Skeletons - 𝐷𝑎𝑟𝑦𝑙 𝐷𝑖𝑥𝑜𝑛

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 31 - 𝑯𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝑨𝒘𝒂𝒚

"The shit are you doing pointing that thing at me?" Merle hissed as they walked through the tree line into the forest. He had eventually caught up to his brother, ready to unleash all of his ill-placed frustrations.

"They were scared, man." Daryl replied calmly.

"They were rude, is what they were. Rude and they owed us a token of gratitude." Merle snapped.

"They didn't owe us nothing." Daryl sighed defeatedly. What could he say to change his brother's entire sense of self? The most heartbreaking part was that Daryl was still trying to convince himself that he could.

"Yeah, and you're helping people out of the goodness of your heart? Even though you might die doing it? Is that something your Sheriff Rick taught you?"

"There was a baby!" Daryl snapped, wheeling around on his brother.

"Oh, otherwise you would have just left them to the biters, then." Merle hissed. Clearly this was about something else. Clearly Merle was projecting. He would grow up more than he ever had if he could ever admit it to anyone. But Daryl knew he couldn't, so he brought it out into the open anyways.

"Man, I went back for you. You weren't there." Daryl stated plainly. "I didn't cut off your hand, neither. You did that." He pointed, his rage coming out full force. "Way before they locked you up on that roof! You asked for it." Merle blinked incredulously, a disbelieving grin breaking out on his face.

"You know— you know what's funny to me? You and Sheriff Rick are like this now. Right?" He laughed, holding up his crossed index and middle finger. "You staying for him or that nice pair of tits with the knives and the tight ass?" The warning look Daryl gave his brother was lethal. "I'd bet you a penny and a fiddle of gold that you never told any of them that we were planning on robbing that camp blind."

"It didn't happen." Daryl replied lowly.

"Yeah, it didn't. Because I wasn't there to help you." Merle snarked. Daryl scoffed.

"What, like when we were kids?" Daryl hissed. "Huh? Who left who then?"

"What?" Merle yelled. "Huh? Is that why I lost my hand?"

"You lost your hand because you're a simpleminded piece of shit!" Daryl huffed, shoving him away as Merle got closer. He turned away, making to walk off into the forest when Merle grabbed the collar of his shirt.

"Yeah? You don't know!" Merle yelled, yanking the scruff of his shirt back. Daryl stumbled to the ground as the fabric tore, ripping down the seams to reveal the expanse of his back. Merle paused, recoiling as Daryl stumbled to his feet, grasping at the remains of his shirt to cover his skin. The damage, however was done.

Amidst two angel tattoos Merle didn't know he had, Daryl had about a dozen gnarled scars marring the pale skin of his back. They were lashed in a familiar pattern, one that Merle knew well, one that mirrored the swing of their father's belt. They were brutal and clearly healed poorly. They were also old, and Merle had a few, albeit minor, scars of his own from their father, so he knew how old Daryl must have been when he received them.

"I— I didn't know he was—" Merle stammered, eyes blown wide in genuine shock. Daryl kept his back turned to his brother as the emotions flooded through him, ones he received lashings for at one point in his life.

"Yeah, he did." He answered, pulling on his backpack to cover the scars when the scraps of his shirt wouldn't. "He did the same to you, that's why you left first."

"I had to, man." Merle's voice cracked as Daryl gathered his crossbow, his bolts and started walking. Merle stumbled after him. "I would have killed him otherwise." He admitted. "W-where you going?"