Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.

a/n: As always, many thanks to everyone who is reading this fic.

...

Merle waited a while restlessly before swinging his legs off the bed, and grunting after much cursing he managed to get himself to a sitting position. He ached every goddamned where, even the cut on his nose and lip smarted like an unruly bastard. His head pounded like shit, and his vision swayed before his eyes, but he was going to do this while he had the fucking chance to do it. It took another few moments before he felt his breathing return to normal, and he cast his eyes over his body, touching at the mass of hideous purple bruising over his chest and ribs with his bandaged hand. His head hung down and his eyes darted to the entrance of the cell, and he held his breath as he listened for activity beyond his cell doorway.

Satisfied he could hear nothing more than the usual sounds drifting through the prison block, he shifted his body to the edge of his bunk, his hand reaching out and shakily touching the edge of the mattress. It fucking annoyed him that he couldn't put much weight on his hand, it stung like a goddamned bitch, and his other arm was bound tightly in a sling cradled against his body.

He got to his feet, swaying slightly, and the blood danced and spotted merrily before his eyes. He blinked rapidly trying to clear his sight, even as his eyes spied the few meager possessions he owned bundled in the far corner. What he wanted right now, more than anything was a smoke. Well, if he was honest, he would have chosen something a little more stimulating, anything to cool his mind and numb the unrelenting pain. But there was nothing here other than goddamned cigarettes and that was if he could even find the damned things.

Merle pushed himself on stiff muscle cramped legs towards the corner of his cell, and rifled through the small neat stack of clothing that was there. He found a shirt and tugged at it, dislodging the clothing to the floor in a heap. Narrowing his eyes, he kicked at it bare footed in frustration.

He nearly chortled when he found the battered pack of cigarettes, his only unbound finger and thumb flipping the pack open, seeing the stale and somewhat bent cigarettes residing within. Smiling to himself he gingerly thrust the packet into the pocket of his pants, feeling thankful that he'd actually managed to keep those on. He didn't much like the fact that Hershel and Carol, and he groaned at the thought of her, had all to probably seen the scars marring down his back when they'd worked on his shoulder. And as much as that pissed him off, he was glad of his pants-he didn't much care for the idea of the old man gawking at his junk either.

His boots he found placed under his bunk and he dragged them out, ramming his feet into them, thankful for the fact that the laces were at least loosely tied. He glanced at the shirt and then down at his bare skin and shrugged. Even with the bruising and the bandages, he knew he didn't have such a bad physique, a little pale, a little too thin now but he didn't want to overly draw attention to himself-plus it was getting fucking cold, so he tried pulling the shirt on, only to curse in frustration at the sling impeding his attempt to dress.

It took a while to tug the sling from off his arm and from around his neck and he swore at one point that the damned thing was trying to throttle him like the Governor had done. He had to sit back down on his bunk as the pain tore raggedly through his shoulder, but he managed to get the fucking thing off, only to hiss in irritation at his new dilemma.

He couldn't really grip with the thick bandages on his hand, and it was damned hard trying to grip anything with this stupid assed two finger pinch grasp. He'd managed to get his injured shoulder and stump through one arm of the shirt sleeves, and the struggle was the other goddamned arm. In the end, he had to use his teeth and chin to wrangle the fucking thing on, and it had taken too much time. He was sweating and aching like a bitch, and as he glanced down at the buttons he thought, hell to it. Wasn't a chance he'd get those fastened.

Stepping out of his cell, he rested his head against the cool wall briefly, panting with effort. He groaned when he looked up and saw Carol marching her way hurriedly towards him, saw the worried expression on her face. He had no idea where the hell she had just sprung from, but he didn't want to be dealing with this crap right now.

"Merle?" She called out to him. "Where do you think you are going?"

"What'cha fuckin' think?" He breathed shallowly.

She ran a hand through her hair, her brow furrowing as she watched him. Her voice was full of concern, "You shouldn't be out of your bed. You should be resting."

