For several thousand years the world at large got to ignore and forget that the creatures which go bump in the night were real. They got to pretend they were nothing more than stories to scare children or fantasies to romanticize beyond good sense. They got to dress up and play act. And the creatures they imitated got to go on with their lives in relative peace. They fed when they needed to, hunted each other, loved, lived, lost.

And then one year some necromantic asshole screwed everything up. For all of them. Pure human, vampire, werewolf, witch, fae, various and sundry other creatures that suddenly found themselves at the mercy of thoughtless, eternally hungry undead. No one was sure which jackass did it but there was no way death magic wasn't involved. And there was really nothing that could be done about it. The world went to hell in a hand-basket and few were lucky to survive no matter what their breeding.

Daryl was one such. A werewolf like his brother. The two escaped the hoards of eaters in their home county and made their way west to Atlanta. They found it overrun, the firebombs that hit it having done little to curb the tide of undead. But they also lucked out in finding camp of survivors just northwest of the city, holed up in an old quarry.

The survivors were a mixed lot. Not just on race, but on species. Most of the thirty-odd people were human, sure, but the sisters, the ones Merle liked, they were witches. Smelled of blood and magic and freshly fallen rain. The way they fished it was easy to see the connection to a water nymph somewhere in their bloodline. More than a few generations back, but enough to leave them with power and an affinity for anything water.

Dale was a watcher of some sort. Daryl couldn't tell if he was a fae or not, though he wouldn't be surprised if he was on the seelie side. Maybe a changling. Stuck between worlds and used to being on the sidelines, looking and observing and rarely acting save through convincing others to see his way of things. Get them to do his dirty work for him even when the laundry wasn't all that mucked up.

And Glenn, the sole Asian in the group, he was old. Dead. Vampire. He hid it well. Was polite and friendly, kept his fangs tucked away. Never did go after anyone in the camp. He was often too pale, though, and Daryl only figured out why after he realized the kid never went after anything in the woods, neither.

Glenn was using the geeks. Smart on his part, but not exactly healthy. The next time the kid went out for a supply run, Daryl slunk away into the woods and met him on the road down, well out of sight of the camp.

He tossed the brace of rabbits he'd gotten off the snares that morning so they landed at Glenn's feet. The kid jumped in surprise that wasn't faked and spun to face Daryl. Being a vampire, his senses were sharp enough that he should have heard the hunter. Daryl smirked at him but ducked his head, feeling shy at the attention he'd brought on himself. He gave a shrug to the unstated question, "Realized you must'a been getting your fill of the walkers since you ain't been making time with anyone at the quarry. But you been lookin' pretty sick, too, so I figured they ain't doing you so well."

Glenn gulped and hung his head. He obviously felt guilty about hiding himself for some reason. Daryl didn't get that. All of them hid who they were in front of pure humans. It's just how it was. Daryl shrugged again and gestured at the rabbits, "You can have what's in those. Was just gonna drain 'em anyway. Part of field dressin'."

"Thanks," Glenn murmured, giving a hesitant, but grateful smile as he knelt down to pick them up. He took what he could and Daryl had the satisfaction of seeing his cheeks redden up to a more healthy glow. The blood in them wasn't the freshest it could be, but it was fresher than two month old walkers. When Glenn handed the rabbits back, he was more relaxed. The way a healthy meal made most folks feel. Daryl left without saying anything and Glenn continued on with his planned run.

Daryl hadn't meant for it to be some kind of invitation, but somehow Glenn had taken it that way. A few days later found the kid wandering into the Dixon's camp. Merle looked up at him with a wary surprise and Daryl just did his best not to act like he noticed. Glenn waved hello to them and tried to get into a pleasant conversation with Merle. Which went about as well as could be expected. Merle had no issue with him being a vampire, but the kid was still a chink.

The kid took it well, all the same, keeping his head down and going quiet when Merle really got going. Heads turned around the camp and Dale watched from the top of his RV like he always did. Shane started to wander over, protective of Glenn. Daryl took that as the signal to rein his brother in.

"He jus' wants us to bring him blood," he said in low tone that wouldn't carry. "Do the same for him that we do for the rest of these folks. Bring him meals. He's been living off the walkers. Ain't no livin' like that an' you know it."

Merle stopped in his tirade and looked to Daryl for a second before turning back to Glenn with a raised eyebrow. He leaned in and gave the kid a sniff that from a distance would look like he was threatening him. Shane's casual steps turned into a jog that brought him over in time for him to watch Merle straighten up and grunt, "Yeah. Suppose we can do that."

"There a problem?" Shane asked, one hand on his gun as he angled himself to stand just slightly in front of Glenn.

Glenn smiled nervously, but shook his head, "No. I was just asking them if they could try and catch something different. I uh... I saw some bigger birds on my way back from Atlanta last time around."

