The Walking Dead Imagines

Abscond

Verb: leave hurriedly and secretly, escape.

Without a word, Daryl Dixon shuffled through the rickety door of the trailer he lived in. It had been nine days since getting lost in the woods, and all he'd had were some berries he'd scrounged up. His hands, as well as a few other places, were uncomfortably itchy, as he'd accidentally used poison ivy leaves as toilet paper. He was starved, and the only thing on his mind was reaching the kitchen and walking past his father, who'd no doubt reprimand him for being gone for so long.

But that wasn't what happened. Daryl's father sat in his easy chair as he watched a wrestling match on TV. He barely glanced at Daryl when he came in. His father was more interested in the beer in his hand than his own missing son. It was better than being yelled at, Daryl supposed, and he walked into the kitchen to fix something to eat.

Without bothering to clean his hands of the muck caked on his palms, he grabbed the container of bologna and slapped a few pieces between slices of plain white bread. He was too hungry to add anything else. He just stood there in the kitchen, head down and swallowing his sandwich in big gulps like someone would take it away from him if he didn't eat it fast enough.

As he turned to grab himself a glass of water, the screen door in the living room slammed open and Daryl flinched at the sound. The volume of the TV was turned down and Daryl heard his father chuckle to himself.

"Things didn't work out with that slut, huh?" his father asked. "I'll never get ya to fucking leave at this rate."

"Fuck off old man," the familiar raspy voice of Daryl's older brother Merle carried into the kitchen. "I'm in between jobs right now and I need a place to crash."

"Right, of course ya are. My good for nothin' son can't keep a fucking job to save his life." A brief silence followed. "Why the fuck don't you go over to Judy's? She'll let ya stay for cheap."

"I don't need to be sloppy seconds for that whore," Merle grunted. "Especially if my limp dick daddy already put it to her first."

"Didn't know the princess was so goddamn picky," his father sneered.

Daryl heard the heavy footfalls of boots as Merle walked into the kitchen. Merle was a lean young man in his twenties at the prime of his life. Life hadn't been kind to him, especially with his numerous juvie records, but his posture still radiated a youthful cockiness that Daryl had never seen falter. Merle gave his younger brother one look and instantly knew something was wrong.

He walked over to the younger boy and gripped his forearms as he looked at the rash. Merle leaned down so that he could look his brother in the eye. "The fuck did ya do to yerself?"

Daryl looked down at his feet, avoiding his brother's gaze. "Got lost out by the woods near the ravine. Nine days."

Merle's eyes widened as he looked at his brother head to toe. He shook his brother's arms again and asked, "This anywhere else?"

Daryl nodded and looked off to the side to hide his shame. Merle released his brother and stormed into the living room. Daryl stared at the floor as he heard the slam of Merle's boot into the backside of their father's chair.

"Why didn't ya fucking call me?! My baby brother was missing and ya didn't tell me!?" Merle shouted over the TV before it was turned down again.

"Missing? Ya got yer eyes open, boy? Daryl's in the kitchen."

"He told me he was gone for nine days! Ya telling me that ya didn't notice him for nine fucking days!?"

"He's here now, ain't he? Don't matter where he's been if he's back now."