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Growling to himself Daryl pads his way further away from the den, ignoring the sound of other wolves behind him and their snickers of laughter over his performance. So he wasn’t a great hunter yet, big deal, he was still young anyway. There was no need for a pup of barely five winters to need to be an expert hunter yet, even now his mother was gone Merle took care of him just fine. The other wolves just didn’t understand them, always sneering on the Dixons for not joining the pack and just lingering on the outskirts, making their own small territory and keeping away from other wolves for most of their time.
Daryl didn’t care; he liked not having to be around them all. Other wolves were always so quick to judge, nipping at him for being underweight, snarling at him, calling him runt and only stopping whenever Merle would be around to defend him. It just made them both stay away more, uncaring of the mockery and the teasing about neither of them ever getting a mate if they carried on like this.
He preferred life away from others, where it was just him and Merle and no one else to tell them what to do. Sure their father sometimes showed up, grey in the muzzle and always angry, snapping at them and stealing anything Merle had hunted down with a growl that spoke of dominance over the pair of them. Daryl huffs at the thought, hating how he would always cower behind Merle in those moments and pray for their father to run off in the hunt of some tail again.
Right now he was sick of all the teasing, of being called runt and thought he liked it being just he and Merle, he had to admit that a part of himself wanted to fit in so badly. He was underweight, small for his age and the other pups that milled about the woodland always seemed to be better than him at everything. Sure Merle couldn’t waste all his time teaching Daryl things, he had to keep them fed after all, but sometimes Daryl felt so very left out and left behind.
Well no more. Tonight he was going to prove them all wrong and go on a hunt of his very own. If he could prove to them that he was more than capable of looking after himself, then they’d have some respect and stop sneering at him and nipping at his tail every time he got near. Besides, it was about time he put Merle’s lessons to the test and he knew his big brother would be so proud when he showed up with his first kill.
Wandering along the hidden pathways only known to wolf paws, he hops over a fallen tree, nose low to the ground and trying to sniff out a sign of anything worth tracking. There is wolf scent everywhere, far too close to the pack’s territory for any prey to live, he’d have to go out further.
Huffing a little he pauses in his walk, looking about through the trees to the familiar fall of the land around him. Surely it couldn’t be too dangerous to go out the area he knew? Merle always told him to stick close, but what kind of wolf didn’t have the bravery to go and explore new land by himself? Merle would laugh at him if he didn’t do it, and the other pups would never let him live it down. Gritting his fangs together he growls to himself, ignoring the small tremor of anxiety that shoots through his chest and heading further off the well worn path and into the trees beyond.
It takes a while to get far enough away for prey’s scents to hit his nose. He’s managed to get far enough away from the main wolf territory that the trees have begun to thin out and the woodland beneath his paws holds signs of more life here. This area has been worked over more, it wasn’t as hidden as the packland deep inside the woods and that meant prey ran about easily for him to track.
Immediately Daryl shoves his nose to the floor, snuffling through the leaves a bit until finally he latches on to a scent. Bright and fleeting but it’s there and real. Hare or rabbit. Live, feeding here recently and still in the area. Female from the smell of it, maybe even pregnant with a litter. Good that meant she might be slower than usual if she was carrying the extra weight.
Keeping low to the ground he follows the scent, head down, tail up and waving lightly from side to side in a quiet excitement. He can’t believe he’s going to get his first kill. Merle was going to be so proud of him for finding something, for managing to hunt by himself and bring in food when he was too young to be expected to. All of the lessons Merle had been trying to teach him would be worth it, he’d be able to make him proud, and be able to look after himself without Merle having to worry about him anymore.
This rabbit would mean so much more than just a meal and he couldn’t wait to drag its body back to the den to show Merle. Following the scent he can feel it get stronger and immediately he’s glancing about for a sign of life. When the scent is strong enough he finally catches a glimpse of it behind the brush, feeding and not looking as if it was paying too much attention.