He felt the hot flow of anger prickle him. "Get out'a my way, sugar. I'll do whatever the hell I want."

"No you won't Merle. And if you know what is good for you, you'll get your ass back in your cell."

He thrust his jaw out at her, "An' who the fuck do ya think you are? You ain't telling me what the shit I should do." He was mildly aware that they were attracting an audience, he could see Glenn pacing towards them, but he was getting downright pissed and he couldn't give two shits as to who was watching.

"I'd listen to her," Glenn said as he came up along side and stood next to Carol.

"Ain't none asked you for yer fuckin' opinion, Chinaman." He made to move past them, but Glenn blocked him, raising a hand warningly. "Get out'a my goddamned way, boy!" he glared.

"No. I mean, look at you." Glenn let his eyes travel across Merle's body, seeing the bruising and bandages through his shirt that was flapping open. "You look like crap."

Merle narrowed his eyes. He knew he looked like crap, but didn't need to hear some chink asshole tell him the obvious. He found that he couldn't help but say, "Fuck you." If he could have flipped the Asian punk the bird, he fucking well would have.

Carol paced quietly across to him, her hand catching out and touching at his wrist. "Merle please, let me take care of you."

He shook her hand off, watching as she bit at her lip. "No. I don't need yer pity." He heard Glenn sigh audibly and it angered him. "What is with you people? I don't need any of your shit and I'm fucked if y'all gonna keep me like a goddamned prisoner," he sneered.

"Nobody is keeping you prisoner here, Merle," Glenn said quickly, "But she's right. Really you should be resting. Honestly, I don't know what point you're trying to prove."

"Ain't got no goddamned point to prove. Why can't you jus' leave me the hell alone?"

Glenn gawked at him stupidly. "You got shot, what like two, three days ago? I think you're being pig-headed and stupid Merle."

"You don't know shit 'bout me, Kim-chi. You don't know nothin'." Merle closed his eyes briefly to the sudden headache springing before his eyes.

He had never meant to come back, it hadn't been in his plan-he thought it would have been nothing more than a one way trip. It was never supposed to have turned out like it had. He wondered if he had failed because he'd stupidly let Michonne talk him around, let her keep on yammering at him until in the end it had been fucking easier to just cave into her. And that had been a first in itself-letting a bitch talk him around, and a black one at that. But now he was back, and he was back less of a man than he had been before. He didn't want to see their hate anymore, see the weary acceptance that he was back and what shit it would cause. He was tired of it. And now it would be worse because he would have to rely on them, and he had never been big on that before. Never needed anyone but himself to sort his own way through his fucking shit.

Glenn stepped a pace nearer, "I know enough."

"This about Michonne? This 'bout the Governor? I went through with the plan. Ricks fuckin' plan. That man didn't have the balls to follow his own goddamned idea through. An' what? You wanna look at me like I'm the goddamned devil? Boy, that devil is sitting on your ass, he ain't never left ya."

"This coming from you?" Glenn spat bitterly, "What you did to Maggie and me?"

Merle felt the headache settle firmly before his eyes, and he wondered at the sheer fucking pointlessness of it all. They would never accept him for what he had done, even now. It didn't matter for what reasons he had done it for. "I done worse boy. Alot worse. You need to nut up and grow the fuck up. Shit happens."

He didn't give them a second thought or glance as he shouldered his way past them.

...

Merle sat there in silence for a moment, enjoying the peace and solitude. He was finally on his own, wasn't nobody else around except a few biters hanging around at the fences. He glanced towards them and sneered. Stupid undead assholes, why wouldn't they just shut the hell up. Always with that constant fucking moaning and groaning...sighing at them irritably, he turned his head away, his gaze sweeping across the cluster of buildings, the watch tower. All he wanted was a few more damn peaceful moments before he had to go back to his cell. He closed his eyes, feeling the early evening chill, the cold dampness in the air.

