[There was a time when that muscle twitching in Merle's jaw and the clenched fists might have made Daryl back down... But that time is past, and so he holds his ground, stubbornly tilting his chin up and narrowing his eyes. If they're gonna go, they're gonna go; he can handle a fist fight if that's what Merle wants to do... And so he's steeling himself to get his ass handed to him, becuase let's be real, here: that's what's gonna happen.
He's ready for a brawl, but what he gets is... Something else entirely.
Merle starts talking. And keeps right on talking, and hell if it isn't the most Daryl's heard out his mouth that doesn't involve sex, drugs, or beating someone's ass in god only knows how long. ...Well, okay, it has some of those elements, but the fact that they're all background noise isn't something he was prepared for. Daryl keeps quiet, body still tensed and ready to throw down up until the second his brother backs away. His own hands had clenched into fists (when did that happen?) and by the time Merle's finished with his tirade they're curled so tight he can feel his blunt nails pressing crescents into his palms. He feels sick and he's shaking slightly, and holding that eye contact is the hardest thing he's ever had to do. For a few seconds, all he can do is stare, blink, and chew the inside of his lip to shit, and then:]
Stupid son of a bitch!
[He launches himself at Merle, one of those fists pulling back and aiming a sloppy hook to his jaw before he has a chance to remind himself of the world of hurt he's gonna be in for. He's never been much for melee fighting, and he knows better than to think he could overpower his brother who has both weight and experience on him, but right now he couldn't give less of a fuck. All he knows is that he doesn't know how to deal with that, and this is the only outlet he's got.]
/weeping forever t b q h
He's ready for a brawl, but what he gets is... Something else entirely.
Merle starts talking. And keeps right on talking, and hell if it isn't the most Daryl's heard out his mouth that doesn't involve sex, drugs, or beating someone's ass in god only knows how long. ...Well, okay, it has some of those elements, but the fact that they're all background noise isn't something he was prepared for. Daryl keeps quiet, body still tensed and ready to throw down up until the second his brother backs away. His own hands had clenched into fists (when did that happen?) and by the time Merle's finished with his tirade they're curled so tight he can feel his blunt nails pressing crescents into his palms. He feels sick and he's shaking slightly, and holding that eye contact is the hardest thing he's ever had to do. For a few seconds, all he can do is stare, blink, and chew the inside of his lip to shit, and then:]
Stupid son of a bitch!
[He launches himself at Merle, one of those fists pulling back and aiming a sloppy hook to his jaw before he has a chance to remind himself of the world of hurt he's gonna be in for. He's never been much for melee fighting, and he knows better than to think he could overpower his brother who has both weight and experience on him, but right now he couldn't give less of a fuck. All he knows is that he doesn't know how to deal with that, and this is the only outlet he's got.]