Disclaimer: I don't own The Walking Dead.

Summary: One day, Glenn finds that he has to spend so much time and energy to come back to the world where Daryl exists. And maybe Daryl has to do the same. Some weird or funny stories happened in their long, hard journey.

OK, it will be a long series of stories, but I'll try my best to fulfill it. Thanks!

1. Portal

It is just like a game at the beginning.

Video Game. As you know, those shit classical "Half-Life" or "Team Fortress" where various challenges hidden in the shabby factories for all the hormone-overflowing teenagers to spent weeks for sense of achievement in front of their computers. Glenn is no exception. Actually, his fingers even itch for the imaginary keyboard and mouse while holding onto the rope around his waist, with a vague hope for a portal that might allow his access to a better world.

Well, this hope, or pipedream indeed, helps Glenn successfully neglect the unpleasant target underneath a little bit. After all, he's the glass-half-full guy.

Only when the milk has been drained out before this world turned to shit.

The sudden decline scares the hell out of him like a heart attack. It is true that he's young and agile with the record of 11 seconds for 100-meter dash. Advantages for ground competition, not here, not in the midair shaking with the damn ropes and a rotten swimmer geek waiting to give him a free hug; and his last function is but hysterical struggles and screams.

Let me out let me out let me out-he circles and circles, staring heatedly at the cloudless sky through the far-away well entrance, suffering from the geek nails scratching past his shoes as if a vomiting electric stroke revoking body convulsions.

Oh God! He can't image anything worse than this!

And right after the worst 30 seconds-ranking first six in his life, perhaps, Glenn is totally on his stomach, exhausted and sweaty, desperate to find his breath while nearly 50 orchestras playing Ode to the Joy in his brain, which covers the concerns or depressions nearby.

Concerned as they are, Glenn still needs to express his condemn for such a poor cooperation.

Shane is rechecking the ropes and chatting with Dale, Lori and Andrea's kneeling down at him and patting his shoulder, and Maggie, she shots him an all-of-you-truly-insane look.

Gosh, how could he expect these companions to back him up in tasks? They should've given that zombie a quick and nice shot according to the proposal of T-Dog, who, seemed not that normal recently, though. Wait, wait a minute…

'Hey," He finally asked, 'Where's T-Dog?'

This question freezes everyone in a blink like a slow motion in movie.

'You alright? Glenn?' Lori frowns as if he's the one to get worried.

'I know it's hard for all of us, son, but T-Dog was…' Dark shadow on Dale's expressions, indicating some agony, 'He was wounded in the highway and trapped in the swarm…'

Crap. He just checked this well 5 minutes ago with T-Dog, and had the squirrel meat that Daryl had hunted the day before, and they have even talked about the constellation on the porch last night!

And now T-Dog was dead? Already dead? Seriously?

'No way, I mean, Daryl saved him, right, at that time?' Glenn swallows, while a hint of psychic from nowhere hits him that the answer be inevitably horrible.

Well, everyone now wear the same look as Maggie, at him.

'Who is Daryl?'-the very response.

Fuck.

If the scenario of this world could be re-written, Glenn has been wondering time and time again to go back to Macon, his hometown, in which the old and pretty restaurants and museums everywhere; in which people enjoy the pink Yoshino cherry blossoms flourishing around the city every spring, and in which he's able to kiss Mom goodbye before jumping on his scooter to school; in which his life has never been ruined into debris.

Instead, he wakes up every morning only to see the roof of his tiny tent, as well as the fuzzy fragments of dawn sneaking through the zip. And then the faint sounds in the campsite around gradually bring him back to the reality, this harsh, trivial but still precious tranquility for the time being. That it is. He gets up rubbing his face and goes out to fetch water for Carol's cooking.

And now this tranquility is slipping away. Hell, things could be worse. Firstly they got the explosion of the well geek with scattering gut that made his sacrifice invaluable, and T-Dog was dead and the archer vanished; secondly he found a goddamn dozen of condom in the pharmacy (well, this part might be good, short, though), and their hunter vanished; and at last there were many walkers in the barn, and Daryl Dixon vanished. He faded away, nowhere to be found, and he did not exist at all.

'I have no idea what's going on with you, Glenn,' Andrea speaks before trying to slid him a chocolate bar, which obviously, the same one he brought back for Amy in his previous supply run. Oh, shit.

