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The TV flickered to static momentarily for the hundredth time that morning, before resuming back to its grainy resolution. Daryl took a swig of the moonshine in his right hand, figuring that’s the best they were gonna get in the backwoods of rural Georgia. It wasn’t like he was watching anything important anyway - the news anchor was garbling on about the conflicts in Iraq and Israel, and all the other channels were filled with daytime television that made Fox News’ gruesome displays of wartime horrors much more appealing. The year was 2004, so it was almost impossible for him to turn on the news and not hear about it, so why shouldn’t he use it as background noise, for all it was worth.
The bottle in his hand was almost empty, but the buzz of a slight drunken haze was sucking all the motivation out of him to get up and grab another one. Sighing deeply, he let go of a heavy exhale and let his head fall back against the ratty armrest of the couch he was splayed across, staring at the peeling ceiling of the Dixon brothers’ trailer. Initially, when he’d moved in with Merle at 15, they’d been bouncing from place to place, town to town, and had never stayed in one place for more than a week. Eventually though, they’d ended up in the same place that they’d started - Grantville, Georgia. Coincidentally, the last place they’d wanted to be in.
Over the years, Daryl and Merle (but mostly Daryl) had managed to scrounge up and save enough to buy a trailer in their hometown, close enough to the stores and places they needed to be that it wasn’t a pain, but far enough into the woods that they didn’t have to interact with anyone they didn’t want to, and far enough East that they wouldn’t run into Will Dixon if they didn’t have to. Things hadn’t ended well between the brothers and their old man after Daryl had told Will that he wanted to leave and live with Merle, and Daryl could still vividly remember the bloody fight that had broken out between his brother and father when Merle came to take him away from that godforsaken cabin in those wretched woods he’d taken sanctuary in as a child, now just bittersweet memories of another life. Rolling over and sitting up with a pained groan, Daryl heard a knock at the door.
For a moment, he didn’t move, collecting his strength again and forcing himself onto his feet at the next rapid knock. Racking his brains for who it could be, he ran through all the possibilities: Maybe the IRS looking for Merle to repay his debts, or one of Merle’s old acquaintances with the same goal in mind, just different methods; It could be just a friend of Merle’s, or a confused fling that thought his one-night-stand with her actually meant something. Worst case scenario, Merle’d been locked up on another one of his highs and the cops were here searching to see if he had any drugs hidden around the house. Daryl realised the common denominator in all of these were his brother, not that he could dwell on it as there was another, more impatient knock at the door.
“A’right, jesus christ…” Daryl muttered, turning the handle and swinging open the door, sticking out his foot to catch it only a couple feet open.
Through the gap, he could clearly see a woman that was terribly out of place, dressed in a navy pin stripe suit and a pencil skirt with heels that had no place on the decrepit, creaky steps of the Dixons trailer. He waited for her to speak, wondering what she wanted. Reaching into the inside pocket of her suit, she removed a wallet and began to unfold it, Daryl’s question of her intentions turning to a question of what government agency she must work for. Had Merle seriously gotten the IRS on his ass again?
“Carmen Brinston.” The lady stuck out her hand, and Daryl awkwardly reached out his own so she could take it in a firm grip, her clean hands making him feel self-conscious about the motor oil and sweat on his own.
“M’brother ain’t here.” Daryl mumbled, that familiar discomfort creeping up his spine in the presence of government authority.
Cops were one thing - he’d spit at cop cars and had a disdain for the pig bastards - but government officials had always intimidated him, even if he couldn’t pinpoint why. Maybe it was the suits, or maybe it was the condescending smarts. In this case, it was probably the daunting smile the lady wore, like a painted smile on a doll’s porcelain face. Creepy.
“I work with Child Protective Services. If you’re Daryl, I’m assuming your brother is Merle Dixon then?” The lady asked in an accent that belonged in Washington, not rural Georgia. She showed him her badge, protected behind a plastic laminated sheet in the leather wallet.
Daryl’s eyebrows furrowed momentarily before he straightened his face again, “I think yer lookin’ for the wrong guy. Ain’t no kids living ‘ere.”
“I am aware.” She didn’t sound offended, but the split moment where her smiled failed to meet her eyes said otherwise, “I don’t think I’ve fully explained myself: I’m working on the case of Kasper Dixon. Are you aware of the arrest yesterday afternoon of Thalia Bucks?”
