I don't own any of the characters of The Walking Dead or Norman Reedus. If I did I'd be doing many sinful things to him right now. Just kidding (no I'm not...)

"Who is Norman?", questioned the Asian of the group.

The hunter becomes noticeably tense. The group quiets down immediately, expecting him to blow up at poor Glenn. Seeing how Daryl hasn't made a move toward the younger man had eyes quickly on him then to Isabella. Nervously glancing at her husband, she then reverted back to her sight on the ground by her feet. She visibly squirmed under everyone's gaze, not knowing how to proceed. Daryl, to everyone's shock, placed a slightly shaking hand on top of hers. The small gesture lets her know she could tell the story.

It sometimes sucked to be in a tight group of curious people.

Still unable to make eye contact with anyone, she focuses on something behind the group sitting around the campfire.

"Norman was our son".

Silence engulfs the band of survivors. Numerous faces held pity, regret, and disbelief, yet it was no secret that they were curious. It wasn't every day that the Dixon couple revealed anything from their past or highly personal. Daryl's grip slightly tightened in encouragement, unable to say what he desperately wanted to tell her.

"We had him young. I got pregnant when I was.19, Daryl just turned 25," a smile slowly appears on her face, obviously remembering their early days, "He was so beautiful with dark brown hair and the biggest hazel eyes." Her eyes watered, but her smile never faltered. Daryl's solemn look slightly melts as he pictures their son; how he would smile his wife's smile.

"So he looked just like you, huh?",T-Dogg commented jokingly, "Lucky he didn't get Dixon's ugly mug". The group laughed at T-Dogg's good natured jesting, even Daryl chuckled. The mood lightened around them, but that wouldn't last.

As always, Shane had to burst the happy bubble that the group formed.

"So what happened to him?"

This time Daryl picks up the story. His gravelly voice came out quietly, but the words he spoke shook the others around the campfire to the core.

"One night me an' Bella went out. Dun' even 'member for whu' anymore. We left 'im wit my cuzin Joanna to watch 'im. Merle was out on a bender somewhere…We din't know…", he stops to swallow the lump that rose in his throat.

Isabella flips her hand from under his and entwines their fingers. It was her turn to support her man.

"My cuzin had a dead beat boyfriend. On an' off kinda' shit," Lori tries in vain to cover Carl's ears. Daryl was well-known to have a potty mouth, "He'd beat her ass an' would screw bar whores behind 'er back…sorry", he apologizes to Lori and Carol. At this point both mothers have given up on filtering Daryl's bad language from their children, just a waste of energy. They can just tell them to not repeat them. Nodding their heads at him, he continues.

" 'Parrently he came back from his own bender. Showed his sorry ass up at her place an' they got inta' it. Dirt bag left 'fore she called the police." Taking a heavy drink from his beer he uses it as a distraction from the emotions reeling within him. Isabella blinks away the tears forming in her eyes, the firelight giving her a warm glow.

"Crazy sonuvabitch came back tweaked on sumthin' heavy. We go back to Jo's place an' find it trashed. Found 'er lyin' on 'er kitchen floor; blood everywhere." Carol gasps from across the campfire. One of her delicate hands covers her mouth while the other arm tightens around Sophia. The others are tentative to hear the rest of the story.

Isabella sees her husband's hesitance to continue. Jo was one of the only family members he could trust and who truly cared about him. She didn't have any motives or hidden agendas. Having lost her was like losing his mother all over again.

"He had stabbed her repeatedly and took Norman", her voice came out at a whisper, "Cops did almost nothing to help. The search lasted a couple of days at the most, and then they just gave up."

Rick looked disgusted. Even Shane looked shamed for wearing a badge shared by those supposed men of the law.

"We'd go over to the station almost every day and get no news until we gave up asking. Daryl would look in the woods and every possible place that asshole could be. If we weren't working we were searching. I practically went to every door in Georgia with my fliers and pictures of him, asking if they saw my baby. Merle had disappeared the night he came back, after we told him what happened. Even missed Jo's funeral." Frowning at the dark time of their lives, Daryl turns to his wife, hating the next part.

"Weeks later we get a call from Merle. We were pissed he hadn't been around. He just tells us to meet him at this old hunting lodge and for Daryl to bring his good knife. We get there by nightfall; inside was that sick piece of shit."

