An excited 'Hey!' to all my new readers, and a giant 'HEY YOU GUYSSSSS!' to all of my returning ones! :D I recently had someone suggest to me that my OC in my DarylxOC fic 'Something to Rely On' would be very compatible with Glenn in a pairing. The thought wouldn't leave my mind, and I had to write something with them together - but I didn't want to change my fic pairing for StRO: Daryl and my OC *do* get along really well as well. So, I've created this minor AU type setting, where my OC arrived in the survivor's lives just a few days later in slightly different circumstances - but with the biggest changes.

You don't need to have read Something to Rely On, so don't worry about that (although, you should. Go do it now! It's pretty good! This fic can wait for your return (and your review ;D (PARENTHESIS!)))

Anyway, enough of my gabbing - enjoy! :3

DISCLAIMER OF UN-NECESSITY: I do not own The Walking Dead. If I did, do you think I'd be here right now, writing fanfics for my own work? No, I'd be working all of my pairings into the main plot-line ;3

Chapter 1 - Overhead

Sometimes, looking out at the setting sun, hearing children run about at your feet, Dale thought you could almost forget that you were in the middle of the apocalypse.

Fixing his hat back onto his gradually balding head as it shifted in the light summer wind, he contemplated on the welcome lack of walkers they had seen lately. Ever since the initial clearing out of the area, there had been next to none of what Glenn had taken to calling 'geeks' along with Daryl and T-Dog – what remained of a scraggly looking loner of an old man or wolfish runaway teenager would sneak onto their boarders every so often, if they kept the fires on too long at night or conversed too enthusiastically during the day; but they were swiftly dispatched by a blast from Shane's shotgun, a bolt from Daryl's crossbow, or, less often, Dale's own, reliable old hunting rifle, which was leaning against his chair, always loaded and at the ready as he took his place at the top of the RV, self-appointed guard of the camp.

Dale coughed, his healthy lungs without a wheeze about them, reverberating smoothly and hitchless. Whenever he coughed, it brought back unpleasant memories of his wife in the later stages of her lung cancer, when she would bark up blood and bile throughout the day, her agonised rasps of breathing echoing loudly and unendingly through Dale's head as he sat vigil at her side, silent, just watching her - watching her die. Eyes glazed over with hopelessness that never cleared until he met the girls, he had wished that he could give her his lungs and get swept away in a flood of cruel sickness instead.

Frowning, squeezing the binoculars tighter in his hands, he spotted Amy happily stroll through the centre of the camp, a tin bucket full of mushrooms for dinner in her hands. Seeing her, he forced the unhappy thought away from his mind – the past was past, however painful it may be, and the girls were what mattered now. He had vowed to look after them as they had looked after him, and he would die himself before breaking that steadfast promise.

Keeping his vow in mind, he steeled himself and started scouring the horizon with a newfound vigour, a smile on his face. A while passed with him up there, keeping an eye on T-Dog and Jacqui as they made their way down to the quarry to help a disgruntled Andrea with the washing, laughing all the way about some story he had told. Catching a glimpse of Andrea's golden mane as she turned and greeted the others, quirking her impish lips as she made a sullen remark on her workload, Dale could feel his eyes soften, leaving him unwilling to move his gaze for a while.

Morales' quiet wife had come to him then, carrying a purified cup of water for him to drink, a bucket full of the stuff at her side as she passed it around the camp, and, from the knowing glint in her eyes, she had seen where his gentle eyes lay fixed. For a while, they exchanged conversation, Dale gradually gulping down his glass, she telling him that she could give him her parasol from her car if he wanted, to shield him from the sun, it was really fine: she wasn't using it, it was just something she had bought when she was pregnant in Mexico and finding it too hot – when one of her children pelted over, holding her doll and loudly complaining of having gotten mud on it. Giving him the well-humoured smile of an affectionate mother going off to her duty, she departed with a casual 'She looks nice today, huh?', leaving him chuckling good-naturedly at her shrewdness.

He had only just brought his attention back to his task when there came an abrupt yell from the underbrush near the boarders of the camp. Taking a swift hold of his rifle, pulling back the safety and bringing his eye to the dotted sight, he stopped upon recognition of the reluctantly proud face of Daryl Dixon, a fresh line of squirrel meat tied to his belt, and a large buck of a deer heaved onto his back. Recognising the bountiful dinner they would be enjoying, Amy sprang up immediately, cheerfully offering her assistance, which he said he didn't need, when T-Dog came up the path with Andrea and Jacqui, saw his bearings, and instantly took hold of the other end of the beast, ignoring Daryl's protests, exclaiming to his girlfriend about how they were going to spit-roast the thing like your great-grandfather would.

Feeling his stomach rumble when he thought of the feast they would be having that night, Dale reluctantly turned away, sighing contentedly as the aroma of tender cooking venison gradually began to fill the air, enthusiastic conversations starting to spring up around the fire as people began to filter into the bustling centre of camp, pulling overthrown tree-trunks round the burnt patch of ground where the fire was, hugrily catching glances of the slow-forming dinner at their side. Watching the sun begin its slow crawl down the vast, cloudless Georgian sky, Dale stood, stretched his old, wily limbs, and decided to join them, slinging his beaten old hunting rifle over his shoulder and climbing down the ladder.

