A/N: This is the beginning of a series of one-shots written for a friend. I am only on episode 5 of season 1, so no spoilers! I will write one-shots based around certain scenes/episodes as I progress in the series.
"What do you think you're doing, huh? I said what do you think you're doing?!" Daryl screamed this at Rick and Morales as they dragged him down the staircase.
"Man, shut up!" T-Dog hissed at him. "You're gonna get us eaten!"
Daryl bucked against the men restraining him.
"My brother is still here! HE'S STILL HERE! I am not going back until we find him, you hear?" He was fuming with rage, desperately trying to free himself. There was nothing these guys could say which would convince him to go back to camp and desert his brother. Merle cut his own hand off to save his life, and now he was hiding somewhere in the city, probably bleeding to death as they spoke.
"It's a lost cause, Daryl," Rick tried to reason with him. "He's gone, we don't know where, and it's too dangerous out there to go poking around and looking for him. If he can find his way out of the city, good. If not…" His voice trailed off as he tried to find adequate words to tell this man that his brother was as good as dead.
"If he can find his way out? Are you serious?! You couldn't do it alone, Superman, and in case you hadn't noticed, he don't have the benefit of two hands like you! He's unarmed and injured, and if we don't find him now, he's dead meat."
Rick sighed, knowing this was true. "Look, I'm sorry, but there's nothing we can do." Nodding to Morales, they tightened their grip on him and resumed their task of dragging him out of the building. Easier said than done.
"Let go of me! And don't give me that. It's YOUR fault he was in this situation in the first place! If he dies, his blood's on your head!" He was shouting again, his voice echoing dangerously off the walls of the stairwell.
"Lower your voice!" Rick scolded him in a hushed tone, listening for the sound of any approaching walkers they might have alerted. Nothing so far, thankfully, but Daryl was still screaming.
"No, I will not! I'll shout some sense into you if it's the last thing I do! We gotta find Merle, if we-"
T-Dog clapped a hand over Daryl's mouth. "It will be the last thing you do. It'll be the last thing any of us do, if you don't-AGH!" Daryl bit down hard on his hand, drawing enough blood to send it streaming down his hand and sprinkling onto the cement floor.
"Man!" He stage-whispered. "What'd you do that for?" He hugged his hand to his chest, trying to stem the flow of blood.
"Daryl, stop it! Do you want to get us all killed?" Morales asked irritatedly.
"I just want to find my brother. You know, the man you left chained on this rooftop to die?" Daryl spat back at him.
A clanking sound filled their ears, making all of them freeze in their tracks. A low, moaning voice reverberated throughout the building, quickly joined by others. They started out quiet, but soon grew louder as they drew near the group.
Rick just sighed. "Now look what you've done."
They waited in a tense silence for a moment, trying to decide what to do, before Daryl made a break for it. Twisting out of their grasp, he made it to the bottom of the stairs before Rick leapt and tackled him, bringing them both to the ground. There was a brief struggle, but Rick had the upper hand, and thus quickly overpowered him. He pinned Daryl's flailing arms to the floor and leaned down so that they were both hidden behind a fallen rack of clothes, hopefully shielded from the eyes of the walkers.
"Look, I don't know what you're trying to pull here, but if you keep causing a scene we're going to have every creature in this city on our tails, and you of all people should know how deadly a crowd of walkers is."
Daryl considered this for a moment before sneering. "Do whatever you want, Grimes, but I'm staying here to look for my brother, and you ain't gonna stop me."
Rick scowled in frustration before replying slowly, "I'm not leaving you here, Dixon. You'd be dead before morning."
"Oh, you won't, huh? You didn't seem to have a problem leaving Merle here to die. What's so special about me? No. Get off me!" His voice had risen again, and it seemed their luck had finally run out. Three walkers who had been wandering aimlessly around the floor heard their voices and began shuffling over, their awful groans becoming gurgling shouts of excitement when they caught sight of Rick and Daryl.
