A Penny 'n a Fiddle of Gold

"You and Sheriff Rick are like this now. Right? I betcha a penny 'n a fiddle of gold that you never told him' hm? That we were plannin' on robbing that camp blind."

"That di'n't happen."

"Yeah! 'cause I weren't there to help ya!"

His brother's voice had always been a constant it Daryl's life. Merle had always been there, even if not in person. He was both the devil and the angel on his shoulder, directing him in the right path, and yet allowing him to do all the wrong things. Now he was dead.

No one said anything when he came back to the prison alone, covered in blood, his eyes surely telling them he'd been crying. No one said a word about Merle. Rick had given him a pat on the back, and welcomed him back. There hadn't been any time to grieve. Not really. The Governor's attack came so soon after the man had murdered his brother that Daryl had barely even processed the fact that he was gone.

"I shot my mom. It was real."

Suddenly Carl's words had meaning to him. At least the boy hadn't seen his mother like that. Eating a person, looking back into his eyes with no recognition, no emotion. Only hunger. It was real. The image of his brother with entrails hanging down his chin, dead eyes. It was imprinted in his mind's eye like a tattoo, and Daryl was certain that it wouldn't be leaving him anytime soon.
He had killed his brother. Merle had only left because of him. Daryl knew him well enough to know that. He'd left to prove a point. He'd left to show him he cared. He'd allowed himself to be shot to do right by his brother.

Now that they'd chased off the Governor, Daryl had time on his hands. Time to think. He didn't like it. He never did. Some people enjoyed getting lost in thought, creating their own little paradise in their head. Daryl never knew that luxury.

"C'mon, Darlena. Kick off those damn high heels an' climb."

Darlena. How he loathed that name. Not only the degrading nature of it, but the smirk on Merle's face every time he used the nickname. The way his blue eyes lit up mischievously as he watched Daryl fuming silently. They both knew he would never call him on it, because in some way Daryl had liked it. Not the horrid name, but the thought that there was something only his brother called him.

"Just follow my lead, lil' brother."

Little brother. He wasn't anyone's little brother anymore.

He blinked furiously. No tears. Daryl wouldn't cry. Tears made him weak. He'd cried far too much already. He wouldn't cry again. Especially not in the prison, with people so close to each other, not a semblance of privacy. He wouldn't cry where anyone could see and hear him. He wouldn't cry where Carol could come over to comfort him. He didn't want their pity. He didn't need their pity. Daryl wasn't weak.

"Do you even possess a pair of balls, lil' brother? Are they even attached? I mean, if they are, do they belong to ya? You used to call people like that sheep. What happened to you?"

"What happened with you 'n Glenn... an' Maggie?"

"I've done worse. Ya need ta grow up. Things are different now. Your people look at me like I'm the devil grabbin' up those lovebirds like that, huh? Now y'all want to do the same damn thing I did; snatch someone up 'n deliver them to the Governor, jus' like me. Yeah. People do what they gotta do or they die."

"Can't do things without people anymore, man."

"Maybe these people need somebody like me around, huh? Do their dirty work. The bad guy. Yeah, maybe that's how it is now, huh? How does that hit ya?

"I jus' want my brother back."

"Get out of here, man."

The last moment Daryl had shared with his brother; Merle's eyes had been so betrayed. So hurt. The suggestion that he was absent yet again. Merle had never been around, even Merle knew that. But Daryl couldn't remember having ever voiced the thought to his older brother before the end of the world. Never in his life had he called his brother out on something. He was scared. Always scared that Merle would leave again, and that for once he wouldn't come back.

"What, like when we were kids, huh? Who left who then?"

"What? Huh? Is that why I lost my hand?"

"Ya lost yer hand 'cause yer a simpleminded piece o' shit."

He had regretted those words the moment they'd escaped his lips. His father had called him a piece of shit all the time. Both of them. It had stung him to hear those words in his own voice almost as much as it had stung to see Merle's face contort in rage at the sound of them. And then when he'd seen the scars on his back, Daryl shut down. No one had ever seen the scars. Him and their father. That was it. He was sure that Hershel had noticed them when he'd stitched him up after he'd been impaled looking for Sophia, but the old man was smart enough not to bring it up.

"I'm worried about him."

Daryl didn't look to see who Carol was speaking to. He knew she was talking about him. No one else for her to worry about. He knew it was selfish, but he was glad. He hated her pity, but Carol's company was tolerable for him. Sometimes he even enjoyed it. And yet despite his enjoyment he hated the pity in her eyes; in all of their eyes. Just another reminder of his failure.
Another reminder that his brother was dead because of him.

