6 months earlier
The air was clear in the early hour. From his line of sight, the doe was within a clear shot. The morning sun streamed through the trees, illuminating the woods around them.
Daryl crouched low, his crossbow across his knee. If he were going to take the shot, he would have already taken it. He had to admit that to himself.
He had come out early, intent on the hunt. Intent on capturing something. The quiet, maybe. He had tracked the doe for a while, his movements sure with his eyes and ears open. He had tread carefully.
Through an opening ahead, he saw it.
It was a beautiful, proud creature.
Daryl didn't dare move closer.
.
When he got back to his cabin he put his crossbow away in its case, not bothering to clean it, as he hadn't even used it. He pulled his shirt and shoes off, leaving his pants on, walking through the small cabin to the bathroom as he ran a hand through his hair. He showered quickly, grabbing the towel off the hook on the back of the door, drying himself and wrapping it around his waist. He wasn't sure why he even bothered. Within half an hour he would be covered in dirt and grease anyway.
He walked back through the cabin, picking a shirt (or maybe a rag…upon inspection, a shirt) off the couch and pushing the door to his bedroom open, pulling his towel off. He found a pair of pants lying on the floor. They were still covered in dust and dirt. He tugged them on, before throwing the shirt on, the skin on his back pulling at his scars. He strode out to the living area, grabbing his jacket off the table and putting it on, zipping it up. Daryl dragged a hand through his damp hair as he grabbed his keys, a pack of smokes in his mouth as he pulled the door shut, locking it.
He descended the few steps down to come to a halt, taking a cigarette out, stuffing the pack in his back pocket, and lighting one up. He sat down heavily on the step. He wanted one more moment of peace before he got on his bike.
Merle was really on his ass lately. It was dry pickings for business; and Merle was being Merle and taking it out on just about anything and anyone that moved within his vicinity. It wasn't just, however, their official business that had Merle riled up, it was Merle's unofficial business that was really making him stir the shit. From what he could piece together, a deal that one of his cronies running the distribution east of the highway had going went bad. Merle now had a lot of product to sell, and he needed to shift it fast. He was just "middle management" and the powers that be were looking to collect. Daryl was thankful he wasn't one of Merle's minions when it came to the business.
He took his last drag on the cigarette before throwing it on the ground, stepping on it firmly when he stood. He was in no rush to leave, but Merle would rip him a new one if he didn't get there soon.
He unclipped his helmet and swung a leg over the bike, pushing out the kickstand, pulling his helmet on.
No car could even get to the cabin, at least, not easily, which was the main reason it was so cheap. The recluse who lived there before had built it from the ground up amongst the trees many long years ago.
He navigated the worn path through the woods out into the sunlight, hitting the road at the smoothest juncture. The drive was easy; there were not many cars on the back roads. The feeling of speeding along on the motorcycle was almost indescribable to him; it was the freest he ever felt. Hunting was different; hunting was the only time he felt in control.
He slowed down as he approached the town centre. He felt as though he were crawling after speeding along the open roads. He caught sight of the brunette Greene girl outside the diner, that Chinese guy Glenn with her as usual. He never saw her around these parts without him anymore. It was him or the other Greene girl, the blonde one.
He caught sight of Carol Peletier and her daughter Sophia outside the convenience store, chatting to Mr Whitby, Sophia looking bored.
He drove into the car yard, flipping Martinez off as he passed him.
There were a couple of cars in, but otherwise the yard was empty. He parked the bike and entered the shop, going behind the counter and down the hallway to the back room, which doubled as their office-of-sorts and Merle's place to crash.
"-You know I'm good for it," Merle was standing facing the window, his voice low and urgent as he talked into the phone.
Daryl hovered in the hallway, unsure of whether or not to enter the room.
Merle hung up, snapping his phone shut. He let his head hang for a moment, as Daryl hesitated in the hallway.
"You gonna come in, dummy? Or you just gonna stand there all day?" Merle drawled, turning to look at his younger brother derisively.
