"Either they are doted upon, as an unexpected and adored gift, or…"
"Or what?"
It's been two weeks since his last injection and even though he has minimal supplies, Daryl knows he can't push his limit any further. He's been feeling more and more exhausted every day for the last four days, sleeping more often and for longer all of the time. He's feeling anxious and can't help watching everyone for signs that they may be noticing a change in him. To his credit, Merle hasn't said anything – although it could just be because he's never really known how to handle this situation. He generally avoids talking about Daryl's gender all together.
The other people at the campsite know something's up – but they just keep asking Daryl if he's feeling alright. It isn't until Shane pulls him aside, though, that Daryl knows it's time to buck up and take the shot. "You sick?" Shane asks, after cornering Daryl at the edge of the camp. "Glenn's going on a run today, he can pick something up for you."
"I don't need anythin'." Shane cuts an imposing figure, but he won't scare Daryl into making up a story or confessing. "I'm fine."
His actions are in conflict with his statement, though, when he turns and strides to his tent, zipping the flap shut behind him. Daryl can hear Shane's muffled voice talking with Lori just outside as he unzips and drops his pants. He reaches into his bag and pulls out one of the glass bottles, wrapped in a t-shirt to keep it from cracking. A syringe follows and he rips off the plastic seal before staring at the needle. He's not going to die from using a filthy needle – not now. It looks clean enough, but he wipes off the top of the bottle before inserting the syringe and drawing out his dosage.
He sits on his blanket and tips his body to the side, sinking the needle into his flank with a squint. The injection takes almost no time at all, and mere seconds pass before he's wrapping the bottle back up in the shirt and tucking it away at the bottom of his bag. It's probably purely psychological, but he's starting to feel better even as he tugs on his pants and caps the syringe. He'll go find Merle and get rid of the needle in the woods.
When he comes out of the tent, Shane and Lori are arguing about something (hopefully not his health) and he's going to skirt by, but the woman reaches out and grabs him. "Daryl, tell Shane. Tell him we've gotta put some signs on the road by Atlanta. We've gotta warn people."
Daryl stares for a moment, unsure if he's supposed to side with her just because he was walking by, or if she actually thinks he'd agree with her. "We don't gotta do nothin'," he says. Shane nods at him, looking grateful. "But maybe the Chinese kid would put some up when he's in town?" Lori glares at him and shakes her head before turning back to Shane. She continues her tirade and Daryl knows his part has been played, so he leaves and heads for the bush.
"Or they're treated like play things. Abused. Used by their family."
"Are you sayin' what I think you're sayin'?"
It's hard for Daryl, sitting in the front of the box van next to Rick, to fathom not having his brother around. Merle's a dick and he's rude and pretty much everyone at the camp only puts up with him because of his ability to hunt and track, but he's the only man Daryl can trust. The only person who knew Daryl's secret and never turned on him because of it. Daryl bites his thumbnail and looks out the window. They've gotta find Merle. They've got to.
But then the hunt for Merle turns into a fucking shit show. It's hard for Daryl to hold back when they find his brother's hand on the roof so he turns to lash out at T-Dog. After an intervention from Rick, Daryl bites his tongue and asks for something to put his brother's hand in – because he'll be damned if he's leaving part of his brother behind.
As they walk through the building, finding signs of Merle's escape, Daryl realizes it could be far worse. He's lost and found his brother once already during this apocalypse – he'll find him again. And Merle's gonna be just fine out there – they can handle themselves, Dixon men.
When they go to get the guns and the Korean kid gets kidnapped, Daryl can't help the biting sensation in his gut. The longer they wait to find Merle, the further he'll be from them.
By the time they finally get Glenn back and return to the camp, Daryl's exhausted and all he wants to do is sleep, but as they trek up the hill, it's clear something's wrong. There's screaming and the now familiar sounds of metal hitting solid matter. All four men look at each other before hastening up the hill to join the fray. There isn't much fighting left to be done once they arrive and Rick's guns make short work of the remaining walkers, but Daryl knows – once he sees Andrea curled over her bloody sister – they won't be staying here. They're leaving – with or without Merle.
The next morning comes fast- light peaking over the crags of the quarry – and Daryl feels exhausted at the lack of adrenaline. His body is drained and he's allowing himself to be quietly concerned about Merle. The man can take care of himself, no question, but he's out there with no gear and missing a fucking hand. Daryl isn't stupid – he knows the camp won't miss him. They'll be content to rely solely on Daryl for hunting and they're probably happy to shot of his mouthy brother.
Despite his concern and complete lack of energy, Daryl pushes himself to help rid the camp of the dead the very least, the work keeps him from thinking about much else and falling over himself. He keeps to himself, other than a small spat with Glenn about where the dead should go, until they find out that Jim's been bitten.
Jacqui and Jim are moving a body together when she suddenly staggers away from him and announces, "A walker got him. A walker bit Jim!" He backs away from her slowly and when no one else seems to be inclined to respond, Daryl waves his arm.
"Show it to us." He lowers his ax from its resting place on his shoulder and ignores Jim's murmurs. "Show it to us," he says, just on the quiet side of shouting. Everyone starts talking when Jim picks up a shovel to defend himself, and Shane insists he shows them.
