"Best not to dwell on it. Merle getting left behind. Nobody's gonna be sad he didn't come back… Except maybe Daryl."

"Daryl?"

Morales hesitated. "His son,"

Rick felt like he was going to throw up. I just orphaned a little boy. Rick's hands tightened on the steering wheel. Thoughts of Carl filled his head, as they so often did at the slightest provocation. "How old?" Rick knew Morales could hear the strain in his voice.

"I'm not sure. Uh…"

"Thirteen," Jacqui piped up from the back. "I heard him tell someone once."

"Yeah that sounds about right," Morales said. "To tell you the truth though, none of us really knows anything about the kid. Merle and Daryl are kind of loners. Well you saw him."

So this little boy was only a little older than his own son. Rick thought about the raving racist lunatic he'd left at the department store. It was hard to picture a man like that being a father, much less a good one. Still, he had a son that he was never going to see again, and that little boy was now all alone in the world. "Does he have a mother?" Rick asked without hope.

"They showed up alone," Morales said. "If Dixon had a wife he never mentioned her, and she'd be dead anyway or else they would have brought her with them."

Rick nodded. He didn't know what to say. "You can't blame yourself," Andrea said from where she was listening in on them in the back of the truck. "You didn't know, and even if you had you did the right thing. Merle would have gotten us all killed. It's for the best."

"I have trouble categorizing anything that involves orphaning children as for the best."

"Andrea's right," T-dog said. "I can't imagine Dixon is a very good father anyway."

Rick kept quiet. He wasn't going to argue the point. His guilt was his own and he would carry it in silence if he had to. Morales seemed to sense that Rick didn't want to talk, and the three survivors in the back didn't try to involve him in their conversation, spoken in tones too low for Rick to hear. Rick followed the directions Morales gave him to their camp and began to plan what he would say to this boy when he got there. The closer they came the more Rick's dread increased. Rick saw Glenn talking to someone whose face he couldn't see. A crowd of people were moving toward the truck, waiting to be reunited with loved ones. Rick hesitated while the other survivors scrambled out of the truck. Andrea embraced another blond woman, much younger, who could only be her sister. Morales gleefully met his wife and his own two young children. Rick closed his eyes for a moment, bracing himself. Rick got out of the truck and then saw something that made his whole world stop. Rick was distantly aware that Morales was speaking to him, but nothing registered. "Oh my God," Rick murmured. Standing only yards away from him, running towards him, was his son. Carl was here. Carl was alive.

"Dad! Dad!" Rick embraced his son. Everything fell away. All Rick cared about in this moment was the young boy in his arms. Carl was alive, and Rick was close enough to him to hear the heartbeat that proved it. Rick felt tears fighting to escape his eyes and he let them.

The perfection of the moment only ended when three simple words cut through Rick's stupor like a knife to the heart. A little way's away a boy's voice said: "Where's my dad?"

The silence that fell on the camp was heavy. Rick felt it pressing down on his skin like a lead sheet. The boy was tall, but painfully skinny. His hair was long, uneven and greasy. He needed a hot shower and a good meal. He was holding a crossbow and he had a hunting knife in his belt. Rick had no doubt that this was the Daryl Dixon he had heard about in the truck. This was the child he had orphaned. Rick didn't ever want to let Carl go, but he had to. He had to take care of this. This was his responsibility. Rick released Carl and stood up. He took a step towards the boy and the child immediately backed up. Rick stopped. "Are you Daryl?"

"Why?" The tone was intended to be aggressive, but mostly came across as fearful.

"Merle is your father?" Rick asked.

The boy nodded slowly, suspiciously. "Where is he?"

"He got left behind," Rick said. Rick tried to infuse his words with as much kindness and empathy as possible, but the words themselves were still harsh and unyielding in their meaning.

For a moment the silence stretched on. Rick was beginning to wonder if what he had said had even registered with the boy. "Is he coming back?"

Rick slowly shook his head. "I don't think so."

The boy sniffled and then lowered his head so no one could see the tears that were beginning to form and spill out of his eyes. "Why not?" Daryl's voice cracked on the final syllable and he furiously rubbed his eyes. "What happened? Was it a walker?"

For a moment Rick honestly considered just saying yes. It was not for himself that he thought about it, but because he thought it might be easier to find closure in a simpler story where Merle was definitely dead and had maybe even died a hero. Rick couldn't do it though.

"No, it wasn't a walker. Your dad…"

"Merle was out of control," Andrea said. "He had to be stopped."

Daryl's head snapped up. They could all see the tears running down his face, but he no longer seemed to care. Fury had taken over his features. "You killed him?!"

Thanks Andrea. "No, not exactly."

"What do you mean not exactly?! Where's my dad?!" The child's voice was becoming higher pitched with every word. People began to shift in discomfort. Many of them wanted to soothe the forlorn boy, but none of them felt comfortable enough with him to do so.

Rick took a deep breath. "Your father was a danger to us all. I had to handcuff him to the roof to restrain him. He's still there." The words were spoken without any aggression or malice, but upon their completion the teen burst into tears. Rick reached out and placed a hand on the child's shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. This was a mistake.

"Stay away from me!" Daryl shrugged off Rick's hand and in the same movement pulled the hunting knife from his belt. He pointed it at Rick. "Don't touch me! Stay away!"

Rick stepped back. Shane- Shane was here?- stepped towards them. "Now listen here kid, you hand me that knife. Give it to me right now." Daryl stepped back and continued to brandish his knife toward them. Rick recognized that the boy was afraid, not aggressive.