Morales and T-Dog had been crouched on the landing above them, remaining out of sight while Rick subdued Daryl, but now they rushed down the stairs just in time to hear Grimes mutter something along the lines of "Okay, Plan B." Drawing his gun, he flipped it around in his hand and brought the butt of it down on Daryl's head. He just spluttered angrily, trying to claw at Rick and regain his footing, so he received another strike to the temple, this time hard enough to knock him out.
"Help me!" Rick shouted behind him as the walkers reached them. Morales took up a steel rod that was lying abandoned near him and beat them off while T-Dog and Rick hoisted Daryl up on their shoulders. They carried him out of the store while Morales took care of the encroaching walkers. Finally they reached their van, and they were home free.
Daryl opened his eyes, a slow and painful effort, the light glaring in from all sides making the task practically impossible. Eventually the blaring light faded a bit and he managed to crack his eyes open, taking in the surrounding area. His head was pounding, and the last thing he remembered was being in Atlanta, and the walkers getting closer and closer. He'd been looking for his brother, but he couldn't remember whether or not he'd found him.
Looking around the make-shift shelter, he saw that he was back at camp. Carol was standing near him, holding something in her hands. Upon closer inspection, he saw that it was a roll of bandages. He was confused for a moment, his mind clouding over any thoughts he had, but after some thought he assumed that she was there for him. Probably to fix whatever was giving him this massive headache.
Rick. The name popped into his head, and just like that he remembered everything that happened. Mostly, anyway. Grimes had knocked him out. His eyes snapped open fully with the realization, and he began trying to sit up, anxious to get to that no-good cop and give him a piece of his mind (and a face full of fist).
"Woah, there." Carol held her hands out to him, like she was soothing a spooked horse.
"Where is Grimes?" Daryl asked, his voice hoarse, still trying to climb off the cot (the spinning ground made it difficult). In his weakened state, Carol was able to push him back down with a mere touch of her hand.
"That doesn't matter right now. What does matter is getting you patched up so that your head wound doesn't keep bleeding and cause you further damage." He started to protest, but realized the futility of such an endeavor given his current position.
"You caused a pretty big stir back there," Carol commented softly. "They had quite a time getting out of the city. Said you caused such a ruckus that every walker in a three-block radius was after you."
Daryl sniffed and managed a half-shrug. "They tell you why?"
She paused for a moment, not meeting his eyes, and nodded. "Sorry about your brother." She said. That was really all that could be said, wasn't it? There was no being sorry that Merle was gone, merely sorry that Daryl had lost his brother. No one but him cared about Merle, and he could see why. The man was abrasive, volatile, and not much use around the camp past bossing everyone around and brashly hitting on Andrea. Still, he was his brother.
It was at that moment when the situation finally sank in. Here he was, lying around and getting this mild injury treated while his brother was out there, running and hiding from walkers, probably fighting them off at that moment. He imagined him backed into a corner, being surrounded by more and more as the commotion drew them to him. At this point, he might even be… No. He couldn't think like that. He wouldn't. Besides, he knew his brother well enough to know that he must still be alive and kicking. Merle was just too stubborn to die. Not like that, anyway.
Carol finished wrapping the bandages around his head, and while she was securing them she said, "Rick meant well, you know. He was the one who volunteered to go back for Merle."
Daryl's mouth tightened angrily. "Grimes's the reason Merle was there at all. If he hadn't'a cuffed him to that pipe, Merle'd be here now."
"Sure, he'd be here. In handcuffs, for murdering T-Dog. Daryl told us he was going wild, attacking him, waving a gun around and threatening to shoot. You know how Merle could get. If Rick hadn't stopped him, he would've ended up doing something he'd regret." She finished tying off the bandage.
"Or," She added as an afterthought, "At least something that everyone else would resent. No use gettin' himself into trouble now, not in these circumstances. We've got enough things to worry about than fighting amongst ourselves."
Daryl said nothing, choosing instead to glare at the fabric ceiling above him. She may have been right, but he didn't have to admit it. Right now his only concern was sleeping off this killer headache and hoping that his stupid brother would get here soon.
