Author's note: This is just a personal writing exercise I've started. What I often like to do when I'm interested in writing a fanfic but can't seem to get a grip on how to write a certain character, I like to try to get a handle on that character by novelizing scenes from the canon involving that character. It's really fun and great practice!

THIS CHAPTER: Daryl's debut in the third episode of season one, "Tell it to the Frogs."

As the group catches their breath, the brush begins to crackle, and they immediately tense. Andrea ushers Amy further away nervously as the men raise their weapons, eyeing the source of the rustling. It's definitely footsteps on underbrush. Someone is coming, another walker, perhaps, following the scent of the first.

A man traipses from the green, his gait determined but easy and definitely human. He falters just slightly at the sight of Shane standing before him, staring at him down the barrel of his gun. The group heaves a collective sigh of relief and Shane lowers the gun with a quiet grumble.

The relief is short-lived.

"Son of a bitch!" the newcomer curses, ducking out of the woods. "That's my deer!" His drawl is unpleasantly familiar.

Judging from the apprehensive glances the group shares with one another, this must be Daryl Dixon. The resemblance is there, but not uncanny—this second Dixon brother is slighter than Merle, smaller with muscle that is leaner than it is bulky. He's pale but reddened and faintly, unevenly tanned by the sun, with blonde hair darkened with sweat. He's a mess, wearing tattered, dirty jeans and a filthy brown muscle shirt that looks stapled and tied together at one shoulder. A knife hangs in a sheath at his hip and looks like it's always belonged there, with or without the apocalypse, and he clutches a lethal-looking crossbow in callused hands.

Daryl stalks towards the fallen walker, disgusted. "Look at it, all gnawed on by this filthy—" he punctuates with a vicious kick to the corpse, "disease-bearin'—" another frustrated kick, "motherless—" again, "poxy bastard!"

"Calm down, son," Dale says tiredly, clearly accustomed to this sort of behavior from Daryl. "That's not helpin'."

"What do you know about it, old man?" Daryl snaps, circling around the dead thing to stomp over to him. Shane bars him from Dale as Daryl gets in his face. "Take that stupid hat and go back to On Golden Pond!" He turns away with an irritated huff, returning to his kill and setting about yanking the arrows from its side.

"Was trackin' this deer for miles," he grouches. "Gon' drag it back to camp, cook us up some venison. What do you think, think we can cut around this chewed-up part right here?" He gestures hopefully at the massacre the walker had made of the deer's throat, looking up at the others for their opinion.

"I would not risk that," Shane says regretfully.

"'S a damn shame," Daryl sighs, abandoning the deer and straightening up. He gestures to the rope that hangs over his shoulder to the group. Several dead squirrels are strung along it. Daryl's attention stops on Rick for a split second, recognizing him as a newcomer, before moving on. "Got some squirrel, 'bout a dozen or so. That'll have to do."

He looks down at the walker's severed head, which twitches and snarls.

"Oh God," Amy stutters in horror. Andrea herds her away.

"C'mon, people, what the hell," Daryl says impatiently, aiming his crossbow at the head. He pulls the trigger and nails the thing right in its rotted-out eye socket. He pulls the arrow free, unbothered. "'S gotta be the brain." He strides proudly past Rick, sparing him a glance as if expecting him to be impressed. "Don't y'all know nothin'?"

And off he marches. They follow him up the path back to camp where the women stand under the RV's shade. Daryl is shouting for Merle.

"Merle!" he calls. "Merle! Get your ass out here, I got us some squirrels! Stew 'em up…" He lays down his crossbow, oblivious to the uncomfortable expressions of his fellow survivors, and slings his catch of squirrels carelessly, looking for his brother.

"Daryl," Shane says carefully, capturing his attention. "Slow up a bit, I need to talk to you."

Daryl slows and glances back once at the RV before going to Shane. "'Bout what?"

Shane is plainly uncomfortable, and he does not look at Daryl as he says, "'Bout Merle." He walks past him, fidgeting. "There was a, uh…a problem in Atlanta."

