AN: The first chapter is a re-post of the original short story I wrote in 'The Saints are Coming'. Because of this, it does not follow the same chapter format as the rest of the fiction.

He hated Merle. The man was nothing but a coked up mess masquerading as a human. The exact kind of filth God had given him permission to kill for the greater good of the world. He was genuinely racist and not just throwing slurs around because that's how things were done and said in Boston. In Georgia, they were meant to be insults.

Worse yet, the fucker was ex-army. Sniper, even. He had the kind of training that made him genuinely dangerous to others if he ever decided to do something about his prejudice. Which he often did. He was in and out of holding cells more often across the last seven years than Murphy (Daryl, name is fucking Daryl now) had ever been in his life. A disgrace is what it was.

...

"What makes ye think he'll go along with it?"

"You look like his brother. A little cleaner around the edges, but enough you could pass at a glance."

"So?"

"So, his brother died a year ago. Hunting accident. Shot through the chest just below his collarbone. Merle couldn't get him to a hospital soon enough and has been a drugged up mess since. He's so addled that if you show up with a scar and talking the right way, he won't know the difference."

"And my tats? Me being Catholic? The fact that I don't know a thing about their past?"

…

He liked Merle. Despite the drugs and the jail time, Merle stuck by him. He often wasn't there and often got himself into a lot of shit, but he checked in at least once a month. He looked out for his 'baby brother'. Sent him money when he could. Smokes, too.

Daryl (Murphy, can't forget who I really am) mostly stuck to the backwoods near their father's house in the mountains of northern Georgia. Kept to himself and the family that had crawled out of the woodwork when he showed back up like he had never been gone. Merle stuck around long enough to introduce them and give a pointed threat to their father that Daryl pretended he didn't see. He wasn't a great brother, but he watched out for him.

…

"Easy. Memory problems. A shot like that, with as much blood as was lost? It's believable."

"And the rest?"

"Lots of people find religion after a traumatic experience. And tattoos aren't uncommon to the crowd we're looking at putting you with."

"I'd rather not, if it's all the same to you."

"You just broke out of the Hoag. A month after going in. You need to go to ground."

"I need to get back to me brother."

…

Merle hadn't accepted his 'return' as easily as Smecker and Bloom had thought he would. He'd ranted and raved, thought he was seeing a ghost. Why he thought it was smart to punch a ghost, Murphy (Daryl, it has to be Daryl now) would never know. If he had been a ghost, Merle's fist would have just gone right through him. 'Cept he wasn't and it didn't. He knew the guy was strong, but Good Lord that had hurt.

The man stopped right after that, Daryl cursing him out and spitting blood. He was lucky he didn't lose a tooth. Said as much and had expected the man to keep coming at him. But Merle just stared, eyes wide. Murphy expected that if he ever lost Connor and suddenly got him back, he'd look a lot like the man standing over him.

…

"They've already transferred him to a different prison. He'll be in solitary for at least a year. Even priests won't get to see him."

"You got me out!"

"You weren't in solitary. And we had men on the inside. We don't have that for him yet. We're not even sure where he's been moved to."

"You want me to just leave him there? For how long?"

"As long as it takes. We've already got Duffy and Dolly looking into the details. Their curiosity won't be suspect. Not with how involved they've been in your cases and Greenly's death. Most people think they have a personal vendetta against you over that. We can use it. But we have to be careful. Take our time."

"You have to be patient."

…

It took almost two months for Merle to finally accept him as Daryl. And when he did it was like a floodgate had opened. Whatever Murphy told him about the tattoos and the conversion from Baptist to Chatholic and even the memory loss, Merle just ate it right up. He took the time to learn about who his brother was now.

And he took the time to teach Murphy who Daryl used to be. All the hunting they used to do together. How their mother died. How good Daryl was at school while Merle got himself put in and out of Juvie before joining the army as soon as he turned 18 just to get away from their father.

…

"...can I write to him?"

"Once we find out where he is, yes. But you can't tell him where you are or that you're his brother. His letters will be read ahead of time."

"Then how am I gonna let him know I'm alright? For all he knows I got shot and 'm bleeding out in the gutter!"

"..."

"I can't let him think I'm dead."

"You can tell him you're a fan. Someone that has a brother and knows how important they are. That you admire him. You guys might not know it, but you have a large following that reaches across the country. People like you."

"Oh we know. We've met some."

…

Merle thought he was fucked in the head when he first found out he was writing to a Boston Saint. Called him a fag, Darleena, pushed him around for his 'celebrity crush'. He backed down after Murphy had enough of playing the submissive and contained younger brother and lashed out. He didn't take his brother yelling back at him like that very well. Flinched before he could get control of himself. Like he expected to be hit.

Daryl had backed down when he saw that. He'd seen it in others before. Abuse victims, mostly. He'd apologized for the outburst and Merle got on his case for being a pussy before leaving the house. He was gone for a week before Daryl found out he'd gotten himself put in the county lock up for drunk driving. He called for a ride back home when he got out since his license got revoked.

…

"He's fucking blond."

"He's not blond. It's a light brown. "
"Looks fucking blond from here."

"It's just the lighting. And from the other pictures we have, it looks like it's just something it does in the summer. When the sun is on it a lot more."

"...he doesn't have the mole. I ain't getting rid of that. No one's taking a knife to me face."

"You don't have to. Plenty of people develop moles later in life. It's not a big deal."

…

One year passed into two. And two into four. And four into seven. Letters were exchanged and Daryl knew Connor could his 'biggest fan' Daryl Dixon was actually his brother. It was how he wrote to him. Taking the initiative to send him a letter every time he got transferred instead of waiting for the mail to be forwarded.

