"Blackbird"

merle: blackbird: common black European thrush1

"But if you screw this up...mess with Daryl... I will slit your throat while you sleep." The small woman said in a calm voice while her steady steel blue gaze locked with his. She'd just finished telling him that people underestimated her; to not make the same mistake as others had. And then she slipped in the deadly serious promise, just like sliding a shiv into a man's side in the joint, smooth as butter, slick as shit.

With her surprising first comment calling him "part of our family now," he'd thought they were having a nice little 'get to know ya' chat, and he'd invited her to sit, but it had somehow suddenly become a 'come to Jesus' moment.

Merle sat, speechless for several long beats before he expelled a breath and his mouth slowly curved up into a slight smile, acknowledging her words, her power. His eyes had shifted behind her, to the foot of the stairway out in the cell block, where Daryl stood, head canted, arms crossed, and body sideways to them— making him smaller, less of a target. He stood light on the balls of his feet, perhaps ready to spring forward if needed? To come to his woman's defense or to his brother's? Merle wondered. And then he realized that was the truth of it...'his woman'...

As she stood, Carol brightly told him to enjoy the food she'd brought him, her excuse for coming to see him, and swept out of the cell, heading back to the common room. Daryl held his ground, waiting to see if Merle would follow, but when his older brother remained seated, Daryl turned and moved off in the same direction as the woman had. Merle slowly stood and looked after them, and then smiled again, saying to himself, oh yeah, definitely. He knew that if he wanted back into Daryl's life, he had to sing just the right tune to these people, but he hadn't imagined he'd have to contend with a Dixon in love.

Dixons in love were one woman men, through and through. His daddy had been, but in him it had somehow become twisted and his possessiveness and jealousy had in the end led to the hell that they had grown up in. Unable to share her even with his own sons, their father put a wall around their mother, enforcing it with his fists on all three of them if they tried to breach it. Forbidden any real life, Rose had turned to her bed with a bottle and her menthols and her movie star magazines to escape, at least for a little while, at least in her mind. Their boys ran wild, Daryl's bright intelligence muted behind his frustration at his parents' neglect, expressed in angry outbursts and self destructive behavior. Merle escaped into petty crime and drugs, even while still trying to care for the only two people in his world he gave a damn about, his mother and his baby brother.

Offered the military or prison after he beat his father so badly for striking his mother that he had to be hospitalized, Merle chose the service, knowing he wouldn't be there to run interference for her or Daryl anymore, believing that the threat of coming back to finish what he'd started would stop the bastard from taking out his fury on his wife or eight year old son. On their little jaunt through the Georgia woods after leaving Rick and the others, Merle had been devastated to learn how wrong he had been; knowing he'd failed them both: his mother, dead now more than 25 years, and his brother, scarred both inside and out.

When this little apocalypse had begun, Daryl had been visiting Merle in jail and ended up getting stuck with him, living in a cage in the county lock up for a week as the dead rose all around them. Merle had been doing easy time, 5 months for possession in a small town near Atlanta, and being so close to home, he'd used his one phone call to reach out to his younger brother. They'd met periodically over the years since their mother's fiery death, odd reunions where little was said; mostly just going hunting, at first with their father, but later, after he'd lost his legs to diabetes, just the two of them.

It had been three years since they'd seen each other. Merle had been in Albuquerque caught up in a meth ring, lucky to escape with his life when it broke bad and Daryl still lived with the old man in the house where they'd moved after his mother's death, taking care of the father he despised because they were family. That was part of his code, as true then as it was today. Family loyalty was always uppermost in his mind.

After they'd fought their way out of the jail, taking as many of the weapons and as much ammo as they could carry, they'd headed home to get their father, but they were too late. Unable to flee, the elder Dixon had been swarmed by the reanimated corpses of the neighbors he'd ignored for the last 25 years. Each brother put a bullet in the old man's head, wondering when instead of this cold emptiness they'd feel the satisfaction they'd expected at finally ending his malignant existence. Burial was out of the question—the monsters were everywhere—and so after finding their father's pride and joy, a mint condition 1989 Dodge Ram pickup in the garage they loaded it with everything they could scavenge that might be of some use. They'd torched the house with their father's body in it, like a Viking funeral, like their mother had died. It seemed fitting.

