Noxi: This is my first attempt at an AU. Please be gentle. I requested fic prompts on tumblr and only one struck home. The start of this fic begins with zenofbeingmommy. Her simple idea that I've turned into a monster. Thank you Zen, and thank you all for giving this a try.

Warnings: Contains Mentions of Abuse, Child Abuse, Domestic Abuse, Violence, Angst, Language, Manipulation of Religion, Religious Undertones, and Hinted at Animal Abuse.

The Walking Dead belongs to Kirkman and AMC.

Not like Home

He stood for a moment, staring out at the mountains that rose up before him as the sun dropped beyond the horizon. They weren't much different than the ones back home, except for the snow-capped peaks. That was fuckin' different. He didn't know how he were gonna get used to the cold up here. But he'd have to if he wanted to make this his last stop.

This place weren't much different than home the more he looked around though. Nothin' more than a small town with its own general store, and its own diner, and its own bank. Hell, one road took him straight through. Just like home.

No, not home no more.

He turned his back on those mountains, suddenly regrettin' ever comin' to a place that reminded him so much of the one he'd wanted to escape for so fuckin' long.

He scratched the back on his head absently, and then ran his hand over his short hair, staring at the run-down building in front of him.

If there was one thing Daryl Dixon hated, it was a fuckin' bar. He couldn't fuckin' count how many times his brother Merle had dragged him down to their hole-in-the-wall just so that Merle would a had somebody to drive him and his skank home.

Daryl liked drinkin', just not in any establishments. People never acted like they should in any bar. Course that could a been Merle's fault too. Merle always managed to pick some fuckin' fight with somebody. Daryl never left no bar without a bruise or a swollen eye, or bloodied knuckles.

"You goin' in or ya just gonna stand there all damn night?" He flinched, head swinging to the left where the voice had come from.

He took a step back, then another. How the fuck had he not seen it?

The white Sheriff's car sat quietly next to his truck. He hadn't even seen it when he'd pulled up. Shit, he was really out a it if he hadn't even seen the damn squad car just sittin' there.

He stuffed his hands into his pocket, shoulders slouching further down as he tilted his head to get a good look inside. He'd only seen the back of a Sheriff's car once and he wanted to keep it that way.

"Asked you a question," the deputy demanded from the passenger's side. Daryl felt his lip pull back at the authoritative way he bit out his words. Like this asshole had any right to demand anything. He hated the police, as much as he hated his ol' man. They always thought they had the right to do whatever the fuck they wanted just cause they had some fuckin' badge.

But he bit his tongue to stop himself from making a smart-ass remark. First night in this new town and he didn't want to fuck that up.

He didn't want to give this asshole the satisfaction so he just pulled his smokes out a his front pocket, pressed the Marlboro to his lip, and offered the pack up to the cop, as if he wanted to make nice. Merle would a called him pussy, probably would started a fight, and they'd been in the back of the car already. But he weren't Merle, and he was done followin' him.

The officer let out a derisive snort. "I look like I do that?" Daryl just shrugged his shoulders and lit his own cigarette, inhaling deep.

Just his fuckin' luck that he didn't even step into the bar and he was already makin' the wrong first impression on the deputy.

Not that he cared. He could tell by the deputy's attitude that he would a gotten the same treatment even if he'd a been friendly. And he wouldn't a been. He hated cops, and that weren't gonna change.

And hell if he didn't want to charge straight into that bar right then. It was uncomfortable standing there with the cop staring at him as he smoked, like he was just waiting for him to do something wrong.

"Fuck you Grimes." He looked up in time to see a heavy man stumble out the door, nearly falling to his face. He was righted by another man in uniform following quickly behind him, grabbing him by the elbow.

"That's Sheriff Grimes, Ed," the Sheriff replied as the man shrugged him off. The Sheriff was a man his age, brown hair topped by the hat. The one that ya thought all Sheriff's wore and didn't. The one you figured they only wore in movies or some shit. Clearly this one did.

"Yeah well its just gonna be Rick when I see ya off duty tomorrow night," Ed whispered threateningly to the Sheriff, Rick's, face. Rick stared at him for a moment, his lip curling up in disgust.