Finally he faces him as the camp is silent, watching. Daryl looks back at Rick and the others who had met him at the edge of the forest; their grim expressions are confirmation. Daryl looks at the ground and moves away as if putting some space between himself and the news Shane had delivered.

"Dead?" he asks simply.

"Not sure."

"He either is or he ain't!" Daryl says harshly, storming past Shane and locking onto him with a baleful glare.

"No easy way to say it, so I'll just say it," Rick says, coming forward to relieve Shane of Daryl's wrath. Daryl focuses his glower onto Rick.

"Who're you?"

"Rick Grimes."

"Rick Grimes," Daryl sneers, his fury boiling hotter. "You got somethin' you wanna tell me?"

"Your brother was a danger to us all," Rick says dispassionately. "So I handcuffed him on a roof, hooked him to a piece of metal. He's still there."

Daryl turns away sharply, wiping his sweaty brow. "Hm. Let me process this." He faces Rick again, moving restlessly. "Sayin' you handcuffed my brother to a roof? And you left him there?!"

Rick ducks his head. Quietly, he says, "Yeah."

Daryl's mouth is a thin, shaking, furious line. He throws the dead squirrels at Rick and launches himself at him next. Immediately Shane slams into him. On the ground, Daryl unsheathes his knife.

"Hey, watch the knife," Shane warns him as Daryl staggers to his feet. Daryl ignores him and goes after Rick again, his blade glinting dangerously in the sunlight. Rick narrowly avoids it, and when Daryl swipes at him again, he grabs his wrist in an iron grip, twisting his arm. Shane comes up behind Daryl and curls one strong arm around his throat as Rick forces Daryl to drop his knife. Daryl scrabbles angrily at the arm forcing his head back, spluttering.

"Best let me go!" he roars as Shane pulls him, struggling, away from Rick.

"Think it's better if I don't," Shane grunts, his voice strained with effort but calm. Daryl's knees buckle.

"Chokehold's illegal," Daryl gripes. His words are slightly slurred as Shane restricts the blood flow to his head.

"Yeah, you can file a complaint." Daryl continues to struggle, and Shane says in a tone of voice highly reminiscent of a mother dealing with a fussy child, "C'mon now, we can do this all day."

Rick comes closer to crouch in front of Daryl, whose wild thrashing and snarling has dissolved into sitting and puffing with upset little whimpers.

"I'd like to have a calm discussion on this topic," Rick says smoothly, ducking his head to force eye contact with Daryl. "You think we can manage that?" When Daryl refuses to respond, Rick repeats himself, "You think we can manage that?"

Daryl doesn't speak, his teeth grit and panting with outrage. He's stopped struggling against Shane's hold, though, so Shane and Rick exchange an agreeing look before Shane throws Daryl to the ground. Daryl scrambles back defensively in the dirt, pointing a warning finger at Shane.

"What I did was not a whim," Rick explains when Daryl pushes himself to his hands and knees, looking at him. "Your brother does not work and play well with others."

T-Dog speaks up then. "It's not Rick's fault." He has their attention. "I had the key. I dropped it."

"You couldn't pick it up?" Daryl says incredulously.

"I dropped it in a drain," T-Dog elaborates. Daryl huffs a quiet, disbelieving little laugh, hanging his head. Rick stands up, and soon Daryl rises to his feet as well.

"If that's supposed to make me feel better," Daryl says coldly, "it don't."

"Maybe this will," T-Dog says firmly. "I chained the door to the roof so the geeks couldn't get at him. With a padlock."

"That's gotta count for somethin'," Rick vouches when Daryl turns his head in disgust. Daryl glances at him and then back to T-Dog before dropping his gaze to the ground, shifting on his feet. He wipes his eyes and gesticulates wildly at the entire group.

"Hell with all y'all!" he snarls. His voice breaks as he goes on, "Tell me where he is so's I can go get 'im."

There's a long moment of silence as he stares at Rick, who is plainly torn, until finally Lori is the one who speaks: "He'll show you. Isn't that right?"

Ricks nods. "I'm goin' back."

Lori goes inside the RV, and though Daryl is clearly far from satisfied as he brushes past Rick, it will have to do.