His eyes snapped open as he heard the fence rattle.

Just

one

more

goddamned

fucking

minute

He shifted about on the bench restlessly, feeling the tightness start to wake in his shoulder, and he knew he should go back indoors before the tightness turned into that horrible sickening dull pounding ache that would surely keep him awake all damn night. But he wanted just a minute more before he'd have to go back inside and face their sickening pity and loathing.

He ached with the need for a cigarette, but the thought of trying to get them out of his pocket and then having to light the fucking thing put him off. The fencing rattled again, and as he heard those ever present grating moans he felt his heart tighten and his lungs freeze up. His blood pounded thickly at his temples-he could hear it throbbing in his ears painfully.

He glanced back towards the fences again, his eyes narrowing as he suddenly jumped to his feet. Oh by god they were asking for it, and he was going to damn well give it to them.

His boots thumped all the way down to the fences and he watched as a biter turned towards him, its vacant yellowed gaze roaming over to where he stood. He saw its ruined caved in nose snuffle for his scent, and he angrily lashed out at the fence with his foot, rattling it loudly.

"Ain't over," he hissed, "Ain't fuckin' over." He kicked at the fence again, his eyes almost burning as he watched them stagger eagerly over towards him. "Bastards. Ya dumb fuckin' fucks." He lashed out with his boot again, kicking at the fence. "Cock sucking bastards." A biter surged to his spot, and he saw its long withered fingers slip through the chain links, and he stepped so close to it that he could feel the snap of its teeth close to his face. "Yeah," he smirked, "C'mon, you ain't got the fuckin' balls to have a piece of me, fuckin' stupid piece of shit." He spat suddenly at it, watching curiously as his saliva dribbled down its pallid cheek and he smacked his hand at the fencing, his fingers gripping the linking and rattling it loudly. The biter twisted its head and gaped hungrily and Merle drew his hand back slowly, not noticing the blood starting to seep brightly through the bandages.

"You're dead, asshole." He pushed his shoulder to the fencing, grinning as the motion rippled and jolted the bodies the other side. He hit the fence hard again with his hand, "You're fuckin' dead!"

"Merle?"

He ignored the voice as it drifted in the air, instead he shook his head, panting as he raised his foot to kick the fencing again. His heart pounded heavily in his chest as his boot connected hard and he waited for the biters to follow him across as he paced angrily at the fence. He rested his head briefly against the metal links, ignoring the fingers that tried to claw at him and then he raised his head to stare at them, before slapping at them and the fence again with his bloodied hand.

"Dude? What the hell are you doing?" Glenn called out, nearly tumbling over his own feet in his haste.

"Ain't over," Merle hissed. "Fuckers. It ain't never over."

Glenn took a few steps back, before turning and running back over to the cell block.

His head ached, felt crowded and jumbled, and all he could think of was these hated fucking things and how they needed to pay for every goddamned thing. He thought he saw Blake stood there amongst them, staring at him blackly with one glittering eye, and he hissed before wiping at his forehead, smearing cold dampness over his face. "You're fuckin' dead, you bastard!" He thumped at the fence angrily with his hand again.

"Merle!"

He turned slowly, thinking he could hear his brothers voice, but that wasn't right. Daryl wasn't at Woodbury, he was at the prison with the rest of all those dumb fucks.

"Shit, Merle. Stop it brother!"

He felt a strong hand grip his shoulder, pulling him around and he raised his hand and lashed out, feeling his fist connect. Pain flared hotly in his hand and he raised it again, only to have his arm grabbed at firmly. "Brother don't do this," a voice breathed at his ear. He felt his body go suddenly slack and he raised his head tiredly, trying to bring his eyes back into focus.

Daryl had his hands tightly on his shoulder, pinning him and holding him steady, while Glenn had hold of his arm. Merle tried to shake the Asian off his arm in disgust.

"What were you doing?" Glenn hissed as he finally let go of his arm.