Daryl stepped into the room, wary and alert, waiting for his brother to speak. The sound of footsteps from behind him caught both Dixon brothers' attention, and Daryl turned to see Martinez.
"Boss, got someone out here you might wanna talk to," he said, not sparing a glance for Daryl.
They headed back through the hallway, Martinez continuing back out into the yard. Daryl and Merle found Mr Franklin Abbey standing in the shop, looking unsure of himself.
"Mr Abbey, what can I do for ya?" Merle drawled loudly, leaning against the counter. Daryl hung back, watching the scene closely. He could see out the window at the far end of the yard a Jeep that hadn't been there when he'd arrived.
"Mr Dixon, I've had a bit of a…well, my car was in an accident, and I think it's a write off…I was hopin' you could help me."
Merle smiled.
.
"You understand now, if I don't hear from you within a month, I'll be payin' you a little house visit?"
Mr Abbey and Merle had come to an agreement on the car, and Daryl was relieved in a way. Anything that put Merle in a good mood was a good thing. Some dumbass would buy the car and Merle would get his money.
Mr Abbey nodded, handing the keys over to Merle.
"We'll call ya when it's ready," Merle smirked, turning away from Mr Abbey without a further word.
Daryl followed his brother back into the shop.
.
The car was definitely a write off. The damage to the front right side was substantial. It wouldn't be hard to patch it up; they had spare parts lying around and it wasn't as though they really had to get it in perfect working order.
Merle ordered Daryl and Martinez to push the car over to the garage. Once that was finished, Daryl got back to work on the car he'd started working on the day before. He tuned out Merle working on the Jeep, turning up his radio and keeping his head down. Martinez left the caryard on other business, and Daryl was happy to work on the car for most of the day.
Later on, they hung around the back, lighting up a couple of joints, Merle bragging about some woman he'd banged the other day.
Same shit, different day.
.
.
Daryl was itching to go on a hunt. He'd told Merle he wouldn't be coming around today, and was looking forward to going back out there, disappearing into the wilderness. He hadn't been in a few days and was just putting his boots on when his phone started ringing. The sun wasn't up yet, it was far earlier than Daryl had ever known Merle to be awake. He grabbed his phone, thinking it must be important.
"Yeah?" He grunted.
"You left yet Darylina?"
"Was about to," Daryl replied shortly, eyeing his crossbow case.
"Change of plans," Merle drawled. "Me an' Martinez got shit to do today, an' people are gonna need to see your Chevy Chase here, so get your shit together," he ordered before hanging up.
Daryl tossed his phone down on the table, and grabbed a beer out of the fridge. It was 5 pm somewhere. He sat down heavily on the couch. If they had 'shit to do' it meant something was going down, probably a delivery or something. Martinez was already delivering that car to Mr Abbey today, Merle was probably going to go along with him and add a stop. Not to mention remind Mr Abbey of his end of the bargain.
Daryl took a sip of his beer. He'd go on the hunt tomorrow.
.
.
Daryl was jolted awake, his phone ringing on his bedside table, the vibrations sending an obnoxious noise through the dark room.
He flung a hand out in the direction of his bedside table, feeling around until his hand landed on his phone.
"What?" He snapped, his head pounding. He'd spent all night down at the bar and the shrill sound of the phone sent waves of pain through his consciousness.
"You gotta get over here." It was Martinez. He sounded calm and unfazed by Daryl's obvious displeasure at being woken up.
"Fuck off…I ain't gotta be anywhere," he growled into the phone, intent on ending the call.
"It's Merle."
Daryl paused, his finger moving away from the end button.
"What happened?"
"They picked him up this afternoon. Get over here."
There was a click and the line went dead. Daryl dropped his phone on the bed next to him, his headache seeming worse than before. Martinez had never had a problem talking on the phone before, relaying whatever orders Merle had, which indicated to Daryl that the cops were probably listening in. Fuck.