"I can't tell him off for grieving, Carol." Rick. Of course it would be Rick. He was their leader, even though he'd stepped down officially. The group all looked to him, even if they liked to pretend otherwise. "No matter how he does it. You saw me, how I dealt with... with Lori." Daryl heard his friend's voice crack a bit, and couldn't help but wince. Rick was right. They'd all seen him lose it. The way he'd stared right through them, looking right at them and yet seeing Lori... It had reminded him of his father. "I don't have the right..."

"You have every right, Rick! He's your friend, and you love him just as much as I do. I've tried, but he won't open up to me! He'll respond to you, because he loves you too." In spite of himself Daryl felt heat creep up his neck towards his face. He wasn't blushing. Daryl Dixon didn't blush. Daryl Dixon also didn't do love. He didn't know if you could say that he loved Merle. If he had ever loved anyone- it would have been his brother; but Daryl didn't know what love was. Not really. It was the thing you were supposed to receive unconditionally from your parents- or so he'd heard from people around him. His mother hadn't given a shit out of him, and his father had beaten him half to death on a regular basis. Whatever that was- it wasn't love.
He never let anyone into his life. Even Merle only got a small corner in his life. A small corner that somehow took over his whole life, granted, but Daryl didn't do feelings, or caring, or love. But then somehow people in the group... Rick, Carol. Hershel and Carl. He knew he cared about them. But telling them how he felt; admitting it out loud, that wasn't something he could do. He didn't even know what to call those feelings. "We can't let him drift away again. He needs someone to keep him here, so you are going to go up to that perch of his, you're going to take him for a walk and you two are going to exchange some words."

He hear Rick's familiar grunt of approval followed by the sheriff's echoing footsteps. It was only a few moments before Rick's tall form was visible to the redneck. The two exchanged no words, but Rick's slight head jerk was a familiar call to Daryl. He rose silently, grabbed his crossbow, and followed his friend out of the cell block.

The two men walked around the fences, stabbing a few walkers when the mass against the fence grew to be too much. They went at it for around an hour or so, Daryl noticing the absence of Rick's gun before 5 minutes were up. But he didn't call him on it until the other man suggested they go hunting.

"Ya ain't carryin'." Daryl said simply.
"I can handle myself." The sheriff responded, and Daryl knew his words to be true. If anyone could survive in the apocalypse without a gun it would be Rick Grimes. "Just figured you might feel better off talking if there weren't a risk of prying ears." The pointed look given to him told Daryl that his friend knew he'd been eavesdropping. Not that it mattered. They had been talking about him, after all.

They wandered the woods in the same way they'd wandered the fences; silently. The difference was that Daryl was now waiting for Rick to speak.

"Did you know that I had a brother?"

Daryl looked up, masking his surprise as well as he could. He had not been expecting that. Looking back at Rick, he shook his head jerkily.

"Well I did." The sheriff continued. "Carl's named after him. 7 years older than me. Got drunk all the time. Don't think I saw him sober after the age of 8. Killed himself 2 years later." Daryl said nothing. He knew Rick well enough to know that the man was not asking for his sympathy. "My parents never told me about him, but I put the pieces together. He was raped when he was 14. Told my parents right after it happened, hoped they'd report it. Problem was, people didn't believe him. Don't know why, but that's just how it played out. Guess he just got sick of being called a disgusting liar. We left Atlanta after that. Moved to King County, and Carl was never mentioned again."

It had been that way with his mother. After she'd died, his father had relocated them to an old trailer at the edge of the woods, only ever mentioning his deceased wife when he was blaming his son for her death.

"Ya ever find the bastard?"

Rick shook his head silently, seeming shocked that Daryl was talking. "Shane and I looked 'round. Never got close."
The air grew awkward at the mention of Shane. The redneck had never liked that man, especially after how he'd treated his brother's absence, and Sophia's disappearance. But he knew Rick had loved the man like a brother. There was that word again. Love. Merle had always told him love was for pussies. He supposed Merle had said a whole lot of stuff, not much of it worth believing; because for all of his faults, no one could say that Rick was a pussy.

"Daryl, I'm sorry about your brother."

"No ya ain't." He said, his tone resigned. "Ya hated Merle. All ya'll did."
"I didn't think much of him, I won't deny it. But I didn't want him dead. I would never wish that on you."
"Ya cuffed my brother to a roof, and ya left him there."

"I'm blood. If that meant anythin' at all to ya, ya'd head back to that camp and shoot yer pal Rick in the face for me."

"You know that I didn't mean to leave him there. I went back for him. I thought we were past that." He was right, of course. Daryl knew the argument to be a weak one; but he also knew that Rick didn't give a shit about his brother.
"Still don't mean ya gave a shit what happened ta him."
"Yeah well I give a shit what happens to you." Rick said firmly, but there was no venom in his voice. "And I hate seeing you hurt, Daryl. So does Carol. We're both worried about you. Just because Merle is dead doesn't mean you don't have anyone left."

