A/N: So, the way I see it is - I've never finished a multi-chapter story in the few years and many attempts I have here. I can't promise this one will be finished in a timely manner, if at all. All I can promise is that I will try.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead. If anything in this story is even slightly familiar to you, it is probably not mine.

Chapter 1

She shimmied and ducked her way through a sea of bodies; people writhing and yelling about in a mixture of alcohol and sweat- and, if she wasn't mistaken, urine. Music seemed to be coming from all directions. Base booming, shaking the floor as she pushed her way through the swarms of bodies. She took a particularly sharp elbow to the side of the head before reaching her destination.

Delilah's mother was leaning against the kitchen counter, her carefully painted red nails carressing a burly looking man's rough face. The man's eyes twinkled a bit too brightly and his grin was a little too wide. Delilah inwardly groaned as she walked towards the pair. Here it goes again, she thought.

"Mama," she screamed over the music, approaching the two, "who's this?". Her mother smiled, bearing her cigarrette stained teeth. Her mouth formed an answer before she was cut off.

"Name's Merle Dixon," the man drawled. He took a step towards Delilah, grinning down at her. This was one of those times where she cursed the world for not girfting her with the height most twelve year olds had.

"Who 're you?" he spat the words out at her, his breath smelling heavily of booze.

"Her kid," she deadpanned, knowing her mother wouldn't have mentioned her, "Delilah."

Merle chuckled, but his gray eyes were stone cold. Delilah looked past him, seeing her mother's cheeks turn a deep scarlett as they always did when Delilah met her new men. Merle Dixon leaned back against the counter and firmly planted a hand on her mother's shoulder, "When do ya wanna go, Mary?" he squeezed her shoulder, too tightly from the way she winced, before moving his hand down and tugging the waist of her pants to yank her from the counter.

Mary smiled faintly, "Soon,", it sounded more like a plea than an answer, "just let me have one more drink."

The muscle bound man nodded, but he seemed irritated. He began to rub her thigh roughly and growl thing in her ear that Delilah couldn't quite hear. Still, it made her whole body warm and her fists clench; and she decided she better go outside for some fresh air before she did something she would no doubt regret.

So Delilah ran, almost frantically, back through the hordes of people, being jostled and even shoved into a wall before reaching the front door and yanking it open so quickly the hinges groaned. She stepped out onto the porch and took a deep breath, squinting to see in the dark. She could see silhouettes outlined by moon, but the yard was definitely less crowded than the house.

As she took a step forward there was only air beneath her. There was a yelp, than a crash, followed by crack and a faint whining sound. What is that? she thought, only to realize seconds later it was her. A sharp pain slowly turned into a dull throb and she was left clutching her right ankle at the bottom of the porch stairs.

Delilah stared up at the starry night and back down at her sore ankle, wishing she could just go home. But then it struck her- where was home?

Suddenly, there was a new, smaller light above her. The glow of a flame. "Gonna get kicked jus' sittin' there, go get yer mama, kid." a gruff voice called down at her.

"She's in there," Delilah said, trying to put a face to that voice in the dark, "I fell.". It took everything in her to keep from whining over the pain pulsing in her ankle.

There was a sigh of what seemed to be exasperation, and a few seconds later, two big hands were being shoved under her armpits and plopping her down on the first porch step.

The man sat down beside her and she could see his face being illuminated by his cigarrette; his eyes at least. They were a deep dark blue and staring down at his eyes.

"Thank you..." she let her sentence trail off. she figured she should show some gratitude even if she didn't know his name.

He cleared his throat, his eyes flicking between her and his lap, "Daryl." he filled it in for her. After what seemed like an eternity of uncomfortable silence she spoke up, "Well, I'm Delilah." she said. The man merely nodded, letting his greasy bangs fall into his eyes, not even looking at her. Behind them, the faint pumping of music echoed from inside the house.

A few minutes later the squeaking of door hinges sounded behind them and both turned to see a tall, broadly built man with close cropped hair, being leaned on for support by a lady with thick makeup, hair red as a firetruck, and nails to match.

Merle and her mama.

"C'mon, baby brother." Merle said, jutting his chin outwards. Daryl jumped up, looking down at Delilah before turning on his heel and heading out towards the cluster of cars farther out in the yard.

"Naw, we gotta take her." Merle called out. Daryl turned back around, looking quizzically at his brother. "This bitch has got a youngin'." Even in the dark, Daryl and Delilah's eyes seemed to lock and widen slightly, and it all made sense.

-page break-

The ride was long and uncomfortable. Delilah sitting on her mother's lap, sandwiched in between the two brothers. Merle kicked his feet up on the dash of the pickup, chuckling and crooning along with the static laced music coming from the radio. Daryl, on the other hand, was white knuckling the steering wheel, staring straight ahead. Delilah guessed it had something to do with the fact she hadn't seen a street lamp in what seemed to be miles.

Finally, the truck came to a screeching halt, and the headlights briefly caught a rundown shack, weathered paint peeling and the entire structure slanting to one side, before Daryl cut the engine off.

Daryl reluctantly offered Delilah his hand, but she pretended not to need it, gimping behind the trio as they entered the house. Once inside the house, Merle and her mother quickly disappeared down the hall, leaving Delilah stranded in the living room with the other brother. Daryl kicked off his boots, sinking into a ratty recliner. After a few moments of uncomfortably shifting feet to keep pressure off of her lame ankle, Delilah chose to have a seat on one end of the moth-eaten couch. They both seemed to watch the clock on the wall as the hours past, animalistic noises wafting from down the hall that made Delilah want to claw her eardrums out, and from the look on Daryl's face he seemed to be seriously considering that as an option.

Daryl disappeared down the hall, returning minutes later with a paper thin blanket that he tossed her way. It smelled of mold and years of use, but after Delilah wrapped herself up in it she immediately realized how exhausted she really was. Soon, she was fighting to keep her eyes open and the last thing she saw was Daryl Dixon strapping his boots back on.