[ merle is a shitty brother. he can bang on and on about how he's all that his brother has got, but at the end of the day that isn't true. daryl has a family. a real honest-to-god family. and, merle would be a liar if he said he wasn't the least bit jealous of that. guess it doesn't really matter now though, does it? since he's, you know, dead. ]

[ whatever. ]

Make me.

[ momentarily tearing his eyes away from his younger brother's, merle quickly and efficiently removes the bayonet from his prosthetic arm, then he tosses it to the ground before invading his brother's personal space again. ]

There. Now I'm unarmed, just like you. [ rolling his tongue around his mouth, he positions himself with his feet shoulder width apart and to prepare himself for the sharp sting of daryl's fist. ] So come on, baby brother, quit acting like a bitch and throw a goddamn punch already.

[ his blood is beginning to boil under skin, and it isn't because daryl is refusing to fight, it's because he loathes himself. he hates himself for all of the dirty little things he's done, he hates himself because he's nothing but dirt, but mostly he hates himself for not being the kind of brother that daryl deserves.

shaking with anger, a red mist slowly begins to descend and without even thinking about what his next move is going to be, merle dives forward with the intent of wrapping his strong arms around daryl's torso to tackle him to the ground. ]