All I have to say is Review and Follow, my dears. Review and Follow.

Daryl chose to take the morning perimeter check in favor of getting out of Merle's tent. He didn't want to sleep outside but he sure as hell couldn't spend another minute with that fucker. Always bitching about wanting to be the leader, about how Shane didn't know shit, how they should just pack up and leave. There were two big reasons to stay that Merle either didn't seem to know or care about. One: Without the Dixon brothers hunting, the group wouldn't eat. Two: Daryl was afraid that another stretch of time with just Merle would result in a bolt through his big brother's eye. He loved the guy, they were kin and they were all they had left in the world, but he wasn't afraid to strangle him.

There was strength in numbers. That rang just as true as before the geeks invaded.

Daryl checked the end of his crossbow with a scowl, spotting only five arrows left out of his dozen set. There had to be some kind of hunting store still standing somewhere in Atlanta. Much longer and he'd be shit out of luck. His bow was his but if he ran out there was no way Shane would share a gun. He was a pretty good shot but bullets hurt the meat. The squirrels on his back all had a hole right through the head, the rest of their bodies perfect for consumption.

Daryl froze, mind going blank. There was a noise, a steady crunch of leaves under feet. He crouched behind a tree, breath evening out to a quiet rasp as he cocked his head up to listen closer. It was too fast to be a grazing deer and too slow for a squirrel on the ground. It had to be a person. Or a walker. A soft voice filtered through the trees, someone singing lowly in a language he didn't know. Walkers didn't sing. Not that pretty. The footsteps got closer, coming further up the hill now. He set his crossbow out, slipping an arrow in the slide before bracing it. He counted off the seconds with each breath, keeping track of the footsteps until he was sure the person was close.

Daryl shifted too hard, a twig snapped beneath his heel. The singing cut off abruptly. Fuck. He'd been spotted.

Daryl grit his teeth and sprung to his feet, crossbow moved high to take the shot as he moved around the tree out into the open, "Don't move!"

xXx

Time stopped.

Daryl had read a decent amount of books in his life and he'd found more than half of them too fanciful. Boy meets girl, they instantly fall in love? Crap. The knight shows up just in time to save the princess? Bullshit. The bullet hits the Bible in your pocket? Not likely. The young hero finds the perfect master just before the big battle? Whatever. He was a realist, he knew how things really were. In Daryl's world the girl rolled with you once before jacking your wallet, the princess got eaten by the dragon, the bullet goes straight through your head, and the "hero" gets his ass kicked all over the battlefield.

But this...this was different, this was straight out of a story.

The world crawled to a stop around him, the breeze rustling through the leaves the only sound in existence. Through the sights of the crossbow he saw an angel. The being had taken the form of a man with tan skin and golden hair. The sun hit right behind him, outlining his lithe figure in rays of light. The angel wielded a pitch black recurve bow, an arrow notched in front of his face and pointed straight at the Dixon's head.

Daryl couldn't breathe. His crossbow dipped, he stared like a gob-smacked redneck at the figure on top of the hill.

And just like that the clouds shifted, covering up some of the harshest points of the sun. His angel transformed into a man no older than twenty five with a surprised expression upon his handsome face. Daryl wet his lips and forced his crossbow back up, aiming.

"You bit?"

The slighter man lowered his bow and knelt down, studying the hunter with a critical eye.

"I'm talkin' to you!" Daryl barked.

"Aye, I hear you just fine," the man drawled, still examining him, "I'm not bit."

Daryl refused to lower his weapon.

The man suddenly grinned, "Are those squirrels?"

xXx

Daryl did something he didn't often do. He blindly followed.

The archer had put up a convincing argument of game trade, promising to keep his arrows in his quiver.

"You can stay behind me the whole time. Shoot me if I move too fast and all that."

Maybe it was the flash of time stopping, maybe it was the blinding sun behind the archer, it didn't matter. Daryl had silently agreed to come along. The nameless man was walking just a few feet in front of him, bow slung across his shoulders so it bumped his hip with every step. The man was young and fit, looking just as natural as himself here in the woods. Jeans still dark with dye sat low on his hips, a blood colored t-shirt with the sleeves torn off clung across his back. His palms were clad in rich, fingerless leather. Buttery smooth from fingertip to the peak of wrist just below the lining-

Don't let me catch you lookin' at a man like that again, Darylena, or I'll pluck those fuckin' eyes out.