Keeping the same address was hard because Daryl couldn't really stand his and Merle's father. Or their half-uncle. Or any of the family friends. But he had to, so Connor's letters would get to him. He needed those weekly updates on how he was as the years passed because he couldn't do anything to help. Not without giving himself away.

…

"So his brother's never actually been in jail?"

"Nope. He's- You're more quiet than Merle. You're willing to throw down, but you don't generally start fights. You're more of a follower to Merle's lead. Mouthy, though. Sarcastic from the reports we have."

"What kind of reports have that shit in it?"

"All the good ones. Personality notes are important for profiling. The Dixon family is pretty much the epitome of the redneck stereotype. Merle actively encourages it. He's often a drugged up asshole, but he's smart. He knows how people are going to look at him and he uses that. You'll need to do the same."

"What? You want me to become some mini-Merle?"

"It wouldn't hurt."

…

When the reports started coming in about the sickness and the strange deaths, Daryl sent a letter to Connor MacManus. It wasn't unusual for Daryl to make the offer that if Connor ever came out he could come for a visit. He knew it was stupid to say it because of Connor did get out, the authorities would look there first. Daryl had caught people watching him that weren't his people often enough to know they'd be there waiting. But he had to say it all the same.

The last letter he sent was both an invitation and a warning. If things got too bad and Connor managed to get out, Daryl wanted him going to Atlanta. To the refugee center people kept talking about. That was where he and Merle were headed. Along with most of the people in the small towns near their home. They'd be safe there. They had to be. For Connor's sake.

…

"It's just you and me, brother. Ain't no one else gonna care about you. Not in this world. Not now."

"Shut up, Merle."

"You can't keep thinking about it. Got to move on. We're all that's left for each other. We got take care of each other. You know that. Tell me you know that."

"...I know that."

"Come on, now. Let's see if we can find someone that's got food. Make 'em share it."

"...yeah. Sure."

…

His grief when he heard about Merle wasn't feigned. The tears started before he could stop them and the best he could do was wipe his face and pretend they weren't there while he demanded they tell him where he was. Connor wasn't coming. It'd been two months since things went down. Atlanta was gone. Smecker was gone. Bloom was gone. The only brother he had left was Merle.

It was worse when they found his hand on the roof. It was like getting punched in the gut and stabbed in the heart at the same time. He couldn't stop himself as the high-pitched, panicked 'no's escaped. Over an over again they left him and he didn't know if they were for Merle or Connor or anyone else. Maybe they were for himself.

…

"Huntin' in the dark's no good. We'd just be trippin' over ourselves. More people getting' lost."

"But she's twelve. She can't be out there on her own. You didn't find anything?"

"I know this is hard, but I'm asking you not to panic. We know she was out there."

"And we tracked her for a while."

…

After Merle disappeared the facade started to slip. At first he tried to overcompensate for it, going overboard with his words and accusations. Glenn stopping him from putting the bodies of good people in the fire with his insistence they bury their dead was a god send. A right old-fashioned sign from God that he needed to stay with those folks. They just couldn't know that.

And threatening to kill a good man just cause he was bit? 'No tolerance for walkers' as he'd said. Daryl had never felt more relieved than when Rick pulled that gun on him. Couldn't say as much, of course. He had an act to keep up. He had to be the person they all thought he was. If he just changed all of a sudden none of them would trust him. And he needed them to trust him even if everything they knew about him was based on a lie.

…

"We took down a walker."

"A walker. Oh my god."

"There was no sign it was ever near Sophia."

"How can you know that?"

"We cut the sonabich open. Made sure."

…

He broke down at the church. He couldn't keep it up. He hadn't been inside a house of God in months and it just hit him so hard once Carol sat down to pray. He collapsed into one of the back pews like he used to with Connor. Put his head down and brought his rosary out. He was out of practice, but the prayers came to his mind like he'd said them the day before.

After Carol went to sit with Lori and the rail was empty, he stood. Glenn and Rick, they thought he was getting ready to go. He could see it in the way they looked at him, Glenn holding the handle of his crossbow out for him to take it back. But he couldn't leave yet. He had to finish his prayers.

Daryl walked past, hands cupping his rosary and went to kneel in front of the rail. His eyes slid upward to the thorny crown. He wasn't as silent now, his prayers slipping out in mixed latin and irish. A hushed whisper, but it seemed to fill the otherwise silent church. All eyes were on him. God's eyes were on him.

The tears he hadn't let himself shed finally found their way out of him. He had to choke back a sob as he crossed himself and stood. He leaned for a moment against the rail to catch his balance and try to get control back. But God had him now. God had always had him and he should have looked to that more often in the last months.

Daryl clumsily stepped over the rail so he could fall to his knees directly in front of the cross. His right hand reached out (Aéquitas : Justice) to touch the statue's ankle. He took a deep breath, then leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to the wood. He imagined Connor next to him, doing the same. He imagined Merle awkwardly waiting for him hear the back of the church. Both his brothers were gone and now so was a little girl. He needed his faith now more than ever.

When he stood and turned, he found himself alone. The others had left. They were on the steps outside, sitting and standing. Facing away. They'd given him the privacy they thought his moment with God demanded. He didn't know what to think of that. Except perhaps that they were good people. Worth protecting.

Murphy took his rosary and tucked it inside his shirt as he got to the door. Wiped at his face and took the offered crossbow back from Glenn. Took a look around. Sneered and started back across the graveyard. "What the hell are ya'll waiting for? An invitation? We got a girl to find."