Everything was perfect and the excitement was bubbling up inside of himself as he prepares to hunt, to finally prove that he’s not a weak runt at all. Darting forwards Daryl can’t help but give a bark of excitement, diving out from his cover and bounding through the brush. The rabbit startles immediately, bounding off with him in pursuit, both of them scrabbling through the dirt as the chase begins.
All of his instincts push him forward, the thrill of the chase, the bloodlust within him rising with every second he hunts. It’s exciting, every fibre of his being telling him to run faster, to be quicker and to be ready to bite, to kill, to feast.
The rabbit is quick but so is he and his paws thud against the ground as he continues to chase it. Panting for breath he can feel it getting harder to keep up but he can’t give in now, not when he was so close to proving himself. Growling low he pushes himself harder, diving over broken branches, rushing through bushes and grass, weaving around trees and hoping for a chance to pounce.
It’s getting harder to keep running. His legs feel like jelly, his paws are aching and each time he pants it feels like it’s harder to breathe in more air. Whining a little he doesn’t want to give up, not when this could be his chance. But the rabbit moves fast, bolting away from him until there is no point in continuing and she’s out of sight.
Whining low in his throat Daryl can’t help the sense of disappointment that sweeps over him. He’d failed. Slumping to the ground he pants for breath, ears flattening against his head in upset as he tries to calm himself back down. Tail between his legs he feels pathetic, a weak little pup that couldn’t even catch a damned rabbit by himself.
He’s so absorbed by his own failures that he doesn’t hear the footsteps or catch the scent until the net is already thrown over him.
Immediately he’s trying to bolt, paws scrabbling against the dirt for the hope of escape and whimpering when the net gets caught over him all the more. It snags around him, tightening quickly, there’s noise around him, laughter and cheers of delight, as his escape is proven futile. Howling in fear Daryl tries to squirm his way free, his claws catching on more net, teeth snagging in the cords and though he tries to be brave the panic is soon all consuming.
The net tightens as he’s lifted from the ground, swinging from the human’s grasp and whining in the back of his throat as all sense of safety is ripped from him. The human shakes him, chuckling in his face and though Daryl tries to snap at him, tries to bite and lash out, he can’t break through the damned net. They laugh, two humans mocking him as he wriggles, clawing and whimpering as he only manages to tangle himself up even more.
“Well it’s not exactly worth skinning, but it’s a good start.”
“He’ll make good bait. A pup this young isn’t usually out this far by himself, and if he’s wandered off then his parents will be searching for him.”
Daryl barks at them, body contorted against the sides of the net, snagged, caught and kept prisoner as they discuss his fate above him. He’s never seen humans this close before, to him they were only ever watched from a distance, Merle keeping him close and making sure he knew the borders of the woods and exactly how far out he could travel safely. Humans never came this close to packland, wolves made it very clear which land was theirs and always kept the humans at bay. Encroaching upon wolf territory was stupid for humans, but he can see that they’ve come prepared.
Each human has a gun on them, knives too and rifles. Enough firepower to bring down even the strongest of wolves and suddenly his fate feels like it’s sealed. Whimpering to himself Daryl can’t cry in his feral form, but he tries to curl up tighter, whining loudly and trembling as the humans begin pacing about the area and discussing their plan.
“So what’s the plan Joe?” The one that’s carrying him asks, swinging the net even more and making Daryl feel queasy as he’s rocked about. “Little shit looks too scared to be of much use.”
It’s true; despite wanting to be brave all Daryl feels is terrified. The humans are so big compared to him, standing tall off the ground, broad and dangerous with weapons, blades sharper than his fangs, guns that could blow his head off and minds that plotted all the time. Curling up tighter doesn’t stop his quivering, but tucking his face behind his tail gives him a small comfort.