What the fuck was she on about? He didn’t know any Kaspers, no less one that was a Dixon. Was this a brother he didn’t know he had, or a cousin maybe? And who the fuck was this ‘Thalia’? Why were they bringing this to Merle specifically? He had so many questions, and the lady appeared to pick up on this, tilting her head to the side in a shared confusion.
“Are you aware that your brother, Merle Dixon, fathered a child recently?”
The question was like a bombshell, and Daryl actually scoffed in disbelief. Merle did what?
His brother went to go pick up some motor oil for his bike earlier that morning and apparently he had knocked some chick up now? Daryl was sure he was having another surreal drunk-fever dream.
“He knocked some girl up? The hell I didn’t know.” Daryl exclaimed incredulously, unsure what he was supposed to say, do or feel. He knew his brother had a lot of hook-ups with a hell of a lot of different chicks and hookers, and he’d warned his brother sooner-or-later it might happen, but Merle had always brushed him off, assuring Daryl he wasn’t dumb enough to get a girl pregnant like that.
Turns out he was. Daryl couldn’t say he was surprised but he was angry. He didn’t know why, but he was.
Opening a case file in her hand, the lady began reading from her notes, “It says here that two days ago, on the 24th, Thalia Bucks gave birth to a boy-”
She stopped to glance up at Daryl to check if any of this was ringing a bell, or at least if he was following along.
“Named Kasper Dixon. Born at 6lbs and 15 ounces. Initially, the father was not named, which was fine until Miss Bucks was found in possession of several Class A drugs and subsequently arrested. The baby was either to be placed in foster care or the father’s custody, and Thalia named Merle Dixon as the father, which is why I’m here.” The lady continued, reading it off with a weird indifference that came across as happiness when combined with her permanent smile.
He had no clue why anyone would be smiling about this. After a few moments of awkward silence, he realised she was waiting for him to say something but no words came to mind, so he just shrugged, nodding slowly in the hopes that she’d get the message and take the kid away. Compared to being a Dixon, the foster system was mercy for a kid, especially if that kid’s father was Merle Dixon. Daryl knew his brother all too well, and Merle couldn’t even look after himself, let alone a two day old baby. Combined with his brother’s short fuse and the knowledge of how he treated Daryl when he was younger, Daryl would bet that the kid would probably end up in the foster system anyways, given a few years with Merle looking after him. If he survived that long.
Glancing over his shoulder, Daryl could see the burnt-out cigarettes discarded next to empty bottles and Merle’s dirty magazines all over the floor, between the cushions of the couch and even on the kitchen counters. Trash overflowed from the trash can and the dim lights served as a reminder that half the time they couldn’t even afford to keep the electricity on, let alone finance raising an infant. Babies were supposed to be expensive, weren’t they? Noisy and clumsy too.
The kid wouldn’t last a day.
“So, when do you think your brother will be back?” The lady asked.
“Dunno. Later.” Daryl pretended to chew on a hangnail on his thumb, grinding the nail between his teeth and thinking hard.
Somehow, this answer seemed to be satisfactory to her and she turned around, walking back down the trailer steps and back to her car. Daryl breathed a sigh of relief that she’d gotten the message and maybe saved that kid a whole lot of trouble down the line. He couldn’t imagine his brother being a half-decent human being to anyone, let alone a half-decent father. He questioned even telling Merle about the incident when he got back, but at the same time he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from chewing Merle out for being such a dumbass and knocking a girl up. It didn’t matter now though and they didn’t need to worry about that anymore, because at long last the lady had understood and the kid wasn’t gonna have to be his problem.
“Mr. Dixon? Are you okay?” Daryl was startled as the lady seemingly materialised right back in front of him, snapping him from his thoughtful trance.
“Uh, yeah. M’good.” He mumbled, taking a look around to see why she hadn’t left. The moment his eyes trailed down to her hands, he felt a stab in his chest.
Her fingers wrapped around the plastic handle of a baby carrier, and Daryl realised she really hadn’t gotten the message after all. In fact, maybe she’d gotten the wrong one. Taking a closer look, Daryl could see beyond the bundle of white hospital-grade blankets was a little head peeking out, the occasional infantile gurgle being made by the alien-looking thing. He hadn’t seen many babies before, but he’d always heard from the parents gushing on and on about how beautiful their children were - now, he wondered what anyone could see in the bug-eyed, shrunken-head creatures.
“As I was trying to say earlier, these are exceptional circumstances but in the case of an arrest of the mother, the father is immediately assumed parental custody in the mean time.” The lady said, losing the smile as she added, “I know these probably aren’t ideal circumstances, but we can’t relieve the father of custody unless he is the one to sign away parental rights. I would stay longer but I’ve got an appointment in half an hour, so you’re going to have to take the baby for now and get your brother to contact CPS or- just give him my card and tell him to get in contact if he wants to go ahead and place the child into the foster system.”