Daryl flinched, jerking his head to the side as Merle's words rung sharp in his ears. God damn it! It'd been years since this kind of issue had come up. He may be bigoted and racist as fuck but he didn't see nothing wrong with two guys making a night of things. It's not like women were a big turn off, who didn't like some soft curves and sweet skin in their bed? Plump breasts and red lips were enough to fuel any man's dreams. But once in a while when he had a few beers in him and the right itch, he'd go out to the right bars and find some slim waisted guy with the right attitude to take home.

Merle found out about his cravings two years ago after he'd gotten out of jail, coming home to find his little brother with a flat-chested partner in his lap. They'd both gone to the hospital that night due to Merle's fists, the kid he'd brought home had nearly died while he ended up with a broken arm and some busted up ribs.

No, Merle didn't take too kindly to his wandering eye.

"You okay back there?" the man inquired, trying not for the first time to get him to talk.

Daryl sniffed sharply, "How far's this camp of yours?"

"Just a little ways east, further up the hill where the dead don't bother to roam," the archer gestured upward, "What about you?"

Daryl wrinkled up his nose, "What about me?"

"Do you just wander around the woods by your lonesome?" the man turned around, still walking backward, "Is there a pack 'a you running about?"

"There's more than a dozen of us due west, we've got a camp," Daryl let it slip before he meant to, "And don't think for one minute we're-"

"Whoa, slow it down, squirrel boy," the archer laughed, a hearty sound, "We're not going to turn over your camp in the night or nothing. Don't waste your breath. We're not wanting."

"Really?" Daryl hefted his string of squirrels a little higher up on his shoulder, "All out here in the middle like this?"

"Technically, we're all out in the middle" the archer laughed.

Daryl still wasn't sure if he believed the Irishman or not but he seemed pleasant enough, hands staying far away from the arrows. The hunter's eyes wandered down again to settle at his ankles, spotting the curve of a buck knife hidden just beneath the denim. He could spot two more throwing knives on his belt, shirt hem fluttering across them in an almost teasing manner.

He couldn't let his guard down around this leprechaun.

The archer pushed aside some branches and a small clearing came into view, leaves and debris cleared away to make a ring around a two-person tent. There was a shirtless man with dark hair crouched in front of a cleverly constructed fire tee-pee. He was cursing up a storm as he tried to light some dry scraggly timber, lighting it with his lighter but blowing into it too hard for the spark to catch properly.

The man looked familiar. Daryl never forgot a face that reminded him of his own, their sharp jaw lines the same and the mark on the cheeks nearly identical. The younger man's hair was darker than his own, paler, eyes so much bluer. There was a cigarette tucked behind his ear. A dark rosary hung around his neck, long enough for the cross at the end to skim across his belt line. Daryl's eyes caught the scars and tattoos littering the man's body, lingering on a few in particular. There were ragged curves along his stomach forming a circle, forming the shape of a bite mark. But they were dark red, months old. Scars of the same color circled the man's wrists, rough and all the way around as if he'd been restrained.

They'd met but he couldn't remember where.

The flames failed to catch and the man growled loudly, tossing the timber down, "Fuck this stupid fuckin' fire!"

"Murph," the archer spoke up, catching the man's attention, "We have a guest."

Daryl felt the sting of those oh-so-bright eyes as they burned into him, assessing every inch of his body like a predator. The hunter puffed up to make himself bigger, refusing to show fear.

"Murph?" Daryl smirked, "What kind of name is 'Murph'?"

"Me name's fine," the dark haired man stood up, wiping his ash-stained palms on his jeans, "Doubt yours is much better."

The archer looked to him expectantly, wondering the same thing.

"Connor," the blonde pointed at himself, then the other, "Murphy. The MacManus brothers."

"Brothers, huh?" Daryl spat on the ground "How the hell you survive out here this long not being able to start a fire?"

"I ain't no boy scout," Murphy kicked at the stones surrounding the little fire pit, "I'll kill anything in arm's length, I'll put a bullet in a man's eye from fifty feet, I'll cook the fuck outta what you bring me, but I'm not doin' this tent-pitching-fire-making bullshit no more!"

