Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. This is a work of pure fiction. All characters and events depicted in this story are entirely fictitious. Any similarity to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Rating: M/E
Tags: *Carol Peletier/Daryl Dixon, *Sophia Peletier, *Ed Peletier, *Merle Dixon, *Rick Grimes, *Lori Grimes, *Carl Grimes, *Shane Walsh, *Glenn Rhee, *Andrea Harrison, *Amy Harrison, *Dale Hovarth, *Jacqui, *Theodore 'T-Dog' Douglas, *Quarry, *Dream Visions, *Angst, *Rewriting History, *Very AU, *ZA
Summary: You can't change the past; move on and embrace the future … Carol had chanted that little mantra her whole life, never more so than since the world had fallen apart. Then why was she waking up in a very familiar bedroom listening to the sweet voice of her beloved Sophia calling to her from the kitchen? And where was Daryl? Had she woken to a dream, a very real nightmare … or had she simply lost her mind?
A/n: I can't explain how my mind works … not even gonna try.
A Twist in Time
By:
CharlotteAshmore
I
A shiver of pure unadulterated rage slowly made its way up her spine as she stared coldly at the black-leather clad form of their nemesis. She was too embittered by anger to feel the appropriate amount of fear she should – if any at all. Icy azure eyes followed the man as he postured and pranced before her family where they'd been forced to their knees in the dirt. A fruitless bid to save what was left of their people at the Hilltop, to stop the killing. A willing sacrifice.
His cartoonish demeanor would never instill fear in her, however; Carol knew the face of true monsters … her own included. Her loved ones would argue that fact, but there was no denying who'd she'd become to survive the new world. She'd adapted, evolved, as she would continue to do until she last drew breath. Which would be soon if the bat-wielding psychopath had anything to say about it.
Negan couldn't appear weak before his followers, and Rick had made a fool of him more than once. Hell, he was practically making a hobby out of it. An example had to be set. One would forfeit their head to Lucille while the others were gunned down with freshly made bullets courtesy of Eugene. Carol wondered briefly how the odd little man could stand to look himself in the mirror, the turncoat.
She felt Daryl shift to her right as the bat inched a little too close for comfort in her direction, heard the feral growl rumble low in his throat. Her hand snaked out, fingers curling around his wrist, feeling out the rapid beat of his pulse. He shot her a side-eyed glance, stilling when she held onto him, willingly allowing her to stay his hand. There would be no hot-headed loss of temper this night.
Carol waited until Negan's pacing brought him past them, his focus on Rick to her left before she turned her head fully to catch Daryl's eye. She knew it was dangerous to outright ignore the madman wishing to end them all, but she'd rather spend her last moments lost in her love's eyes than catering to Negan's whims.
They'd fought so hard for so long against a common enemy – too many - against the dead … against themselves and their fears. Carol had lost herself countless times, and Daryl had always found her, saved her – most times from herself and the demons she carried – reminding her of who she was and who she wanted to be. They belonged to one another, two halves of the same whole. And now as she prepared herself for that killing blow, she couldn't help but wonder if he would find her again … even in death.
"Well ain't this sweet," Negan chortled, dropping a knee before the pair and giving a deliberate poke at Carol's hand - wrapped vise-like around Daryl's wrist - with Lucille. "Simon, would you look at this shit?! This whole time, Daryl here had himself a woman." He ignored the sound of gnashing teeth from the redneck and turned his attention to Carol. "And just where've you been hiding yourself, darlin'?"
Carol felt Daryl turn his hand, sliding his fingers between hers, his grip tight, desperation warring within him to protect her from the man who held them captive.
Negan's hand shot out and grasped one of the straps holding the armored plate securely to her chest and pulled her roughly to her feet, forcing her to release Daryl's hand.
"NO!" the hunter growled, ready to spring up from his knees to drag her back to his side.
Rick dove at him, wrapping his arms around Daryl's chest before any of Negan's henchmen could come forward to subdue him. "Wait, brother," he cautioned, hissing the words urgently into his ear as he struggled to hold him back. "Don't give him a reason to kill her."
Carol's eyes were bitterly cold as they met Negan's, her voice steady as she spoke. "Don't hurt him … please."
He flashed her a shark-like grin, all teeth and what he confidently thought was charm. "Well, see there, darling … I don't wanna hurt him. I wanted him to be one o' mine." He leaned in further, his warm breath ghosting over the shell of her ear as he looked at the redneck over her shoulder. "But he just had to be difficult. He could've been a lieutenant, for fuck's sake. I could use that kind of loyalty … but he just wouldn't play ball."