"Ed," the other deputy called dangerously as he got out of the squad car. "You better take a step back 'fore I make you." Ed just laughed, not bothering to even look at the deputy. Daryl watched as the deputy walked over to this Ed with his hands resting on his belt, and his jaw cocked. He'd seen that look on plenty of others and to know it was on a cop didn't sit right with him.

"Try it Shane," Ed growled, slurred in his drunken state. The deputy, Shane, cocked his head for a moment, a sneer clear across his face. And Daryl didn't think looks could maim but the deputy could come close with that one.

"Lemme tell me you somethin'," he warned, shoving his face into Ed's, anger twisting his features. "I could beat you till there was nothin' left a you but tubes and machines."

"Shane," Rick warned feebly, hand on his gun holster. Rick's face was shadowed in worry, and Daryl didn't like that. Especially cause Shane ignored him. "They'd be feedin' you from a fuckin' bag, and changin' yer shit from a diaper," he snarled, gripping Ed by his collar and hauling him forward.

"So don't you fuckin' tell me to try it. Don't fuckin' tempt me Ed. Cause I'll do it. I'll make you wish you was never alive." Rick did step forward this time and rest his hand on Shane's arm.

"Alright Shane, that's enough." Shane held onto Ed for a moment longer, watching as Ed swallowed hard. And then he let Ed go with a shove backward, and sauntered off, clicking his tongue.

"Ain't got the balls to do nothin' anyway Ed," Shane called over his shoulder and hopped back into the car. Rick shook his head and steered Ed into the back of the car.

"You can spend the night in one of our comfortable beds Ed, till you've sobered up." Ed pushed off Rick's arm, and stumbled into the car bitchin' the whole way. Rick slammed the door behind him and turned to Daryl.

"Sorry ya had to see that," he said, tipping his hat off to him. Daryl snorted, covering up the laugh he almost let slip. He couldn't count how many times he'd seen Merle get hauled away in cuffs. How many times Merle had almost beat men to death.

"Not like it ain't somethin' I haven't seen 'fore," he commented softly, scuffing out his cigarette with his heel. Rick nodded, and went to pull his door open.

"Not seen your face before in town. You plan on staying?" Daryl knew that small towns had close knit people. Came with the territory. He knew he'd be asked a lot a questions before they finally got comfortable with him bein' around. He didn't like that, but he knew he'd have to deal with it if he wanted to make a new start somewhere.

But something about this Sheriff seemed alright to him. Least, better than the other deputy.

"Haven't decided," he answered, shoving his hands back into his pockets. Rick nodded, and pulled the door open.

"Well if you need anything, name's Rick. Rick Grimes." Daryl nodded, not offering up his own name yet. He still wasn't sure about this place, and he didn't want to go about giving his name.

Rick waited a moment, waiting for that bit of information. And then he smiled like it was okay that Daryl hadn't given it up. It unnerved him and he filed it away for later that Sheriff Rick Grimes was the one to watch out for.

"Have a good night then," Rick called as he pulled away.

He knew men like the one named Shane. They could be pleasant one minute, and then their fists on you the next. They liked to do the talking with their mouths and their hands.

But Rick? That was someone he wasn't sure of. He didn't get the same feeling as he did when he talked to Shane. He didn't feel threatened. Couldn't place a time when he hadn't felt threatened by a man. When he hadn't felt like he was tryin' to compete for something.

He sighed, ran his hand through hair, and walked inside the bar.

xxx

It was dimly lit inside, and the stool was hard on his ass. But he'd sat at the counter where he could have direct access to the booze and maybe the owner. He was hopin' to get some information from the guy, find out if maybe there was work available.

"Hey stranger." He caught the eyes of the blonde that popped up behind the counter. She leaned toward him, resting her elbows on the counter. Daryl leaned back in response, felt his jaw clench. She was pretty in that typical way, with her shiny blonde waves, and bright blue eyes. Her smile stretched across her face and he didn't like the way it made his stomach twist. When was the last time a woman had smiled at him like that and had meant it? No fuckin' games about it, nothin' behind that fake smile.