"Calm down, brother mine," Connor teased, taking off his bow and quiver to set them against one of the log's they'd dragged to use as seats. He crouched down to scoop the timber back up between his palms, holding it out to get another zip of his brother's lighter. Murphy obeyed with a sulky expression, setting the flame inside for a a few moments. Daryl watched Connor blow gently into the bundle, the smell of hot leather filling the air right before he dumped the smoldering remains into the pit. With just a bit more coaxing it came to life, eating up at the sticks like hungry red tongues.

Murphy crowed in triumph, slipping his cigarette into his mouth before dipping down low in the dirt. He lit his cigarette in the fire, sending puffs of creamy smoke up into the air. Murphy reared up and threw his arms around, praising his brother.

"All hail the fire-king!"

"Shut up!" Connor knocked him over, getting the man to roll for a second before he perched himself on a log with crossed legs. The blonde stood, picking up a string of rabbits nearly identical to the hunter's own squirrel line up off a log.

Murphy finally noticed the red neck's catch, "Are those squirrels?"

Daryl nodded, holding them out like an offering.

"Finally," Murphy glared at his brother, sucking in another hit, "Conn here can't shoot 'em right."

"Look at 'is, though," Connor approached the hunter, examining the game, "Right in the eye. You can eat the whole thing, you can."

Daryl caught his gaze, holding it longer than was civil. Connor froze under his stare like one of the rabbits tied to his string, head still ducked to get a better look at the food.

"Daryl," the hunter's voice was no higher than a breath, "Daryl Dixon."

Connor smiled, bright enough to light his entire face, "Nice to meet 'ya, Daryl Dixon."

Murphy watched them stare at each other for another minute or so before he snatched a pine cone off the ground and chucked it. It smacked into the back of his brother's head, forcing a curse to spill from his lips.

"Hey!"

"Would you quit starin' at him and make a decent trade, already?" Murphy demanded, stomach growling loudly in protest.

"The rabbits are bigger, got a bit more meat on 'em," Connor stated, untying a few critters, "What do you say? Three Cottontails for two of yer squirrels?"

"Deal," Daryl didn't even hesitate to hand over the brown game, guilt welling up in him as soon as he started tying their heads onto his string, "Not quite fair, is it?"

"Murph and I don't eat much, we just want a bit more variety is all," Connor promised, tossing the string at his brother, "Skin 'em, would ya?"

"Ain't the boss 'o me," Murphy muttered, cigarette wedged tight between his lips as he pulled a hunting knife from his boot.

"Want to stay?" the blonde offered lightly, "Share a meal and give the rest to yer camp?"

Murphy's ears perked up at the mention of other people but he didn't say anything.

Daryl looked between them, still uneasy, "I should scram."

"Yeah, go on," Connor tried to smile it off, "We'll, uh...see you around, yeah?"

Daryl actually cracked a grin, "Not if we don't end up shooting each other in the head out there next time."

"Please don't shoot the nice man, Conn," Murphy scolded, slicing a rabbit open from neck to groin, "If he's goin' to give me a reprieve from these lucky-foots then I need him alive a bit longer."

"Agreed," Connor didn't seem to want to move away, still standing in front of the hunter, "You know where we are."

"Yeah," Daryl was the first to step back, that one simple movement harder than usual, "I do."

xXx

Connor awoke to a shuffling sound, brow furrowing up as he lifted his head. The tent flap was firmly shut and there were no strange moving shadows outside. What could've...?

"Murph?" Connor cleared his throat, trying again, "Murph? 'S that you?"

"Sorry."

"Scared me for a second," Connor rolled onto his back, looking over to his sibling. Murphy was laying flat on his back beside him, hands tucked behind his head as he stared up at the stars through the unzipped flat of the ceiling. The mesh revealed the brilliant, clear stars. It was so much easier to see the sky without the blinding lights of Atlanta to muck up the sky.

That thought hit him in the gut, reminding him yet again how far the human race had fallen.

"You okay?" Connor asked, rubbing his thumb into his eyes to get them to clear a bit, "Did you have a nightmare?"

"Nah, was just thinkin' a bit."

"About what?"

Murphy's white teeth flashed in the dark of the tent, that bastard was grinning, "About that strappin' young squirrel hunter?"

