Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead or any of its characters or story lines.

1AM writing. Been meaning to write this for a while, finally decided to go for it last night thanks to some encouragement on Tumblr. I'm pretty happy with the end result and I hope you guys are, too! Read and review, please and thank, my lovelies.

"I've read the book, I prayed to God, but cursed too much to be considered true.
I'm just like me, I'm just like me so who the hell are you?"

His body was shattered glass. Spider web cracks spread from the wound in his chest where the crimson blood spilled out and soaked his dirty shirt. The fragments of the bullet mingled with the fragments of the bones that they broke and they waltzed together to the fading rhythm of his heart as it beat slower and slower and slower. One, two, three. One. Two. Three. One…two…three. His chest heaved and his lungs burned and his vision swam and his knees gave out. He crashed to the ground with a hard thud!that fractured the rest of his aching body.

The Governor just stood there watching. Merle couldn't see him anymore, but he felt his unrelenting gaze boring into him as he coughed and choked and spat out blood and bile and saliva. Merle blinked through the fog and the haze and he looked and up and scowled as the Governor's body twisted and morphed until it was Merle's own daddy looking down at him with his thick arms crossed over his broad chest and his eyes begging the question, "Won't you fuckin' die already?"

His heartbeat pulsed in ears and it kept going slower and slower and slower. One…two…three. Something rattled in his chest as his lungs, nothing more than ash, kept trying and trying and trying to draw just one more breath. The beating of his heart turned into a voice, soft and sweet like his mama's used to be before the cigarettes burned her throat raw and the wine seeped into her speech. There was a soft hand on his back and the voice whispered, "It's okay. Let go."

A boot collided with his side and he was flipped onto his back and the blood trickled across his chest and down to his belly and the wind flew out of him and he gasped for air but his lungs were nothing more than wisps of smoke and dying embers. A figure loomed over him, the face flashing back and forth as his vision flickered like a candle's flame- the Governor. Daddy. The Governor. Daddy. The Governor.

And his mama's voice kept telling him that it was okay and that he could let go and the rattling in his chest filled in for the sound of his heart that was beating far too slow and his whole body was cold but his blood was still warm. A shadow waited behind his daddy- no, The Governor- and it reached for him and it said, "It's time to go home," in his mama's voice. His muscles were weak. His arm must have weighed a ton for the all the effort it took to raise it as he reached towards that shadow that was telling him to come home. He'd never been home. He wondered what it would be like.

The Governor kept watching him and willing him to die. Merle tried to growl but it sounded more like a whimper that didn't get all the way out of his throat. He grabbed a bloody fistful of the Governor's shirt and for a split second he felt all the muscles in the other man's body tense at the touch.

His heart was still beating. One…Two…His chest rattled again. His mama told him, "Let go. Come home." and the Governor looked at him as if to say, "Let go. Fucking die." and Merle took another breath and he said, in a harsh and gravelly, painful, hoarse whisper, "Fuck you."

One…His heart stopped. He swam in blackness, immersed in the dark that had so terrified him as a young child, until he felt his mama's hand, soft and warm, curl around his own. She tugged at him and tugged at him and asked him to come with her but he couldn't. He couldn't pull himself out of the shell of what he used to be. Then there were hands on his body, hands that were strong and distinctly human, rough and worn and full of life. Merle was being dragged away and he heard his mama cry, "Come home!" but he couldn't break free of the prison that was his body.

The hard floorboards beneath him changed to dirt and then lush, soft grass that seemed to be mocking him in all of its thriving vitality. He was deposited not too far from the mill and he heard footsteps walking away from him but he couldn't see anything because it was too damn dark.

His head soon filled with buzzing and lights flickered in front of his eyes. He couldn't blink, but he didn't need to because soon the lights stopped flashing and they faded away and he was staring up at a sky that was far too beautifully blue. His throat vibrated as a desperate moan escaped his cracked lips. He sat up slowly and mechanically and a breeze blew by him but he couldn't feel it on his face. The scent that rode upon the wind was unlike anything he'd ever smelled before. It was something fresh and electric and vibrant and alive. His body followed that scent and he found himself unable to take the reins as his stumbling feet carried him to the source.