"He said he'd keep an eye out for 'em this time around," Daryl offered as he stood up and shouldered his crossbow. "Wasn't sure if they were duck or geese. Was asking what to look for so we'd know. Can't track 'em properly if we ain't sure what they are."

Shane eyed Glenn for a long moment before he relaxed and dropped his hand, but he did so and nodded, grin superficial, "That sounds great. Thanks for thinking of it, Glenn."

The kid smiled back, gave a quick wave, and wandered back to his supplies. He had a run to do and there was no need to linger near the Dixons. Shane waited until he was half-way there before he wandered off himself.

Merle waited until he was certain everyone was out of earshot before he causally made a very not-casual comment, "So it's rice that gets your blood pumping south, is it?"

"Shut up," Daryl growled, shoulders hunching. He shouldn't have even dignified that with a response, but Merle's nose was as good as his. He could smell the arousal on him. It wasn't much, just a general interest, really, but it was enough to mix his scent up.

"Nothin' to be ashamed of, brother," Merle said with a teasing smirk, licking his lips as he went on. "Or is it him bein' a bloodsucker? You thinkin' you want him to do some other kinda sucking?"

Daryl snarled and yanked his bow strap, turned on his heal and stomped off into the brush. Merle's laughter followed him and he hated that his brother had gotten that picture into his head. Because yes, he was thinking about a very different sort of sucking. Now.

Thanks a lot, Merle.

Daryl met Glenn on the road back, a thermos of still-warm blood he'd drained from a dozen squirrels in his hand. Glenn took it with a grin and stuck it in the drink holder of his back pack. He gave a bright, happy, 'Thanks, Daryl!', then stood there expectantly. Daryl didn't know what do to at that point. He stood there awkwardly for a few moments, was about to turn and head back into the woods... And the wind changed. Just for a second, just long enough to put him downwind of Glenn.

Glenn smelled of decay most of the time. He was dead, so it wasn't unusual. He tended to cover it up with a very light cologne that wouldn't carry far. But he also smelled of the normal human smells because his body still worked just fine. And like Daryl's, it was working just well enough that there was a little blood running to the other side of the border.

Daryl eyes met his. There wasn't lust in them. The kid was just happy to see him. To get the blood. He was probably getting a woody from the thought of drinking that. Dismissing his own hopefulness with the more likely source, Daryl muttered, "See you at camp" and headed off.

"See you," Glenn called to his back. If he sounded disappointed, Daryl figured it was his imagination getting to him.

A week went by before Merle cornered him in the woods. He'd thought something was up with his brother deciding to come out with him. Merle didn't enjoy the hunt the way Daryl did. Not the kind with bows and snares. Merle liked the freedom of his fur and paws on the ground. Something both of them had agreed not to do near the camp in case one of the others decided to march out and try their hand at playing border guard.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Merle snapped at him when they were far enough out not to be heard.

Daryl rolled his eyes. He didn't know what it was about this time, but he wasn't in the mood, "I don't know. Why don't you just tell me? You like doin' that enough."

"Oh fuck off your period, Darleena," his brother snorted, hands flying up in exasperation. "Here you are with a fucking goldmine in front of you and you ain't doin' any mining. That rice paddy's ready for plowing, so why ain't you in there plowing? You caught a case 'o something I should be worried about?"

Daryl rolled his eyes in disgusted annoyance. Why did it always come down do sex with Merle? "He ain't interested and it's none of your business. So shut it."

"Has your nose gone bad?" Merle pushed his shoulder and leaned in, looking genuinely concerned as he examined Daryl's nose. "It don't look broken. You got a cold? You stuffed up and hiding it?"

"What are you going on about? My nose is fine." He was pretty sure his brother was the one with a problem.

Merle backed up and gave him the most exasperated look he'd ever gotten, "The chinaman, Daryl. Slant eyes gets all randy whenever you walk by or talk to him or hell, stand there where he can see you. Pretty sure he's about ready to ask Sugartits for a love potion just to get your attention."

"You don't know what you're talkin' about," Daryl snorted and made to walk off.

But Merle wasn't letting it go, "Aw hell brother, I'm the one taking pills for the clap. I'm the only one between the two of us that knows what he's talking about."

Daryl kept walking.

…

Daryl really hated when his brother was right. It didn't happen often, despite how much Daryl followed him around. He hated it because Merle would hold it over his head and use it against him. One incident of being right could last for years of 'told you so's. Even the satisfaction of having Glenn push him against a tree and stick his hands down his pants wasn't enough to make Daryl hate Merle being right. Worse yet, after they were done and leaning against each other, panting and exhausted and feeling great, Glenn had to go and say he'd need to thank Merle for telling him to just go for it.

There was no way he was ever going to hear the end of it.