Connor groaned and rolled back over, throwing the blanket over his head, "No! No, no, Murph, no. We're not talking about this. I'm tired."

"I knew it!" his brother shot up, shaking the blonde's shoulder, "I fuckin' knew you were lookin' at him!"

"Course I was lookin' at him," Connor huffed, trying to shake the other off, "We talked. It's the polite thing to do."

"You weren't being polite," Murphy corrected, yanking the blanket down until he could see his brother's eyes, "Admit it, Conn, you would've shot anyone that close to camp right between the eyes. Without thinkin'. He made you hesitate!"

"He hesitated too!" Connor defended, "Neither of us look dead, that's all."

"After those thugs-"

"Don't!" Connor snapped, sitting up and throwing his brother's hand off, "It's like three in the bloody mornin' and-"

"After. Those. Thugs" Murphy spat, refusing to back down, "You don't trust anyone. I know you don't. Dixon could've been the same! He could've slit your throat with that knife of his, found this camp, shot a bolt between my eyes-"

"Shut up!"

"-and stolen our game," Murphy hissed, grabbing the blonde's face to force him to look at him, "You know it, I know it, and he sure as hell knows it. You were careless and that means you let your guard down for some hot southern twang and a pair of good lookin' arms."

Connor looked away, guilty as charged.

Murphy softened at that look, "I'm not scoldin', I'm statin'. That's what happened today. Brother, you put yourself in charge of this little operation."

"Murph-"

"Don't act like it's not true," Murphy grinned again, patting the blonde's cheek, "I know you're protectin' me, just like you always have."

"We protect each other," Connor tried to counter, "No one's in charge."

The darker twin gave him a hard look, "Conn, come on. If the huntin' and campin' were up to me, we'd be cannibalistic mountain men by now."

Connor managed to smile at that, "Yeah. You're rubbish at shootin' anything but a gun."

Murphy dropped his hand from his brother's cheek, "And you're the one who got us out of that house. You killed them."

"For you," Connor admitted.

Murphy knocked his brother in the jaw with his fist, a light-hearted tap, "And that's why I'd follow you to Hell and back."

Murphy flopped back down into their makeshift bed, putting his back to the other, "So gawk and swoon over whoever you want. Just don't try to keep it from me next time."

Connor dropped his head, "Aren't I blessed to have such an understanding brother?"

The joke came off serious and thankful.

"Aye, you are," Murphy grumbled, "Go back to sleep."

Connor hadn't laid down for more than a few minutes before his brother took in a noisy breath, a small laugh echoing through the tent.

"What?" the blonde inquired.

"He is rather handsome, isn't he?"

Connor took his pillow out from under his head and smacked the darker man with it.

Murphy was still laughing as he protected his head, "A bit dirty, though."

"That's it!"

Outside, all you could see was the tent thrashing about. The clearing filled with rambunctious laughter, a welcome sound to the lonely forest.

xXx

Daryl wasn't sure what possessed him to keep going back but he did, returning every two days like clockwork with squirrels to trade. He'd come back with hare and the group was happy to see it. Connor was getting better at shooting birds and he'd sometimes have a robin or something to share. They weren't much more meat but they were good for breaking up the monotony,. Half the time Connor would hit the body and pierce something awful but practice was practice.

Murphy had warmed up to him after a week, chatting quick and light with him while his brother traded game. It was nearly two weeks before he decided to sit down and stay a bit, convincing himself that if the brothers wanted him dead he'd be that way.

Daryl learned their strengths pretty quickly. They were both near masters with a gun, their marksmen skills a little off with an arrow but perfect with a bullet. Connor hunted on the ground most of the time, the bow more for protection and deer. He could strategize and barter like a thief, his fingers were skilled with knots and snares, and he was fast. Murphy was a brawler if there ever was one, from what he'd seen the man could cut a person to ribbons with one hand. Murphy's knife play was better than his own.

They were tough but they didn't seem tainted by this world.

Not like Shane, not like most men were now.

Not like he felt.

They were both okay with him but for two strangely different reasons. He wasn't sure what that was about but he was happy for a change from squirrel.

And Connor was particularly good company.

xXx

At the end of those two weeks, something started changing.

Daryl muttered something about leaving and stood, hefting his crossbow over his shoulder just as Connor cleared his throat.

