Disclaimer: Obviously, I don't own anything related to The Walking Dead.

Other Stuff: This is the first piece of fanfiction I've written about "Walking Dead." I was inspired by so many fabulous fics about this show that I couldn't resist writing my own. Enjoy!

SPLINTER

Daryl Dixon was dreaming about being buried alive. In the darkness, he could barely make out any features of his surroundings, only that it was dark and he couldn't move. He remembered feeling the thrilling tug of fear in his throat, and there was a deep stabbing pain near his left shoulder. To his surprise, he dreamt of someone else in the coffin with him, and he heard Rick's voice, but he couldn't make out what he was saying. Then there was a deep rattling explosion and a burst of bright white light.

"Hey, little brother!"

Daryl woke up with a start, his hands automatically reaching for his cross bow. In the early morning light, which shone through the prison walls, he found himself staring up at his brother, Merle.

"What is it?"

"Goin' huntin'. You in?"

"Are you nuts? With the outer gates gone? There are walkers crawling around every where, Merle."

Merle was edgy, as usual, as if suffering from perpetual withdrawal. "Gotta get me some real breakfast. Had my share of this canned crap. And now's a good time of day."

"I'm gonna pass," said Daryl. "And you should too. It's unsafe with the Governor and his men about."

"I can take care of myself," the older man said, and there was a hint of wounded pride in his voice. Daryl suspected that Merle was up to something else but he couldn't say what it was.

"All right, then," said Daryl. "Let me sleep."

Merle shook his head, looking as if he needed to spit, and then changed his mind. A shadow passed across his face. In a minute, he was gone.

Daryl had almost drifted off to sleep again when he felt hands shaking him awake.

"Daryl!"

He jerked upright again, groggy, and rubbing his eyes.

"All right, all right. What is it?"

Glenn was at his side, and Carl too. They both looked worried.

"Rick's gone off again," said Glenn.

"Gone off?" Daryl asked, and then he motioned to Glenn, "or gone off off?"

Glenn glanced quickly at Carl. "The latter. He was muttering something about Lori and went back into the unprotected cells. He wouldn't respond to Hershel or me. We've got to bring him back."

"All right," Daryl said and grabbed his bow. "I'll get him."

"I'm coming with you," said Glenn.

Daryl paused and put a hand up. "No. You've got to stay behind and lead. Protect the place in case the Governor comes back."

Glenn looked like he wanted to protest, then nodded. Daryl leaned down to Carl and flicked the brim of the boy's Sheriff's hat.

"You take care of this place for a bit, okay?"

Carl smiled grimly and straightened.

Daryl shook any remaining sleep out of himself, then walked away.

When he found Hershel, the older man was with Carol, helping to darn shirts.

"Did you hear about Rick?" the former vet asked.

"Yeah, I'm going after him." Daryl had the sinking feeling that he was going on a mission slightly beyond his skill levels and that Hershel might have some insight. "What's going on?"

Hershel sighed. "He's having delusions, and sometimes hallucinating figures. He sees his wife. It's the grief."

Daryl took a quick breath. "And what if he won't come back with me?"

"Use your best judgment," Hershel said, and heaved himself up on crutches, ambling towards a nearby cabinet. "Knock him out if you have to. By force or with these."

Hershel handed Daryl a small container full of white pills.

"They're painkillers. Give him one or two. Hopefully it will calm him down enough not to put up a fight."

"If I can calm him down enough to take one," muttered Daryl.

Carol looked up from her work with soft eyes, canny and knowing. "Be careful," she said.

Daryl winked at her, and then took her hand. How strange that you could feel hope in a handshake.

Huh.

"I'll be back before you know it."