"I said drop the fucking crossbow!" the gun bit harder into his flesh, demanding obedience.
Daryl slowly held the bow out to his side then dropped it to the ground with a muffled thud as the piece of equipment hit the muddied ground. He couldn't believe this was happening. This could NOT be happening. His brother was back from the proverbial dead and now was going to kill him; and if he didn't, then he was certainly going to wreak havoc on their little camp. Goddamn-it, why did he let his guard down? How could he be so fucking stupid!
"Now the knife, drop it! No, keep it in the sheath, Daryl, no funny business." Merle ordered when he'd tried to pull the steel. "Damn! He knows me too well for this!" Daryl cursed to himself as he dropped the knife still snug in its case, "How the hell am I gonna get outta this one?" He was getting more nervous as the situation was spiraling further from his control. The pressure on his windpipe was getting more intense, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to breath; already black spots where beginning to dance across his field of vision. Fuck! He was quickly losing to his fucking one handed brother. Unbelievable!
"Alright, now get moving!" Merle began pushing him in the direction of camp. At first, Daryl resisted. He clutched at his brother's arm trying to relieve the pressure on his neck and pulling away from where he was being led. Allowing Merle to take him back to camp wasn't an acceptable plan. There was no telling what his psychopathic brother would do to the others, well he actually had some ideas and didn't like any of them, best to keep it from happening. But it would seem he didn't have much choice. When he'd tried to tug in the opposite direction Merle'd only squeezed tighter on his neck and removed the gun from his temple long enough to knock him soundly on the head with the butt of the weapon; this caused stars to explode across his vision and he could feel the sticky warmth of blood running down the side of his face.
By the time Daryl'd regained a measure of his bearings he found that they were already near the edge of the woods. Oh, just perfect. Well with any luck, one of the other men would be able to get the upper hand, preventing total catastrophe from befalling their group. Of course, that meant he was shit out of luck. This was his luck and Merle at the wrong end of a gun they were dealing with, so what reason did he have to believe it'd go in his favor?
The camp was just finishing setting up when there was rustling heard coming from the trees. Collectively they tensed and scanned the tree line looking for the source of the disturbance. The sight they were met with shocked them all.
"Oh my god," muttered Dale. He could hardly believe it, but there it was. Daryl being shoved from the woods, looking more terrified than anyone in camp had ever seen the man look; as a matter of fact, Dale couldn't recall ever seeing him look scared. Following Daryl was Merle Dixon, one hand and all; and that hand was wielding what looked like a small caliber pistol, probably a .32, pressed against his own brother's head.
"Well, what a lovely reunion! How's about you all just line up here in front of me, unless of course you want dear baby brother to get an extra hole in the head?" Merle mocked. The seven present hurried to comply; Lori and Carol shielding the kids. "Good, now you're gonna get rid of the weapons. Put 'em in a pile over there. One at a time." He gestured with a nod to an open area to the left.
Dale, then T-dog both reluctantly walked to the space indicated and relieved themselves of their rifle and shotgun, respectively.
"You too, sugar tits." Merle directed at Andrea. She gave him an innocently shocked look in return. "Don't play stupid with me, bitch." he snarled at her, "I know you got a gun on you. You had it in Atlanta and you still have it now."
Andrea cast a molten glare at the elder Dixon and stalked over to remove her gun as well. She returned to her side of the altercation, "Ok, we don't have our weapons and neither does Daryl, why don't you just let him go? He can join us over here." She gestured to where they were all standing.
Merle just laughed harshly at her, "Oh sure, that's exactly what I'll do. Let him go so he can find some 'Daryl' way to get the upper hand. I think not lady. Now, where's the rest of your group? I'm especially interested in 'talking' with Officer Friendly." That comment seemed to go above everyone's head, except for Andrea and T-dog, who shifted uncomfortably.
"There's no Officer Friendly in our group, Merle. You must be mistaken." Lori tried to reason.
"Oh there is, you know him intimately I'd say. See, I'm talking about your shithead husband," Merle grinned at her shocked expression. "Oh yea, I know all about you and Rick Grimes. See I've been watching ya'll, just waiting for an opportune moment. And as I observe, what do I come to find out? My asshole little brother's gone and betrayed me, siding with you dumb bastards!" He shook Daryl violently as he spoke, eliciting a strangled gasp. "So tell me, where's the two pigs and the fucking slope-head?"
