His small hands were the first to hit the ground and he felt a searing pain as his palms were punctured by sharp rocks. He grunted as he prepared for the kicks that were likely to follow. Sure enough, a swift blow crashed into his abdomen causing all of the air to leave his lungs. He whimpered softly as he rolled into the dirt staring up at all of the people who surrounded him. "Fight back you wimp! Your big brother isn't here to save you now!" The harsh words were accompanied by an equally harsh kick to the ribs. A sharp click let all the surrounding children know that one of his ribs had just been broken but it was the sudden loss of breath that informed Daryl.

He lay, gasping for air, at the feet of his attacker and doing his best not to let tears roll down his dirt-covered cheeks. The cheering for his battering only increased his humiliation. And his rage. Daryl propelled himself to his feet and launched himself at his much older, and much larger, attacker. He managed to get in a few blows before the larger boys fist crunched into Daryl's nose. A light flashed before his eyes and when his vision returned he found himself in the dirt. Again.

"Little shit." The older boy said stomping a heavy foot into his stomach. Daryl convulsed and vomited up what little food was in his stomach.

"Look at that!" called a random kid from somewhere in the circle surrounding the brawl. Daryl could see black smoke billowing into the sky from what looked like only a few blocks away. A fire engine startled the entire group as it came screaming down the street before turning out of view.

"Cool, a fire!" Said Daryl's attacker "lets go check it out!" and with that the small crowd of kids dispersed. Many of them pedaled away on shiny bicycles while a few others dashed along behind them. Daryl just lay there as warm blood gushed from his nose and into the dirt.

Finally he sat up and tried to clean himself the best he could with the hem of his already filthy t-shirt. He gazed around and, when he finally spotted what he was looking for, picked himself up off the ground. His broken rib made it hard to breathe. Hard, but not impossible. He did his best to stand tall as he walked over to his discarded backpack.

He gingerly picked up the tattered pack, happy that at least they had left his school things alone. Last time they had taken all of his books and hidden or destroyed them throughout the neighborhood. He was still working to pay off his debt with the small town library.

Daryl swung the backpack over his shoulder carefully so as not to break the straps that he had sewn back on only a week previously. If the kids from school weren't enough, most of Daryl's belongings had at some point or another belonged to someone else. He had snatched his red backpack out of a dumpster near the movie theater, he had found the shoes he wore abandoned under a park bench, and all of his clothes had belonged to Merle.

Not that Daryl minded wearing his elder brothers old clothes. He liked making and mending things anyway. He shuffled quietly along the pavement not in any real hurry to get home. The Dixon house wasn't home to Daryl unless Merle was there. Daryl's brow furrowed as he tried to recall the current reason for Merles incarceration. He finally narrowed the possibilities down to the two most probable options: breaking and entering or assault.

It was probably the latter, Daryl decided. Merle was stupid enough to brawl in public were every cop could see but he wasn't slow enough to get caught breaking in. Not that he hadn't been caught before; Merle had done time in juvenile detention centers for about every single misdemeanor that had ever been written down. But Merle was the sort who learned from his mistakes. Whenever he go locked up it seemed as though he got that much wiser on how to avoid the law. If he could only work on his people skills and control his temper he could probably be a very accomplished politician.

Daryl smiled at the thought of his big brother in one of those silly monkey suits beating the shit out of everyone in Washington. An ambulance screeched past him and startled Daryl back to reality. He glanced into the sky to see that the smoke had been growing closer as he had daydreamed. "No" he breathed, his chest bloomed with panic.

He began to run. Daryl's chest heaved with the agonizingly against his broken rib. The straps to his backpack snapped one by one and Daryl left it where it fell in the gutter. When he rounded the last corner the warmth from the hungry flames flushed his cheeks. He stood there gasping for air as hungry flames devoured his house. He looked across the street to see his father sitting in the back of the ambulance breathing into an oxygen mask. His wild gray hair looked a little singed but he looked fine, or perhaps that was the slight touch of alcohol in his eyes.

Daryl gazed back into the firestorm that had once been his home. Fire fighters swarmed around the blaze but it was obvious by their actions that they were more concerned with preventing the fire from spreading to the neighboring homes than with extinguishing his own. Daryl glanced once again across the street and saw that his father was now stubbornly avoiding looking at any of the service men and women as he breathed into the mask.

"What are you doing so close?" a police officer yelled storming over to where Daryl stood. Daryl's blue eyes turned steely as he met the gaze of the middle aged officer. "The tape is set up for your safety. We cant just have random kids wandering around you're getting in the way."

"I'm not some random kid. I live here." Daryl snarled motioning to the blaze behind him. The officer was obviously taken aback by Daryl's harsh tone but he looked eager as he heard what he had said.

"You live here?" the officer asked.

"That's what I just said." Daryl snapped crossing his arms over his still bloody shirt.

"Is that man your father?" The officer asked quickly, pointing at the ambulance across the street. Daryl nodded. "Your father is refusing to cooperate with police. Can you tell me if anyone else is still inside?"

"Why does it matter?" He said coldly "She's probably dead by now anyway."

"Is someone else inside?" the officer said again, kneeling down and holding Daryl by the shoulder.

Daryl pulled out of his grip in disgust. "My mother was probably in there but I doubt there is much of her left." Daryl turned and began walking away before the officer could reply. Before he rounded the corner he took one last look at what had once been his house.

The officer he had been speaking to was now talking urgently to one of the fireman. The fireman nodded and began yelling to his team with words that Daryl couldn't hear. Whatever he had said made the other fire fighter devote all of their attention to the main blaze. The officer turned and, after a moment of searching, spotted Daryl standing on the corner. The policeman gave a slight nod before Daryl turned away and began running to the only place he had left.