Just take it. It'll be over soon.
Blood was running down Daryl's nose in a steady stream, seeping between his lips and filling his tastebuds with the salty liquid. He felt his left eye starting to swell up due to the purple bruise taking the soft tissue. His arms and hands did little to block the impact of the punches being thrown his way. The dank stench of the bar's alleyway clogged his nose, and cold sewage - God he hoped it was sewage - soaked into the back of his T-shirt. Overall it wasn't the best place to get beaten up, though it could've been worse. The man over him could've been Will.
"What the fuck were ya thinkin'?" Merle demanded, ceasing in his punches as he towered over his younger brother.
Daryl sat up and wiped his bleeding lip off with his wrist. The other guy had fled the scene as soon as Merle arrived. He glared up at his older brother, but knew that it was better he had found Daryl rather than Will.
"Well? What in the actual fuck were ya thinkin'?" Merle repeated, hoisting Daryl to his feet.
"Nothin'." He mumbled.
He received a harsh slap on the back of his head, nearly making him collide with the brick wall of the bar. "That ain't a fuckin' answer!" Merle spat, grabbing him by the shoulders and spinning him around, pinning Daryl to the rough wall. "What the fuck were ya thinkin', lettin' that fag touch ya like that?"
Daryl casted his gaze downward, wanting a cigarette and to just escape the nightmare of that evening. "Can I have a cig?" He asked softly, knowing fully well that that was a stupid question.
Merle growled and smacked him across the face again, and Daryl kept facing the direction his face had been hit. He heard Merle's ragged breathing in his ear, followed by a frustrated growl. "Ya didn' fuckin' want him, did ya?"
Daryl didn't answer right away. He kept staring down the dark alley where the mysterious blond beauty had run down, abandoning him to his brother's wrath. Daryl glared hard down the alley, gritting his teeth while blood dripped down his chin. "Nah." He finally answered.
Merle sighed heavily and stepped away, letting Daryl sit up. He muttered something under his breath and glared at Daryl again. "Ya know, yer real fuckin' lucky I was the one who found ya, an' not one of Pa's friends." He muttered.
Daryl glanced down at the ground stubbornly again. Yeah, he knew. He let out a soft sigh, loosening up and sagging his shoulders. He knew.
Merle scoffed and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket. "Not even a fuckin' thank ya." He muttered, lighting one of the buds before offering one to Daryl. He took it gratefully, lighting it with his own lighter before leaning against the brick wall, taking a puff and letting the smoke swirl above his head and into the air. Merle sighed and leaned against the wall opposite of him, avoiding eye contact with him.
Daryl chewed on his bottom lip, pulling small bits of skin off from the inside, leaving the skin jagged and rough. He took another inhale of smoke and glanced down at his shoes. A bit of blood dripped from the tip of his nose onto the cigarette, making Mac sigh and wipe his face, leaving streaks of the sticky liquid covering his cheek.
"Sorry, for beatin' ya up." Merle muttered.
"'S fine." Daryl mumbled. He'd been through worse.
Merle glanced at Daryl, taking another puff. "Be lucky it wasn' Pa who found ya. Can't imagine what he'd do to ya then."
Daryl bit his lip, knowing fully well was Will Dixon would've done to his son had he found Daryl in the middle of a steamy make out session with another guy. The old man flipped out over small shit, like not doing the dishes or not cleaning up. Daryl knew that he had learned to keep his mouth shut and take the small punches. They weren't that bad, and he had been told that he could take a punch.