'There is no any one name Daryl here, as I mentioned before. That day, that day was terrible when a herd of walkers showed up at our dinner time. And you, I mean you, Rick, Shane, T-Dog, Morales and Jim, did try your best to protect us, although we lost many. We buried Amy, said goodbye to Morales's family and left Jim on the way to the CDC, where Dr. Jenner intended to blow us off with everything. Jacqui stayed behind and our sheriffs led us out. Later, we were stuck in the highway. T-Dog went too far away alone in the scavenging routine and got injured, surrounded by walkers, for which, Sophia's scream and run-away did not cause much attention at the end of the line. Rick saved her, but she still got lost, and Carl got shot in searching. So, guess it's why we are here now.' The blonde shrugged, and Glenn could see clearly the Greene farm in the nightfall and the swaying pastures in the breeze right behind her, and her soft green eyes on him, full of concern,

'You must be scared. I'm so sorry.'

Surely, he is scared- not for the well but for her story, which proved to be much too absurd despite the clear orders and absolute conclusions. He's quite sure it was Daryl running behind him back to the campsite at that very night and shot the walkers side by side. It was Daryl raised the Bordeaux and teased him on the joyful table, and chopped one of the walkers with a hatchet before the rest of them running out of the glass wall. It was Daryl contributed Merle's antibiotics to T-Dog generously, and guided them into the dense forest for poor Sophia. Daryl was there, and this is the very truth, the experience he remembered.

'Atlanta? Listen, Glenn, we did go back in there, once.' Rick signed and rubbed his bristly unshaven chin. Judging by his ghostly pale look, the Sheriff did not get some, or any sleep last night.

'I appreciate your bravery to get me out of the tank and take me out of the city through some hidden alleyways. No, let me finish; yes, just you. Aren't you always alone in supply run? Anyway, thank you for bringing me back to Lori and Carl. The camp was good, better if we got more weapons. At that point, we both steered back to the city wearing the blood and gut from a walker nearby. We crossed two blocks to find a gun shop and a full trolley of guns and ammos. Unfortunately an unexpected rain poured down to make us exposed. However, we were managed to escape in time, or that night would be much devastating. Daryl and Merle? Never heard of them. Listen, Shane and I were in charge of hunting on the way, but it is for your frequent and continuous efforts in collecting the supplies that support us, all of us. I know how heavy the burden is, to be responsible for something.' Rick signed again, gently put his hands upon Glenn's.

'Have a rest. Take care of yourself.'

Now this is definitely a wrong duplicate! Why, why he has to endure a more unreasonable version of Rick than Andrea's? Isn't this officer supposed to be the most reasonable-and obtrusive sometimes, never mind- fellow in this group? Isn't he the one handcuffed Merle on the roof and came back to get him from a fake gang with Daryl and T-Dog? How could he make up such easy and rough tale without any plots, without the unstable Dixon brothers, the Spanish protective team to the old, and without the disappear van and the funny squirrel attack? Hell it sounds great and perfect like comic.

Only if there's anything perfect left.

Glenn lowers his head to feel the anguish bitterness. He has asked each and every one, including Carol, who's washing dishes nervously in the RV, receiving nothing but heartbreaking gaze. In fact, there are surprising similarities in their stories, and Glenn is sick of his same opening as 'can you recall a guy name Daryl Dixon?' Actually, he tends to burst out for their insanity of group memory loss. But he can't do that, freaking out in front of those apologetic and worried staring is the last thing he's willing to do. Or it is him become insane, wondering there were a knight chasing after him in the alley, shouting his name while throwing himself to the gate desperately for a failure rescue? Damn pussy.

He has idols as other young men, the Captain America and the Batman, no way a fierce redneck. Daryl could not be fabricated only by his imagination. The Asian boy takes off his cap and tortures his own hair restlessly for this conundrum. Obviously he was thrown into a different world. What is it? The parallel universe, or the time paradox? He begins to felt regret for the absentmindedness in Physics during his sophomore year.

Until he catches the dense bloody stink. Glenn realizes that he's now back to the well, still unsealed, though the half corpse has been tossed back, leaving only the smutches and blood stains all around. Such evil contamination, where everything begins

The black mouth shares certain resemblance with the hell entrance under the silver moonlight. Glenn finds himself just keep fixating on it while some crazy ideas rolling over his mind.

He loses his mind.