"Stay for dinner," Connor nodded to the woodchuck on the fire, "It's almost done."

Daryl made a face, "Nah, man, I can't. They're waitin' on me."

Murphy shot his brother a pointed look but said nothing, slowly turning the meat over the flames.

"Daryl," Connor mocked his sour face, "We all know the pickings were slim today. You'll give all that to your camp and leave next to nothin' for yourself."

"I don't need to eat every day, 's not a big deal," Daryl countered sharply.

"You're the hunter, Dixon, if you lose strength so does the whole group," Connor pointed to the log, "Now sit your dumb arse down and eat. It went take long and your belly will be full."

Daryl found himself doing something else he rarely did.

He obeyed.

xXx

Connor dipped his rag back into the pot of boiled water, cleaning the streaks of dried blood off his arrows. He'd run into one of the dead on his trip to the river. Since the camp didn't know about him and his brother he had to take the long way around and that involved dipping into parts of the valley. The dead seemed to fall straight into any sort of dip in the ground. Murphy was laying on the ground with his head against a log, a cigarette burning between his lips as he relaced their boots. He had one of their shoes propped up on his stomach as he worked the new laces in, one of the new supplies they'd picked up when they'd headed into town.

The sound of someone crashing through the woods made them both tense.

By the time Daryl burst through the foliage and into the clearing, Connor had his bow notched and Murphy had a knife between his fingers and ready to launch at their intruder.

"Whoa, y'all," Daryl threw his hands up, a nasty scowl set on his face, "That ain't no way to treat a guest."

The brothers sighed in relief, lowering their weapons.

"Fuckin' squirrel boy," Murphy spat, falling back to lay on the log, "Scared the shit out of us."

"Who you callin' squirrel boy, you dumb mick?" Daryl barked, "Fuck you, man!"

"Hey," Connor's voice was soft as he rose to his feet, coming over to the hunter, "What's up? Did something happen?"

Daryl's jaw was clenched so tight it was threatening to snap. Connor searched his face before nodding, flicking his fingers at one of the logs. The hunter kept scowling but the Irishman was insistent.

"Sit."

Daryl dropped his crossbow on the ground, plopping down on the wood with an empty game string along his back. He looked haggard and defeated, a hunter who hadn't seen blood all day. Murphy observed quietly as his brother went over to the tent and dug out a pack of smokes. The blonde came back over and brandished a pack of cigarettes, one stick pushed out invitingly. Daryl eyed him.

"The fuck is that?"

"It'll help," Connor let the man take one, however hesitantly. He sat down and fished for a lighter in his pockets.

"How the hell do you have these?" Daryl was looking at the cigarette with a sneer he didn't really mean "Fuckin' luxury."

"Our family believes in a few things," Connor pulled out the lighter triumphantly, "Hard work, straight aim, good smokes, and hearty laughter. Everything else is just icin'."

"Yeah? How's that workin' out for you?"

"Pretty good," the blonde flashed a grin at the hunter, flicking on the flame, "Here."

Daryl hesitated long enough for the Irishman to feel the burn against his thumb. Daryl slid the cigarette between his lips before leaning in, catching the end in the flame and inhaling. He caught Connor's intense azure stare and held it, his drags of smoke becoming softer as the world slowed down to a crawl. Maybe it was some dark Irish magic or maybe it was the way the sun reflected off those soft blonde spikes, but Connor seemed to have a sway over him. It brought up a strange mixture of frustration and arousal in him.

Thick hands wrapped around his throat, his brother screaming at him.

Too soon did the moment end.

You disgusting fuck!

They pulled away in unison, lowering their eyes to the ground as if even daring to look was a mortal sin.

"Conn and I ain't got nothin' but ammo, smokes, and soap in our bags," Murphy joked, hoping to break the tension, "A pillow or two, some rations, couple guns. Not much else. Don't need anything more, really."

"Fuck, this is good," Daryl took a few long drags, letting the nicotine settle into his lungs, "I haven't had this in a long while."

"We've got enough to slake the need of an army," Murphy tossed aside the boot for another, fingers struggling to get the knots out, "First thing I take in a store. Fuck if I'm going through the apocalypse without some nicotine."

Daryl chuckled around the bud, "You think this is some kind of divine wrath, holy man?"