They'd set off, Daryl driving the truck and Merle on his chopper, heading for the remote cabin they'd rented last time they'd gone hunting, but they'd run into a heavily armed 20 man paramilitary group just outside of Atlanta who'd demanded a 'toll' for passing through: the truck and all of their guns and supplies. Badly beaten and left with just the motorcycle and Daryl's crossbow, which had been strapped to the back of the bike, they'd just hotwired an old beater pick up when Shane had come across them while patrolling the road leading to the quarry.

Merle had immediately realized the potential for resupplying themselves at the others' expense, and had worked hard to ingratiate himself with the group, even volunteering to go along on the expedition to the city. Daryl had looked at all of the women and children with dread—so many, so vulnerable—and had gone hunting to help feed them, hoping he'd somehow be able to convince Merle not to carry out his plans to loot the camp.

If he'd taken any notice of a small sad eyed woman with close cropped graying hair and little freckle faced girl in those early days, it had been to recognize the look on their faces; the same fear he'd lived with most of his life reflected there. The certain knowledge that someone you were supposed to love, someone who was supposed to love and protect you was instead the one you feared most.

"Stay away from her." Daryl said in a deceptively mild tone as he came to stand next to Merle on the cat walk the next day. He'd come into the high ceilinged room and as always, the first thing he did was assess the strategic situation, what people were there, where they were, and what that meant. Merle stood above, alternating his gaze out the window, where Rick and Glenn walked the yard, to inside, watching Beth and Carol in the small make shift kitchen below, preparing the group breakfast as they sang to baby Judith. The tune was an old Beatles one, "Blackbird," their voices blending sweetly on the lullaby.

"Little Miss Sunshine?" Merle replied, pointing negligently at sweet blonde Beth with his bladed hand, also pitching his voice low, "Pretty enough, but huh, girl'd barely wet my whistle. Nah—now Mrs. Pelletier—now she's got some fire in her—give a man a good ride for hi—" Merle's next words were choked off by Daryl's right hand in a sudden vise clamp grip on his brother's throat, long fingers and thumb digging into the pressure points of his carotid arteries right under his jaw.

"You best just shut your mouth now, bro." Daryl said, still quietly, but with more menace in his tone. Merle's eyes narrowed and his left eye started to twitch, but he nodded once, silently in assent. He could've brought his hand or bladed stump attachment up to dislodge his younger brother's grip, but he didn't, he just waited. Very deliberately, Merle looked right again, towards Carol below, and then slowly back to his brother, and smiled broadly, nodding. Daryl glared at him, digging his fingers in deeper, until Merle held up his hands in surrender and Daryl released him.

"I ain't got a problem here; you got a problem?" Merle asked, leaning back against the wall, resisting the urge to rub his neck to relieve the pain from Daryl's disturbingly strong choke hold. He could always best the boy, was always the stronger of the two of them, but now Merle wasn't quite so self assured when it came to Daryl. His time with Rick and his group had changed the kid—not only had he defied his older brother in returning to them, but he was clearly a respected and valued member of this little community.

As near as Merle could tell, Daryl fulfilled pretty much the same place here as Merle had for the Governor, as Rick's Lt., but it was also obvious that the entire group had missed his presence. After their rescue of Rick during the Governor's raid, Merle had witnessed each person in turn quietly making his or her way to Daryl's side over the last three days since his return to have a quiet word of welcome with him.

When they'd entered the interior of the prison, Carl had brought the infant Judith to his father and Rick had stood next to Daryl, telling him he was glad that he was back. Maggie and Glenn had looked accusingly at Merle, but still shook the younger Dixon's hand and welcomed him home. The old farmer, Hershel had taken Daryl's hand; the girl Beth had hugged him, which he had suffered stoically. After their armory run the Amazon, Michonne had brought him back a new crossbow and arrows.

From his lower floor cage, Merle had watched with interest as Carol had worked her way to the 2nd floor cell where Daryl had stowed his meager belongings. When she'd disappeared inside, Merle had moved to stand just out of sight underneath, but couldn't make out their low voices. He did hear what sounded like quiet chuckles at one point, and had mentally given the mousey woman a few points for getting more than surly out of baby bro.

"I saw her in your cell yesterday—havin' yourselves a little chat." Daryl continued suspiciously. He hadn't been able to hear what was said, and Carol had smiled as she left, but he'd seen the odd look on Merle's face when he'd looked up and seen Daryl coming down the stairs in the middle distance.

"Blackbird singin' in the dead of night..." Beth and Carol sang.

"She'as kind enough to bring me some supper—welcomed me to the family." Merle recounted the first part of their conversation, smiling smugly.