"'Bout time ya'll get 'ere. Tempted to do this myself", Merle's voice came from the corridor on their left.

Sitting in the middle of the would-be living room was Joanne's missing boyfriend. Tied to a chair and gagged with one of Merle's dirty bandanas, face black and blue no doubt Merle's handiwork. Shocked and speechless, I stood by Merle as Daryl runs to the beat up man and begins his own assault. Whimpers and groans of pain escape the aged man as Daryl yells for his son's whereabouts, for killing the woman who was more of a mother to him than his biological one, and for just being fucking scum.

I'm shaking my shaking as I walk to Daryl. I need to calm him down so we can find Norman, then he could tear him a new asshole, hell I was gonna' do the same. As much as I want to strike the greasy haired man for all he's done, I need him conscious so I can have my baby back in my arms.

"Where's my son?" My voice carrying all the emotions I've had since my boy's disappearance.

Daryl steps back. The heat, from his body's exertion from pummeling the man, came off him in waves, calming my trembling form. The battered man lifts his head with much difficulty yet despite his pain, he smiles a toothless grin, blood and saliva spilled out of his mouth.

"Ya' wan' ol' Tom to tell ya' whur' yer lil' brat 's at, huh," his sorry attempt at a flirtatious grin directed at me turns sour," an' afta' ya' sick yer fukin' guard dogs on me!" He spits on the floor by my feet. I instantly feel Daryl by my side; a warning growl was thrown at Tom. He didn't even care how that action gave fact to Tom's insult.

"Where's my son", I repeat.

Tom doesn't say a word; doesn't even acknowledge my presence. Talking is clearly getting us nowhere. As much as I want to shake this man and demand the information I desperately need, I leave him into the hands of professionals of extracting information. I step back, allowing Merle to take my place by Daryl.

I have never encouraged illegal activities or violence among others, well nothing that causes harm to innocent people, but being married to a Dixon teaches you that sometimes turning a blind eye is also an option.

'No one hurts my family.'

It is one concept Merle and I could agree with whole heartedly.

'Dixons stick together. Nothing is stronger than blood girlie', she could hear his voice in her head as if he was reminding her to never doubt them.

Daryl continues to stare at Tom; intimidating him and invoking fear in the man without even touching him or saying a word, a Dixony quality she had noticed.

Merle calmly walks out of the room and returns after a few moments with a small table. He leaves again and can be heard rummaging for something in the other room. The tranquility of these two dangerous men has clearly taken a toll on the subdued man. Shaking, with sweat trekking down his face for what's to come. The phrase "the calm before the storm" has never rang truer than that very moment.

Time seem to tick slowly, I feared Merle was out back getting high at the worst possible moment. The thought was quickly diminished when he re-entered the room with a familiar leather bag, his steps slow and heavy with purpose. Daryl moved out of his way, giving Merle room to set his things on the small table.

As he unravels the kit from inside the bag, he reveals numerous hunting knives. The state they were in shows the care they are given; nothing short of the ex-marines anal retentiveness with his weapons. The deadly tools are his pride and joy, next to his bike, and that says something. I had a vague idea of what was about to take place.

A part of me wanted to leave the room; to leave the damn cabin with my humanity still intact and not be part of the imminent torture. I didn't though. A larger, more vicious part of me I had not known existed, had willed my body to remain. Humanity be damned, I was gonna' see this man feel just an ounce of pain I have been carrying since that night.

"You ain't gonna' do shit Dixon."

My thoughts were cut off, my attention back to the issue at hand. Merle's infamous smirk is set on his face, a sign of trouble if I knew one.

Warm puffs of air are blown by my ear, brought chills down my spine.

"Ya' shur ya' wanna' see this darlin'?" Seeing the inner battle in his all-knowing blues, "ya' can go wait in the truck if ya' want." Leave it to my redneck to worry about my feelings when a man is about to be tortured in front of him. I had half a mind to take up his offer. Shaking my head I remain.

We didn't wait long for Merle to break the man.

Thick beads of perspiration continued to fall down his face towards the now damp collar of his over washed blue t-shirt. Once giving us directions to where he left Norman, we left Merle to handle the fearful man.

No one said he was free to go.