"Definitely not," Murphy scoffed, "But aren't there dozens of books and shitty movies out there tellin' about the zombie apocalypse? Pretty similar, yeah?"

"Guess so," Daryl mumbled, eyes closed in some sort of content as he basked in his distraction.

Connor held back his opinion, choosing instead to clear his throat and change the subject, "So what happened? No critters?"

"Fuck, man, no patience," Daryl spat, "First night a get a decent sleep and everyone wakes up with their heads up their asses. Shane and Merle wouldn't stop fightin' over every stupid thing that came up. The game can fuckin' sense stuff like that. Forest is bare and I got more than a bunch hungry mouths to feed back there."

Connor scooted closer, "Women and children?"

"Yeah," Daryl plucked the cigarette from his mouth, wetting his lips, "Close to a dozen."

Connor got up without a word and went straight to the nearest tree, a fat opossum and five rabbits hanging off the the hooked rope he'd made for them to wait before dinner. He cut the knot and brought it over to the hunter, handing it over.

Daryl didn't make a move to accept it, "What are you doin'?"

"Take it," Connor stated flatly, arm still outstretched.

"I'm not takin' your food, man," Daryl tossed the cigarette into the dirt, standing up to come nose to nose with the Irishman.

"You can't go back to camp with nothin'," Connor pointed out.

"And I'm not goin' back with y'alls dinner for the next couple days," the redneck countered, hefting his bow onto his shoulder.

"Daryl," the blonde's eyes were blazing, unyielding, "If you don't take this and go, I swear I will sneak into that camp of yours tonight and put it there."

Daryl raised his chin, "You wouldn't."

"I would," Connor smirked, "Wanna try me?"

Daryl looked to Murphy but the darker twin was busying himself with his boots, cigarette almost burning his lips it was so low. He moved at a slow autopilot, listening closely while trying to remain passive. He wished the man would speak up and defend his food but that didn't seem likely. Dixon was learning something pretty fast. When the MacManus' did something, they did it together.

And Connor wasn't backing down.

"I'm gonna pay you back," Daryl took the rope reluctantly, staring down at the prime game with an uncertain expression, "I don't like owin' anyone anything."

"Don't worry about it," Connor dared to wink at him, "We MacManus's tend to forget our debts."

"We Dixons don't."

The double meaning caught them both off guard.

"You should go" Murphy advised, eyes watching them slyly beneath dark spun lashes "Got hungry kids to feed, right? Make sure they get their share first."

Daryl nodded tightly, eyes lingering on on the blonde archer, "So...see ya."

"Yeah."

Daryl couldn't bring himself to say thank you so he left with a heavy conscious, clinging tight to the freely given game.

Connor watched him go with parted lips, as if he wanted desperately to say something. He took a step forward, hands clenching into fists at his side as he tried to think of something to say to the hunter's retreating back. But Daryl kept going and soon disappeared into the foliage, swallowed up by low hanging branches.

Connor sighed before a yelp escaped him, a boot catching him upside the head.

"Oi!" Connor barked, turning to glare at his brother (who was sitting up and glaring daggers at him), "The hell was that?!"

"You're lucky 'm not hungry," Murphy drawled, but his eyes were still razor sharp.

"Come on, Murph, he's got a hungry camp to feed," he gestured to where the hunter had walked off, "If it were our family, our friends-"

"Well they're not!" Murphy snapped, getting to his feet, "I'll let it go this time, Conn, but you gotta remember we're out here by ourselves. The name of the game is survivin', remember?"

"We've lived on less."

"But not during the end of the world," Murphy got to his feet, brushing his dirty palms across his jeans carelessly, "I'm going to take a walk. You stay here and think about what you're going to do with Mr. Daryl Dixon over there."

"I'm not-" Connor tried but his brother was hearing none of it, slicing his hand through the air as if to physically stop his words. He ran a hand through his hair and tried not to growl, frustrated with himself and that stupid hunter.

"Fine," he finally said, "Just...take your gun, yeah?"

"Hm," Murphy agreed, heading into the tent to find his weapon.

This was going to be a long apocalypse.

Just a quick note: Yes, we will eventually learn about this 'incident' the twins went through.

I hope you give this story a chance, I love it so desperately.