I usually don't like writing things before a chapter because I feel like it takes away from the flow of the story a bit. However, I just wanted to express how thankful and grateful I am for the amazing feedback! The writers from The Walking Dead have been awesome enough to create these complicated characters, and I've always felt like the Dixon brothers story was just waiting to be told right. It echoes of Shakespearian tragedy, and everyone knows that that's always the stuff that's got meat on the bones. No walker reference intended.

So thank you, readers! Stay tuned, some good shits coming up!

-Nikki Jade

13

For a dreary Tuesday, the bar was as alive as any other Saturday night. People were hanging around the porch and the front yard and he heard heavy bass pounding from the house's insides. No one paid any attention to him as he walked up to the front door, and no one noticed him as he slowly walked inside. He didn't know how it was possible to have this many people in one room. The place was packed with bodies. There were pool tables in the middle of the downstairs rooms with sofas pushed to the side, and they were all in full use. Daryl realized in this moment that he hadn't really thought any of this through. He made his way to the bar and looked around for Willie. He finally saw him leaning behind the bar smoking with a group of people. He carefully approached the group and waited until Willie saw him standing there.

"Hey kid, get the hell outta here!" Willie sneered. Daryl stared back at him and Willie knew that he wouldn't go that easily. He sighed, put out his cigarette, excused himself, and strolled over the Daryl. "Come on," he gestured with a twist of his head. Daryl fell into step behind him as they dodged people in the hallways. Willie brought him into a small back room that looked like a hybrid between a laundry room and an office. There was an old wooden desk with an incredibly worn in leather rolling chair. "Wanna sit?" Willie nodded at the chair and Daryl shook his head. "Well, fine, I'll sit." He fell into the chair and it creaked beneath his weight. "I'm guessing you're looking for your brother again." The boy nodded and Willie realized that this boy was starting to not really look like a kid anymore. "You wanna disarm there, partner?" His eyes landed on the cross bow and the knife. Daryl remained silent, but took off the bow and rested it on the ground near his foot. Thunder rumbled outside. "Look, son, this ain't a children's home," he said softly.

Daryl's head shot up. "I know, I'm just lookin' for Merle."

Willie nodded. "I heard everything earlier," he informed Daryl. "I don't know what kind of situation you two are in, but I see that it's an unfortunate one." Daryl's stance shifted to become completely defensive, Willie noticed. "Yeah, I know. Who do you think took care of old Merle when he was your age, huh?"

"Why?' Daryl grunted.

Wille shrugged. "I've known you two since you were born, your mama was a good friend of mine. Since I was your age, there about. How old are you?"

"Almost seventeen."

Willie stood back up and pointed the chair at Daryl. "You sit down, I'll grab you a beer. And ask where your brother is."

Daryl waited until Willie was out the door and collapsed into the chair. His muscles felt shot and he was still a big sore mess. He spun the chair toward the desk and studied the few personal items Willie stashed there. A box of bullets for an unseen handgun. A pile of receipts, cigarette ash. The few photos he had propped up in various places were old and faded, the people unrecognizable. It surprised him that Willie was sentimental enough to have photos of people. His eyes fell to an old 3 x3 photo by a pile of ledgers. He studied it in the low light. It was Willie standing outside of the bar by a line of motorcycles, and Dallas and Jolene were standing with him. They were all smiling, Dallas and Jolene had there arms wrapped around each other. Willie was holding a baby, and Daryl assumed it was Merle. He lay his head down on the desk, eye level with the photo. He gazed into it. When Willie and Merle got back they found him fast asleep. Merle reached out gruffly to wake him up, but Willie knocked his hand out of the way and shooed Merle out. Before he closed the door he snatched the photo from in front of Daryl's face and shoved it deep into his pocket.

—-

The clanging of the old washing machine brought him out of his sleep. He opened his eyes and remembered that he slept sitting in a chair. He saw Merle loading a wad of clothes in to the dryer. "Hey," he said yawning.

Merle slammed the dryer closed, hopped on top and sat to face his brother. "Hey, yourself," he said with a genuine grin. "Nice to see ya, sunshine."

Daryl felt himself smiling back. Then he remembered the night before. "Pay that little fucker, Merle," he demanded.

"The hell you talkin' about?"

Daryl felt the warmth drain out of the room and out of his bones. Now he was feeling like himself again. "I ain't as stupid as you think, you moron. That Jesse kid, you owe him money."

Merle shrugged, unfazed. "I owe him like $200. He'll get it when I have it."

"He came to the car and tried to take my fucking crossbow!"

Merle nodded knowingly. "I see you say 'tried to take'."

"Yeah. That's not the point!"

"How much would you be able to get for that anyway?"

"We're not selling my crossbow!"

"We're still a 'we'?"

Silence.

Merle kicked his legs back and forth on the dryer and intentionally tried to make as much noise as possible. Daryl twisted and rocked around in the dilapidated chair. He reached for the beer that had been brought for him the night before and Merle hopped off the dryer and snatched it from him.

"How about you go take a shower," Merle suggested, popping the can open. He nodded to the laundry basket on the floor. "Towels're there. You can take my bike to school if you want."

Daryl balked at the mention of school. "Load a good it did you."

Merle shook his head. "Nah, you're smarter than me by miles. You're supposed to go. Leave any lethal weapons here," he called over his shoulder as he walked out the door.

Daryl listened to his brothers footsteps die away. He finally stood up, grabbed a towel. There was a clean white tshirt in the basket that Daryl took with no remorse. He headed up to the bathroom on the second floor.