She jerked her head to the side when he brought the bat up between them and trailed the wire of one barb over the curve of her jaw. His smile slipped and his hand whipped up to grip the curling strands of hair at her nape, jerking her head back roughly.
"Seems I just didn't have the right … incentive … to get him to fall in line. And you're something of a legend around the sanctuary; did you know that?" He looked out over the group waiting anxiously on their knees and his grin widened. "At least once a week somebody would come through the factory telling anyone who would listen about the silver-haired bitch who moved like a wraith just waiting to take out more of our people. That you, sweetheart? Are you their queen?" He turned her around to face the group and pressed his cheek to hers, his chin resting on her shoulder.
"We're at war," she said calmly. "There's bound to be casualties on both sides."
Carol tuned him out as he called out his gloating monologue to his men, her eyes locking with Daryl's. Despite the pain and terror which seemed to radiate from his every pore, she couldn't bear to look away. She knew how this was going to end, the inevitability was evident in every syllable dripping from the lunatic's tongue. There would be no escape. Her nine lives were up. He still struggled against the vise-like grip Rick had on him, but he wouldn't be able to save her this time. She could only hope when it was over, her beloved Dixon would find the strength to walk away. There was no doubt in her mind he would survive.
She sucked in a sharp breath as Negan tossed his prized bat to his second in command and withdrew the knife from the sheath on his belt, pressing the cold steel to the side of her throat. His chest rumbled with laughter against her back, but her quick mind refused to find a solution to her current dilemma. Each avenue of escape would result in the same end. She would die.
"Nothing to say, darling? No last words?"
Carol stiffened her spine and braced herself. The sharp edge of the blade stung as it dug into her flesh, but she barely felt it as adrenaline rushed through her veins, her heart threatening to beat from her chest. "Not for you."
Jesus had joined Rick in his battle to subdue Daryl, the two men practically laying atop the hunter. Feral growls spilled from his lips in a torrent, nails gouging trenches into the dirt as he fought to get to her.
"Too bad it had to end this way. You and the redneck would've been such an asset to me, but … no exceptions."
She didn't feel the killing blow, the knife bearing down hard against her neck against her carotid artery. Her vision swam with tears as she watched Rick let go of Daryl and sit back on his heels in defeat, and Jesus fall face first into the dirt as the hunter crawled to her side. His tears splashed over her face, catching on her nose, her lips, as he pressed his fingers to the side of her neck to stop the bleeding.
"No … stay with me, Carol … please. Y' cain't leave me," he cried as she fought to raise her hand to cradle his beloved face. One last touch before she let the cloying darkness lingering at her vision drag her down into oblivion.
"I love you, Daryl."
He collapsed against her, his face buried in the crook of her neck as he gave into a wretched sob, his wails of fury, heartbreak and soul-deep despair ringing through the clearing.
"For fuck's sake, would someone please shut him up!"
The sound of a gunshot was the last thing she heard.
*.*.*
"You cheated!"
The darkness giggled, a shrill childish sound which set her teeth on edge. "You know I didn't. It's not allowed as you'll recall the terms of our deal the grand pompous superiors laid down on us."
The light – angel, for want of a better description – snorted as she tossed her long chestnut curls and crossed her arms petulantly over her chest. "It's not fair," she murmured softly, her eyes searching his amidst the torchlight barely illuminating the dark cavern where they'd been sent to play their game. For what else could it be called?
The demon flourished an elegant green-gold hand at the wall to remove the images, leaving the surface blank and unblemished before he threw his leg over the arm of the throne-like chair upon which he sat and sighed. "What's so unfair, dearie? They have free will and are allowed to make their own choices despite what obstacles I might throw in their path." He pointed one blackened claw in her direction. "And you've done your admirable best to help them along the way. I dare you to deny it."
She wiped surreptitiously at the moisture gathering on her lashes and ducked her head to conceal the anger pooling in her cerulean eyes. It was against her nature to feel such emotion, but she'd watched the survivors fail too many times since she'd taken this assignment not to feel something. Punishment was more like it.