“All we’ve got to do is lure his parents in.” The one named Joe says, and before Daryl can even yelp he’s being grabbed at through the netting. Fingers dig into his sides, making him squeal in terror before a hand clamps around his muzzle and tightens its hold. The humans work together to restrain him, pinning his jaws shut, keeping him clamped in their arms as they work the net off from around him. “You know how wolves work Len, we make him howl and the adults will head in this direction.” Joe continues, grunting at the effort of restraining his struggling form and speaking through grit teeth.
Len swears, the fingers not wrapped about Daryl’s mouth curling into a fist and hitting at his side hard enough to make Daryl whine low in his throat in pain. “How we gonna make him do that?” The human asks, looking mad as hell in comparison to his still smiling friend.
“Easy enough.” Joe shrugs in answer, calm as anything as he grabs at the scruff of Daryl’s neck. It’s a natural reaction to being grabbed there that makes Daryl go limp, his instincts making him hang from the grip without struggling even as he whimpers in fear. “We chain him up, cut him a bit to make him bleed. That’ll get him howlin’ for his mommy. If not then the blood of their pup will make them come for sure.”
Daryl really does panic then, wriggling a little in the human’s grip, tail pressed tightly between his legs and unable to stop from crying in terror at what was happening to him. He wants Merle, he wants pack, he wants to be safe and curled up in the den and he wouldn’t care if the other pups laughed at him for being a pussy; he just doesn’t want to be here. The human’s fingers stay gripped on the scruff of his neck, keeping him relatively immobile as Len grabs a length of chain from their belongings and begins tying it about a tree.
He squirms as he’s grabbed up again and manhandled into place on the ground. Pinned down in the dirt he tries to scrabble loose, snapping his jaws the second they are free and trying to catch the human’s fingers. He doesn’t get very far before they’ve got him chained up, the links of metal digging into the flesh of his neck as it’s tied tightly into place to stop him from escaping. Of course he tries to get free, he digs his paws into the ground and tries to run, digging in claws to get some grip and trying to drag his body away from the humans and the danger that they were. The chain chokes him, tightening around his neck, holding him in place and preventing any chance of his escape.
It’s useless.
Panting heavily he yanks at the chain, ignoring the humans as they laugh above him and trying to find some kind of way out. He’s not strong enough, not big enough or dangerous enough for them to take any notice of him when he growls, baring his fangs does nothing to deter them and the chain is too heavy for him to lift let alone break. It was hopeless. There was nothing he could do and every part of himself that had wanted to be a big bad dangerous wolf was suddenly very aware that he really was nothing more than a small, weak, defenceless pup with no hope of getting out of this.
The sound of a blade against leather makes his ears perk up, turning on the spot with his tail between his legs and whimpering when he finds the bigger human, Joe, wielding a blade now. He knew they could be sharper than fangs, that humans used them when they needed to cut things and right now there was only one thing that the humans wanted cut.
Panicking he loses all sense of bravado that he’d had and gives in to instinct. Crouching lower to the ground he tries to sink beneath the grasp of their fingers and their attention, pricking his ears high and pointing his nose to the sky and letting out the loudest howl he can possibly muster. It’s not much, but it’s all he has and Daryl makes sure to keep going, pausing only to catch his breath before howling again, calling for help, for someone, for anyone to come and help him.
“Little shit’s got a pair of lungs on him.” Len laughs, pacing a little beside him and even lashing out a leg to kick at his side. It hurts, catching on his ribs and cutting off his howl instantly with a yelp and a small growl. A glare makes him shut up, hunkering down closer to the floor Daryl tries to be ignored, tugging against the chain that digs into his neck and hoping for someone to come help. “Think that’ll work?”
Joe shrugs, twisting the knife between his fingers, still watching him with rapt attention and Daryl tries to inch a little further away unsuccessfully. “Dunno. I know what will though.”
Daryl snaps at the hand that grabs for him, managing to snag some flesh between his fangs and bite down. For a moment he hopes that it’ll be enough, he prays to the Lady Luna that the humans would rethink their plan and let him free. But it was not to be. The human laughs down at him, shaking his finger and a few drops of blood from where he’d managed to pierce the skin, but not looking the least bit worried. His pup teeth weren’t strong enough, barely even breaking the flesh of the fully-grown human and feeling so very, very small and afraid.