Daryl couldn’t believe what he was hearing, white hot rage at his brother boiling inside of him as the lady fumbled around her wallet and pulled out a white card, placing it in Daryl’s hand. She placed the wallet back in her handbag that had materialised along with the smile that had reappeared back on her face, pulling out a piece of paper instead.
“You might also want the birth certificate.” She said, and Daryl reluctantly took it, seeing the word
Dixon
in clear letters under the ‘last name’ header, “I wish there was more I could do, but I’m swamped at the moment. All I can say is get your brother to get in contact and we can go from there.”
With that, the lady placed a hand on the baby carrier, as if to say goodbye to the kid like she was actually sorry for it, and turned back down the steps for real this time, hurrying back over the coarse dirt and discarded trash to her car. Daryl wanted to go after her, to scream and tell her to take the kid and get it as far away from here as possible, but he didn’t have the words. He was frozen in place, helpless to do anything but watch the car as engine rumbled low, the tires kicking up a spitfire of loose dirt behind them, driving down the dirt lane and further and further away. For a moment, Daryl didn’t move, didn’t think, didn’t dare breathe.
A curious gurgle reminded him of the bundle of blankets in the carrier abandoned on the rickety steps, and Daryl did the only thing he could do, awkwardly picking up the carrier and taking it inside. Kicking the door shut behind him, he winced as metal slammed against metal, praying to whatever fucked-up God had put another Dixon into this world that the baby wouldn’t start crying. The infant kicked, its little feet pushing up the off-white blankets before they rested back down again. With its little kicks came another gurgle and an attempt at flailing its arms that were trapped, bound by the blankets that were thinner than the light wisps of hair on its head.
What was the kid’s name again?
“Sorry.” Daryl said awkwardly, brushing the dirt off of the couch with his foot and setting the baby carrier down for a moment.
Smoothing out the already-creased piece of paper in his hands, Daryl’s eyes traced the fancy lettering, reading the information that certified that - according to the kid’s mother - his brother really had fathered a child, and a healthy one at that. In all honesty, Daryl reckoned it would take a couple of days at the most before the baby would lose all that good health.
“First name: Kasper, Middle name: Bentley, Last name-” And there it was, in fine-print and all, the last name was put down as Dixon.
Throwing the damned certificate to one side, Daryl didn’t bother to see where it landed as he paced back and forth between the decrepit walls of their shitty trailer, considering every possibility as to what to do with him. He was reluctant to call the infant by its name, or to even call it a Dixon, knowing the likelihood was that Merle would want it off of his hands as soon as possible and it wouldn’t be staying long. A solution popped into Daryl’s head, and for the first time he walked over to the kid and pulled down the blankets that were hiding its face.
Once he finally got a good look at the kid, all his unspoken doubt that it might not even be Merle’s were immediately vanquished - he obviously had never known Merle as a baby, but their momma had shown him a couple of pictures and between the bright blue eyes that seemed so curious and confused, to the wisps of fair hair on the top of his head, Daryl figured there was a fair chance it was Merle’s, but for the kid’s sake, he hoped he wasn’t. A soft gurgle came from the infant’s throat, muffled by its tiny fist that it was sucking on. Its legs kicked again, this time far more gentle and slow. Looking at him now, Daryl supposed maybe he wasn’t the ugliest creature he’d ever seen.
While he waited for his dumbass brother to get back, Daryl left the kid where he was, not daring to move him in case it set him off into a crying fit that Daryl wouldn’t know how to handle. He hoped the baby had been fed recently too, because he had no idea how to feed a baby, but he’d heard if you did it wrong they could choke. He’d heard a lot of things about babies that absolutely terrified him, and he prayed that Merle would get home sooner so that there was less time for something to go terribly wrong. How could his brother have been so stupid anyway? Will had given both of the brothers one-too-many lectures about not getting a girl knocked up when they were teenagers, attributing the both of them to being his greatest mistakes and the reason his life was so fucked up and miserable. Did none of that stick with Merle?
The baby gurgled again, this time with an even more confused expression on its tiny, crumpled face.
“Yeah, I dunno where yer daddy is either.” Daryl said, but as angry as he was at his brother, he wouldn’t let himself be angry at the kid. He didn’t ask to be here, and just because Daryl was related to Will, didn’t mean he had to act like him too.