"Merle was blood."

"But we're family." Rick countered, and Daryl found himself shocked by the affect the sheriff's words had on him. He couldn't get attached. Not to them. Not to anyone. Hurt was all it would bring; it was all caring had ever given him. So much pain. For him and for everyone else. Everyone he'd ever cared about was dead or would end up so. All because of him.

"I betcha a penny 'n a fiddle of gold that you never told him' hm?"

"We were gonna rob the camp blind." He said, watching as Rick's brows furrowed together in confusion. "At the Quarry. We'd done it once er twice before we showed up there. Were gonna leave before he went on that run, but he was runnin' outta Crystal. Went to Atlanta ta find some, and then we were outta there. Di'n't come back, so I stuck 'round 'cause I di'n't have nothin' better ta do."

He waited for it; the anger. The violent response to his confession. But Rick just looked at him, his eyes searching the redneck's face.

"Is that supposed to change something?" Rick asked, and Daryl was infuriated to hear the amusement in his voice.
"Ya think this is a joke?" He snapped, and Rick's growing smile only angered him more.

"No." The sheriff responded. "I know it's not. But we've all done some shit, Daryl, and in the grand scheme of things it changes nothing."
"Nothin'? People died 'cause we were selfish bastards!"
"Did your father tell you that?"
Daryl punched him in response, but Rick didn't retaliate. The calm passivity on Rick's face only infuriated him more, and Daryl threw another blow to his face.

"Ya don' know shit!" He spat out, grasping his aching right hand in his left.
"Carl told me about your mother." Rick said through his hands, blood dripping rhythmically from his nose. "And I saw your back, when we were on the farm."

Daryl turned away from the sheriff, pacing a short while before turning back to him; a wall built miles high around him.
"Yeah? So what? Ya think you could share a shitty story 'bout yer shitface brother 'n' then we'd bond over some dead asshole we both knew? Le' me tell ya somethin', Rick; I ain't gonna cry over some sumbitch who di'n't give shit 'bout me!"

"We let you slip away after Sophia." Rick kept going as if Daryl had said nothing. "We're not letting you fall apart. I won't let anyone in this group go."

"Yeah?! Like Shane? What 'bout Lori?" In his blinding rage Daryl couldn't bring himself to care about the hurt etched on Rick's face. Rick had brought his father into the discussion, it only seemed fair to him that he be allowed to lay a blow beneath the belt. And Shane and Lori was about as low as he could go. "'Bout me, huh? Let me walk away like it weren' nothin'!"

"Is that what this is about?" Rick snapped angrily. "You want an apology?!"

Daryl ignored him, turning towards the prison.

"Hey! Daryl.. HEY!" The ex-leader of the group grabbed his friend by the shoulder. The redneck's reaction was swift; jerking himself away from Rick's grasp, and then he resumed his march back to the prison as if nothing had happened.

"I was wrong." Rick called to his back, and Daryl came to a pause, not daring to turn and look at him. "It could have worked, with Merle. You asked me not to make you choose, and I did, and it was wrong. I regretted it the moment you walked away with him. He was your brother, and I get that. But he wasn't good for you, Daryl, and to be honest I di'n't want him back with us because I was worried he'd bring you right back to square one."
"Dunno what the fuck you're talkin' 'bout." But he did. Daryl knew exactly what had changed in Merle's absence. Making friends with niggers, Asians and fucking democrats. Merle wouldn't have let that shit fly, and he knew it. He and Carol- they had a bond that, had Merle been around, would not be.
"Yeah." Rick said. "Yeah you do. Whatever you did before... it doesn't matter. You're family, Daryl, and we ain't givin' up on you. Not again."
He said nothing in response. He had no words to express the strange fuzziness he felt- pleasant and foreign.
"C'mon home. Sun's going down soon."

They trekked back to the prison in silence, but for once Daryl found himself leisurely lost in thought.

"You and Sheriff Rick are like this now. Right? I betcha a penny 'n a fiddle of gold that you never told him' hm?"

Ya owe me, Merle. He thought. A penny 'n a fiddle o' gold.

A.N.

Hope you enjoyed this, I just kinda felt like this moment was missing back in the day. Praying for all of our peace of mind until (and after) Sunday's episode. Pray for Daryl, people! And Glenn! (Though, to be honest, I kinda believe the theory that Glenn and Abraham are dead, and Daryl is prisoner).

Feel free to share your thoughts! Constructive criticism accepted.
Peace out.