Chapter Text
The decision to risk a trip to Atlanta is one based purely from desperation.
Their supplies are almost depleted, even the canned food, and the simple fact is that their options are limited. So when Glenn suggests a run to Atlanta, there’s a great deal of hesitation from some of the others, some more vocal than the others. Rick’s unsure of how dangerous it would be to send more than one or two in, Glenn’s insisting that he works best on his own, but no one’s listening to that suggestion.
Morales points out that Glenn will at least need backup, T-Dog volunteers to go with him and from there, the conversation disintegrates into a yelling match. Merle loudly refuses to be left behind like ‘one of the camp bitches’, and Christ, sometimes Shane wants to knock every tooth in the redneck’s mouth down his throat.
Unwillingly, he finds his eyes drawn to Merle Dixon’s brother. Daryl’s sitting at his feet, staring at the dirt like it’s got the answers to the world in it, his body tensed despite the blank look on his face, like he’s tryin’ to hide how much he doesn’t like the conversation that’s taking place above him.
He tries not to stare, but it’s hard not to. The situation between the brothers is fucked three ways from Sunday, and he’s never seen anything like it before. He’s heard of people dominating other people, in passing, really, but two brothers? He wrinkles his nose reflexively.
Daryl doesn’t move, not even when Merle’s shouting. He just kneels there, his shoulders slumped further down when Merle announces he’s going on the scavenging trip. Rick tries his best to convince Merle to stay put at the camp but he’s havin’ none of it. Daryl can handle the hunting while he’s away, don’t none of them worry ‘bout that.
Still no reaction vocally from Daryl, but there’s a slight tightening in Daryl’s jaw, a flicker that catches Shane’s eyes. He drags his gaze away reluctantly when Rick calls his name and the conversation continues.
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It’s settled, Glenn’s leading the trip. Andrea, Rick, Merle and Morales are going with on the idea that more people means more supplies brought back. Shane doesn’t agree with that, not that Rick seems to care, he thinks bitterly to himself.
He tries not to think about it all, but it’s there, they’re all there in his head, Rick, Lori, Carl, they circle in his mind incessantly and he wants to climb out of his skin before his anger gets the better of him.
He can’t look at Rick dead on, can’t meet his eyes because Rick will know, he’s always known everything about Shane, there’s no hidin’ from him. He feels the burn of shame whenever Rick gives him one of his questioning stares, and he has to clamp his lips shut to keep the words from babbling on out.
Instead, he stalks about the camp, pretending he’s still responsible for the well-being of everyone there while Rick & Co. get ready to leave.
There’s Amy trying not to cry, hugging her sister for all it’s worth over by the RV. Morales is counting the dwindling rounds of ammo they have, Glenn is gathering the duffel bags and his favoured backpack for scouting and Rick is talking intently to Lori, his head bent close to her. Her expression is one of banked fear and understanding of the necessity.
Scavenging could mean death but death was comin’ if they didn’t try for supplies.
And then, sure enough, he finds his gaze drifting to the far end of the camp, spotting them by the fire pit. There’s Merle, a stern twist to his face, giving orders, no doubt. Daryl’s looking down at the ground an’ nodding every so often, gnawing away on his thumbnail. He feels the anger that buzzes under his skin surge up again and his fingers curl into a fist.
He hates everything about men like Merle Dixon, he hates the way that even Rick couldn’t break through Daryl’s loyalty to his brother, hates the way Merle smirks at them around the fire when Daryl rests his head to Merle’s thigh, lookin’ completely content.
He tries not to watch as Merle cups Daryl’s cheek, one big hand gripping him this side of rough. Daryl lifts his head enough to look at him and there’s more than fear in those blue eyes. He tears his gaze away, unwilling to watch the devotion on Daryl’s face.
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Daryl disappears into the woods around them moments after Merle leaves with the others. He doesn’t look at anyone, doesn’t say one thing, just grabs his crossbow and travels into the trees, swallowed up from sight.
He doesn’t come back until the next day, doesn’t re-emerge from the woods until long after the others have returned from Atlanta and the cautious hope in his eyes fades when he doesn’t see Merle in the midst of the people around the campfire.
Rick’s told them all what happened and the pitifully few supplies that they’ve brought back are testament to how badly overrun the city truly is. There’s new shadows smudged under Rick’s eyes and Shane doesn’t have to ask to know that nothin’ good is headed their way.
There’s a long, horribly long moment, where Daryl stands at the fringe of the group, his crossbow hanging from one hand, his eyes searching out for the familiar sight of his brother. His eyes widen when the absence hits him and his lips part on a breathless denial.
Rick steels himself, turns on his heel to face Daryl, apology written all over his tired face.
“Daryl…” he sighs, shaking his head a little. “I don’t know any better way to tell you this, but Merle…”
Daryl takes a step back instinctively and his head moves from side to side.
“There was too many, we were overrun.”
There’s a hush that’s fallen over the campsite and Shane’s keenly aware that everyone is watching, like a collective breath held. He rests his hands to his hips, ready to move if needed. Merle never hid his explosive temper and he can’t help but wonder if he’ll be able to hold Daryl back should he finally lose it.
Daryl’s just standing there and he’s not looking at anyone. The hand holding his crossbow is slack and the air is as heavy and warm as ever, and Shane knows it, knows the explosion is coming.
“No.”
Rick’s eyes are soft, sad and far too weary. “I’m sorry, Daryl, I really am. We tried; I couldn’t get to him in time.”
“No.” Daryl’s shaking his head back and forth, his eyes finally meeting Rick’s gaze. “No…No, he ain’t…”
Shane sees it happen before he can blink. Daryl’s hands are shakin’ and his eyes are wet and narrowed against the man who stands in front of him and suddenly he’s moving, screaming a litany of ‘no’s’, a whirlwind of rage and he’s slamming into Rick, attacking him with everything he has.
Rick staggers back, caught unaware by the force of Daryl’s rage and Shane wastes no time joining the fray. He’s got Daryl pried off of Rick and it’s no easy task and the man is screaming, wildly punching at everything in sight. He slings his arm around Daryl’s neck and he can feel the soft collar that runs around his throat, rubbing against his forearm.
Daryl lets out an unintelligible, guttural scream, one that sounds like it’s scraped the length of his throat on its way out. His chest is heaving up and down and Shane can feel the raw panic comin’ off him in waves.
“No,” Daryl chokes out, his face red, a few stray tears slipping down his cheeks and the mournful whisper of Merle’s name follows. The sound of his voice sends shivers down Shane’s spine.
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