He threw the sheets back and stumbled around in the dark, unsteady on his feet still. He'd gotten way too drunk to deal with this. The drive home had been haphazard, zigzagging through the trees like he was taking the scenic route. He hadn't seen Merle or Martinez all day, and he had told himself that he didn't care, only admitting it to himself now. He was in the dark, both literally and figuratively. Didn't Merle trust him to have his back? Who the fuck was Martinez, compared to your own brother? Daryl wouldn't have been surprised if Martinez had tipped off the police. Daryl rolled his shoulder, feeling the tension radiate through him. He half wished someone had given him shit at the bar, would have been a good work out.
He found some clothes and pulled them on, his movements rough and angry. He'd lost count of the amount of times he'd had to get Merle out of the drunk tank, which was saying something because it paled in comparison to the nights he'd spent in the drunk tank with Merle. Those memories might as well have been painted with rays of sunshine if Martinez's phone call was anything to go by.
Daryl didn't have a lot of money, the garage was in Merle's name and he took a small sum in his pocket each week. He'd need to raid that to bail Merle out. He pushed the couch along the floor, the heavy piece of furniture leaving long scratch marks along the floorboards. He pried the loose floorboard open, grabbing a few of the wads of cash. If it wasn't enough, he would take some from the safe at the shop and replace it later. Martinez kept a close eye on the money. He didn't bother pushing the couch back into place.
He took a drink of water straight from the tap, before he grabbed his jacket and left the cabin, slamming the door behind him.
The drive back into town was slightly less unsteady. Daryl focused on the road ahead of him, the light from his motorcycle the only light to be seen in the cold darkness. He slowed down as he reached the town centre, his eyes scanning the buildings. Some would say it was eerie; there wasn't a single person in sight. He'd say it was perfect.
He saw the light on in the shop as he pulled in to the car yard. He killed the engine, pulling his helmet off with a glare at the shop. His body felt hot but he could have sworn there was ice in his veins. He reached the doorway in a few easy strides, pausing as he saw Martinez standing inside, his head bowed as he leaned against the counter.
"What happened?" Daryl's voice was quiet but rough, his blue eyes steel.
Martinez sucked in his lower lip for a second, before answering. "He went to the exchange alone. Took the old Regal, told me to deliver the car to Abbey. I got a call a couple of hours ago, they picked him up at the house."
Daryl's mind was still affected by alcohol but it clicked into place instantly.
"He called you?" He asked, his eyelids flickering for a second.
"Yeah." Martinez looked him in the eyes when he answered.
Daryl nodded slowly, his gaze on Martinez unwavering.
"He, uh…he confessed."
Daryl felt as though someone was drilling a hole in his head. Or maybe it was this situation. All logic seemed to be leaking out of it.
"What?" He snapped, striding forward, inches away from Martinez.
"He confessed. He said it was all his. Didn't give up the name of our supplier." To his credit, he didn't flinch. Daryl would admit Martinez was someone you'd want around when the shit hit the fan.
Daryl backed away slowly, wanting to run his hands down his face but refraining from doing so in front of Martinez.
"He confessed?" Daryl asked, his voice hoarse.
"He's lookin' at 5 years. Maybe more, maybe less, it's gettin' pretty crowded in there." Martinez looked at Daryl seriously. "And another thing he said. Don't visit him."
Daryl's eyes snapped back to Martinez.
"Not for a while." Martinez shrugged apologetically, his lip curling a little. Something inside Daryl snapped.
He grabbed the front of Martinez's shirt, pulling him forward, turning and smashing his head against the counter.
"The fuck you mean? Don't visit him?" Daryl bit out between clenched teeth, grabbing the other man's flailing arms, putting his weight against him. Martinez struggled against him, but Daryl didn't let up.
"That's what he said!" Martinez wheezed, coughing. Daryl relaxed his pressure for a moment, and Martinez predictably immediately tried to lift off the counter allowing Daryl to drive his head back against it.
