My storyline is a few years past the original timeline, and exploring what would have been different for some of the characters if the Dead had started walking a few more years down the line. I'm putting Merle around 45 and Beth is 21. All the originals will not be in this story, and I may try to add a few of my own. Reviews are greatly appreciated.

Shelter in Place

And I just don't want your Jesus,

I just want to smoke my cigarettes and drink my whiskey,

And for you to love the monster I am.

- Christopher Poindexter -

Chapter 1

"Fuck it all to Hell!" Merle swore savagely, forcefully pulling his hunting knife out of the dead man's head. "What tha fuck?" He said looking in disgusted wonder at the black sludge that covered his knife instead of the expected red. Things were going from bad to worse, and they were going there fast.

He scratched at the stubble on his cheeks in frustration, before resting a work worn hand over his mouth to stop the mad desire to giggle like a fucking school girl. "This is real end of tha world apocalypse shit right here. What ta do, what ta do?" His quiet words lay heavily in the stillness of the small apartment. Forcing himself to count to ten and breathing deeply, he slowly found his inner calm. "God Damn, if those anger management classes aren't really payin' off!" He said good-humoredly, smiling down at the dead man crumpled at his feet. He gave the body a sharp nudge of his foot as if expecting a reply. Roughly he pulled the hem of the dead man's shirt up and carefully cleaned the sludge off his knife until the blade gleamed once again

Not moving from his spot he lit a smoke and used the inhaling and exhaling of the smoke to further calm and give himself some time to work on his exit strategy. After he finished his smoke he put it out on the coffee table next to him, and pocketed the butt. Giving his head a firm nod while sucking reflectively on his teeth for a moment before adding more of his voiced thoughts into the hushed room, "Time to get tha hell outta here, need to get ta Baby Brotha."

Up until a year ago Merle had been a short term visitor of the good Ol' USP-Lee, or as the fine upstanding folks of Virginia liked to call it The United Penitentiary on Lee Highway in Pennington, Virginia. After his release he had to stick around Pennington because his PO had found him a job and he was court ordered to keep up those damn anger management classes. Not to mention the mandatory visits from his PO, Frank.

Frank, a stubby ex football player whose muscles had long ago gone to fat, and whose once vivid red hair was slowly losing ground to his freckly scalp...Frank, who had no filter and a vocabulary that would make a whore blush. Who told it like it was, and had no issues calling bullshit on Merle, or really any if the other ex cons he worked with. Frank, who despite all of Merle's well built walls had still managed to earn his grudging respect.

Frank, who was also always full of tales of men who had made a better life for themselves and the cautionary ones of the men who didn't and got caught in the "three strikes" law. He was a fountain of good advice and never seemed too offended when Merle unerringly chose not to take it. He was gruff and no nonsense and had the fashion sense of Colombo, and in Merle's opinion he looked like a sad, out of shape flasher. And even though he hadn't been willing to admit it out loud, Merle had really rather liked the man.

Yes, he had a lotta respect for ol' Frank, who seemed to be on a personal mission to keep Merle walking the line, and out of prison. Along with the anger management classes and visits with him, his regular blood test for drugs, it really was seeming to do the trick. Although he had been clean for almost 4 years, and yes, yes he was counting the three behind bars, because after all, it was almost as easy to score on the inside as it was on the outside.

Despite being proud of this, his best run at sobriety yet. Merle wanted nothing more at this time than to fall head first off this particular wagon. The addictive call of that sweet oblivion was ringing loudly in his ears and the thick bitter taste of it hung heavily at the back of his throat. And if he had any choice in this matter he would be as high as a fucking kite before he had to finish dealing with this steaming pile of shit.

It had been Frank that had landed Merle the best job he had ever had. In fact the only job that he stayed at more than a few months at. It was in a small but very reputable repair shop owned by one of Frank's success stories…an ex-con that expected perfection on the job, but allowed you your space while working on the classic cars and cycles at his one stop shop. Not only was it something that Merle was good at and enjoyed…he made good money doing it.