He doesn't seem violent, but T-Dog grabs him from behind and the shovel drops with a dull clang. "I'm okay," Jim insists. "I'm okay." But when Daryl lifts up his shirt, there's an angry, red ring of teeth marks on the man's stomach. Daryl drops his shirt immediately and backs away, feeling bile rise in his throat. Jesus. Jim's still carrying on with his stupid mantra. "I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay." T-Dog shoves away from him with a grunt and it's clear Daryl's not the only one who doesn't know what to say (which isn't new for him at all). The whole group stands in a semi-circle around Jim, who's dancing on his feet, a broken record. "I'm okay," he keeps repeating, looking from face to face. "I'm okay, I'm okay." Daryl picks up his ax cautiously and watches while Lori guides Jim to sit on a log.
A group of them gather in a circle – it's clear they need to make a decision, but after standing in silence for a few moments, Daryl realizes no one's going to say what needs to be said. "I say we put a pick ax in his head," he announces. "And the dead girl's, and be done with it." He knows it's the right thing to do – it's the only thing to do. And maybe these other people can't stomach it, but it doesn't matter what their collective conscious says – they can't have people turning in the middle of eating dinner.
"That what you'd want? If it were you?" Shane asks, staring him down. Daryl's never really managed to get a good read on the guy – and is especially thrown by him since the return of Rick, but he knows Shane agrees with him. He can see it in the guy's eyes – no matter what he's saying with his mouth.
"Yeah, and I'd thank you while you did it."
Dale speaks up, and Daryl knows it's gonna be a load of shit from the old man's mouth. "I hate to say it, I never thought I would, but maybe Daryl's right."
"Jim's not a monster, Dale, or some rabid dog." Rick is angry, Daryl can tell. But regardless of what all these people are feeling, they've got to put them down. Amy and Jim. They've got to keep everyone else safe.
"I'm not suggesting he is!"
Rick starts talking over Dale, about people being sick and drawing lines.
Daryl's heard enough and cuts in over the chatter. "The line's pretty clear. Zero tolerance for walkers. Or the to be." That's the way it has been, and that's the way it should be. Hell, he killed his Uncle Jess when the time came. Sometimes, you just gotta do what has to be done. Carol seems uncomfortable standing next to him and looks off to the side.
"What if we can get him help?" Rick asks. Jesus – the guy is smart and reasonable most of the time, but sometimes he can be so damn stupid. "I heard the CDC was workin' on a cure." Shane and Rick start having an argument about the CDC and it's existence – whether it's even still there.
Daryl's trying to let them sort it out – he doesn't need to make any final calls or decisions. He's happy to let those choices rest in other hands. But their bickering has nothing to do with the two looming walkers in their midst. He starts biting his lip and glances over at Jim, letting the site of the potential threat drown out the arguing cops for a moment. They start talking about Fort Benning and Daryl knows that no one's gonna make any final calls or decisions. Not today. And there's no way he's sleeping or travelling with a ticking time bomb anywhere near him. His anger overwhelms him and he releases his lower lip.
"You go lookin' for aspirin," he says, starting to back out of the circle. "Do what you need to do. Somebody needs to have some balls and take care of this damn problem!" He raises his ax to swing it, but Rick's gun is already cocked and held to the back of his head before he can do anything.
"We don't. Kill. The living."
Daryl's ax is still poised to swing, but Rick's behind him, and Shane steps in front of Jim to stand guard. He might be pissed, but Daryl knows when he's beat. He lowers his weapon and turns to level Rick with a stare, looking past the barrel of the gun. "That's funny," he says. He moves so that the gun is pointing directly at his forehead. "Comin' from a man who just put a gun to my head."
"We may disagree on some things," Shane says. Daryl jerks his head around to look at him. "But not on this. You put it down." Daryl feels a quick flare of anger burst in him. He's a grown man and won't be talked down to. Not by anybody – especially not now. But there's still a gun to his head and Shane is stronger than him any day. With a final grunt of defiance, he shoves the head of the ax into the dirt and stalks away.
Rick's ushering Jim to "safety" and Andrea's still squatting over Amy. Daryl can't handle these people and steers himself toward the head of the RV where there's a pile of untended dead bodies. There's a few slain walkers there, and the half-eaten carcass of Ed Peletier. He starts swinging the ax into each of them, making sure that they're down for the count and just when he's ripping it out of one of the walker's heads, he can hear Carol's steady shuffle, her feet dragging her body towards him. He glances up at her – he's never given the woman much thought, if he's honest with himself. She's meek and quiet and weak in her actions, but he's seen women like her before and knows she has to have some strength, somewhere, to have raised a daughter with a man like her husband around.
"I'll do it," she mutters. "He's my husband." She's looking down at his body with a broken expression and she's so small, Daryl's not even sure if she can swing the ax with enough force to crack the man's skull. He looks at her with a dubious expression, but eventually gives in to his internal argument and holds the tool out for her. She takes it from him and he steps back to give her some room. The tool is clearly weighing heavy in her hands – she struggles to lift it properly. But Daryl can tell this is something she wants – needs – to do on her own. She's already starting to whimper as she pulls the ax back, up and over her shoulder and with the first swing she lets out a small shout. The ax drops, heavy, impacting the man's head and brain matter spatters on the ground.
She pulls the it from his skull and mutters with the effort. The act is complete – the bone is split clean in two from the force of blow, but she levers the ax up again and swings it down once more, this time with more force and a louder cry. She swings it down three more times, letting out a final cry, before stopping.
Daryl watches her with hesitation, remembering his father's death. He wonders if he would have been able to take an ax to the man's skull – if he would have swung the heavy weapon five times and looked down at his father's decimated corpse and pulled his shoulders in with a whimper. He's glad Ed's gone, but he knows what Carol's going through just to be shot of him.
"You have suffered abuse at the hands of your father and also your mother, until age 12 when she died. It's noted here in your medical file."
"It's none of your damn business! It has nothing to do with this!"