The dying boy lay in the grass not too far away from where Merle's body had been unceremoniously dumped. His blood pooled beneath him and his breath came out in frantic, gasping chokes. The last time Merle had seen him he had been through a scope. A groan worked its way up Merle's already decaying vocal chords and his body dropped to its knees beside the boy. The boy looked up at him, whole body trembling and eyes wide with fear, and even though Merle didn't want to be this sick, cannibalistic freak, his hungry body gave his screaming soul no say in the matter. His body bent over the boys with its teeth bared and it tore into him mercilessly, the warm blood splashing up in his face with every bite his dead jaw made him take.

Blood flowed over his tongue and it didn't taste coppery. He chewed around flesh and muscle and, God, even bone and none of it tasted like anything except pure life. The taste was unlike any other, and it faded as the meal progressed and the boy stopped trembling and stopped screaming and begging. Merle's body didn't care that the electric taste of the boy's life had vanished. It just kept eating, its hunger never satisfied.

The life scent came on another breeze that, once again, Merle himself could not feel. His gray flesh was sensitive to nothing. His dead brain only knew one thing: eat

There were footsteps, purposefully light, like a predator stalking his prey. The grass cushioned every footfall and had that life scent not been so fiercely strong Merle might not have known there was someone there at all. Merle's head rose and through his glassy, dead eyes he saw- NO!

Daryl stopped dead in his tracks as Merle's body stood itself up. Merle screamed, banged against his own skull, dug his heels so far into the ground they should have left marks but nothing would stop his walker body's arm from reaching out towards his brother. His feet carried him where he absolutely, positively did not want to go and Daryl brought his shoulders up and he shied away, face contorted with pain and with fear and with sorrow and why wouldn't he just run away?

The scent of Daryl's blood pulsing through his veins drove Merle's body forward despite the soul's protests from within. How many times had Merle sworn he'd never beg? Fuck all of that now. He begged and pleaded with his own body, with his mama, with God, with anyone who might, maybe, somehow listen and get him out of this horrible mess. If it were possible, Merle would have groveled on his fucking knees for Daryl to be anywhere but right there, right in front of Merle's own starving walker body.

Merle's mouth worked around inhuman grunts and groans and his teeth snapped at his brother and he saw the first tear fall from Daryl's eye as he shoved Merle's body away from him. The movement sent brought about a whole new wave of strong, powerful life energy and another hungry moan rattled in Merle's throat and his body surged forward once more.

And then Daryl- sweet Daryl, the softer one, the quieter one, the better one- he curled his hand around his knife and he threw himself at Merle's body and he drove that knife right into Merle's skull as he pushed his older brother's body down.

And he kept stabbing. And kept stabbing. And kept stabbing. And when he was done, Merle's face was unrecognizable. Daryl was sobbing by then and he fell backwards, his chest working too fast and too hard and his tears running in wild rivulets down his cheeks. Daryl's back hit the ground and Merle shot up and went to his brother. His broken, battered body did not follow.

Merle couldn't touch Daryl. He could not let him know he was there. He could only watch as his baby brother cried for him. Merle felt a hand on his back. From behind him, he heard his mother's voice say once again, "Come home."

Merle bent over Daryl. He lighted his hand on his shoulder even though he knew Daryl couldn't feel it. He bent close to his brother's ear and he said, "Don't be such a pussy, Darylina. Git up. Yer friends are gonna need ya."

"Merle," his mama beckoned.

"I know," Merle replied. And he straightened himself up and he turned towards her. She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever laid eyes on. She reached out and cupped his cheek with her hand the way she used when he was young.

"He'll be okay," she promised. "We'll wait for him."

Merle spared Daryl one last glance before he turned back to his mama.

"I know," he said, and he took her hand and allowed her to lead him home.