Merle Dixon was not someone who was good with kids. He was coarse, loud and completely politically incorrect. Frankly, even he would judge someone poorly if they trusted their kid with him.

Of course, it was different with family. It was tougher to run away and not offend someone you'd probably inevitably see again. And he'd definitely see this kid again. They shared the same father after all.

Merle had been in juvie, then the army and then kicked out. He'd been to prison and done certain illegal things and had managed to once even build himself up as the leader of a motorcycle gang - the Savage Sons Motorcycle Club. So he'd missed out on a few things, though Daryl had informed him when they'd eventually reconnected.

Their father had remarried - and had a kid. So now they had a little half sibling. A very little half sibling. The mother was now out of the picture, so the youngest Dixon stayed with their father, the poor thing.

Now Merle was back in the area, he'd stay at the Dixon trailer more often than not. It was a good way to save money, he thought. Until he realised the little brat had taken a shine to him, like they'd taken a shine to Daryl too. He'd been sitting on the crappy, saggy, cigarette-stained sofa with a beer when a certain little someone toddled over, big eyes firmly on him.

"Oh my Lord, it's the rugrat." He muttered to himself, a little appalled. Why'd the kid stare at him? Kids hated him. They cried when they saw his ugly mug. Did he have be nice to this one? Goddamn it. He did, didn't he? So, he tried to be something closer to nice.

"...Uh. How you doin' kiddo? Havin' fun...eating crayons or somethin'?"