A/N: My first Walking Dead fic. Please review to let me know if I should continue.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Walking Dead. I make no money,, and do this for fun.

Daryl was running. Even now, sitting still in front of the low burning fire, he was running as fast as he could. He never slept well, because every time he closed his eyes he could see, hell almost feel, the blood on his hands. He didn't really mind the killing, if killing was the right word for it. Given a choice between himself or some all ready dead bastard, it wasn't even a question. Yet, for some reason he couldn't quite understand, sometimes after a slaughter, he'd find himself a place to be alone, and he'd weep.

He supposed there was some deep-seated psychological reason for that, but he didn't really go in for that psycho-babble bullshit. Really, if he was being honest with himself, it was Merle that didn't go in for that stuff. Daryl had always found it kind of interesting, but his opinion didn't much count.

He'd learned at an early age to agree with whatever Merle said out of self-defense. If Merle said that the moon landing was fake, or that the South had really won the Civil War, then Daryl took it as Gospel. If he didn't, Merle would pound it into him. Daryl had always known that Merle wasn't that bright, and he knew that, for that reason, it was best to pretend to be stupider than he was. Now, though, it was hard to tell if he was faking it, or if he was really just as dumb as his brother. Daryl thought he was maybe too old to start forming his own opinions, but he was trying.

He'd started calling Glenn by his name instead of 'Chinaman', and he'd started listening to T-Dog when he talked. The man had decent ideas, and it would be a fool's game to ignore him just 'cause he wasn't the right color.

Be all that as it may, however, it didn't help the fact that Daryl knew he was fixin' to break down again, and he still didn't know why. It wasn't like he knew any of the walkers he mowed down, and it wasn't like they'd been alive when he'd shot them. There had just been so many of them. Hundreds, it had seemed like, a terrifying number, and they'd almost gotten Glenn.

Daryl's heart had stopped for a beat when he'd seen Glenn get grabbed; he'd almost panicked. For a split second he'd forgotten his crossbow and had started to charge ahead bare-handed, something that would have gotten them both killed. He'd remembered himself in time, hell muscle memory had taken over immediately, but that half a heartbeat had scared him.

If it had been Grimes, or Shane, that had been grabbed it wouldn't have happened, and Daryl knew what that was about. Glenn was small, and he wasn't a fighter. He was learning, but he wasn't there yet. And Daryl liked him. He liked him in a way Merle would beat his face bloody if he found out about. That was one of the things he'd been running from his whole life.

Since Daryl was sixteen he'd known that he wasn't like other folks. Girls were nice, and he could have a good time with them, sex was sex after all, but there was something about a gorgeous man that made his heart beat faster. Especially an intelligent man. It had never bothered him. The only person he'd ever been in love with had been a man. It was his natural inclination, after all. But Merle...

Merle hated everyone, but he hated fags most of all. Fags and people who could use words like 'inclination' in a sentence. Plus, there was the fact that Glenn wasn't white. Merle would have hated that most of all. Not that it mattered much anyway. Glenn didn't seem to swing that way, and he hated Daryl, for good reason.

Daryl knew he was acerbic (another word Merle would hit him for using), and he knew he was stupid. Smarter than Merle, maybe, but certainly not a MENSA member.

So, Daryl was running. From himself, from his demons, from all the death, and from Merle's ghost. He finished his meager meal of squirrel and canned beans, and then excused himself from the fire. He could feel the tears welling up behind his eyes and he knew the tide was breaking.

He grabbed his bow and headed into Dale's RV, the one place in camp that he knew would be vacant. The second the door was shut he burst into tears. Those things, those people, they'd had family once. Moms and Dads, sisters, brothers, lovers...

And there it was. Everett, the only man Daryl had ever loved. They'd been broken up for a year before the virus hit, not because they didn't love each other (Daryl had loved that boy like wild-fire), but because it was easier. Neither of their families knew that they were together, that they were... gay, which was a word Daryl still had trouble with. They'd meet up whenever they could, and those days were always the best of Daryl's life. But, it was hard to be with each other, and it was hard to be apart. Good days aside, Daryl and Everett both had been living in constant fear. In the end they'd decided to be apart. It had hurt like a motherfucker, but it had been easier that way. Pain and fear were familiar to Daryl; they were where lived. At least they didn't have to fear getting caught out; at least rock bottom had been hit, and it couldn't possibly get worse from there.

Of course Daryl had been wrong. The virus had hit Georgia suddenly and hard. Daryl had been at work when the news came, and his first thought had been for Everett. Much like Glenn, the man hadn't been much of a fighter; he hadn't even owned a gun.

For the first time in this mess, Daryl had panicked. He'd left his truck at the construction site, and he'd run. He'd run faster than he'd ever thought possible, but it hadn't been fast enough. His truck keys in his pocket, he'd run, and that haunted him every time he closed his eyes.

By the time he'd reached Ev's apartment, the man had been missing a giant chunk from his arm, and he'd all ready started running a fever. He'd begged Daryl to help him, but Daryl had heard enough from the radios to know what had to be done.

"I love you," he'd said, kissed Ev's forehead, and put a bullet to him from the pistol he kept at all times. He'd stared at Ev's limp body for a moment, and then he'd grown hard. He'd never been an emotional man, and he'd never had the best temper, but looking at the body of the one person he loved more than anything, that he'd personally blown away, put him over the edge.

Since that day he'd been running on nothing but anger, but at least he'd had Merle. Then, Merle had abandoned him. More than that, Daryl was pretty sure it had been his older brother that caused the walker attack back at their old camp.

It was just too coincidental. First, their van had been stolen, then walker's appeared out of nowhere. Daryl hadn't told the others because he wanted to live through the night, but it felt like Merle might have led those dead fuckers right to them. Felt? No, Daryl believed it like absolute knowledge. Which meant that Merle hadn't just abandoned him, he'd tried to get him killed.

The more he thought about it, the harder he wept. It was ironic, really, that Daryl Dixon, the most feared man in camp, spent a good portion of his night crying like a child.

"Daryl?" a voice said quietly, and Daryl jumped and grabbed his bow.

Glenn put his hands up, but continued to move into the RV.

"I just wanted to thank you," Glenn said, sitting beside him. "You saved my life."

"Anyone would have done," Daryl said, wiping his eyes.

"But you did. Thank you. I can't count the times you've saved my ass. So, thanks."

Daryl nodded noncommittally, and started to stand, but Glenn grabbed his wrist.

"I'm glad I met you," Glenn continued, and then he did something Daryl wouldn't have expected in a hundred years. He put his arm around Daryl's shoulders and kissed his temple.

Daryl almost pulled back, and then he sank into the embrace. Tears still spilling down his cheeks, he wondered if Glenn knew about him. He wondered if any of them would care. He thought maybe they were past that shit now.

He was about to ask, he'd just screwed his courage to the sticking point, when the screaming and gunfire started.