score around here.

The boy's ears were turning red and his breathing was starting to speed up. Merle was definitely on the right track. "But you, man? They run highlight reels of you flexing your muscles, your snarky little comments. All those tender moments between you and Carol, you and miss Vanilla cupcake…" Merle fought the urge to roll his eyes at the idea of his brother being responsible for all these wet panties. What a fucking waste…

Merle glanced over at his phone and saw that the light was still on. Just a little more should do it. "There's even this Jerry Springer-type show where they got people up there arguing about whether or not you're gonna fuck Carol, if Beth is your dream girl." Merle couldn't hold back the dripping sarcasm with those last two words. He'd thought that story about sparkly vampires and a werewolf mooning over a fucking baby was the dumbest thing on that site, but then came all those stories about two virgins making sweet love in a goddamned casket.

Daryl still hadn't said a fucking word, but his fists were clenched and he looked like he was gonna jump out of his skin. Merle knew this next bit would blow his wad, but the little fucker was teetering on the edge of a cliff and this was his last chance to tip him over the edge.

"But this show last week? They asked me to come on, thought I'd have some insight, what with you being my brother and all, but I refused." He shook his head. "Just couldn't do it, the stuff they wanted me to talk about was too private."

Merle knew it was wrong to draw his brother's torture out, but he couldn't help it. Didn't want to, it was too much fun to pass up. "You know what? Forget I said anything. You don't need to know, it'll just make you mad. Like go postal kind of mad…"

Daryl finally spoke up, hissing, "Stop fucking with me. Just say it."

Merle raised his brow. Fine. Knowing that his big brother was fucking with him wouldn't make a bit of difference when Daryl ultimately lost his shit. "Are you sure? I don't know, man… Okay, you're gonna need to vent, but you gotta promise to stay in here while you do it."

He grinned and didn't even bother trying to hide it. "Okay, if you really wanna know, I'll tell you… You sure?"

Daryl looked like he wanted to tear Merle's other arm off and beat him to death with it, a sure sign it was time for the big reveal. "Okay. Here it is." He paused a moment, knowing he was risking bodily harm, but he just couldn't help it.

"They spent thirty minutes, audience participation and everything, talking about why you never jack off."

Another A/N just because I like to do them. Also because I think the Internet and the fandom deserve a pat on the back for not sending me any nasty reviews. Maybe I underestimated them… I also want to pat myself on the back for only taking one week to update this fic. Is that tacky? Whatever. GO ME!

Anyway, please review and let me know what you think. I've never done this world building thing in my writing, so I sincerely hope that I haven't royally confused y'all with this alternate dimension stuff. If I have, please, please, PLEASE let me know, but keep in mind more details will be revealed in upcoming chapters. And don't be shy - let me know if you'd like me to poke fun at some aspect of the show or the fandom in particular. I won't guarantee anything, but I'm more than happy to hear you out.