A simple supply hunt for a source of water in the middle of Atlanta turns sour quickly for Erin as she come fist to face with a fuming, handless Merle Dixon.
Alone in the middle of the apocalypse with only a racist guy who doesn't know the differen...
"Home is not where you live, it's where they understand you." - Christian Morgenstern
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"I could drive for a bit, if ya want," Merle offered after another half hour of silence as darkness began to roll in around them, "I mean, I'm more used to bikes and things, but I know how to drive a truck. Driven Daryl's enough times-"
Erin shook her head, blinking rapidly to stop tiredness beating her, "No. No offence but I don't trust you behind the wheel of my truck..."
She hadn't slept properly since she'd become solo, paranoid that if she dozed for just a second a stray would creep up on her and she'd wake up dead. Tall trees were the only place she'd found where she felt somewhat safe from their grasping hands.
"How am I not meant to be offended by that?" he asked, raising an eyebrow and rubbing his hand over his short hair, "Come on, ya fallin' asleep at the wheel. Ya gonna make us crash on a bleedin' empty road!"
"I'm not tired," she yawned. Merle gave her a pointed look, telling her to pull over without even saying a word, "Fine... but I swear, if you damage it I'll punch you again..."
"Yeah, you do that, sweetheart," he hummed as they cruised to a stop at the side of the road and Erin climbed out shortly followed by himself. They switched places in the cab, briefly passing each other on the way round just long enough for him to smirk at Erin's tired expression.
She ignored him once again, getting settled in the passenger seat but keeping a close eye on him. He pushed on the accelerator and they were once again speeding down the road, if a little faster with Merle behind the wheel.
Her eyelids grew heavy, but she fought against them as they tried to close, her vision and sight of the man driving her truck fading into the darkness as she succumbed to the appealing feeling of rest and sleep...
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Tapping his fingers on the hard plastic of the steering wheel, Merle took his eyes off the road for a moment to glance at the woman across from him, seeing she'd quickly fallen asleep as soon as she was given the chance. He himself barely felt the pull of tiredness anymore, it had been that way since long before the apocalypse started and he liked to think it was from his own doing rather than the influence of meth, though he sort of knew he was lying to himself there.
Either way, it gave him an edge over everyone else when it came to surviving the crap the world was throwing at them daily; while the others slept, he'd made a habit of taking the time to hunt, pleasantly surprising everyone at camp when they woke up and found fresh meat on the table with no explanation of where it had come from.
Whispers around camp rumoured it was Daryl, but Merle didn't try to argue with them, allowing his little brother to have the credit for once in his life.
After the things he knew that kid had been through - and the stuff he didn't - he figured he could do with something good, some respect among the people they were staying with, even if it was for something he hadn't done.
He reckoned Daryl had figured out who it really was because, after a while, every night he went out he found his throwing knives and other weapons cleaned up and put in a rucksack ready for him to use. No one else dared to go near the brothers' weapons - it had to have been Daryl.
They hadn't planned to stay for so long with the group in Atlanta, but circumstances had changed and they both reluctantly agreed that they were probably better off with more people - that was, until this new 'Sheriff Rick' showed up and they left him on a freaking roof. Merle was prepared to have some words with his brother when he saw him again, particularly centred on why he hadn't shanked this guy when they'd gone back without him.
Maybe they'd return to that plan about robbing them all blind while they slept...
Perhaps he'd talk Daryl into letting this Asian chick tag along, too. It wasn't that he liked her - God no, he didn't like her - but she could be helpful to keep with them and he didn't fancy the idea of trying to steal her weapons as well. From what he'd seen of her when she was angry, he got the feeling one of said weapons would find its way into his brain if he so much as touched them without her permission.
He turned his attention back to the road, his mind wandering back to the crossbow - a Stryker Strykezone 380 - he'd seen in the bed of the truck when he'd been looking at them before. This Erica girl didn't seem the sort to wield a weapon like that - if she was, surely she'd have been using it in the city rather than leaving it in her truck - so it made him wonder why she had it in the first place.
Perhaps it belonged to this brother she got so defensive about before, that would certainly explain why it didn't look like it had been used recently but was even cleaner and tidier than Daryl kept his.
Merle had never seen someone blow up that much over something he said, and he was the biggest asshole he knew so he'd said some pretty mean things in his time, but what he'd said that time wasn't meant as malicious or mean in any way. He'd just been asking a question.
'Did he get killed?'
It didn't take a genius to work out from her reaction that he definitely did, even he'd managed to figure that one out. At first, he didn't really understand why that upset her so much so he'd simply put it down to some woman hormone shit or something. However, after a bit more thought into it, he began to see things from her point of view - a rarity in itself where he was concerned.
Unintentionally, he'd started to think of how he'd feel if he lost Daryl. Merle had his fair share of loss during his childhood, losing his mom first and then his dad when he was away in yet another juvenile lock-up. He still remembered how it felt losing them, like the bottom had dropped out of his life as soon as his idiotic councillor came to him and started 'emotional therapy'. Even though they'd never been good to either of them, it had still hurt something real bad.
Then, he had to raise Daryl himself and, even after all the shit he'd put his little brother through, the kid still seemed to care about him in an odd sort of way.
He didn't understand it - he'd been almost as bad as their parents, but he'd tried his best; the amount of kids that feared Daryl due to Merle's constant threats (mainly saying he'd smash their heads in if they touched his brother) would stretch around the Earth three times.
They weren't your typical brothers, but they understood each other. They knew each other better than anyone else ever would and Merle could value that. He could see why this chick was so touchy about her brother's death - he'd probably be pretty much the same if he ever lost his brother.
But he knew he'd never lose Daryl. He could look after himself and Merle knew that when he couldn't, he would take it upon himself to look out for him.
Daryl was pretty much safe as long as Merle was around.