Merle gazed at Daryl, swallowing several times before he could find his voice to answer,"I-I don't know," he rasped in confusion. He could see the tears brimming in his brothers eyes, and then his own eyes widened in sickening realization as he saw the red mark on Daryl's jaw.

"C'mon Merle, I'm gettin' your ass back inside. Shit," Daryl shook his head at Glenn, warning him away, before looping his arm across Merle's back. "C'mon brother."

Merle let Daryl lead him back inside. He felt tired and nauseous and he ached like a son of a bitch-his hand throbbed unrelentingly and as he raised it, he looked at the blood smeared bandage stupidly. He could feel the others gaze on him as he stumbled through the prison block but he wouldn't raise his head to stare back at them. He was back at his cell before he realized, and Daryl was easing him onto his bunk.

"Daryl," he said faintly, "Fuck. I'm sorry, little brother." He glanced down at the floor as he felt his brothers hand on his shoulder, gripping him gently.

Daryl looked at him and shrugged, "Ain't nothin' to be sorry 'bout Merle," he whispered. "Ye fucked ya hand up again, ya dumbass."

Merle huffed, then glanced up as he heard feet clatter into his cell. Carol was staring at him with a stricken expression. She stepped hastily into his cell and he watched as she touched at his brothers shoulder. Daryl looked at her and then nodded, before stepping back and standing in the doorway of his cell. Merle glanced as Carol watched him sadly, before sitting next to him. She placed a bottle of water and fresh bandages on the bed beside her.

"Oh Merle," she sighed quietly, "You stupid, stupid man." He saw the tears shining brightly in her eyes, watched as one trickled slowly down her cheek and he painfully raised his hand to swat at it. She caught his hand in her own and gently brought it down into her lap. "I need to change your dressings. You're not going to fight me on this, okay?"

He shook his head, watching warily as she peeled the sodden wrappings off. He heard her sharp intake of breath, and he leaned his back to the wall as she started to clean out the wound. It stung badly and he involuntarily clenched his fist at her, only for her to pause and slap lightly at him. He felt pressure on the wound and he glanced down, watching as she redressed it with fresh clean bandages.

"All done," she said quietly, and he went to pull his hand back, but was surprised when she caught it between both of hers, holding his hand in her lap. "You're lucky you didn't burst your stitches. Promise me... you won't do anything so stupid again, please?"

He shrugged, "Can't promise shit."

"Don't make me come in there and kick yer ass, bro," Daryl joked quietly from the doorway.

Merle huffed again, watching as Carol got up from his bed, scooping the soiled bandages and bottle in her hands. "Carol. Don't go," he asked quickly, feeling suddenly stupid for asking, and feeling even more fucking stupid for wanting her to stay. His heart thumped a little too quickly as she looked uncertainly across to Daryl and he saw his brother turn to her and nod, taking the soiled bandages out of her hands.

Carol sighed again, and then her eyes were seeking his out. She shook her head at him questioningly as she sat on the bunk next to him, "Why?" She didn't stop and wait for him to answer, though her eyes narrowed at him as she reached her hand out and touched at his cheek gently. "Don't do that again Merle," she warned tearfully.

He sat there hesitant and awkward, not really knowing what to do, and before he could change his mind, he leaned towards her and rested his forehead on her shoulder, closing his eyes. Her arm slipped about his back and he sighed against her throat, feeling her hand catch and rest lightly against the nape of his neck, her fingers trailing soothingly up and down his skin.

He moved to put his arm around her and winced in pain as the motion jostled his shoulder. He knew that she had felt it because she was pushing herself away from him and he sat there dumbly as she rose to her feet.

"I should go Merle. I think you've had enough excitement for one day." She smiled at him wanly, watching as he eased his body onto the bunk. With one hand she pulled the blanket over him, and as he felt the first drowsy edges of sleep take him, he didn't see that she watched over him for a long while, and he didn't see as she finally walked out of his cell with the tears still shining in her eyes.

...