"Doesn't it sadden you even a little to see this happen to them over and over? Their pain, their sorrow, their struggle? How can you not –"
He rose slowly from his perch and approached her, his amber gaze troubled as it met hers, a finger beneath her chin lifting her head. He knew pain; he'd been human once, after all. But after centuries of dwelling in the darkness, he'd all but forgotten the softer emotions she invoked in him. "It is not our place to feel ... anything."
"Why … why have the gods forsaken them and their world? Why would they do this?"
He sighed. "It is one insignificant little world, dearie, compared to thousands. Perhaps they simply want to wipe the slate clean so they might begin anew."
"Then why leave this to us?" she asked, searching his face for some sign that he was as tired of the game as she. "What will happen if good wins?"
He shook his head. "It's time you realized good cannot win in this situation. The few against the many … and that's discounting the creepy crawlies trying to eat them around every corner."
"And I say it can!" she insisted, stamping her dainty little foot.
He smiled indulgently and took her hand, leading her back to her seat before an ornate chessboard. "As much as I would give to see myself proven wrong - for your sake – I'm afraid it's impossible."
Her shoulders stiffened indignantly as she sat forward to move a pawn into position. The beginning of a new game she was hesitant to start. Instead of choosing the square for the piece of chiseled white ivory, she clasped it tightly against her palm. "There is a way."
He raised a brow, a sinister smirk curling the corner of his mouth. "Do tell, dearie."
Her smile was chilling for one who was supposed to be so pure. A shiver of pleasure traced his spine. Perhaps he was finally beginning to corrupt her. "I think it's time we changed the rules."
His lips parted in surprise at her bold suggestion. "Hypothetically speaking – because anything more would have us both tossed out on our butts – what do you propose?"
She toyed with the pawn in her hand, her brow furrowing. "We've watched them make the same mistakes, trust the wrong people, wander the wrong path and fight against their own good sense. I want to forewarn them."
"You want them to remember. That, my dear, is cheating."
"Only two … not all of them," she reasoned, her eyes alight with excitement at his seeming willingness to listen.
He, too, picked up a pawn from the board and rolled it between his hands. "The hunter and the housewife? Your pets."
A rosy blush flooded her cheeks as one shoulder lifted in a shrug. "I'm more invested in them than the others. Two damaged souls who found one another, each the only hope of healing the other. They tug at my heart. Aren't you tired of seeing them fail?"
He couldn't care less about the humans. He was weary of seeing his little angel dragged down by their failures. "This will not end well, dearie. We will be cast out, no longer immortal. They will send us down there to share the same fate as those with whom we toy. Is that what you want? You would give up your halo?"
She reached out a hand to him, her warm fingers caressing the mottled flesh over his knuckles in a tender caress. "We would be together. We could have a single mortal life and help rebuild this forgotten world. Would that really be so terrible?" Her words pierced his chest more sharply than the finest blade, hope unfurling in his chest that she could love him as she did her hapless charges. "They deserve one more chance."
"But do we?"
"Whether we do or not … I want to try."
He twisted his hand in hers, clasping her fingers as she moved to place her pawn upon the chessboard, the wall coming to life with the view of the housewife waking to a new day.
"I hope you know what you're doing."
"Trust me."
*.*.*
"Mom! We're out of toaster strudel! Again!" The girl's voice paused, her ears pricking as she concentrated, waiting for a response from her mother. "Mommmmm!"
Bleary, tear-bright blue eyes snapped open, a scream barely stifled on her lips as Carol jerked upright in bed, her gaze frantically sweeping her surroundings. Instead of the panic abating at the sight of her familiar bedroom furniture, it only increased. A hand fumbled shakily at her throat, the ghost of a knife cutting through her flesh still fresh in her mind.
She could still feel Daryl's tears on her face, the sound of his heartbroken sobs loud in her ears and she could still see the weight of his pain burning in his eyes. Oh, god! Where's Daryl … where are the others … my family? She couldn't have dreamed it all, right? Carol knew she wasn't crazy!
Hurried footsteps sounded on the stairs, but they weren't the heavy tread she'd come to fear from her husband. She barely had time to brace herself as her daughter came bounding into the room to flop face down on the bed next to her, a melodramatic groan rumbling against the duvet.
"Mom, I'm starving and we're out of toaster strudel!" Sophia lamented as she flipped over onto her back and threw an arm over her eyes.
The breath hitched in Carol's throat as she hesitantly reached out to her baby girl, a sob forcing its way past her parched lips as her fingers carded through silky golden locks. "S-Sophia?"