Time passed by slowly for Daryl, waiting in the beaten up trailer for his brother to return, when at long last he heard the familiar rumble of his brother’s motorbike engine from down the dirt lane leading to their trailer. Instinctively, Daryl went to tell the kid to stay put but realised that wouldn’t be an issue, before opening the trailer door and striding over to the tree where his brother would always keep his motorbike. In all his time of knowing Merle, even after all the stupid shit his brother had done and all the dumbass arguments they’d had over the years, Daryl hadn’t ever been this pissed off at him. Judging by the smirk on his smug face though, Merle was none the wiser.
“What’s got you all worked up, baby brotha?” Merle asked, dismounting the bike and patting his brother on the back hard enough that he almost stumbled. Daryl had gotten used to it by now though and simply shrugged his brother off, his face turning to a scowl.
“Ya gonna tell me why the hell social services was just at our door ‘bout some chick named Thalia?” Daryl asked, getting mere inches from his brothers face and meeting him with narrowed eyes.
“The hell you on about, Darelina?” Merle asked, concern creeping through the cracks of his blasé facade, “Ain’t spoken to her in almost a damn year. Mighty fine piece of ass, she was.”
Daryl scoffed at his brother’s laughter.
“Yeah, well that ‘might fine piece of ass’ is sayin’ yer dumbass knocked her up.” He spat the words, watching Merle’s face momentarily contort into one of incredulous anger before resuming his indifferent act. Daryl could see his shoulders were tensed now though, his glare hardened and predatory.
“That chick’s saying that? She’s a junkie through and through, baby brotha - She ain’t knowing one man from the next.” Merle brushed his brother off, as well as the possibility that he could’ve ever fathered this woman’s child.
He used the rag from his pocket to wipe his hands clean, discarding it on the handlebars of his bike and rubbing his jaw with his hand. The only thing on his mind right now was to head inside, grab a cold beer and relax on the couch for a bit, but it seemed his baby brother couldn’t even let him do that. Stepping in front of Merle as he started for their trailer, Daryl blocked his path with a couple long strides. Meeting Daryl’s glare, Merle didn’t see the usual hesitation in his eyes when Daryl stood up to his brother, instead now replaced with a burning anger. It wouldn’t be wrong to say he’d seen that anger in their own father before, but he’d never seen it in Daryl.
“Ain’t you listening?” Daryl yelled, “I said it was god damn
social services
! They said the kid’s momma got herself locked up! They came lookin’ for ya, dumped the damn kid on me and I didn’t know what to do!”
Merle was already pushing past Daryl, but his brother wasn’t done yet.
“Ya got any damn idea how badly yer dumbass fucked up this time? You even care?” Daryl hollered as he chased after him, his throat already hoarse.
The trailer door was already open, and Merle began to climb the rickety steps when Daryl grabbed his arm. Breathing heavily, it took every ounce of the little self-control the older Dixon had to not clock his baby brother in the face right there and then. If what he was saying was true… Merle needed a goddamn beer to deal with all this crap, but when he slapped his brother’s hand away and stepped inside their dimly lit trailer, his eyes fell on the couch and he stopped in his tracks.
“Ya get it now?” Daryl asked, but Merle wasn’t listening.
Rested on the couch was a black baby carrier, with the hood pulled back so that there was no denying the contents of what was inside. He wondered how the fuck this could’ve happened - he wasn’t stupid and he wasn’t one to take any risks. He must’ve been high out of his mind for him to have knocked a chick up like that, no less that Thalia chick - all she was to him was a couple nights worth of hook-ups, that was it. He hardly remembered what she looked like, and the only reason he remembered her name was because she was the sister of one of his ex-girlfriends. They hadn’t spoken in almost a fucking year and then this ?
The brash entrance of the two men seemed to have startled the baby, sending it into fits of shrieking wails and thrashing about in its confines. The infant itself was swaddled inside a bundle of blankets, its tiny head poking out from beneath, reminding Merle of the only other time he’d ever seen a baby so young - The day his baby brother was born. The birth had been a hellish experience for their mother and she wanted pretty much nothing to do with Daryl for the first few days, so when the kid started screaming its head off, Merle had sort of an idea of what to do.
Reaching into the carrier, Merle could feel his brother’s eyes closely watching him and, if it weren’t for the fact that he was trying not to scare the infant any more, he would’ve said something about it. It had been a good few decades since he last had to get a newborn to stop crying, but living with Will Dixon while trying his best to save his brother’s skin was good practice, the kind that had stuck with him through the years, as living with a man like Will does. He thought about their old man, and wondered if he was gonna tell him. Did he deserve to know? Hell, Merle didn’t even know what he was gonna do with the kid.
