Daryl wasn't saint. much less his older brother, Merle. That was not a doubt for anyone.

But a real doubt was, were they so bad? Daryl had his mistakes, sins, stuff and his own issues, but he kept it together, putting his grudge held in keeping the group alive at least.

But Merle? Damn. When he got the chance, he screwed up.

But why?

Because he couldn't. Merle couldn't have enough head for being truly happy. Not before what he done, he would never forgive himself.

Daryl knew that, but still achead on him

To say Daryl was devastated was an understatement.

What was supposed to be a walk and hunt with you for Merle and Michonne's steps ended up going much more wrong.

The intimate jokes between Daryl and you, the casual touches and the genuine smiles were completely and brutally ripped away from you when you saw none other than Merle.

But Daryl no longer considered that his brother. He jumped on top of the zombified body, the half-dead body.

the only sound was the sob stuck in Daryl's throat, the sound of his tears falling onto the blade of the knife that now struck the body's skull without hesitation, without control

The blood, already sour, but still fresh, splashed onto his face and he crawled into your lap, the need to have someone to run to was enormous.