For the first time in his life he was living like a regular Joe. He had been living in his own small...but not crappy apartment and payin' his bill in a timely fashion...for the most part. He had money in a checking account and a small fortune (at least in his eyes) in a real fuckin'' to God, savings account at the same bank. He had even upon occasion shopped for and cooked his own food, something that had never happened before. And on any given day there was a better than average chance there was more than beer and hard salami in his fridge.

The only thing that had been missing under this new leaf of his was his baby brother. Yep, he was on the straight and narrow for once in his life, if you didn't count the dead man at his feet…because he sure as fuck wasn't going to. And there was NO way in hell that he was going to take the blame for this!

He would have liked to have Daryl come live with him, and he really, really could've used his calming influence right about now.. It had always been his intention to take care of his little brother as soon as he was able…but the drugs made him forget all of his good intentions. By the time the possibility of making good on all his promises both the ones he made to Daryl, and the ones he had made to himself, Daryl had went and grown-up on him.

As it turned out, Daryl had long ago stopped waiting for his big brother to be present in his life long before that point anyway. Stopped waiting for Merle to come home and fix everything and went out and made a good life for himself. A life that hadn't depend on his big brother making an effort, or even showing up for that matter. Sadly, despite his best intentions the one life lesson he had managed to teach his baby brother was it was best to rely on nobody but yourself.

Some time during his third incarceration he had somehow made himself nothing more than redundant in Daryl's life. Oh, Daryl still loved him of this he had no doubt, he would go so far as to say Daryl idolized him almost even. But Daryl had learned a long time ago that his big brother wasn't to be counted on in any meaningful way...and it was with a heavy heart that he realized that he would never be indispensable father figure in Daryl's life that he once was and even still longed to be.

And speaking of father figures...Pops had gone and died right before his last stint in the joint. Merle hadn't even talked to or had any contact with the man even before that, it had been a few years of silence between them before the old man finally kicked it. Yet the hospice had somehow gotten his unlisted cell number and called him when the ol' mans liver was crapping out on him..."you should come..." Was all the man on the phone managed to get out before Merle Interrupted, grinding out "About fuckin' time...hope that fucken' bastard rots in Hell." before hanging up on the shocked administrator.

And after thinking about it a few days, Merle had been all about going to his Pops deathbed and having that fucker who called himself his father in the same powerless position that he had once held Daryl and himself in while growing up. But he had stopped to have fortifying drink beforehand. "Just one 'afore I have ta face this.' He told himself and the bartender...but neither of them seemed to believe his words.

And just like his Pops before him, one drink was never enough. Never had been before, never would be he guessed. Merle was a grade "A" fuck-up just like his Pops that was for sure...why even try to fight fate. So, he had turned the ringer off on his cell phone and shoved it as far under his car seat as he could before heading into the bar. He considered himself done, checked himself the fuck out and gone on a three week binge. He drank and popped pills...too many, even for him. Smoked till his rasp of a voice had turned into a jagged rusty croak...and had sex with every woman between 21 to 50 that he could convince to take him for a test ride, and although he couldn't remember exactly how many, he was convinced it was a goodly amount.

When he had run out of money and ladies to buy him drinks and drugs and he was forced to sober up, he managed to get himself home. Two days of sleeping, and hour shower followed up with a pot of thickest black coffee he could stomach. After he made himself dig his phone out from under the driver's seat, and attached it to the charger. He sat drinking a second pot of coffee until it had enough juice to turn on. He had found a single message on his phone from the administrator at the care facility, and two from Daryl. "Pops is gone...well, almost gone. Just signed the DNR papers. I wish...I wish, guess it' don' matter what I wish at this point." His baby brothers flat unemotional voice said in the first message before it had disconnected. Merle stopped to have a smoke, then lit a second cigarette before listening to the last message. Daryl's voice still colorless, "Haven't heard from you...not that I expected too." He had paused there, and Merle could hear the scrape of flint on metal as Daryl had lit a cigarette of his own. Then there was only the sound of deep inhaling and the slow exhaling from both brothers. And for a few moments it filled the room and seemed to somehow connect Merle to his brother through time and space as they both took a moment to find some inner zen in their smokes.