Gently rocking the infant in his arms, nostalgia came back in waves for Merle, uncovering long-forgotten memories he didn’t know he had of days sitting under the oak tree round the back of their old shack, rocking his baby brother while his momma slept and his old man was out avoiding his new son. He swore he could feel the shade on his scalp again, the heat of the sun on his feet that stuck out of the shade and the weight of his brother in his arms when Daryl was so young he didn’t even have a name yet.
Those pale blue eyes gawking up at him with an unfamiliar innocence, for the short time that it lasted, almost identical to the ones that were staring up at him now. Merle’s stomach turned at the thought that the kid was really a Dixon and not just some fuck-up mistake, and he forced himself not to pay attention to the light blonde wisps of hair that looked too similar to the same that he was born with. The only thing that was different was that this baby was much, much smaller, probably only weighing in at seven pounds or less, but that wouldn’t be much of a surprise considering how much of a junkie his mother was, and how underweight babies were nothing new in this part of their town. Hell, most mothers round here were at least drinkers during their pregnancy.
“How’d ya get him to quieten down so fast?” Daryl asked in a hushed tone, curiously taking a peek over Merle’s shoulder, but keeping his distance like he was afraid to get too close.
“I practically raised yer ass, baby brotha. Ain’t nothin’ new.” Merle responded, the infant only now making pathetic cries and weak hiccups, settled calmly into his arms.
Merle noted that Daryl called it a “he”, supposing that if he was gonna knock up a chick, the least the kid could do was not be a girl. He knew nothing about girls, and besides, he wouldn’t know what to do with one like he’d known what to do with his baby brother. Daryl noticed his brother pick up on that too, and looked around for the birth certificate that he’d tossed to the side earlier. He found it laying half-under the fridge and was immensely thankful that the fridge hadn’t decided to leak that day. Handing the certificate to his brother, Daryl nodded silently.
“Kasper? Damn posh name, that.” Merle said, adding with a laugh, “Too smart a name for a Dixon, I’m tellin’ ya.”
Both brothers realised the second the words left his mouth that he’d called the kid a Dixon, even if he probably was one by blood, but neither could say anything as the infant began to stir again. To divert away from the slip-up in his words, Merle turned his attention back to the kid, shifting the infant so it rested in the crook of one arm while he reached into his pocket with the other. A small gurgle of protest rose in the infant’s throat, and Merle took out his wallet and handed it to Daryl.
“The chick’ll probably be out in a day at the most, but kid’s still gonna need to eat. Run down the store and go get some formula or some shit.” Merle instructed, kicking his brother in the leg when he didn’t move, “Go on!”
Daryl nodded slowly, like he was unsure what to do with himself, before taking the wallet and checking there was enough cash in there and heading back out through the open trailer door, shutting it behind him. That left Merle alone with the murmuring infant, now making quiet sounds through its tiny mouth, sucking on its fingers with goggling eyes that were in a perpetual state of confusion.
He pitied the damn thing, knowing that the moment the boy’s mother was released that he’d probably dump the kid back on her, even if he knew that it was immoral and wrong. A part of him feared that it was immoral or wrong to look after the kid himself, afraid of the similarities he’d noticed between himself and Will, seeing it as mercy to give the kid to anyone but him. He had never hurt any kid aside from his own brother and despised people who abused their own kids more than anything, but he used to tell himself that he’d never end up like Will and he did in terms of being an alcoholic who spent more time high than sober anyway, so who was to say he wouldn’t end up the same kind of father as Will was too? He noticed the fears were taking control of his emotions and quickly pushed them to one side, straightening his back and telling himself to get his shit together and relax.
Worst case scenario, he’d be looking after this kid for maybe a couple of days before Thalia got out, then he could talk things through with her and get her to either give up the kid for adoption, or piss off and take responsibility for the fact that she didn’t get an abortion and leave him out of her mess that she’d created. A flash of a realisation told him he didn’t want either of those things to happen, but he pushed that away with everything else, telling himself that he was getting to attached and emotional. No way he could take care of a kid: He’d barely coped with Daryl, and look how he turned out. No, he wouldn’t let himself get attached to the kid, for the boy’s own sake.
Merle knew he wasn’t a good man, and had no faith in himself to be a good father either to the babbling infant in his arms, looking to him with a fondness in its eyes that he didn’t deserve.