When he came to, Daryl's headache had been reduced to merely agonizing. He grumbled and climbed off the cot where he was situated, glancing around to see that everyone was going about their normal business and paying him no heed. He stood in a daze for a few moments, still shaking off the effects of his concussion. He listened to the grating sounds of people's voices and the general movement around camp for all of three minutes before mentally declaring it insufferable. He headed off in the direction of the quarry, hoping to find some peace and quiet there.
Of course, he'd never had any semblance of luck, so he walked right into the middle of a veritable mob of women. If you've ever seen an angry woman, you'd know that's the worst kind imaginable. He sighed, preparing himself before speaking.
"What seems to be the problem, ladies?"
Andrea, who seemed to be the angriest of the lot, spun around to face him. She was practically spitting with rage.
"I'll tell you what's wrong. There's a scumbag of a man who's been allowed to sit around this camp and torment his wife and child for far too long, and no one has said a word about it. Now she's paying the price. Right now, that, that…." She trailed off into a series of expletives, apparently forgetting that she had been speaking to Daryl. It didn't matter, though. He'd heard enough.
He was still furious over his own ordeal and ready to take it out on someone. Who better to bear the brunt of his fury than the most useless scumbag in camp? Daryl stalked into the forest, in the direction the women had gestured. It didn't take him long to find them, as the sound of sobbing and slamming fists led him right to them.
When he walked into the clearing Ed's back was mostly to him, and he could see Carol cowering before him, bleeding and begging him to stop. He didn't, so Daryl stepped in to do something about it.
Quickly assessing his target, he knew he couldn't take him down with brute force. The man was much bigger than he, after all. He began with a brutal kick to the back of his knee. Ed wasn't expecting it, and collapsed to the ground in a heap. Carol scrambled backward, a mixture of shock and horror on her face.
Daryl leapt forward before Ed had a chance to recover. He pushed him over- no easy feat, the man was a mountain- and put a knee in his stomach. While Ed coughed and hacked from the blow, Daryl took a fistful of his shirt and began punching him over and over again, ignoring Carol behind him making tearful, half-hearted efforts to get him to stop, to leave him alone. But no, not this time. This poor excuse for a human being wasn't getting off that easy.
He continued to reign blows down on the man's face, at some point hearing a crunch and knowing that he had broken Ed's nose. He hit him again and again, even when there was blood streaming over the man's face and chest and covering Daryl's fists. It spurted and sprayed occasionally, but he didn't stop. He didn't stop when he heard Ed's pathetic pleas, nor when Carol begged him to stop, that he had done enough. He took all of his pent-up rage and aggression, and poured it out, using the memories of everything that had happened to him recently to fuel the attack.
He stopped only when he heard Carol's shriek, which brought him out of his violent stupor and back to reality. He realized that Ed had been knocked out. When had that happened? He panted, standing up and looking at his hands, slick with blood, and his split knuckles. He stared at them for a brief moment before wiping them on his pants and then offering Carol his hand. Hesitating only a moment, she took it and stood up, still shaking and staring at her husband's body, maybe wondering if he was still breathing. He was. Probably. At this point, Daryl didn't care.
He tugged Carol's arm, and she walked with him back to camp. The short trek through the woods was tense and awkward, but Daryl hardly noticed, still high on adrenaline. He stared at the ground as they walked into camp, hearing multiple gasps but not looking up. Carol followed him to the makeshift shelter they'd set up for him earlier, and watched as he grabbed a rag and some water. He thought for a moment and then set them down on the cot, next to where she was standing. She looked from him to the supplies, and he cleared his throat.
"You need to clean your face up. You're still bleeding. I'm not… very good at this whole thing. I can send someone to help you, if you need it." He said all of this while staring off into the distance, obviously uncomfortable.
She sniffed a little, staring at him, but then shook her head. He stood there a second longer, trying to think of something to say, but eventually just turned to leave.
"Daryl," Carol started, but then faltered when he looked back. She looked down. "I-um-" She tried, but couldn't find the right words. She shook her head, and he stared at her for a moment before walking away.
She couldn't exactly thank him for what he'd done, but she was grateful, nonetheless.