FALLEN ANGEL ➵ DARYL DIXON [1] ✓

Chapter Forty-Three: Saving Strangers

Chapter 43

Merle pisses up against a tree, Daryl a couple metres away from him, his back turned. They're still in the woods, discussing what direction they'll be going. It has only been a couple of hours since Daryl left the group. Since Daryl left Kendra. Since Daryl left the only world he has ever known. A couple of hours feels like a day when he is apart from her. Time moves extremely slow, the clouds barely moving in the sky, the currents in the stream still finishing off a single ripple.

Daryl sighs. "There ain't nothin' out here apart from mosquitoes an' ants."

Merle grunts to himself, his urine beginning to hit the tree. "Patience lil' brother," he says, tilting his head up. "Sooner or later, squirrels might scurry past ya."

Daryl frowns. "If so, it ain't much food."

"Huh, better than nothin'."

Daryl hawks up saliva, spitting it on the ground, his crossbow by his side waiting for Merle to finish his business.

"Better luck goin' to one of 'em houses we passed back at the turn off," Daryl says honestly, a light breeze punching him on his naked arm, his shirt with no sleeves not doing much good keeping him warm.

"Nah, jus' follow my leader lil' brother," Merle grunts, clearing his throat.

"I'm okay," Daryl states. "I don't need an extra hand."

Merle scoffs to himself, him cocking his head. "Gettin' real tired of these hand jokes, Daryl."

Merle continues, brushing over his humour.

"Is that what your new friends taught ya," he says, zipping up his flyer and turning around to Daryl. "Mhmm?"

But Daryl has got his backed turned, Merle seeing his angel wings and he has to walk around to his side, Daryl having a glum expression on his face thinking about all of them back at the prison.

"How to loot for booty?" Merle adds when he doesn't get a reply. Instead of getting a reply for his question he has just asked, Daryl ignores him and changes the subject.

"Man, we've been out here for hours. Go down to the stream, try an' hook us some fish, uh?" Daryl suggests, raising his crossbow and practicing his aim at a nearby log he has his one eye on, the other one closed.

"I think you're jus' tryna lead me back to the road. Tryna...get me a hold of that prison," Merle says, now knowing what Daryl is up to.

Merle has to admit, his brother is sneaky. But when you've known him all your life, you begin to figure out what he's trying to do. Or play at. It took Merle a long time to figure out his brother. But once you dive into his mind set, you can tell what he's about to do, or say. It just takes you awhile if you haven't known him for a long time.

"Got shelter," Daryl mutters, leaning his back up against a tree, crossing one foot out in front of the other, Merle tying his laces on his boot. He thinks about lying on that mattress with Kendra lying on top of him, Kendra's body temperature always warmer than his own as he would hold her firmly in his grasp, drifting of to sleep to only see her again in his dreams.

Goddammit, he can't stop thinking about her.

"Got food," Daryl adds on. "A pot to piss in, might not be a bad idea."

Merle looks up to him from tying his lace. "For you maybe. Ain't gonna be no damn party for me."

Daryl shrugs, going back to aiming with his crossbow. "Everyone will jus' get use to each other."

Merle gets up from his knees, tying a bit of rope he found on the ground around his fake hand to fidget with.

"They're all dead, brother. Makes no goddamn difference," Merle taunts, him seeing his face drop from his words, Daryl always being the protective one. Even though he isn't with the group, he still gets defensive over them. And probably always will be until the time will come to bury him.