The girl gave up on her drama and leaned up to study her mother's shaken expression, worry knitting her brow. "Mom, are you ok? You look like you're gonna be sick or something."
Carol swallowed convulsively, choking back the emotion threatening to constrict her air passages, and pulled her child into the safety of her embrace. "N-No … I'm fine, I just … you were saying something about breakfast pastries? Are there no pop tarts?" she asked, trying to even out her tone so as not to scare her.
"Mom," Sophia huffed a long-suffering sigh and gave her a look. "You don't allow me to eat those. You said they're full of sugar and cornstarch something or other."
"High fructose corn syrup," the correction came naturally to her lips. She grinned, remembering the many times Sophia had tried to sneak a box into the shopping cart and the ensuing argument. "How about bacon and eggs instead?"
"Scrambled with cheese?" she bit out hopefully, her hands folded prayer-like beneath her chin.
Carol grinned. "Give me a few minutes to get a shower and pull myself together and I'll be down to fix us something to eat, ok?"
"Deal!"
Sophia bounded off the bed and down the stairs before her mother could change her mind and in only moments, Carol could hear what sounded like Saturday morning cartoons coming from the den.
She pulled herself out of bed and rummaged through the chest of drawers, looking for clean clothes and frowning at the pair of capri pants and frumpy t-shirt she'd chosen. She had to snap out of whatever fugue the dream had caused her before she lost her mind. She'd promised herself she'd buy herself a new wardrobe after Ed had died just after New Year's, but she hadn't gotten around to it yet.
She froze as she adjusted the temperature of the spray, a blast of heat hitting the back of her neck as she leaned her head forward against the cool tiles. No, that can't be right! Ed was at the quarry! Another wave of images of her husband's mangled, half-eaten corpse flooded her mind. She could still feel the weight of the pick axe in her hand as she'd hefted it up into the air to drive it into his skull. But he couldn't have been at the quarry if he'd died in a car accident six months ago. Shit, maybe I am going crazy!
How then could she explain the vivid detail of her dream. It didn't feel as if it were merely a nightmare. It felt real. Lori … Rick … Glenn … Maggie … Michonne … Hershel … Merle … Daryl. She couldn't have dreamed up Daryl Dixon even in her wildest imaginings. Her skin felt raw by the time she finished scrubbing herself beneath the hot spray, feeling as if it had been forever since she'd been able to partake in such a luxury. All the while, she'd searched her memory of every detail she could remember about the outbreak and the subsequent events … leading up to the night of her demise.
Carol refused to believe it had been a dream, therefore, she needed to find tangible proof to the contrary. Drying and dressing hurriedly, she rushed down the stairs, pasting a happy smile on her lips as Sofia joined her in the kitchen.
Her daughter chattered endlessly about the sleepover she was to have that night with her friend Julie, but Carol was only listening with half an ear as she cracked open several eggs into a bowl and whisked them with a dash of salt and pepper before adding some cheddar and Monterey jack cheese. Setting it aside, she turned the oven on and arranged strips of bacon onto a cookie sheet.
Carol poured her daughter a glass of juice and set it before her as her eyes fell onto the newspaper sitting innocuously on the table, silently thanking her daughter for bringing it in that morning. Her brow furrowed, her eyes scanning the date … June 12th, 2010. If her memory wasn't faulty, the first stirrings of news of the virus hadn't begun until the last week of June, and the evacuation centers had opened within the last two weeks of August. She still had time.
Time for what, though? her inner voice mused with a note of hysteria.
If it had all been a dream, was it some higher being trying to warn her for what was to come? Should she begin preparing for the apocalypse? With the money she'd collected from Ed's life insurance policy, she could do so much to help her group. And if she'd been warned, had anyone else? Had Daryl?
"Mom … bacon!" Sophia screeched, pointing at the stove and shoving a dish towel at her mother.
"Crap!" Carol flung the door open and stared at the remains of what had once been their breakfast. She sighed. "Well, kiddo, how about we go out to eat and then I drop you at Julie's?"
"Really?" Sophia asked, her eyes widening. "Cool!"
As much as she wanted to cling to her baby girl and simply give in to the emotions strangling her, Carol needed time to think … and to plan. "Sure, baby. But tomorrow, I'm picking you up early and we're going to spend the day together. I think it's about time we went shopping."