Holding his breath, Glenn tries his best to step right upon the sidewall of the well despite the slippery green moss, and successfully make himself down within inch by inch. They have broken the fire hydrant before, and now he depends on the relatively solid fence for ropes fastening and his daring trying to figure out god-knows anything.

He could feel the cold sweat all over his forehead, then nape and back, with the knuckles are bloodless the joints actually pop when he removes his fingers on the knots. The same height, as he's able to distinguish by the damp fetor and suffocating feeling; but what's next? Should he struggle, or scream to ensure a clone set of that damn day?

So he begins to sway and straighten his legs in a safe pace. No revelation from God, obviously. There is nothing but a bulk of rotten meat underneath, by the way, which encourage him to swirl and kick for circles, and more, until the fences creaks by the weights and the shit ropes loose all of a sudden.

Damn it.

He falls directly into the cold water. The mosaic of red and black, the brightness and darkness, together with the greasy and sticky stumps and flesh lumps are making conspiracy to devour him completely from body to soul. Glenn moves up and down with his freaking arms and feet, raising his head higher to ignore the random nails or hairs from that strange undead around flowing into his mouth. And his pupils are covered by dirty sprays that ignite an inevitable fact that he is going to die. Right here right now. All alone. Drown pathetically without actual clear about what exactly he is seeking for. There is only one thing he's able to confirm, which is definitely the ice-cold water. The same feeling as what wrapped him weeks ago.

-It was a late afternoon when one of Sophia's ribbons flown into the lake of quarry when she was playing aside. The poor girl dared not to beg her father Ed for help, or cry, so she just squatted there to watch the thin piece floating far away mopishly. That was beyond his limit as a big brother. Glenn signed before kicking off his sneakers and jumping into the lake with his awkward movements. Swimming has never been his advantage, not as bad as his history score, though; and the last thing he wanted was to get cramp as an idiot hero in front of a girl.

Fortunately, he caught up with the target after nearly ten yards distance. With the ribbon grabbed in hands Glenn waved to Sophia as a real hero. That girl was overwhelmed by his little victory to jump high with wildly waving back and a bright grin. To Glenn's surprise, Daryl, who stood on the ramp not far behind Sophia was also in sight. The hunter probably just came back from the forest for perimeter patrol, casually crossing his arms over his chest, staring, with a slight curve at the corner of his lip. Well, perhaps he had witness the entire story, nor not; or he just shared the joy with Sophia, or actually mocked Glenn's funny strops. Whatever.

Bless for the golden lake dyed by the typical sunshine of Georgia in summer, for it was the first time Glenn heard Sophia shouting, as well as the first time he saw Daryl smiling.

That is the reality, the truth that imprinted on his limbs under the water, then in his memory.

Warmed by such distant images, Glenn managed to flip his arms and eventually touched the marginal of well. At the same time, some ray of flashlight fell upon on him.

'Here,' Maggie hands over a big mug full of hot tea into the shaking hands of Glenn, 'so, any luck under the well? Meeting the legendary Daryl Dixon?'

'…' Hell. Nothing changed. Glenn tightens the blankets over his shoulder, and lowers his head, 'I don't know. Just, don't.'

'Ok, ok, so, this…man, he's that important to you?' Maggie pushes her hairs aside with her slender fingers, and Glenn is damn sure than any others that how it feels when they fell on his nape.

'So important. More than everything you have now?'

Glenn does not respond. He can't, for he's never considered that. Daryl is not compared to 'everything'; he is part of 'everything'. And it just happens. The man joined their group, hunted for them and took the watch. They killed the walkers, joined the funerals, and drove along the endless highway together. Daryl leads their team with his crossbow on his shoulder, hairs greasy on his neck, and he is part of this team, symbolizing security and sureness.

He is part of Glenn's life, until the very butterfly in the tropical rain forest of Amazon River flaps its wings occasionally, and thus the hurricane in Texas two weeks later destroys this part.

Maggie's staring at him silently. Her eyes, those beautiful and lively eyes indicate a brand new life and countless possibilities unfolding. He knows that the right choice is to hold her hands and move on without questions, without the vain effort to do anything. This right choice. He feels it is hard to breath. The change is much too unexpected in just a flash for him to think carefully.