"Don't fuckin' lie to me." Daryl growled, bringing his face close to Martinez's ear.
"I'm not," Martinez snarled, his face pressed against the counter awkwardly. Daryl let go, stepping away abruptly.
Martinez stood up slowly, turning and glaring at Daryl, one eye shut and his teeth bared. "He didn't say why, just said for a while," he panted.
Daryl spat on the ground, near Martinez's feet.
"I find out you're lyin', you're finished," he vowed, his tone ice cold.
.
Daryl swung the crossbow on to his back, the morning light starting to filter through the curtains. The cabin looked as though it had been ransacked, a combination of his earlier drunken stumbling and his later angry storming. Whether or not Martinez was lying, it didn't matter. The seed had been sown.
He locked the cabin up, and didn't look back.
.
.
Two weeks later
Daryl leaned against the hood of a car, wiping his greasy hands with a cloth. His hands were stained black, but that was a given before noon.
Daryl had gone out for the longest time in months, not returning to his cabin for six days. When he had returned to the garage, Martinez had simply nodded to him, before resuming working on a car.
The car yard was quiet now, Martinez never worked with the radio on. He looked up to see a tow truck turning into the car yard, pulling a Jeep behind it. He stood up slowly, his eyes narrowing.
In the front seat of the car was Otis that tub of lard he'd seen around, and…the blonde Greene girl.
It had only happened once before, out of the few times they'd fixed a car up. A woman had brought that same car in, explaining it was a write off. That time, she'd dumped it, and Merle had gotten the money from the scrap. Daryl had watched the woman and her kids' walk away.
They got the Jeep in the garage, and he watched as Otis and the girl exchanged a few words, the girl smiling and waving to Otis as he nodded to her, turning to get back in the tow truck. Daryl leaned back against the car, watching her glance at him nervously.
He thought she'd wring her hands a little, but she held her head up, walking towards him. She was wearing a pale pink sleeveless top, and denim shorts with sandals. Her hair was done in a ponytail, with a braid peeking through the thick tresses of blonde hair. She was fresh-faced and in the sunlight, her ivory skin seemed to glow.
She stopped short in front of him, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Hi, um, I'm Beth. I need to book my Jeep in."
She sounded nervous, but a smile broke through as she spoke. He inhaled, wanting to get the Jeep out of his sight as soon as possible. He jerked his head.
"I'll take a look at it now."
He didn't expect her to follow him, but she was right behind him as he walked into the garage.
"You can wait in the shop," he waved his arm in the direction of the building, glaring at her.
"That's all right," she smiled at him, oblivious to the heavy-handed hint. "I'll wait here for a bit." She was practically beaming as she looked at the vehicle.
She sat down on a stool by the wall, and he made a show of looking at the car for a little while. Eventually, he decided that he'd looked at it enough, and glanced over at her, catching her eye. She slid off the stool, looking at him expectantly, a hopeful smile on her face.
Daryl slammed the hood shut, while dragging his arm across his forehead, spreading the newly formed sweat and mixing it in with grease.
"It's a lemon." He waved his arm at the car, stepping back.
The girl blinked, looking genuinely shocked. "What?"
"Lemon." He grunted.
"What…does that mean? Can't you fix it?" She asked, looking a little panicked.
"Should'a had it checked 'fore you bought it. This here's been smashed in, and the body replaced, ya see the paint spray here?" He ran a finger along the wheel, indicating the faint marks. "Someone did a half assed job puttin' it back together. Looks like a sweet ride till ya turn the engine on, so no, I can't just fix it." He couldn't quite look at her as he spoke, the back of his neck feeling hot, wishing that her and the car were just gone already.
"I didn't buy it, it was a present," she retorted, before catching herself. He stared at her before snorting. She wasn't quite as fragile as she looked then.