It was on the last wrung of the ladder when there was an audible, painful-sounding crack that it took him a few seconds to realise had come from him, and he stumbled down, his feet lying flat on the ground as he bent over, quickly rubbing his abruptly twinging spine, groaning quietly.

Mumbling a few choice words to himself, Dale heard a sly voice call out, "Feeling your age, old man?" Turning, he found the mischievous face of Andrea before him, with Amy's more concerned gaze peeking over her shoulder, a soggy rag she was using to clean a pot for Lori in her soft hands.

Throwing her sister a vaguely scolding glare, pinching her able shoulder between her forefinger and thumb, Amy told her off, "Andrea, don't say that!" She turned back to Dale, giving him a gentle, piteous smile, quieter than before, "Aw, Dale, 're you okay? You hurt your back?"

Scoffing lightly, Andrea shook her head, rolling her eyes, "He is just fine, Amy," she glanced at Dale, her eyes lighting up with expectation, "right, Dale?"

After a pause, admiring the young glint in Andrea's sparkling blue eyes, Dale stood up tall again and brought a hand up to rub at his stubbly chin, giving the worried looking Amy a broad, reassuring smile which she quirked an eyebrow at, unconvinced, "I'm good as new."

After a moment, Andrea's eyes softened and she gave a satisfied, quiet bark of laughter, turning back to the fire and walking away as she called over her shoulder with a verbal grin lacing her good-natured words, "I'll save you a seat, golden oldie."

Amy rolled her eyes half-heartedly, looked back to Dale, gave him a wink, said, "I'll give you my pillow tonight, to lie on," then strolled back to grab a heaping plate before he could complain that he didn't need it. Halting for a moment, touched by their care, Dale ignored the throbbing pain of his back and joined them, a plastic plate already awaiting him on a ravenous Andrea's lap, with a sly 'Forgot your cane?' accompanying it.

Before they knew it, the camp had settled into a jolly, exuberant warmth that they hadn't experienced for a while, and the feeling of just being on a long-haul camping trip began to settle in even more with every joke thrown into the fray, every shared chop of venison, every helpful grabbing of vegetables for another, with conversation finally turning away from plans and what the walkers were to topics that were actually ordinary – where did you come from, what was your brother's name, what did you major in at highschool: questions which didn't seem like much, but nonetheless brought them all closer together with their sheer normalcy. By the time Glenn and Shane arrived back, looking exhausted and brow-beaten, touting boxes of canned food and candy for the kids – something Sophia actually squealed at with joyous surprise – as well as a big supply of gas cans for their myriad of cars and vans, things seemed to be getting to the point where they were actually enjoying themselves.

Bounding over with a sudden energy when he saw the half-carved carcass of the deer Daryl – who sat a little away from the main fire with his stoned brother, silently ravaging his food – had caught, Glenn set his dusty baseball cap on the ground, piled his plastic plate high with venison and moaned with delight at the taste of meat other than 'chicken'. At Glenn's plain ecstasy, a renewed sense of togetherness and good humour encircled the camp, with more than a few digs at his blissful grin whilst not bothering to hold back their own. Shane caught Lori's eye, threw back his shoulders, put down his shotgun and sat down next to her to eat, with no-one - aside from a happily oblivious Carl - missing the secretive little nudge they gave each other when near again.

Time passed well, relished by them all. Even Sophia and Carol started to enjoy themselves when the perpetually scowling Ed walked away without a word, Carol hastily inferring that he had a stomach-ache, despite Dale having heard him specifically mumble about 'damned scroungers' when he stormed off. Having finished her plate, with everyone else around her starting to snack on some packs of cookies Glenn and Shane had brought back, patting their full bellies in content, Andrea excused herself to go to the bathroom.

Watching as she gracefully hopped up the steps to the RV and letting the door shut behind her, Dale turned to Glenn, who was in the process of trying to dislodge a piece of venison from his gullet after laughing too hard at a joke T-Dog had made about rubber ducks, and, throwing one more look over his shoulder to the Winnebago, he addressed the young man, "Glenn, I was hoping that, next time you go up Atlanta way, you could jump into a drugstore and get me something for this old, cricky back of mine."

Amy swivelled to face Dale, gave him a wry smile that exuded wily knowingness as to why he had chosen that specific moment to make his request, whilst Glenn turned to him, blinking as he finally cleared his airway with the help of a hefty pat on the back by Jacqui, and gasped out, "Yeah, sure."

This simple reply came with it an abrupt downpour of requests.

"Oh, if you're going to the drugstore, could you get vitamins for the kids? They need supplements to keep healthy."

"Sure."

"Can you grab me some antihistamines for my allergies?"

"Sur-"

"-Get me some toothpaste, too, please."

"Su-"

"-Some ibuprofen—"

"—Uh-"

"-Pepto-Bismol—"

"—Wait, I-"

"-Tampons?— "

"—Wait, what?"