"Take these broken wings and learn to fly—"

"And you thought that's an open invitation to—" Daryl snorted, leaning closer, keeping his voice quiet, not wanting the women to overhear.

"All your life—you were only waiting for this moment to arise..."

"To what?" Merle asked, whisper soft, in mock innocent insolence. "To sniff around her fine ass for two years and be too skeered to do anything about it-shee-it, little bro—that's just pretty damn pathetic." he chided.

"All your life—you were only waiting for this moment to arise..."

"You don't know what the hell you're..." Daryl's voice went higher, louder, in embarrassed anger. Both women stopped singing and looked up at the catwalk, Beth curiously, Carol with concern.

"Daryl, can you come take Judith?" Carol asked, clearly hoping to use the baby as a distraction. "She needs her bottle and we have to finish breakfast."

"You a wet nurse now?" Merle scoffed, "That why you made us save that beaner family on the bridge? You gone soft, little brother...worryin' about babes in arms..."

"Just shut it." Daryl said to Merle, backing away from him so he could descend to the main floor. Beth looked up at Merle, her voice defiant.

"Your brother saved Judith—just like he's saved all of us, time after time—he's a good man...better than you!" she accused.

"Beth!" Carol admonished her, knowing how embarrassed her praise would make Daryl, despite its truth. The look on his face as he came down the stairs was almost one of panic.

"What?" Beth rounded on her, "You more than anyone know it's true! He almost died looking for Sophia—and you'd have never made it off the farm or out of the Tombs without him—he's brave and he cares about—"

"Enough!" Carol said, taking the girl's arm to silence her, looking apologetically at Daryl who had stopped at the bottom of the stairs and lowered his eyes to the floor, no longer sure of how to diffuse the moment.

"Looks like you got a fan club there, Dixon Timberlake," Merle chortled, filing away the information on how Daryl had rescued the older woman. He obviously looked out for her, and combined with her intriguing threat to him yesterday and the boy's anger just now—well hell, maybe baby bro really did have his self a woman.

Carol met Merle's eyes and unobtrusively ran her left index finger across her throat and Merle couldn't stop himself from smiling. A hell of a woman...

Releasing Beth, Carol carefully took Judith out of her carrier and held her out to Daryl.

"She's missed her Uncle Daryl." Carol said, smiling, ignoring Merle. As intended, calling him 'uncle' drew a grudging smile from the taciturn man, and he stepped forward to take the baby, cradling her gently in his arms. Carol kept her hand on Daryl's forearm even after she released the child to him, their heads together as they looked down at her. Beth flashed a triumphant look up at Merle who smiled slowly and winked at her knowingly. Beth cocked her head to the side, narrowed her eyes and nodded back, in silent agreement.

"Hey there, lil'ass kicker." Daryl said sweetly, running an index finger over the baby's down soft cheek. Merle's face took on a fleeting sad, surprised expression to hear his brother use the nickname with which Daryl had been christened by their mother after surviving his own premature birth.

Family... that really was what these people had become to Daryl. Merle watched his brother with this woman and child and felt an unaccustomed longing—a wish for Daryl to have what Merle knew he never could—a life, a future with them. He vowed to himself to do whatever he had to do to give them that chance.

Two days later Daryl sat on the ground next to his motorcycle, organizing his gear for the exodus from the prison, the next step in their plan to defeat the Governor. Yesterday had been one of the most brutal he'd ever had to live through. In an attempt to assassinate Blake, Merle had sacrificed himself, taking out at least a dozen of the Woodbury forces in the process.

Daryl had gone after him, determined to catch up to his brother before he had a chance to turn over Michonne—the original reason for the rendezvous at the mill. Instead of following through, Merle had chosen to release the dead-locked warrior woman and had Pied Pipered a large herd of walkers to the site, overwhelming the Gov's forces. However his end game to kill Blake had somehow been thwarted, resulting in his own death. Cruelly, they'd left him to turn, knowing that Daryl would find him.

He'd fallen apart. Daryl wasn't proud of it, but there it was. He thought he'd known—the agony—how much it hurt—when Andrea had seen Amy turn, when Carol had seen Sophia—but he hadn't been prepared for the way it ripped your heart out of your chest and left a hole the size of the sun burning there—the whole hollow emptiness of loss...someone you'd just seen, spoken to, alive, alert, bitching at you, or loving on you...to see them stripped of everything they were...wasn't that what had Jenner said? At the CDC? Everything they ever were or would be was just gone.