We drove around unfamiliar roads and ended up in front of an abandoned trailer in the middle nowhere. Nearing morning, the little light given showed us how the old mobile home was falling apart; clearly no one has lived in there in quite some time. We stay sitting in the truck, apprehensive of what we would or would not find; too afraid to be disappointed or worse heart broken.

Looking at the ominous home more was a further reminder of the harsh reality that our son may or may not be there. The thought of him being there and our hesitance to go in had sickened us. It was what made us quickly rush out of the truck and into the condemned home.

Running up the rickety stairs, we were met with a locked front door; a problem easily solved with Daryl's brute strength. One good solid kick did the trick. The door never had a chance.

Rushing inside we were met with total darkness, the morning's light did little to help us see in the darkened home. I immediately started calling him out; Daryl raised his hand to silence me.

"He might not be alone, Sweetheart". We quickly search for our son, but stayed alert for any sign of trouble.

The camp remained enraptured with their story.

Silent tears ran down Isabella's cheeks. Daryl's head hung low, most likely glaring at the ground.

"We found him", she choked out. "His tiny body…that monster, he…" Daryl got up and headed toward their tent.

"You don't gotta save any more," came Carol's timid voice.

The solemn looks the young woman received, most tearful while others remorseful, led her to shake her head.

"No, it's ok," clearing her throat, "We called the cops. Told them we got some anonymous call that led us there. Once all the paper work and testimonies were given, we went back to the cabin."

"What he did to our son…unforgivable."

Her expression turned steely. She can still remember the bloodied corpse of her son's murderer. Merle and Daryl left him so disfigured to the point of recognition. He was not to be mourned or given a proper burial. They never knew what Merle did with the body. He just said he'd handle it. She had full confidence that he could.

"We got there and by Merle's expression Joe musta' hinted to him what we would find. I stayed in the other room while my boys unleashed hell." Wiping the tears clean from her face, a watery smile appeared.

"The funeral was beautiful. Everyone that has ever met Norman just adored him; the purest Dixon there ever was." She gave a small chuckle, not wanting the gloomy mood settled around them to suffocate her any longer than it already has. "He was our little angel."

"My perspective on Merle changed since then. I know he's a mean sonuvabitch and a total asshole; I'm not disillusioned, but…he did right by me that night. He gave me justice," shaking her head, "I did not want Tom to go to court. Did not want him to be sentenced to jail and serve his time, it would mean he'd get time to live another day and have a chance to redeem himself in the eyes of the law. He would be released in years time. I wanted him to suffer, to be scared and beg for mercy. Mercy he didn't show my family and would be denied as well. Merle did that for me; divine justice from the devil himself."

"Damn." The awed voice coming from Glenn, "I…wow. I'm sorry I brought up such painful memories. I didn't know."

"It's okay Glenn, you didn't know…Just don't bring it up again."

Receiving small nods in return, the short statured woman gets up and stretches before heading towards her husband. She needed to be with him.

Opening the flap to the entrance of the tent, she was met by her husband's wide muscled back. The scars that littered his back became visible in the moonlight. Quickly zipping the entrance so to give them much needed privacy and to not reveal the state her husband was in. Any other person would have been fooled into believing he was sleeping, not her. Being married to the man, even for the small amount of time they have, has taught her the many habits of her man. And Daryl Dixon is a creature of habit.

Lying behind he strong hunter, she drapes her arm around him. The difference of their bodies is quite noticeable, even in the cloak of the night. Her natural tan is many shades lighter and softer compared to his weather roughened skin. His much larger frame made it impossible to fully wrap her arm around him, but it didn't halt her from tending to her husband's grief. Feeling his body shake slightly, she tightens her hold on him.

He curls within himself, not unlike a small child who's been hurt. He is vulnerable…angry...heartbroken.

She cries into his back, inhaling his unique musky scent of sweat, the woods, and something only to be described as Daryl.

One Sinewy arm wraps around hers, giving it a firm grip in acceptance. No words were needed, having been in similar positions numerous times since Norman's disappearance and passing, both seeking comfort in each other.

Minutes past, resembling hours, as they settled in each other's embrace. Neither one of them wanted to release the other.

"That day was the day I truly accepted being a Dixon."