As the requests started to get increasingly personal, they all collapsed in a fit of laughter, watching Glenn's face grow gradually redder until he resembled some form of racial stereotype. Eventually, he resorted to yelling as loud as he could and stomping his feet in a desperate attempt to override their demands, but they wouldn't have anything of it – the younger ones all egging him on with outrageous items they had no use for (Glenn's yelp of 'A what?' earning an impressive bout of new ruckus) until Shane, still gently grinning as he slowly rubbed an unusually quiet Lori's shoulder stepped in and told them to keep it down.

Turning and watching as an immediately interested Andrea came back to sit, joining in on tormenting Glenn, Dale leaned back on the log he was sitting on, Amy giving him a smile as he looked up at the stars and allowed the conversation to form into a comforting white-noise, smiling to himself.

You could almost forget that there was no rescue ever coming to save them from hell.

Carefully stepping over an abandoned suitcase that had burst open to reveal now pathetically defunct bank-notes, giving a nearby, toppled over children's pram a wide berth with a grimace, Glenn checked his map again.

Having given himself a few days of rest after the last expedition he had went on with Shane to grab gas and supplies, he had woken up that morning bright and early, groggily wiping his eyes and wolfing down a pack of stale potato chips that didn't seem to have any taste to them, washing them down with a dusty, lukewarm can of soda. Carol, ever the early starter, had packed him a lunch of leftover venison, dry, overly sweet candy and plenty of reused bottles of water, telling him to keep hydrated with a small, gentle smile.

Lugging his rucksack of supplies onto his back and making sure his ever-present map was in its usual spot in his pocket, he went to Shane, who was gathering a clean shirt from a contented looking Lori, and took the usual warning of 'Don't dent the fender' that came with the jingle of Shane's Hummer keys. He had set off with only a quick goodbye to quiet little Sophia, sitting and working on maths problems with Carl, who asked him to find them some tubs of ice-cream, if there were any refrigerators still working in the world – Carl's smile a little less hopefully expectant than Sophia's when Glenn accepted the task willingly in exchange for a few, heaping scoops himself.

The short drive up to the normal spot by the abandoned train tracks where he left his car had been distinctly uneventful, and he had had to avoid far less walkers than usual in the downtown shopping area. Finding the drugstore wasn't hard – the still ticking neon sign featuring a dripping syringe, which the owners looked to have tried to cover with their names in an unsuccessful attempt to appear less like a druglord's place of business, had been a large point of reference – and he had quickly jimmied the lock, jammed his crowbar in the small gap at the door, and silently broken into the dusty haven of medicine.

Paying careful attention to his list of what to get – a 'looting list', Andrea had dubbed it – nervously glazing over the feminine products side of the order sheet, he had quickly filled his bag with the now practiced hand of one who had to stay steady and carry on with his task in swiftly changing circumstances of danger. Placing the last pack of allergy pills on top of the overflowing pile of supplies, he had zipped up the bag tightly, heaved it back onto his shoulders, surveyed the area outside, and hurriedly made his way out into the street.

In trying to avoid the only sizable group of walkers he had seen that day, Glenn had taken a different route from his usual one, silently rolling his eyes at the ambling, mutilated bags of flesh bumping into walls and each other as they gathered round a building's entrance for no discernible reason other than being sheep following the flow of the brain-dead crowd. Rounding a corner and sneaking down an alleyway, he glanced down at his map another time before carefully replacing it in his pocket to be used in other times of need.

Taking a right to the next alley, he felt his mind wander, despite his best attempts to keep it focussed on the task at hand, on what they would be eating tonight – likely stewed remnants of the buck from the night before in some heavy broth of Lori's cooking - and began to feel his stomach grumble, unsatisfied with the offering of soggy sandwiches a few hours before. Coming to a dead-end, he paid little attention to the sound of a bird tweeting, worriedly taking out and consulting his map once more, confused as to what wrong turn he had made.

Backtracking, glancing around him in a sudden urge to make sure he was alone, Glenn quietly pushed a cardboard box full of school supplies out of his way with a shove of his foot, subconsciously wondering on whatever was the problem of the increasingly insistent bird – and didn't they all escape from the city after the walkers invaded, taking flight from their hungry, snapping jaws? Coming to what he could see as the right way forward, Glenn pushed it from his mind, when the abrupt sound of a stone being flung filled his ears.

Coming to a dead halt, eyes wide as he tried to determine if he'd imagined the sound, Glenn's shoulders tensed with surprise. Looking up as the unremitting bird yelped again, ready to shake off the uncomfortable, niggling feeling of being watched, he nearly dropped his map in shock, his jaw falling open and his eyes widening.

There was a woman waving at him on the roof of the building.

So? What do you thiiiink? C: Please gimme your thoughts, as always. If this isn't what you guys wanna see, that's fine, I'll just carry on with StRO and write this for funsies like usual (giggling madly to myself as my man Glenn gets some love), but if you'd like more chappies, feel free to give me your opinions - I'm always really, freakily excited when I see a new review pop up, like UWAAAAH THATSA FOR MEEEE!, so, if you want to bring a retarded smile to this idiot's face, review, my darlings! Peace out! ;D