Hey all. I just decided to write this on a whim, and so I figured, "What the hell?". This is just a oneshot, alternate version of the season 2 episode, "Chupacabra".

Hope you enjoy!

Everyone sat quietly around the dining table. Perhaps if the world hadn't gone to shit, the situation that Rick and the others were currently in wouldn't be so tense. All that could really be heard was the sound of knives and forks scraping against dinner plates. The entire group was somber; Daryl's failed attempt at finding Sophia, coupled with the fact that he'd been badly hurt, put everyone in low spirits. Rick hoped that someone would break the awkward silence soon; otherwise he just might go crazy.

Daryl quietly lay on the bed in the spare room. Part of him was glad that the others left him alone, but another part of him wished that someone was there to take his mind off of his failed attempt to find Sophia. How could he fail again? He wasn't so arrogant as to claim himself the greatest tracker in the world, but he had hoped that for all his efforts he might have had more than just a doll. He managed to pull himself out of his own pool of self-pity through self-reassurance. The best he could do was try again, and harder this time. Whatever else the others thought about him, he wasn't about to give up on this little girl. She deserved better.

Daryl was pulled from his thoughts by the smell of food from the dining room. As soon as the aromas filled his nostrils, his stomach gave out a low growl. He realized that, other than his meager breakfast and a squirrel, Daryl hadn't eaten much. After rolling the idea around in his head for a few moments, and after the allure of food became too much, Daryl decided to build a bridge and get over his anti-social ways. If only for a night, and to quiet his stomach.

The silence in the dining room was just reaching its peak point of awkwardness, when everyone's attention was drawn to the sound of shuffling feet from the hall. Rick had a fleeting sense of panic, before the owner of the shuffling feet was revealed to be a very beat, and worn-out looking Daryl Dixon. Everyone continued to stare, and Daryl fixed his face into a scowl.

"What are y'all gawkin' at?" he said with just the right amount of bite. Everyone turned their attention back to their plates, "Back to square one," Rick thought. Daryl shared Rick's feelings of discomfort with the silence. Maybe he'd just take a plate back to the spare room, rather than try and socialize with these people. Just as he finished making said plate, and prepared to head back, there came the stern voice of Hershel.

"No eating in the bedroom," he said. Daryl stopped and sighed, opting for leaning in the doorway that connected the kitchen and dining room. This seemed like enough social interaction for one meal. The silence persisted, before Glenn finally worked up enough courage to try and break the chill in the air.

"Anyone know how to play guitar?" Glenn smiled at the group, as did Dale. However, the Greene's, Patricia, and Jimmy seemed to all cast their eyes down.

"Otis could play," Patricia said sadly, and put her utensils down. She wasn't so hungry anymore. Silence fell once more, before the group was startled to hear a distinct Southern drawl from the doorway.

"I can play," Daryl said. Everyone exchanged surprised looks, and even Daryl looked like he couldn't believe what he just said. Carl barely suppressed a chuckle that came out in a snort. Daryl gave the boy an indignant look.

"What d'you think your laughin' at?" Daryl said, and Carl stopped smiling. Daryl continued, "I can play the guitar." Everyone just stared at their presently injured hunter.

"Well then," Maggie spoke up, "you'll have to play for us after dinner." Daryl nearly choked on his green beans at that. Why? Why would he tell them that? He just acted instinctively when he heard them talking, then he let his bull-headed attitude get in the way of common sense with Carl. "Well shit and Shinola," he thought, "now I have to play." Daryl sighed, then grunted and nodded.

After the last plate was cleared and the dishes were cleaned and put away, the group gathered in the living room of the Greene home. Daryl shuffled into the room last, and paused when he saw that all eyes were, once again, on him. He immediately felt color rising in his neck and cheeks, but quickly stifled his feelings of embarrassment. What did he care what these people thought of him? They weren't his family. His thoughts were interrupted by Glenn passing him the guitar that Dale had found. He took the instrument in hand, and sat down on an unoccupied ottoman. An ottoman that was situated directly in front of the small crowd. Daryl shifted himself and the guitar, he didn't like having all eyes on him. "C'mon," he thought to himself, "just get it over with."

"You'll have to bear with me a minute," he said, "s'been a few years." Nobody responded. It had indeed been a few years since Daryl had even thought about the guitar. He gently strummed a few simple chords; nothing fancy, but it sounded like it was supposed to. Memories quickly flooded Daryl's mind, good memories. When he and Merle were young, and their parents both worked, the two Dixons often found themselves dumped on an elderly neighbor. The man, Mr. Johnson was his name, wasn't unlike Daryl's father; he smoked like a chimney and drank like a fish, but he wasn't as violent as Daryl's father. Daryl just thought the old man was lonely, and Merle just snuck into the man's liquor cabinet. Soon Daryl was the only one going Mr. Johnson's, as Merle had been deemed old enough to be left on his own and would simply disappear every morning. While exploring Mr. Johnson's house one day, Daryl found it: a beat-up old guitar. He'd strummed it a bit, and Mr. Johnson came in. Daryl was scared at first, was he in trouble now? The old man had merely smiled, and that's when Daryl's guitar lessons began. The man died a few years later, and Daryl had barely played the guitar since.

Now here he was, strumming simple chords for a group of relative strangers. The corner of his mouth began to turn up ever so slightly, and Rick raised his eyebrows in surprise. Was Daryl Dixon actually smiling? Rick smiled himself when the random chords began to transform into a cohesive melody; Rick knew the song. He looked around at the others; everyone was smiling contentedly and watching Daryl, who surprised everyone again when he began to sing.

"I took my love and I took it down,"

Carl leaned into his mother, who in turn wrapped her arm around her boy.

"Climbed a mountain an' I turned around,"

Hershel smiled in spite of himself, and Patricia hugged Jimmy to her side. Daryl continued.

"And I saw my reflection in th', snow covered hills,

'Till the landslide brought me down,"

Daryl didn't know what came over him, or how he'd come to play this song in particular. His voice was nothing special, his drawl apparent in every line, and at times he played the wrong chord; still, everyone was transfixed. Daryl just kept going, his initial embarrassment forgotten.

"Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love?

Can the child within my heart, rise above?

And can I sail through the changin' ocean tides

Can I handle the seasons of my life?

Oh oh I don' know, oh I don' know."

Everything was still, and the quiet, sweet music that permeated the air. Nobody dared interrupt Daryl as he continued. Soon the song reached its final verse.

"Well maybe the landslide will bring you down,

Well well, the landslide will bring you down."

The last string of notes faded into the atmosphere, and Daryl finally looked up at the others; he was taken aback by everyone looking at him, but didn't say anything. Carl was the one to finally speak up.

"Can you play another one?" The boy asked earnestly. Daryl adjusted the guitar to a better position across his knees. He looked around at the faces of the group, some of them nodded quietly, and all of them were smiling. Daryl looked back at Carl.

"Sure thing, lil' man," he answered. He repositioned his fingers on the neck of the guitar and began to play again.

Daryl played well into the night and went through every song he could remember. For a short amount of time the world outside was not ending, and no one was grieving for the loss of a young life; all quarrels were forgotten.

The world was at peace.

Wow! It has been forever since I wrote some fanfiction! This was just something that popped into my head; Daryl has never said that he couldn't play the guitar, so as far as I'm concerned it's entirely possible.

Hope you enjoyed, and please just let me know if you did. The song is Landslide by Fleetwood Mac, and it is a really good song!

Thanks for reading!