After another long exhale, Daryl had said matter of factly, "It's done. Always thought he was too fuckin' mean ta die. Had him cremated...seemed somehow fitting after Ma...had him put in a cardboard box. Was gonna scatter them over PopPop and Nana's graves but...ya remember how the old man always complained about the airport? How much he hated it? Well I...I done left him at unclaimed baggage. Can you imagine how pissed the old man's gonna be sitting at the airport terminal for the rest of eternity?" Daryl gave a humorless laugh, "I wish ya woulda been with me." Then there was only silence and after a moment the click of his brother hanging up.

And while Merle could honestly say he despised the man, and the way he had marked himself and Daryl as his sons with every lash of his belt. There was an undeniable small child that still resided somewhere deep inside of him that so very badly wanted to have his failure of a father tell him just once that he was proud of him. Had maybe even once upon a time even loved him, in his own fucked-up sorta way. And now it was too late, for both of them to try to fix up their fucked up excuse of a relationship.

But if he couldn't have that, didn't he deserve to have Pops explain how the hell a man who had been raised by his God fearing Nana, and his overly optimistic PopPop could have turned into such a failure of a man. A man who would NOT have HIS wife working but he WOULD and DID blame her for her poor excuse of a dinner sitting cold on the table waiting for him after he had drank his paycheck away. And Merle and Daryl who had often been made to wait the extra hours past dinner…because God help you if you dared disrespect the ol' man by eating without him, they would more often than not go to bed hungry as the pot of beans Ma had somehow managed to scrounge up would 9 times out of 10, end up soaking into the worn and filthy carpet.

For all that, there were a few treasured memories of the old man. A few times his Nana had harangued a reluctant Floyd Dixon into a much too short but oh so welcomed vacation from his beloved drugs and drink. His most prized memories were during his Pops "Nana-induced" withdrawals. Oh, don't get him wrong, Pops was still a mean son of a bitch. He would and still did give out a good wallop, but his belt would stay hugging his hips. Unable to help himself, Floyd Dixon would ring your bell with an open handed slap to your face or the back of your head, then go off to sulk at the back end of the property until dinner time.

More often than not it would be Nana who would come over and see the results of her son's drug induced rages and grab up her young broken daughter-in-law, and her two shattered grand-babies. She would then send word to her insolent son that he had better "shape up", or he wouldn't be welcomed back to the fold. And God help you if Nana was mad at you. Nothing was worse, and apparently Floyd thought this himself.

And sooner or later a sullen but dutiful Floyd Dixon would go home to face his religious harpy of a mother. Nana would make him stay in the shed in the back so she could bully her boy into shape, keeping her grandbabies close to her, fattening them up on her fresh baked sugar cookies and loving on them as much as she was able too in her strict no nonsense way. Then at some point Floyd would be pronounced "cured", at least until the next time. Oh, he would try for a time, a week if they were lucky. But even as a child Merle knew that Pops was already dreaming of the drugs even before they had left the safety of Nana and PopPops farm.

But while they were there, the food was plentiful…the hugs were freely if awkwardly given, and PopPop would take his Grandsons to his small auto repair shop, happy to teach the boys everything he knew. PopPop Dixon was a tall thin physical reserved man. More likely to insult you good naturedly when pleased with you and give you a loving yet well deserved firm rap on your head to show his displeasure…but you always knew where you stood with PopPop and both he and Daryl had always felt safe with him.