"'Scuse me princess, didn't realise. Well, ya Daddy should'a checked it." He was honestly surprised old Hershel Greene hadn't done better by his daughter, buying this useless piece of trash.
She shook her head, her annoyance already vanished, just like that. "They bought it off a friend."
Daryl clenched his jaw. Franklin fuckin' Abbey.
She looked up at him then, an imploring look in her eyes that no one had ever given him before.
"Isn't there anything you can do? Can't you replace the parts? I've been saving money," the girl pleaded. He was silent for a while. A car as a present? Graduation was a few months ago. It must have been her birthday. An important birthday.
"Is it ya birthday?" He finally asked, shifting awkwardly on his feet. She blinked again, and there was a small part of him that was amused. She was an open book.
"It was…yesterday. My 18th birthday." She smiled hesitantly. He watched her closely as she rested her hand on the side mirror of the car, her eyes following her hand's path. When she looked up at him again through her eyelashes he just nodded slowly, sucking his lips in. He'd never really been confronted with the consequences of any of his or Merle's wrongdoings. Right now, one was looking right at him with wounded doe eyes. He didn't quite know how to react, but he thought maybe he could offer her something.
"I can sell the parts, take it to a scrapyard…get ya some money for it." He mumbled, chewing on his thumb for a second.
She sighed softly, obviously a little disappointed that he wasn't a miracle worker. She took her hand off the side mirror, and he knew she'd then relinquished any hope of salvaging the car. "Uh…how much money?" She looked a little embarrassed at asking.
He squinted at her. "Ya don't get much for scrap…I reckon four or five hundred at the most, stripped down."
"Minus your cut…" she murmured.
"Don't worry 'bout it. Four or five hundred." He stated flatly.
The girl looked at him searchingly, before a shy smile crept across her face, seemingly lighting her up from the inside out.
"Thanks…Daryl."
The back of his neck felt hot again, and he jerked his head, motioning to her to follow him out of the garage. He left her in the shop to fill out the paperwork, while he ordered Martinez to re-do the work he'd done on the Tacoma the day before. He figured it only took two minutes to fill out paperwork, and he strode back into the shop, stopping at the sight of the blonde girl still there, lost in thought, leaning against the counter. He realised the possibility of Martinez finding out his offer was a good one, if she ever rang asking about it. The deal was, whoever did the work, took the money. He wasn't going to be heading over to the scrapyard for a couple of weeks at least. The guy there also made some good hunting gear.
He took two easy strides towards her, grabbing the papers from the counter to her apparent shock. He grabbed a pen from the other end of the counter, leaning across her, before scribbling his number down. He thrust the papers at her, eyes narrowed.
"If ya got any questions, ring this number, not the shop, 'kay?"
She took the papers slowly, curiosity plain on her face. "'Kay…why?"
He sighed, and started backing away from her. "Just don't ring here, all right? I'm doin' you a favour." He snapped as he glared at her again, before stepping out of the shop. He could see Martinez looking at the Tacoma looking pissed off, and he felt the tension settle into his shoulders as he walked over to him. As Martinez insisted that the car was good to go, he glanced back at the shop. He could see the girl in the doorway staring at him, and her eyes widened as his eyes met hers. She stepped back abruptly, disappearing back inside.
"She bought the car?" Martinez asked, squinting against the sun.
Daryl nodded impatiently, before pointing at the car Martinez had been working on.
"It ain't done right," he pointed at the car, before walking away. "Do it again," he called as he walked towards the Jeep.
The sooner it was out of his sight, the better.
A/N: Firstly, I won't be going back and writing chapters 2-11 from Daryl's POV, but that doesn't mean this is the last time I'll write his POV, or that it will only be in flashbacks. Also I know a lot of this is from the first chapter, but it didn't feel right to just cut it off.
More importantly, thank you for all of your follows, favourites, for reading, and reviewing! Much appreciated!
I have a song rec that sorta meshes with this chapter, but regardless I love it anyway, so if you're interested - Brother by Matt Corby.