However, Daryl does not in this life, which means a dead T-Dog, a long-lost Sophia, and a present hallucination that someone who seems stop by accident to ask Glenn if he want a try before heading for his daily hunting. He could not stop the Domino falling down one by one. He could not foresee the future. He could not forget those old days, good or bad, when there are numerous traces everywhere.

'Hey, walker bait! You still here~~?'

'Oh, don't call me that.' Glenn felt frustrated for being caught in muzz by Maggie, again, 'I did let them put me down the well 'cause I thought it was funny. Like playing Portal, you know, it's a video game.'

'Of course it's a video game.' Maggie gave him an amusing snap, which, dramatically splits open the muddle darkness as a sharp lighting!

-In this game, the player could not go across a new portal when the previous portal still there!

Oh my god! He got it! He needs another gate!

'I'm sorry, Maggie,' Glenn stands up after a pause, hesitantly, but asked a little too urgent,

'Where are the other wells here?'

And he gives her the one last glance before turning away and running.

He might be regret for this decision, but who cares? It is weird enough for the dead to step out of the grave and wonder around for the livings' necks. So seeking for some familiar order in this fragmented world would be HIS choice. Even that order means just one person.

The night still holds the withering dawn, but there are slight pinky clouds along the east sky. The summer breeze from the lake brings some fresh air for dilution of the nightmare stink from the corpse burning, though Daryl is quite confirmed that such smell would still linger and linger around until the end of his life.

He crouches by the lake and let the cool water refresh his face. Several drops slide down from his chin to neck then to naked back, and then melt away in the ragged jeans. Back on his feet, he is about to put on a clear shirt before rapid footsteps causes his attention.

That Asian kid. Glenn, rushing towards him in a neck-broken speed.

'Walker?' Daryl frowns while hands already on the weapon.

'No…no…'Glenn gasps heavily, trying to catch his breath while shaking hands frantically. Hurried and worried as the kid is, he even forgot his stupid cap. And the kid just keeps on staring Daryl's face for at least a minute before speaking,

'Daryl, Daryl Dixon, is that you?'

'The hell d'you want?' The hunter feels irritated to see those odd look of the kid, which weaving with the weariness for marathons and the joy for killing turkeys luckily.

'Would you please…don't shoot me?'

What?

Before he's able to response, which is rare, indeed, Glenn dashes on him to give him a literal and practical bear hug.

Jesus!

Daryl stiffens to death immediately from the touch and cuddle, initially groping his hunting knife to stab the kid. Fortunately, he stops in time, just tries to shake Glenn out of him. Well, the little man is stronger than he's expected-Daryl might offer his compliment in other occasion, though he might never admit it, too.

So Glenn's arms are still wrapping tightly around his chest. The boy, only a few inches shorter, burying deep in his shoulder and neck desperately, smells like the raccoon's fur and fermenting berries. He could taste the dried blood and harsh grass in camp through the soft black hairs beside his cheek, while the kid's hot breath makes his frozen muscles relax bit by bit, just like some sweet marshmallow. Daryl could not remember the last time he felt it, the heat, heartbeat and weight from others, being embraced like this. Long ago, it must be, too long to leave him just a few faint shadows. He does not dislike it, and even miss it.

That is the moment Daryl let his arms down and raises his head to see the clouds upward being dragged into slim strips and melting into the border of the forest with the morning sun. Almost absentmindedly, his trails of thoughts come back to the Dixon farm where he was eager to help his Pa for horse treating when he was seven. The little colt, Hindley, leaned neatly on his shoulder with regular and gentle snuffles; damn if Glenn's not exactly like that. He also thinks of that this kid's yelled at him yesterday, shouting, but with tears nearly dropped down from those puppy eyes. Shit. He hates it. The weak.

Fine. He could not stab the kid now; what should he do? A moment later, he raised a hand hesitantly to pat Glenn as god damn softly as he can.

'There, there…?'

Glenn finally pulls away with impossible red-face and repeated apologies while babbling something like 'time travel' or 'it should save T-Dog'. Jesus Christ, this little pussy clearly just woke up from some incredible nightmare. City guy, no need to bother this. Daryl strokes his jaw and puts on his clothes before heading out to the camp with his bow, resolute to forget what just happened.

But he stops, just around the corner, turning to the kid who still stands in the same spot.

'You coming or not?'

Then he catches the sight of Glenn's smile, all that relaxed and happy, like solving a huge problem. That smile does not fade away when the kid jogs towards him.