Rick put a hand on Shane's chest. "I've got this." Rick held his hands up in a placating gesture. "Daryl, I didn't mean your father any ill will. I did what I did to protect the group, but I never meant for him to get left behind. That was an accident." The boy was sobbing, and the hand holding the knife was shaking. Rick doubted that in his state Daryl could stab him even if he wanted to. Rick also doubted that the boy wanted to. "I'm very sorry about your dad."

"Shut up! Just shut up!"

"Kid-" Rick put his hand on Shane's chest again.

Rick thought back to the crisis intervention training the sheriff's office had undergone a little over a year ago. Now seemed like the perfect moment to use those skills. Aggressive behavior would only scare the child more and make him more likely to lash out. "You're angry," Rick said. "You're furious with us for leaving your dad behind." The boy continued to sob, but he didn't scream at them or do anything new with the knife. Rick took this as a good sign. "You love your father. You're going to miss him."

Daryl's hand was shaking more and more. He wouldn't be able to keep that knife up for much longer. Andrea spoke up again. "Daryl, put the knife down." Rick was getting tired of her interference fast. Daryl tightened his grip on the knife in response to her words.

"You're afraid," Rick tried.

Bingo. "Wh-what's gonna happen to me?"

Rick's heart sank. No child should have that fear, the fear of the uncertain future, the fear that one will be lost or hurt. "Nothing is going to happen to you," Rick promised.

"Are you going to kick me out of the camp?"

The question caught Rick off guard. "Of course not, why would anybody do that?"

"Why would you keep me around now that my dad's not here?"

What has this world come to? How have we gotten to the point where children fear they will be discarded when their protectors are gone? "Nobody is going to kick you out, and nobody is going to let anything happen to you. I promise you are going to be okay, but I need you to do something for me all right?" Rick waited patiently for the child to respond. It took a while.

"Wh-what do you want?"

"I need you to hand me that knife."

The child continued to cry and made no move to obey. He didn't however tighten his grip on the knife as he had when Andrea had spoken. "Are you afraid we're going to hurt you?"

The boy nodded.

"We won't. Nobody here wants to hurt you. If you put the knife down we can keep talking and nobody will hurt you or make you leave or do anything at all to you. All right?"

There was another long hesitation. Rick could feel Shane bristling with nervous energy next to him, and the collective anxiety of the camp was stifling. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Daryl lowered the knife. He was still holding it, but it was no longer pointed at anyone. "Ok,"

"Thank you," Rick said. "Thank you for doing that."

"Will you tell me what happened to my dad?"

Dale watched in awe as this newcomer, apparently the father of young Carl Grimes if recent events were to be believed, patiently and capably talked down the distraught young Dixon boy until he not only lowered the knife, but eventually set it down. When the teen had pulled the knife Dale's heart had sunk. He had just known this child was going to get hurt somehow, and potentially hurt someone else as well. But this man assessed the situation and used all the right words to keep the situation from escalating until the boy's anger was overwhelmed by his grief and he just sat on the ground to sob. Lori Grimes was holding tight onto her son's shoulders and Dale realized this newcomer must be her husband. Dale could have sworn she said her husband was dead. Of course mistakes could be made. People got lost, assumptions were made. Still, this must be hard for her. Rick was now on one knee talking to Daryl while he subtly picked up the knife and passed it back to Shane. Shane took the knife and put it in his own belt while Rick used a calming tone and empathizing words to continue to soothe the frantic child.

Andrea turned to Dale. "He had to do it," she whispered. "Merle attacked T-dog and then pulled a gun on all of us. Rick had to restrain him or Merle would have gotten us killed."

Dale nodded. "That doesn't surprise me," he murmured. "Dixon is- was- a wildcard."

"What are we going to do about…?" Amy gestured to where Rick was still talking to the boy even though the danger was passed. Dale's already high estimation of the man doubled.

"We'll have to take care of him," Andrea said immediately. "It's the only decent thing we could do." Dale was equally proud of Andrea for being so quick to see this.

"The boy contributes," Dale reminded them. "He knows how to use that crossbow and most of the time when it was Merle's turn to check the snares his son ended up doing it."

"How do you know that?" Amy asked.

"I was usually on watch when he got back," Dale informed them.

"Regardless," Andrea said. "We're not going to let the kid starve."

Their conversation was cut off when Rick stood up. He said something too low for Dale to hear, but whatever it was made Daryl stand up. Daryl picked up his crossbow, and Dale saw Shane tense, but the boy just slung it over his shoulder with an ease that spoke of habit. The kid made his way toward camp as though the whole scene had never happened. The second Rick was no longer occupied by the crisis Lori and Carl were running over to him. Rick picked up his son and embraced his wife. Dale chuckled with mirth. Good things can still happen to good people.

Dale watched Daryl walk over to where they stored the water and then pull a rag out of his pocket. Daryl soaked the rag with water and then used it to vigorously scrub the tears off of his face. Dale sighed. It wasn't all good. Dale had no love for Merle Dixon. The man had an annoying habit of calling him nearly-dead Dale or just nearly-dead. He liked to make up nicknames for people, and they were always cruel, crass or both. He had never seemed to Dale to be a particularly good dad, or even a halfway decent one. But it was clear that his son loved him, and it brought Dale no pleasure to see an innocent child so distraught. Dale noticed that Shane was also watching Daryl, but the look in his eyes was not sympathetic, far from it. Shane was looking at the boy with equal measures of apprehension and anger. Dale remembered at that moment that Shane had come into the camp with Lori and Carl. At first they had all assumed the three were a family, but they had soon learned otherwise. Lori's husband, Carl's father, had died in their hometown. Shane had been his best friend and had tried to get his friend's family to the refugee center. It was an inspiring story. Now though, Dale felt a sense of unease as he looked at the man whom before he had held nothing but admiration for.