The human pins him down with one meaty hand on the back of his next, pushing him down into the floor, keeping him unable to do more than whine and hope to be released. Of course it doesn’t happen and the blade slices through the skin on his back easily.
Yelping in pain he tries to struggle free, barking and crying for help, the pain burning through him, his fur beginning to soak up the blood that seeps from his wounds. Joe doesn’t stop at just one, instead he continues slicing, breaking his skin over and over, criss crossing the blade until Daryl is quivering in pain and unable to move when he’s finally left alone.
Panting harshly he doesn’t think he’s ever been in so much pain before. Every time he moves even an inch his body trembles and he can feel more blood slip down his sides to soak the ground beneath him. A part of him wants to shift, to try and explain to these humans that they didn’t need to do this. That it wouldn’t work. His mother was dead, his father didn’t care about him at all and Merle was off hunting, probably glad to be rid of his weak idiot of a brother.
He cannot cry in feral form, but that doesn’t stop him from whining to himself. There was no point in howling anymore’ no one was going to bother coming for him. No one cared, no one would miss such a useless pup. The Dixon’s weren’t a part of the pack, they were just problems on the outskirts of territory that hunted their own food and depleted the game in the area. They would be glad that he was gone and without him there, Merle would be able to focus on finding himself a mate without worrying about his stupidity. Daryl has never felt so alone.
The chain is heavy around his neck, he lets it drag him down as he slumps further in on himself, tucking his nose beneath his tail and quivering as his blood stains the earth beneath him. There was no one out there that needed to save him, no one that needed him in their life and would waste precious energy searching for him.
Above him the moon hangs heavy in the sky, shining down on him without a care in the world. He wonders if maybe once he’s bled out the poachers would leave him here to rot. Maybe once he was dead he would be allowed to go to the Lady Luna, to live with her and momma up within the stars and watch down on Merle to make sure he was okay. He supposes that would be for the best.
The night wears on and he ignores as the humans move around him. Curling up tighter, tucking his paws beneath himself and hiding behind his tail as the night gets colder. He’s shivering. A mix of the chill in the air and blood loss making him feel groggy and tired. The humans have ignored him for the past few hours, instead focussing on setting up tents, checking on those loud weapons that bark and spit fire and sitting to watch him as if he was ever going to be worth their He’s nothing to them, merely bait to draw in their real prize, a fully grown wolf to kill and skin, to strut about with human pride over killing something so strong. He hated humans before, but only from a distance. Now he’s seen what they’re capable of up close, he can’t help but feel terrified.
Wolves knew the rules of separation. Humans stayed with humans on their land, wolves stayed with wolves on packland. If wolves wanted to interact with humans and buy humans product then they had to be in human form at all times, safer, with no natural weapons to defend themselves. But these humans disregarded all the rules and now here he was, small, defenceless even when in feral form and wishing that he’d never tried to prove himself.
It hurts, both physically and emotionally, but there’s nothing Daryl can do to fix it. All he can do is curl up tighter and hope to die in his sleep.
The humans laugh, drinking and smoking, loud and uncaring, feeling strong and safe with their weapons. There is not a single thread of respect for the woodland within them as they toss their humans garbage around them, flicking ashes to the floor and sneering at him as he whimpers to himself.
Dawn is almost upon them when he smells it. At first Daryl thinks he’s dreaming or just going crazy, but it’s there, a definite scent that he recognises. He can’t help as he uncurls a little, ears perking up and lifting his nose to the air to try and catch the scent again. Its there, stuck behind the scent of his own blood and so familiar it makes him cry in relief.
The humans are alert as soon as he moves, watching him for answers and grabbing up their guns tighter when he shows a signal of something approaching. Joe and Len have their weapons at the ready, one pointing one way, one the other and covering themselves as the wind carries the scent in Daryl’s direction. He backs up a little, shoving himself further against the base of the tree, out of the way, hidden from whatever was going to happen and whimpering a little louder as the bushes on the edge of camp rustle with a slight movement.