"Not seen your face round here before," she continued, either not noticing his discomfort or ignoring it and set a glass down in front of him. She pulled out a bottle of Jack.

Daryl slipped his hand over the top of the glass before she could start to pour. He wouldn't drink Jack or Wild Turkey, for reasons that he'd finally left behind.

Her eyes lifted back up to his, brows goin' up and he swallowed hard.

"Southern Comfort," he murmured huskily, glancing around at the few customers that littered the dimly lit bar. There was another young blonde, who looked just like the one standing before him, talking with a black woman in the back. They didn't seem notice him, and he liked it that way.

He felt a hand slide against his and he jerked back. He turned to find her smiling face again, and this time she must have seen his reaction.

"Not the social one, are you?" She filled his glass with the amber liquid and then dropped her elbows to the counter, chin in her palms. He just grunted and downed the glass in one go. She watched him closely, and then filled his glass again.

"Name's Andrea," she said thoughtfully, eyeing him up and down, stopping to stare at his worn out, sleeveless flannel, the old tank top underneath, and the noticeable amount of filth on his skin. He hadn't washed up before he'd just jumped into the truck and left. It was just him, leavin'. Gone. For good.

But he didn't like the way this Andreastared at him. It was like she was interrogating him with her eyes. Judgin' everything about him. Pissed him off.

"Didn't ask," he muttered, swirling the whiskey, watchin' it slosh against the glass like the waves of the ocean on the shore. Andrea chuckled, and it pissed him off further.

"What brings you to my bar in this little part of the sky country anyway?" Daryl felt his jaw go lax. Her bar? Shit, he'd expected the owner to be a guy. Should a known lady luck would a fucked him over like this. Cause lady luck was never on his side. Never was, never had been.

And he didn't know what the hell she was talkin' bout - sky country - and that must a shown on his face cause she started laughing again. It set his teeth on edge and he shifted in his seat. Why he came here, to this place called nowhere in the middle a nothing was his own damn business.

"Alright, alright," she said absently, biting her bottom lip as she wiped off the counter.

"Andrea." She looked up as a man called her over.

"I'll be right back," she said as she took off with a beer in hand. He watched as she handed the bottle to a guy; his thin shoulders hunched, and his shaggy brown hair stuffed beneath a baseball cap. She laughed at something he said, and touched his shoulder like they were old friends.

Daryl fiddled with the glass on the counter, looked back to the only other two in the bar and froze. The black woman was watching him closely now, something he hadn't noticed before. Her heated gaze held his, and he felt like he was being sized up, judged, noted, and then she broke it off.

He shook his head, attempting to dislodge the feeling she had left behind.

Andrea looked over her shoulder, gesturing toward him with her hands and baseball caps eyes found him.

Just what he needed - small town gossip. If there was somethin' he hated, it was the way people had to spread rumors like they didn't have better shit to do.

Andrea turned to him then, and walked over, swinging her hips as she went back behind the counter. He licked his lips nervously, picked at the skin on his thumbs, suddenly anxious to be gone.

"Tell me…" she waited. Daryl knew she was lookin' for a name. And a name was all it would take. All it would take to start that new beginning he wanted.

That was why he'd come here –- lookin' for a new start. He'd left because he'd needed to run. Couldn't take it there no longer. Needed a new place to call home. And if he told this Andreahis name that was it –- the start of it all.

"Daryl," he answered gruffly, sealing his fate. She poured him another shot of whiskey in return.

"Well, Daryl," she said with that smile, "you look like you might be stayin' a while." He downed the whiskey, lookin' up at her through the bottom of the crystal, distorted. He liked her that way –- twisted, unreal, deformed. That was usually how the world looked anyway. He set the glass back down, and studied her for a moment. As much as he wanted to believe that nice smile, and her friendly ways, he just couldn't.

Women hadn't been any kinder to him than men. Not to mention he didn't know how in the hell to act round them.

"Andrea!" Her head jerked up to the sound of a woman's voice behind him, her laughter following. "Another round for Mich!"

