15

He didn't know why he did it. Maybe just to make sure it was all real. Instead of fleeing the town completely, he drove past his old house. It had gone untouched after the fire. Dallas was working on getting enough money to get it fixed, but Daryl didn't even know if he wanted to live there ever again. He pulled into his old driveway and shut the bike off. Without even thinking about what he was doing he ran up the front steps of the house, ignoring the the caution tape X-ing out the door. It smelled like burning still, but everything was in tact. Aside from the big black ashy interior of his parents bedroom, which made him shudder and want to puke, the house looked like its was still in habited. There were dishes in the sink coated with a thin layer of mold and sludge film. The paper from the day before the fire, Friday, was still on the dining room table. He made his way into his old room that he shared with Merle. They had already taken most of their belongings, neither of them had that many. He slid open the closet door and peeked around the opening to see the molding where his mom had tracked Merle and his height. He was startled to see a note lying on his bed. It looked new and out of place. It was folded over once and had his first name scrawled across it. He gingery picked it up and began to read the familiar jagged handwriting.

Haven't seen you for a few days.

Come home. It's ok.

-Dad

He stood in the middle of the small room dumbstruck. He figured that his dad would have to realize that he was gone sooner or later. Come home. Nowhere's home, he thought angrily. Was it really just that simple? Come home, it's ok. He crumpled the note into a little ball and threw it as far away from himself as he could. He suddenly remembered he was supposed to meet Sadie. He knew that by this point, it was past time for lunch. He felt a slight pang of remorse for standing her up. But maybe this would show her that they weren't any good together anyway.

He sat on his old bed and thought about what to do next. The full shock that he just dropped out of school was beginning to sink in. Merle wouldn't be too happy. He figured that he would have to face his dad sooner or later. Eventually. What would usually happen, if it wasn't him in this situation but Merle, is that it would take a few days to cool off. He guessed that that was what these past two days had been. He took a deep breath and let his eyes run over the room one last time. He got up and made his way back to the chopper. If he had to deal with this, he'd do it on his terms. He backed the bike slowly down the driveway then headed to the garage in town. He rolled down the long paved driveway and killed the engine a few feet away from the open garage doors, slamming down the kickstand. He was still on the bike when none other than Dallas Dixon emerged. Daryl lost his composure completely and knew he had the expression of a deer in the headlights plastered across his face.

Dallas stood a few feet away and took a good look at his youngest son. "I wouldn't park that there. Sun's hot, makes the tar soft. Bike'll go right over."

"I'm not staying long. Just letting you know I ain't dead." Daryl found he couldn't even look him in the face.

Dallas began twisting an already dirty towel around in his hands in an effort to get them somewhat clean. "Shouldn't you be in school?"

Daryl shrugged.

"You seen your brother in a while?"

"Yeah. He's fine."

"We're workin' on Willie's car right now. Piece of shit, really. We could use a hand," Dallas suggested awkwardly.

Daryl peeked into the garage and saw all the men he had grown up around. This was where he and Merle had learned all they ever needed to know about cars and motorcycles. His interest had been sparked at the mention of Willie. "Alright," he said uncertainly, slowly swinging his leg over the bike. "Guess I could."

The two walked far apart in silence through the open doors. Willie's car was on the lift. Dallas sat himself on a nearby stool. Daryl played around with a jack on the floor. The other men gave them their space.

The silence was deafening and Daryl found the pressure crushing him from all around. "You want me to come back?" he finally asked, knowing that Dallas would never say anything.

"'Course, you're my son." Daryl shot him an angry look. "Look," he started, lowering his voice so no one else could hear. "I know that I get…bad," he began, struggling to find the words. "But it's not me. That's not me-"

"Coulda fooled me," Daryl threw in, finally looking at him. He lowered his voice to the same level as Dallas. "Sure looked like you. Sure felt like it was you."

"It wasn't me, I barely remember the rest of that night."

"So that makes it ok," Daryl hissed. "That makes it all fucking right?"

Dallas shrugged the trademark Dixon shrug. "All I can promise, son, is that it won't happen again."

Daryl stared dead on. "Then I'll come back tonight," he challenged.

"That's fine, I hope you do. Bring your brother."

Daryl felt himself smirk, because he knew that there was no way that Merle would want any part of this. He was brought back into the moment when there was a loud crash. Everyone in the garage ran out to see what the sound was, and all they were greeted with was Merle Dixon's bike toppled over on the pavement. Dallas and Daryl surveyed the scene and both noticed the significant indent in the ground under the bikes kickstand.

Dallas looked at Daryl smugly. "Told ya."

—-

As he pulled the bike up in front of Shotgun Willie's, gravel screeched and spun. Shutting it down and making sure not to put the kickstand on the hot Georgia pavement, he looked over the bike quickly. There were a few scratches, but nothing completely devastating. He decided to not tell Merle. He stomped up the front steps and swung open the door. Merle was behind the bar washing dishes. Willie had been paying him to maintain the place during the day, then work behind the bar at night. Daryl launched right into it. "I saw Dad."

Merle turned off the water and leaned on the bar, gesturing for Daryl to sit. "And? What did dear old dad have to say?" he said with his heavy Southern drawl.

Daryl sat down. "Told me to come back. Said he wasn't responsible for anything, really."

Merle let out a snort. "And where the hell would we be, all of us, this whole damn world, if no one was responsible for their shit? Nah, that there is a genuine, grade A, class one, scumbag." He turned and went back to the dishes.

"He said it wouldn't happen again," Daryl offered.

"Well, kid, if you're gonna believe that, you may not be as smart at I thought."

Daryl realized that this was not the time to mention he dropped out of school. "So I'm gonna go get all my stuff together. Here and in the boxcar." He hopped down form the barstool and made his way up the stairs. He picked up the hunting knife and belted it on. But his crossbow was missing. The discussion from earlier in the morning hit him like a sucker punch. He tore down the stairs and shoved Merle from behind. A glass went flying an smashed on the floor.

"What the hell?!" Merle yelled, looking genuinely surprised.

"Where's my cross bow?!" Merle's face gave him away and Daryl saw it. "What did you do?" he growled. He stood toe to toe with his brother and glared up at him. "You sold it didn't you! That was your plan all along!"

Merle began wrangling the broken glass into a pile with his foot. He studied the glass intently and didn't say anything.

"Well?! Say something!"

"It wasn't ever your crossbow," Merle said slowly.

Daryl let his mouth fall open.

"Dad gave it to me," he insisted. "It was mine, on technicality, little brother."

Daryl shoved him again, but this time with less effort. He let himself go limp and lean on the bar. "How much did you get?" he asked hollowly.

"Hundred n'eighty. I don't owe that kid anymore, we're square."

Daryl rounded on him. "You owe me a crossbow," he accused.

"I don't owe you jack shit, little brother."

Daryl pulled himself up and made for the door as quick as he could. He looked back at his brother, who was still absentmindedly pushing the glass around the floor with the edge of his boot. Daryl stopped. "You really are an asshole, you know that?"

The infamous Dixon shrug. "I learned from the best."