Knowing his attempt at resolution was most likely futile, Dale offered, "They're not here, not sure when they'll be back. Now, I know what happened to you is a terrible thing, but surely we can come to some understanding other than resorting to violence."
"Keep your crusty mouth shut, old man!" Merle snapped.
"Merle, you don't have to do this," Daryl wheezed, "We can leave the group, you and me. We'll make it on our own, we don't need them."
"You better shut up! Before you cut your time short, Daryl." The warning evident in Merle's tone.
"I won't! Look, do what you want to me, just leave them out of it. It's my fault right? I didn't get back to you in time, then I stuck with the camp. You're pissed at me, so do what you gotta, but we'll handle it, brother to brother." He was getting desperate now. He knew Merle wouldn't listen to anything anyone had to say, and if his brother had his way the whole camp would be dead by the end of this fiasco.
Andrea regarded the Dixon brothers nervously. She knew Daryl was just trying to get them out of this abysmal situation, but what he was attempting was a death sentence; not that he wasn't in danger of that now, she grimly thought. She was getting worried about him though; he was getting a slightly blue tinge to his lips, and his knees didn't appear to be supporting him that well either, seeing as he was beginning to sag in his brother's grip. No way would he be able to hold his own against Merle at this rate.
Angrily, Merle slammed the butt of his weapon against Daryl's head again. "I thought I told you to shut up, brother! You're worse than the rest of them, you little shit!" he began squeezing even tighter with his arm, "I planned to keep you alive 'till last, don't make me change my mind. I've seen you with them, I can tell you care now. Isn't that just so damn sweet? You always was the soft one, Daryl. Ain't worthy of being called Dixon."
Daryl's head was spinning, between the blows to the head and the lack of oxygen, he thought he might just pass out; but that's about the last thing he wanted to do right now. How was he supposed to find a way out of this if he let the encroaching darkness win? And, much to his chagrin, it did seem to be winning. He couldn't even understand half of his brother's ranting right now. Through the haze he thought he heard Andrea pleading with Merle to stop, "Merle, you're choking him!" her voice rang out dimly.
"Hmmm, is he?" Daryl took stock of his body and found that it was feeling pretty weightless. The pounding in his head seemed more dull than before; the bruising pressure of the gun now felt as though it was just brushing his skin. It occurred to him that he could no longer see anything at all. Maybe his eyes were closed. If that was the case, they certainly wouldn't open right now. Maybe he'd already passed out. No, that couldn't be it. He could still vaguely make out voices arguing, but all meaning to the sounds was out of his reach. "Shit, should've never let my fucking guard down," was the last thought that passed through his mind before consciousness fully left him.
Awareness was returning, gradually and painfully. The first thing he took notice of was a strange noise in the background. It was entirely nonsensical; reminiscent of going underwater during a swim and trying to decode the words your buddy was saying while, he too, was underwater. His head was pounding so hard he thought he might vomit, and his arm, back and neck muscles were screaming in pain. How long had he been in this position? He was dangling from a tree branch, his toes just skimming the ground; his wrists tied with rope so rough that he could feel blood running down his arms from where his wrists had been rubbed raw.
He tried opening his eyes, the first few tries it was as though they were glued shut, until finally he managed to crack them, only to slam them shut against the brightness that assaulted him. After a few moments, he tried again, more slowly. The light increased his headache but he ignored it.
Daryl, looked around only to have his stomach turn at the sight presented to him. "Oh god, how long have I been out?" he wondered. Suddenly the sounds that woke him made sense. They were screams and crying, pleading and shouting.
The camp was in an uproar. Rick, Shane and Glenn had made it back. Everyone was huddled together, freaking out in various ways, and being forced to simply watch the grisly scene before them. Merle had a sobbing Carl at gunpoint, and was standing over Rick. Even from the distance Daryl was at he could see the sweat pouring off the other man; the agony etched on his face as tears of sorrow and pain rolled down his face. Rick was kneeling in the dirt, hacking off his own hand with a saw.