"Don't even think about it," the one named Michcalled back with her thick, heavy voice. Andrea's eyes found his again, her blue ones narrowing. He could see that she was waiting for him to answer her, and if he could read her right, she wasn't going to walk away without one.

He pushed the empty glass back toward her.

"And if I am?" Andrea smiled, slapping the counter. She pulled the bottle of Jack back out, pouring a shot into the glass he'd just pushed toward her, and he almost told her he didn't want it. But then, it didn't matter. She tossed back the shot herself.

This woman with her brazen attitude made him uncomfortable.

"Then you're in luck!" she beamed brightly. He snorted.

"Dixons don't got no luck," he murmured hoarsely, looking away, chewing on his lip. He could count on his left hand the number of times he'd been lucky. Or the scars on my back.

"Who?" When he didn't respond, Andrea just shook her head and continued.

"Well we've got work, if you want it. Not anything pretty, or fulfilling. But it's work all the same." He perked up at that. First fuckin' hour in town and he already had a job offer? This was exactly what he'd wanted. Hell, he'd shovel shit if he had to.

"There's a ranch, couple miles out, that's got a need for a ranch-hand. Someone who can handle horses." He felt that small drop of luck trickle through his fingers. He didn't know shit about horses, or about a ranch.

"Don't know nothin' bout any ranches or horses. Damn things are…" Andrea watched him, as she tried to stop her smile from spreading.

"Scared of horses?" He scoffed.

"Big. Okay, they fuckin' big. Not natural." She just laughed and patted his hand. Daryl swallowed hard as he pulled it away, hoping she didn't sense his discomfort at her touch.

"What'd you do before this then?"

"I…" hunted for my own food, helped my brother steal, carted him and his hookers round, kept him outta fights. "Not that," he finished instead, leaving her with nothing. She looked surprised.

"You live in Montana and you've never been a ranch-hand before?" He wasn't ready to tell anyone that he'd never been to Montana ever, was never even a blip on his radar, or that he'd just drove straight here from the hell that he'd abandoned.

"Not from around these parts." So he'd just keep it simple. Andrea looked skeptical for a moment, but finally dropped it.

"Well as much as I'd love to send you over to the Greene's place, they're not lookin' for work unfortunately. That leaves the Peletiers," she said, her lips turning down like she'd gotten a bad taste in her mouth.

The way she said it made it sound they had the fuckin' plague or somethin'.

"Somethin' wrong with'em?" She was quiet for some time, rapping her fingers on the counter. He thought she was finally going to say something when she stopped tapping her fingers and sighed.

"No," she said with finality. "But I assume you saw that jackass who was hauled out of here by Rick?" He nodded his head, already feelin' the pressure build in his chest.

He should have known it was too fuckin' good to be true. Nothin' ever came without a price.

"That was Ed. Ed Peletier. He owns the ranch. He'd be your boss." The look on her face was enough. She knew this Ed. Knew enough to be wary to send him there. And that meant that Ed was just the person that he didn't want to be around. Ed was everything he'd run from.

He'd seen outside the kind a shit that Ed was capable of, seen it in his eyes. And he didn't want to be a part a that.

"I know what he looks like, and I know that's not the best place to be sendin' anybody. But he doesn't…" she trailed off, lookin' away for a moment. She looked distant then, as if whatever she had been about to say, she shouldn't.

She smiled, and this time it wasn't the same as before. It didn't reach her eyes. "You seem like the type to do your work and leave well enough alone. I don't know what they can offer but you can head on over there tomorrow and see."

He didn't doubt that she was giving him an opportunity to be missed. And this is what he'd been looking for. A place in the middle a nowhere. A place to call home.

So, he'd have to see.

xxx

He stood for a moment and stared. Scratched the back of his head, and took a deep breath. And then he turned around and headed back to his truck. He couldn't do it. He couldn't go up to that door, and ask that fuckin' bastard for a job. He just couldn't fuckin' do it.

Fuck.

He stopped at the door, hand hovering over the handle. He couldn't do this. It was fuckin' huge. There was too much land, too much open space, too much everything.

