A/N: So … this story is a special request from a friend (you know who you are) and I am hoping to delve into the mind of Mr. Daryl Dixon a little, as well as give him some sort of background story, at least from my perspective anyway. Let me know what you guys think … I will be posting more ASAP!

The air was still warm outside, yet the slight breeze gave Daryl an unexpected chill. He shook it off, turning his attention to the small fire in front of him. He stoked it a few more times and lay back onto the patch of dirt that was his bed for the evening, as the sounds of chirping crickets filled the darkness around him. The stars were out that night and he felt surprisingly relaxed out in the middle of the woods, all alone. The hunt hadn't gone as well as he'd hoped, yet he managed to round up a half-dozen squirrels. At least he knew Merle would be happy … he didn't really care so much what everyone else thought. He decided it best to rest for a few hours until the sun came up, before heading back to camp. His eyelids grew heavy and he felt his body slowly relax, allowing his mind to wander into the depths of his subconscious.

"God Dammit Daryl! Git that no good drunken brother 'o yers outta my sight, 'fore I kick him in the teeth! I mean it now … Beau don't need ta see that shit when he gits home!"

"Yes maw" Daryl mumbled quietly. He leaned over the loveseat and pulled Merle's arm up until he could maneuver himself underneath it.

"C'mon Merle … git up! … hurry … 'fore Beau gits here" Daryl mustered all of his strength to heave his older brother up and drag him to his bedroom at the back of the house. Half lowering him, and half dropping him onto the bed, Daryl looked down at the face of his brother … the one person in the world he actually gave a shit about. At fourteen Daryl had already been through more bullshit than most people go through their entire lives. Even though Merle was nine years older than Daryl, the two of them had somehow managed to stay close. Daryl could read the lines on Merle's face like a book; the pain of a person plagued by haunting memories of alcohol, starvation, abuse, and addiction. Daryl knew some of those memories all too well.

One by one, Daryl pulled off Merle's muddy boots and shoved a pillow under his head. He sat down on the floor and watched the rise and fall of Merle's chest as he drifted into a wasted slumber. Mama thought he was only drunk, but Daryl knew better. He knew that once Merle woke up, the sickness would set in and Daryl would have to change the puke bucket next to the bed. Daryl would have to turn the fan on and off as Merle would get the chills, and then the sweats. Daryl would have to bring him water and aspirin if he asked for it. And … Daryl would have to avoid Merle's angry fists as he pleaded with his little brother to go find him another baggie of junk to "take the edge off". It was nothing new.

Daryl heard the front door open and the muffled sounds of his step-father as he entered the tiny house. Daryl scooted closer to the door and closed it, leaving just enough space to allow him to catch the conversation in the living room.

" … 'bout time it got cleaned properly!" the sound of Beau's voice gave Daryl the creeps. Beau was a behemoth of a man who had no reservations about using his size to intimidate anyone he came in contact with. Especially Merle and Daryl. Couple that with his drinking problem and it made for some intense and bloody battles in the Dixon home.

"Well, I'm glad you noticed" Mama's voice taking all of the credit for the clean house.

Daryl rolled his eyes. She hadn't done a goddamned thing except stand over his shoulder while he did all of the work. He couldn't figure out exactly when it was that Mama had changed so much. She never used to be so angry all of the time. She used to cook meals for Merle and Daryl every night, and even laugh once in a while. Maybe it was their father going to prison that upset her so much. Maybe it was Merle growing up and getting into all that trouble. Either way, Daryl was tired of what she had become, and he was even more tired of being responsible for keeping the peace between everyone in the house … or at least attempting to.

"Where's that son 'o yers? He been around lately?" Daryl could tell Beau was already drunk by the slight slur in his words. Great.

"Yeah … he was here earlier … but he, uh …he's gone" Mama stumbled with the lie.

Why would she lie about Merle being here? Was she just protecting herself? Merle had just as much right to be here as anyone else! She knew as well as Daryl, that if Beau caught her in a lie, somebody would pay … most likely with a black eye. Daryl turned back to the body on the bed, and prayed to God that Merle would sleep straight through the night and not wake up until after Beau left for work in the morning. The last time Merle was this trashed, it was near four in the morning when he came stumbling in. Daryl tried to get him into bed but he just wouldn't shut up. Of course Beau woke up and beat the ever-living shit out of Merle, and broke Daryl's nose … just to be an asshole.

The beatings were really nothing to Daryl. It just meant a few bruises, a little pain, and a good whiskey drunk to help forget all about it. No, the beatings were nothing. What killed Daryl the most was the fact that Mama never stood up for her sons. She simply stood there, giving Daryl the look that said he deserved every crack he got.

"Good … when's that other boy gonna start earnin' his keep 'round here?"

Daryl shifted uneasily. Beau couldn't even say his fucking name.

"I don't know … soon I hope. Their both about as worthless as their father"

Daryl closed his eyes and wished the tears away as hard as he could. He fought the rage building inside of him like a tornado and he fought to control the fire in his belly and the throbbing in his brain … but, it didn't work. His face blushed as the rush of emotion completely took over. The trembling in his lungs danced in time with the lump in his throat. The sobs quietly escaped his mouth. He hung his head, glad that Merle wasn't awake to see him at his weakest moment. God, why couldn't Merle just take him away? Why couldn't he see the pain in his little brother's eyes every time he looked? It was obvious that Mama didn't love either of them anymore and all he wanted to do was run far away, but he couldn't. He wouldn't … not without Merle.

Taking a deep breath, he wiped his face with the back of his sleeve and looked back at his brother. In a way, he felt sorry for Merle since he usually got the brunt of the beatings from Beau. But at the same time, Daryl was angry at Merle. Angry that he couldn't control his habits. Angry that he couldn't keep his mouth shut and his temper in check. Angry that he didn't realize how much Daryl hated it here.

Daryl needed a smoke. He got up and shuffled through Merle's pockets until he found a half-smashed box of Marlboro's. With the flick of a lighter, Daryl inhaled deeply and let out the smoke as slow as possible, enjoying the slight nicotine-induced buzz. He crept over to the cracked window and sat beneath it, exhaling through the ratty screen. A few moments later, he heard the grumble of the TV and the creak of the oven door. As his stomach let out a loud rumble, he wondered if he would be allowed any dinner tonight.

Daryl shot straight up, crossbow in hand. His heart was racing a mile a minute, but he remained still, only moving his eyes to see through the morning fog. Once he determined there was no immediate threat, he let out the breath he was holding. He stood up and took another weary look around just to be sure.

Dawn had just broken and the forest was eerily quiet. Daryl sat back down by the smoldering fire and rubbed his head with his free hand. This was the second night in a row that he had dreamt of his childhood and it was starting to scare him a little. Too many years had passed since those terrible nights in his mother's house and somehow he had managed to tuck them all away into the corners of his memory. The world goes to hell, and suddenly they were all flooding back to him in his dreams … and Daryl didn't like it one bit.

He had always been the "no use dwelling on the past' kinda guy and frankly, he liked it that way. But … something kept coming back to haunt him, something Merle didn't even know about.

Daryl quickly got up and started packing what little gear he had, shoving the thought out of his head with brute-like force. He needed to get back to the camp as soon as possible, knowing everyone was counting on him for a few more meals. At least that's what he kept telling himself.

He stomped out the last of the glowing embers with his boot, and slung the catch of the day over his shoulder. Heading off in the direction of the quarry, his pace was quick and light, but he couldn't help his heart from feeling heavy. There was something else urging him along with uncanny speed. He wanted to squelch the peculiar feeling in his gut. The feeling that something was seriously wrong …