Daryl and Merle sat on a couch in a garage, some other guy you didn’t know sitting with them. Daryl was high, Merle was wasted.

The two of them were both assholes, terrible influences, but they were better than your father atleast. Merle was the oldest.

You stand there, watching. Daryls gaze flicked over to you when he saw you come in. “The hell are you doin’ in here?” He scowled, his eyes were red. Merle looked over too.

Your eyes scanned the drugs scattered on the table. You knew you shouldn’t be in there— they didn’t let you around them whenever they were getting stoned or drunk, or whatever they were doing.

His eyes scanned over you, trying to figure out what you’d came in here for, he scanned you for any injuries. “What’dya want?”