Unsure on how to respond, he raises a brow, Daryl's curiosity got the better of him. His wife has never said anything like this before, never said what she thought of his family's name and reputation that came with it.

His slight movement wordlessly let her know he wanted her to go on.

"I mean… I didn't and still don't care what everyone in town thought about being a Dixon, but… that day, I was damn proud of sharing that name with y'all."

Daryl still did not know what she was going with this. The conversation was random yet his grief was being soothed by her pride of being a part of his family.

"What you and Merle did, I don't know anyone who would be able to do it." Her husband's harsh look made her hurry to explain herself and carefully word her next words. "It isn't a bad thing, well…, it WAS a bad thing, but not something I would condone. Ugh, what I'm tryin' to say is that for the first time I understood what it was to be a Dixon. That regardless of what anybody thought or said; kin comes first. Dixons stick together and would do anything for family.

Understanding started to show in his gaze.

"I couldn't get my baby back…", she takes a deep breath while her hold tightens almost painfully around him, " but that dick wad got what he deserved and then some. Merle is an asshole, he's a racist pig, but he's family. He did what he could for his family even if that made him out as some sort of monster. He earned my respect and my loyalty that day."

"Ever tell'em that?"

"Hell no. His ego is bigger than Texas. I don't need him reminding me every damn second of my life that I like'em!"

Daryl laughs. Leave it to his woman to insult and praise his brother at the same damn time.

'She's right tho'.'

The couple settles down. The quiet of the camp and tent soothes their erratic souls, both are emotionally and physically exhausted. Daryl turns his body so that he is the one curled around her. Isabella sighs, sleep threatening to take over.

"Do ya'..." nervous, he isn't sure how to continue. The somber mood had just been uplifted, "Do ya' think we should try again to have a baby?" The second he uttered those words he regretted them.

Isabella was silent. He cringed. The thought of having a baby at these hectic times was a death wish. A pregnant woman needs so much care and protection that cannot be given while constantly fighting and running from the undead. He already felt like a failure for not being able to that for her, and she wasn't even with child.

He was not trying to suggest substituting Norman. No way. Norman was his first son, his first child, but… he missed him so much. He missed holding his own child while he cried from taking a fall or from having a nightmare. He missed explaining every question that puzzled him and having his big bright eyes look up at him like he knew everything about anything after answering his questions. What he missed the most was how Isabella looked while holding their child, how she glowed and made him feel like the most important person in the world just for being the protector of his little family.

As if knowing his train of thought, Isabella grabbed his hand that was wrapped around her hip and brought it to her lips. Gently kissing his rough knuckles, her warm breath sends a small chill down his spine. How could this small woman make him feel so big yet so small all at the same time?

"One day, baby. Not now of course. I wouldn't wanna' put either of y'all or anyone from the group in danger."

Releasing the breath he did not know he was holding, glad she didn't take what he said the wrong way.

"Maybe we would have a baby girl," Daryl smiles at the thought, really liking what she said about having a little girl. "She will have your blue eyes and dirty blond hair."

"It's not blonde! Its justa' light brown."

She rolls her eyes at his denial. "Okay, okay. So she'll have your LIGHT BROWN hair."

"Yea' , but she be like ya'. Always smilin' and makin' me laugh. She'd be fukin' beautiful like 'er mama." She giggles at the image of their non-existent daughter.

"She's gonna' have so many boys chasing after her affections. We're gonna' have to beat them off with a bat!"

They both bask in the silence of their tent. Both were thankful of his decision to move their tent so far from the camp. Dale's and T-Dogg's not so silent competition of who snores the loudest can get on anyone's nerves. Her eyes close. Sleep invading her senses. She is suddenly startles awake by Daryl's quick jerk as he sits up abruptly.

"HELL NO! No way is sum' boy gonna' git near my baby gurl!"

His random outburst brought his wife another bout of giggles. His grumbles and silent threats on how he was going to kill any boy who even thought of getting near his princess and how she wasn't ever going to leave his sight brought a smile to her face. Her husband's jealousy is legendary, before and after the world went to shit.

'Maybe it's a Dixon thing?'

Ignoring her husband's ramblings she succumbs to a well-deserved slumber. Least to say, a certain redneck hunter's sleep was far from being restful, his faithful crossbow at arm's reach. Death threats being muttered even in sleep.