Damn him, Damn him to hell. Why hadn't Merle waited? He'd have had his back; they could be a team... He'd lost it then—he had to end the thing his brother had become—the dead eyes, empty of calculation, no spark of smart ass cunning lit them anymore, just mindless hunger.

Seven times. He'd plunged his knife into the walker's skull seven times—furious at Merle, at himself, at the whole fucking world for making this his life now.

And he'd been alone... no one to hold him back or even sit by him quietly after...he looked up at Carol, standing nearby, waiting patiently as always, and realized that he wished that she'd been there...that he always wanted here there.

"Merle never did anything like that—his whole life..." Daryl said, still puzzling over his brother's reasons. He'd always hoped that somewhere in there, in Merle's thick skull, some common decency had remained, or that at least his family loyalty would keep him from exploiting those whom Daryl called family now too. The idea that Merle had given his life for them was something he'd never expected.

"He gave us a chance..." Carol said, looking down at him and reaching out her hand. As Daryl took it and stood, she quirked her mouth slightly, an understanding shared smile of loss, and squeezed his hand. He found himself squeezing back, reluctant to release her small hand, letting his fingers cling to hers as they slipped past. Turning back to his gear, he paused briefly as he wondered at her emphasis on the pronoun—maybe 'us' didn't mean the whole group.

Carol felt his hand slip from hers and sighed. Just that much, just that little bit of voluntary contact from him. She'd have to live on that, hoping that they'd both survive another day, another battle so she'd have a chance—to use the chance that Merle had died to give them.

She thought back on that last conversation with Merle, when she'd found him rifling the supplies in the common room, looking for alcohol, looking for something to dull the pain of living. For some that was the only response possible to the horror of their existence now, after the Turn, but Merle had been an addict long before the dead began to walk. She'd finally realized that about him—how sensitive both Dixon brothers really were.

What little she knew of their childhoods—the scars, the lashing out, the violent anti-social coping behaviors—told her they'd been horribly abused, which was something all too easy for her to recognize. She'd thought she was escaping from an abusive home but had ended up in an equally abusive marriage, freed only by the walker apocalypse.

"You're a late bloomer." Merle had told her.

"Maybe you are too..." she'd returned. She looked over at Daryl, now helping Rick load the Hyundai, maybe you are too... Daryl certainly wasn't the same man who'd strolled into the Atlanta camp almost two years ago. His sun bleached hair had been chopped short, looking like either he or Merle had done it with a hunting knife. He'd been softer, heavier, as if he'd worked at a sedentary job that he'd hated because he needed the steady paycheck, despite the fact that he longed to be out in the woods, where he thrived. From the start though, she'd loved watching him move—still did—he had an unconsciously proud strut, almost boyishly cocky.

In the last year and a half they'd all gotten thinner and stronger on short rations while running for their lives, and his body had been honed into hard muscle and the strut had became sinuous, like a proud big cat, economical but graceful. His hair had gotten long, dark, unruly, his jagged bangs often obscuring his right eye, the one that Hershel told her had the eye socket shattered at some point, making Daryl self-conscious about its irregular shape. It was his eyes' color that she noticed though—deep blue like the fathomless sea—when she caught him staring at her, which seemed to be more often these days.

His temperament now was almost 180° from what it had been then as well. These days when questioned, he was more likely to react with thoughtfulness or shyness than defensiveness and anger. Rick valued his advice and opinions, brought him in on all important decisions and counted on him to back him up on every mission. Daryl was important to the group...important to her...in ways she would've never imagined back when he and Merle had rolled into camp behind Shane.

She heard the high long trill of a thrush in the woods surrounding the camp and thought of the original recorded version of the song she and Beth often sung to Judith—it was bare bones, just a guitar, Paul McCartney singing and then the song of a male thrush calling for its mate—"black bird singin' in the dead of night...take these sunken eyes and learn to see—you were only waiting for this moment to be free..."

Without Ed, without Merle...maybe she and Daryl could finally be free to find each other. Had Merle known that? Had he given his life so his brother could have one?

Carol looked through the fence and down the hill, to the small but growing graveyard where the elder Dixon brother's body now rested after Daryl, Michonne and Rick had retrieved it from the Mill. And then she did something she never thought she'd do. She said a silent prayer thanking God for Merle Dixon.

1 .edu/perl/webwn

"Blackbird" copyright John Lennon and Paul McCartney.