On Pops best days he would join them, and in his own Floyd Dixon way he could be almost fun. He would attempt to teach his boys something useful…but he was a better teacher for Daryl, who although very young only needed to be told how to do something once in most cases when it came to fixing cars. Merle, on the other hand had a different style of learning, one that frustrated the hell out of his Pops. Merle was a hands on sorta guy, he liked to take things apart and figure out how all the parts worked. And he couldn't retain any of their teaching unless he actually had the parts in his hands. Better yet give him a book explaining it and then let him ask a hundred questions as he took it apart. The questions made Pops absolutely crazy, and he had learned it was best not to ask unless PopPop was there to answer them.

PopPop like his son a Dixon through and through, liked to drink a bit more than most men. But where Pops was a mean, messy drunk…PopPop was a happy, talkative one. And Merle and Daryl loved to sit next to the smoky campfire at PopPops feet listening to his tall tales. They would listen raptly while fanning campfire and cigarette smoke out of their eyes all the while smacking at the flying embers threatening to scorch hair or burn holes in their britches. It didn't hurt that sitting next to PopPop and Nana ultimately meant that they would be out of arm's reach of Pops.

When Pops was clean and around all his old buddies Merle would get a glimpse of the man he used to be, and he could understand how Pops had convinced young beautiful 14 year old orphaned Norma McCoy away from her harsh oppressive Uncle and off to the nearest preacher to tie the knot when she hardly even knew him. 'A classic story of out of the firing pan and into the fire if there ever was one.' He would often think to himself.

Floyd Dixon had a big laugh to match his big build. His smiles came easy, and he seemed to ooze something that Merle when older would defined as charisma. Men and women alike seemed to be drawn to him…he was like a huge human magnet that just pulled people to him. "If only he used his powers for good, could you imagine what he could've been...what he could've achieved!" He had overheard his Nana say to PopPop once. And as much as he hated his Pops, it seemed to Merle that he was more alike his Pops than not.

Women were drawn to Floyd Dixon almost against their will, young or old, both the single or married, women just couldn't seem to say no to him. Despite that he was known around town for sexual exploits as much as his vicious violent streak, he always seemed to have a girlfriend on the side. Floyd felt no need to let his adoring devotees down, after all he was "too much man for one woman," he was known to say. It was well known that Floyd would juggle multiple girlfriends and did nothing to keep his little wife from finding out. This was something the other men seemed to admire. But it was the one thing that ultimately sent his little broken hearted Ma to the bottle herself, but why this and not all the beating handed out to her or her boys, he could only hazard a guess.

These short furloughs from their prison like home life, is where he had discovered his love of cars and motorbikes. After PopPop was gone, Merle did his best to teach Daryl what PopPop hadn't had the time to, or Daryl had been too young to remember…and Daryl was in fact a natural, easily picking up all Merle could teach him almost by osmosis.

Getting back to the heart of the matter, try as he might there had been no getting Daryl away from his rented cabin in the woods where he was happy with his quiet life of hunting and solitude, where Daryl held a similar job to Merle, as a mechanic in a small town automotive repair shop. He had an understanding boss who in turn had a understanding little office helper of a daughter who was awfully possessive of his sweet shy brother.

'So fuckin' unfair' Merle would often think with a bitter heart, that's his baby brother had somehow managed to get all the good Dixon and none of the bad. 'That lil' pussy just didn't understand or take advantage of his overwhelming appeal to the opposite sex.' Merle thought disgustedly.

And that little girl at Daryl's work was a prime example. She coddled his brother, and made sure that he required no personal interaction with the public, Merle even suspected she did it to keep all the other ladies away and keep lil' Brother all too herself. And he didn't even tap that, even when she had made it blatantly obvious that she was his for the taking. It had been so obvious that even Merle who was in a different state and had yet to even meet the sweet little thing, knew this was the case without a doubt.

It just sucked balls knowing that even now that they both had a little stability in their lives it was with them apart living in two separate states with no foreseeable fix on the horizon…well till this month and all the crazy ass shit going on.