“Don’t hesitate.” He hears Joe say, his eye on the sight of his weapon and pointed at the bushes. “Shoot first, aim for the head.” Daryl watches as Len nods, the pair of them tense and ready for their long awaited prize to approach.
Daryl presses closer to the tree, hunkering down beside a root and watching the humans as he shivers, able to feel the tug of fur matted with blood over his sides. Burying his nose in his paws he keeps his gaze on the humans, letting out a small growl that spoke more of worry than of any bravery he had. They ignore him, not caring that he’s unfocussed on the rustling foliage and instead watching them instead.
The leaves rattle together, there’s a scuffle of something or other and a shadow leaps forth into camp with a noise that breaks the tense silence.
A shot rings out, loud in Daryl’s ears, making him jump in fright and tuck his tail in further. More blood joins the stain on the ground, fur hangs in the air for a moment before falling to the floor on top of the body that lies there lifeless. There’s a laugh, loud and full of scorn as Joe steps forward, kicking at the corpse with the tip of his boot. “Goddamned fox Len. Nothing but a damned fox. I was so sure it was payday, maybe I should cut the little shit again, get some fresh blood-“
Behind the humans, straight from the shadows, bolts Merle, large and feral, dark and snarling in something that stank of more than just anger. His eyes are practically aglow in the early morning light, and Daryl has never seen his brother like this before. Right now Merle wasn’t the wolf he saw everyday, he was the werewolf that humans saw in their nightmares. Dangerous.
He tackles Len first, using the element of surprise to jump at the human, easily reaching a height enough for Merle to clamp his jaws about the fragile creature’s skull. Merle moves quick, landing on top of the human on the ground and jerking his head in a jerky movement, quick, lightening fast and only releasing his grip when a snap echoes about the clearing. As soon as the human is dead Merle is moving, staying a moving target, not flinching as another shot rings out like Daryl does.
Merle barely takes a note of the shot, moving fast on his paws, claws out and ready as he dives at the other human that is busy fumbling with his gun to try and get another shot ready. Joe falls to the floor beneath Merle’s weight, already screaming, weak human life nothing but a plaything in Merle’s paws. Daryl is used to watching his brother hunt, to seeing Merle take down prey with quick movements intended to get the job done.
This isn’t like that.
His brother stands above his victim, claws digging into Joe’s shoulders, keeping him down on the ground as Merle stands in a dominant pose above him. The whole time he’s snarling, fangs bared, drool and blood dripping from them and onto the human’s clothing as he growls at him. Daryl can smell urine tang the air as the human comes face to face with the beast that mythology warned them about. Merle gives a sound that Daryl can only think of as a roar, startling the human to scream before Merle fastens his jaws about his throat. It’s not a controlled movement designed to make the kill fast and painless, not this time. Instead Merle digs his fangs in deep, far deeper than needed, using the whole force of his jaws to clamp down and choke off the human’s air. Joe struggles, grabbing as fistfuls of fur as Merle holds him there, keeps him there, and feels the life begin to drain from him slowly as he’s suffocated by Merle’s brute strength.
Just when Daryl thinks it’s done, Merle moves again, a quick flash of grey fur yanking back, jaws still clamped and ripping out the human’s throat. Skin tears, blood spurts in a fountain as muscles are shown, as innards become shown to the air and Merle hacks the chunk of useless flesh to the ground. Joe doesn’t make any noise except a faint gurgling, body lifeless on the ground and blood covering him from his torn out throat. Merle stands above him, bloodstained and deadly, huffing out a loud breath before arching his head back, letting loose the loudest howl that Daryl’s ever heard from his brother.
From around them in the packlands come responses, howls near and far, signs of respect, signs of acknowledgement, signs of other wolves hearing Merle success and sign of strength. They will not be looked down upon for much longer, not when Merle has human blood staining his teeth and the packland wolves remain safe because of his actions.