"Look at this fuckin' place," he murmured to himself, and looked over his shoulder. The wind blew across the grassy plain, the sun reflecting off the blades in a swash of color. It was perfect. It was heaven. You could lie in the grass and soak in the sun for hours and never know that life was a bitch.

The two-story house was bigger than anything he'd ever seen, the mahogany wood giving it a rich look. The porch wrapped around the front, and a swing moved in the breeze.

Had Andrea given him the wrong fuckin' information? Were this some rich people's house? No way that asshole owned something as beautiful as this. Weren't no fuckin' right way in hell.

Daryl couldn't do this. Couldn't work for no rich fuckin' folk. He'd never seen more than twenty dollars in his pocket at one time. Never knew what it was like to have nothin' but the clothes on his back and the shoes on his feet. He was lucky to have a roof over his head most days.

Hell, if it weren't for huntin' he'd have somethin' to worry about then.

But this?

The house had to have more than two bedrooms, not including a kitchen and a bathroom. He couldn't remember what a real bathroom looked like.

Then there were the stables where he could hear the stomping and the whickering of the beasts inside. A chill went up his spine. He could see the beasts now, towering before him with their big eyes, and their massive bodies attached to those long skinny legs.

He'd been around horses once and he hadn't made a habit of doin' it again. They were big.

But still. He looked out across the land again. At the lush beauty of it, and the silence that it held. There was something there. And he couldn't just walk away from it. He'd never walked away from nothin' in his life. No, his brother had been doin' that to him his whole life. He weren't gonna be the one to do that now.

But could he do this? Ask that asshole for something? He hated the idea of havin' to beg anybody for nothin' and then to make matters worse this one had to be a dick.

He took a deep breath and walked forward, his chest tightening. He wanted to run. He wanted to run away from all the beauty and the hope that taunted him. He wanted to run from the possibility that this could be the worst fuckin' mistake of his life.

But he couldn't. He had to give it a chance.

Was what he always wanted someone to do for him.

So he kept walking with the thought that maybe this would be a new start. That maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

And then he stopped short as a truck came barreling out of the stables, bumping along the dirt road with a large trailer attached to the back.

Daryl watched it drive by, his chest heavy. It blew right by him with Ed Peletier in the driver's seat, red-faced and angry, clutching at the steering wheel tightly. And Ed didn't even notice Daryl standing there next to his truck.

What the hell was he supposed to do now? There went his only chance at a fuckin' job in this town.

He jammed his hands into his pockets and walked up the road, kicking at the dirt. Nothin' to say he couldn't just look at what he wasn't gonna get to do. Weren't like Peletier were around to tell him otherwise.

He went to the house first, because somethin' about it compelled him. He stood there at the bottom of the steps and gazed up at the structure, feelin' more worthless than he'd ever had.

He'd never had nothin' like this before. He'd never even seen nothin' like this back in his part a Georgia. He let out a heavy sigh, and scratched the back of his neck. He shouldn't be here.

The door slammed open with a bang, sending a jolt through him and then something collided with his legs.

He instinctively reached down to grab hold of it and realized to late what it was -– a child. Blonde hair, wide blue-green eyes staring up at him with fear. She trembled in his hands and he let her go fast, stumbling back away from her.

"Go Sophia," someone called. And the girl, Sophia, ran. She ran like she had the devil chasing her. He'd never seen anything so painful, so familiar as he watched her retreating back.

And when he turned around to the open front door he felt the breath leave him.

A woman was on the floor, lip bleeding, and a bruise already forming above her eye. She wore her graying hair cropped short to her head, and her clothes hung loose about her frame. It was enough to let him see another bruise forming on her shoulder.

How many times had he witnessed, been subjected to what he was sure had just happened? How many times had he been unable to stop it? How many times had he felt so fuckin' powerless against the world?

He swallowed hard against the emotions that threatened to consume him.

She rubbed at her jaw tentatively, wincing as she did. And then she looked up at him and smiled.

A/N: Thank you so much for taking the time to read this. I realize the length of it might be daunting, but I hope you are compelled to stay along for the ride.