"Mom, are you sure you're ok? You haven't been this distracted since Ed died," she murmured, refusing to call that man 'Daddy'. He'd caused her sweet mother so much pain, she couldn't find it in herself to be sorry he was dead.
Carol opened her arms to welcome her daughter and squeezed her tightly, tears burning at the backs of her eyes. "I just have a lot on my mind, baby. I promise everything is going to be alright as soon as I can sit down and plan what we're going to do with the rest of our summer," she said lightly, brushing a golden lock away from Sophia's brow.
"Like a vacation?"
"Erm … something like that."
*.*.*
"No … stay with me, Carol … please. Y' cain't leave me!" A sob tore loose from his throat as he felt a last ghosting breath caress his cheek. Her blood still coated his hands and flowed through his fingers, but all he could think was that he'd never told her just how much she meant to him, how very much he loved her. She was gone … his Carol lost forever this time. There would be no finding her hidden away waiting for him to rescue her, no distance he could cross to rush into her arms.
He wept brokenly, anger and grief leaving his throat as ragged and abused as his soul. Rick's anguished cries behind him barely registered, nor did Negan's order … only blackness.
"No! No! Carol!" He thrashed against the cool sheets which seemed to tangle around his legs, his arms flailing wildly as he felt the dream recede. A dream. A nightmare. He needed reality where his woman was alive and well, and he would fight with his last breath to get back to her.
"Damnit, boy! What th' hell's wrong with y'?!"
Daryl wasn't expecting the voice of a ghost, nor the strong hands which curled around his wrists to stop his struggling. He blinked, bloodshot blue eyes meeting the mirror image of his own. "M-Merle?"
Merle stared worriedly at his brother, concerned over the heaving breaths and wild feral look in Daryl's eyes. "Are y' high? Comin' down offa somethin'? What th' fuck didja take last night at Tim's party?!"
Daryl wrenched his hands from Merle's grip and grabbed his head, wishing it would stop pounding long enough to allow him to think clearly. How th' hell is Merle alive an' where in fuck is Carol?! His gaze raked the small but modest bedroom, his personal effects resting neatly atop the dresser and his crossbow hanging on the wall above a small tv. What th' fuck don't even begin t' cover it. It was as if he'd stepped right onto the set of the twilight zone.
"Boy, answer me! Do I need t' take y' t' th' hospital?"
"I ain't on nothin', for fuck's sake!" he growled irritably. Merle could deal with irritable better than ten levels of crazy. "Jus' a nightmare, s'all."
Merle slapped him on the back and stood up straight, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well, I'd have nightmares too if Nasty Neecie had been chasing me around Tim's apartment last night. Tell me y' didn't hit that. We gotta all have standards sometimes."
Daryl shuddered, remembering that particular party when he'd been ready to jump out the window rather than have that girl anywhere near him. But it had been … years ago … before … "What day is it? What's th' date?!" he asked a little desperately.
"Y' sure y' didn't take nothin' last night?"
"Damnit, Merle, just tell me th' fuckin' date!"
The eldest Dixon looked at his brother as if he was seriously losing it. "June 12th, 2010." A light of realization went off. "Y' hit yer head … that's it, right?"
Daryl rolled his eyes despite the pain nearly blinding him and climbed to his feet. He'd stalked halfway to the door, on his way to the bathroom, before he turned and threw himself at his brother in a fierce bear hug. "I'm glad you're ok, Merle."
"Th' fuck?!" Merle choked out, pushing Daryl away. "Don't be goin' all pussy on me this mornin'! Next you'll be wantin' t' talk about yer damn feelin's. Gawd! Go take a shower or somethin' … y' smell like ass!"
Daryl grabbed some clean clothes from the dresser and hurried to the bathroom to have a quick wash, taking his brother's advice. He still felt sick with fear, but he had his brother back. They had a second chance.
He stuck his head under the spray, the heat of the water scalding his bare neck and making him curse the short hair he sported. He rifled through his memories, his brow creased in a deep frown as nothing was as it should be. Not for a minute did he think it was just a nightmare. Who the hell could have dreamed up some crap like an apocalypse where the dead rose to walk? Not him, he thought, that was for damn sure.