Daryl can’t help but whimper a little, knowing that his brother is the wolf that he’ll never have the strength to be.
At the sound of his distress it’s like whatever bloodlust had Merle under its spell is broken and in a second the human corpses are forgotten as Merle rushes to his side. A mix of their whines and whimpers fills the air as Merle’s tongue runs over his face, reassuring and safe, smearing blood over him and little but it’s not theirs and that matters. Daryl can’t stop the terror in his scent, nor the way he instantly presses to be against his brother’s warmth, scared and relieved and a mix of so many other emotions he’s not sure what to do. Merle lets him hunker in close, burying himself in his brother’s thick chest fur and losing himself in his strength, letting Merle be strong for the both of them as he whines.
Merle’s tongue runs over his back, lapping at the blood there with a low growl of anger over what has been done to him, slowly cleaning him from the mess and helping his wounds to heal. They burn at his skin, but he’ll suffer through it because he’s safe now, he knows he is because Merle would never let anything happen to him. When his brother’s muzzle nudges him out from his hiding spot, Daryl almost doesn’t want to move, but it’s only for Merle to scent him, to rub their faces together and lick over his ears affectionately, marking him, claiming him and making promises that surpassed any form of words.
When Merle’s teeth move to grasp at the chain around his neck, Daryl tenses, feeling the ache of the weight around his throat and automatically yanking back to be free. His brother holds him steady, clasping him between his paws and moving to fix his back teeth over the metal links. It takes a few moments of Merle’s snarling, some whimpering on Daryl’s part, but before long the chain is weakening, one link bending to Merle’s sheer force and snapping from the pressure.
As soon as he’s freed completely Daryl is on his hind legs, jumping up to lick at his brother’s muzzle, to rub against him, to scent him back and let him know just how much he needed him. Beside them the human corpses begin to rot, stinking up the world with their stench of hatred, and Daryl knows the growl of anger from his brother is not directed at him.
Above them the sun creeps through the trees, his beams lighting the ground and showing the early morning mist. The Lady Luna fades away to rest for another day, her children safe now. Daryl still hurts, cuts on his back deep and probably likely to scar him for eternity, but he knows that he’s not going to die, not with Merle here, not now.
His brother nudges at him gently, giving one final lick over his cheek before bending to mouth at the scruff of his neck. It hurts a little, Merle’s teeth catching on the skin that’s been pinched and rubbed over by the chains, but he can bear it. Merle is gentle as he lifts him up, jaws that had murdered two humans just moments ago cradling his body so easily as he begins carrying Daryl back to packlands. Back to the den where he would be safe.
Maybe he wasn’t the best hunter, or the strongest wolf in the woods, but right now he didn’t want to be either. Right now he felt small, he felt scared and afraid that the humans would return and that they’d take their revenge on Merle for what had happened. Tucking his paws to his chest he closes his eyes, trusting his brother to take care of him for now. At least with Merle around he didn’t have to be the strongest, or the bravest, he could just be himself and that was enough to his brother.
They enter packlands and Daryl can see every wolf’s eyes are upon them as they make their way to their den on the edge of the territory. A few curious pups, those that had nipped at him earlier in the day, dart forward, only to be snarled at by their elders before they can get close. They can see the blood smeared on Merle’s muzzle; they can smell the human death in the air and see the wounds that will scar his back. They know, and they all know that Merle Dixon is not a wolf to push right now.
As they pass by others steer clear of them, some ducking their heads in submission as Merle goes past, a few even laying down and all of them watching them with respect. Dixons may not be a part of the pack, they may not live inside the territory and be as social as other wolves, but that did not make them any less dangerous. They knew that now, and it was a lesson they’d do well to remember. The pups stop their curious barks, they step behind their parents and Daryl no longer gives a damn what they think of him.
Because all he really needed was Merle, and all Merle needed was him. That was enough.