Oh there were short visits of course, but they left him with such intense feelings of loneliness that after Daryl would leave it would often threaten his sobriety. And trying to talk to Daryl on the phone was like trying to play Mad Libs with a fuckin' mute. Making conversation out of all that grunting was a headache just waiting to happen. Anyone would think the lil' shit had been raised by wolves.

Standing in that quiet apartment with a dead man at his feet, Merle felt an intense wave of loneliness and longing sweep through him at the thought of Daryl. Where was he right now…was it any better in Georgia than was here in Virginia? Was he even still alive...God knew Daryl was a survivor, always had been always would be. Could Daryl still there...in his nice safe cocoon, that he had built for himself...maybe even a tiny bit happy there was less people in the world that he had to deal with?

And wouldn't it just be like Baby Brother, preferring to deal with someone he could kill if he wasn't in the mood, rather than having to deal with a real living breathing person? He was probably having a grand ol' time living like the reclusive mountain man he had always longed to be. Gettin' to hunt all day if he wanted to, no work, no girls buggin' him. "Like a fuckin' wet dream to the boy most likely." Merle groused to the man at his feet and daring him to disagree.

He could only hope that Daryl was sitting tight and waiting for him to arrive. Or was Daryl deep down in his heart of hearts feeling that he was yet again last priority on his big brothers to do list? Just knowing that Merle would let him down again just like he had so many times before. Where once again, he would be left waiting for his big brother to show, but knowing that the law of averages were against him. And God, it hurt him to know that most likely Daryl wasn't even waiting on him. Because, after all wasn't he the worlds shittyiest brother? The brother who was always destined to be the biggest fucking disappointment.

He nodded making his mind up and starting to make a mental list of things to do. He looked down to the body, and said regretfully but resolutely "Bout' time to get to gettin' an put Baby Brotha' first for once in my sorry ass life."

He really didn't think Frank would mind if he broke parole. He would like to think that Frank in all his wisdom would have told him to go. That family comes first when the dead are up and walking and looking at you like you was the last supper. Of course he could only speculate on what Frank would have said, as it was Frank's very dead - for the second time, body that was crumpled on the floor at his feet.

Maybe he could have taken the time and gone up the chain of command. Talked to someone else about leaving the state of Virginia…but then he would have to explain Frank's dead body. "Fuck that shit, Frank!" He told the corpse, suddenly angry at the man, "Why'd ya have to go end up dead before our meetin'. Who's gunna believe an ol' con like me? Nobody, that's who…be back in the Pen by the end O' the week…then who's gunna have Daryl's back at the end of Days?" He asked Frank with another angry kick to the dead man's leg with his heavy biker boot.

Knowing it was probably unnecessary but not willing to take any chances he wiped down everything he could remember touching, then he had the forethought to collect what little canned goods he found in Frank's small kitchenette. He retrieved the gun from Frank's shoulder holder…searched for and found ammo. He also found a second gun in nightstand in Frank's tiny bedroom along with more ammo. Sticking his head out of the bedroom to look at his PO disbelievingly...just so Frank would know he was irritated with him, "Seriously, you just leave this shit laying around for anyone to take? And you work with cons...pfffft." On Frank's part, he didn't seem overly concerned by Merle's criticism.

Author's Note:

Sadly, I don't own any of the Walking Dead characters. Because if I did Merle and Beth would still be alive. Also Sadly, I don't make any money from any of my scribbles. Thank you to Athlete Girl who put up with long endless emails, and who pushed me to post this even if it wasn't 100% complete. If not for her I would probably spend the next year sitting on it and rewriting endlessly. It's something I've never done before and the one thing that scares me the most! But I'm hoping that everyone will be willing to read and wait for this to work itself out of my system. There will be a trigger warning around chapter 4, so be on the lookout for it.

Next up Beth