He remembered what had been his true existence before everything had fallen apart, how he and Merle had never had a place of their own, or jobs, or money. Now, his head was trying to tell him they had steady jobs working for Bancroft Construction, they lived in a modest neighborhood just outside of Newnan, Georgia, in one of the newer apartment complexes, they had money in the bank and his brother wasn't the drug addict he'd once been. Sure, Merle wouldn't say no to a bit of bud when it was available, but it was nothing like the hard stuff he'd done before. This was some bullshit fantasy he'd dreamed up on more than one occasion. Now he just had to figure out who was fucking with him.
Daryl Dixon had never believed in God or a higher power lording it over the universe, but he was having a hell of a time coming up with a better explanation for the shitstorm he'd just been handed. Carol would surely know, but he had no earthly idea where she was. Had she been thrust back into that house with her piece of shit husband to suffer more abuse at his hands? He couldn't even go to her because she'd never told him where she lived, not wanting to talk about the home she'd shared with Ed Peletier.
Fuck!
He paused mid-scrub as a small face framed with golden hair flashed across his mind's eye. Sophia. Carol would have her daughter back. He hurriedly rinsed off and nearly tripped as he stepped out of the shower, blinded by the burning of unshed tears behind his lids. She'd have a second chance with her baby girl.
Daryl braced his hands against the sink and scowled at himself in the foggy mirror. He might be a few years younger and less worn than he'd been yesterday, but he still thought he looked like shit. He had to pull himself together. There was so much to do in order to be ready when the world went to hell. He wasn't going out there unprepared for a second time.
As he pulled on his jeans, he couldn't help but wonder if Carol had woken up that morning with her memory of their life together, surviving as they'd carved out a new place in the world, or if she was stuck in a loop as her former timid, mousy self … Not that she was any less precious to him as she had been at the quarry and later at the farm. But if she did remember … damn, she'd be a force to be reckoned with.
He frowned as his fingers ghosted over the smooth skin of his left side where the scar of a puncture wound should be. Closing his eyes, he let his mind wander to that day in Hershel's spare bedroom where he lay resting after he'd nearly died … twice … and she'd kissed him for the first time, a mere brush of her lips against his brow in thanks. A gentle thank you for searching for her child, a thank you for being him. She'd made him feel as if he were worth something in her eyes, and he'd never been the same again.
I'll find y', Carol … and there ain't gonna be a need t' shed a single tear over your baby girl. Ain't gonna let nothing happen t' her this time. I promise.
Merle was stretched out in his favorite ratty recliner when Daryl came down the hall, keys in hand. "Hey, y' comin' down t' th' bar later t' watch th' game with me an' th' boys? First round's on me, lil' brother."
"Naw, I need t' run by Pete's," he said, thinking of the one acquaintance they had who might be able to get him what he needed. Just because he'd somehow been given a new life, it didn't mean he didn't still know some shady characters.
The leg of the chair creaked down as his brother turned to shoot him a narrow-eyed look. "An' jus' what th' hell for?"
Daryl sighed, knowing it was useless to try to lie to Merle. "Cain't we talk about it later?"
Merle pushed himself out of the chair and crowded into his brother's personal space. "Uh-uh. The only time anyone willingly goes t' see Pete is if'n they wanna get high – which I don't think is it at all with y' – or they want some heavy artillery. Now, why don'tcha tell ol' Merle why y' need guns an' ammo."
Raking a frustrated hand through his still-damp hair, Daryl decided to 'fess up. "Some shit's gonna go down in a few months an' I need t' be prepared, so t' speak. Pete's th' only one I know who won't ask too many damn questions."
"What kinda shit?"
"I cain't tell y'," Daryl hedged, earning a cuff to the back of his head.
"Bullshit!" his brother retorted. "Y' in trouble with th' cops? Gangs? IRS? Throw me a bone here, Darylena."
"I ain't in trouble … yet. Jus' … I cain't talk about it without sounding ten kinds of crazy," he grumbled. "I jus' gotta do everythin' in my power t' have us ready for when th' shit hits th' fan, a'right? Cain't y' jus' trust me this once?"
Merle hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and pursed his lips, rocking back on his heels as he searched his brother's face. He certainly didn't like what he found … a healthy dose of fear behind those clear blue eyes. Something was wrong, and he didn't like being kept in the dark. However, if Daryl was headed for trouble, he wasn't going to be alone. He spun on his heel and grabbed his jacket from where it was draped over the back of the sofa.
"Well, whatcha waitin' for, boy? Let's go." Merle let him get halfway down the stairs leading from their second-floor apartment before a devious grin spread over his generous lips. "By the way … who's Carol?"