Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead. Do not own the characters. Just writing for pure amusement.

A/N: Again, I want to reiterate that there might be a few things that will be different from the show (ie. Axel's death and the Governor attack scene). And while it will follow the storyline of the show, I'm more focused on telling the missing moments to weave a different story, if that makes sense? I'll try to reference show specific scenes that have played out as I go along to keep from confusing you all.

Thanks so much to everyone who has taken the time to review thus far. Your encouragement and comments mean a lot to me. As always, I appreciate any feedback you all can give.

Now, here's a little Daryl and Merle for you all. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter Two

The sun was just setting as Daryl led them to a clearing in the woods, where they could build a small fire, eat the squirrel they caught and make camp for the night. He assumed that at some point they'd have to discuss a plan of action, although he was in no hurry have his brother try and convince him that they needed to flee the state. Daryl fully realized that they couldn't just keep wandering aimlessly, without a goal in mind, but until he could get them back into the prison, he needed to keep his brother's mind otherwise occupied and off of the inevitable thought of what to do next.

Despite Merle's insistence not to, they had stopped at a deserted town they'd passed along the way and were lucky enough to find one lone tent left that hadn't been looted. How, Daryl would never know. The place seemed to have been picked clean of anything else.

It was dark now. Merle had taken to setting up the tent while Daryl worked on bringing the fire to something a little more than just embers. The tent, though small, was enough for them. They decided that one would take watch while the other slept, and then they'd trade off.

"Who pissed in your Wheaties?"

The voice was unwelcome in the peace and quiet. Daryl sat on a log, the moon high in sky, poking the small fire he'd created for warmth. Look up through the fan of his lashes, he could see Merle watching him from where he sat on the other side of the flames.

It had been three days since he'd chosen, and he used the term loosely, his brother over the group, and he was quickly beginning to understand why he had lost his hand in the first place. How he had managed to stay alive in the company of the Governor was just as much of a mystery to Daryl as how there was one lone tent to be had in a place that had been looted clean.

"Fuck off, Merle."

The thing about the south was that while the days could be scorching, reaching temperatures that could microwave a meal, ever so often, the nights had a habit of dropping those temperatures well below what could be considered comfortable. Tonight was one of those nights.

Daryl sat with the chill in the air, realizing there wasn't much he could do about it. It wasn't like he was prepared to venture off from his home. All of his things still remained there. And it wasn't just chilly breeze that had him shivering.

His thoughts were a movie reel of Woodbury, his group at the prison and her. Without him there, every scenario left him feeling cold.

"Oh, touchy, little brother. Don't tell me you're still sore about havin' to leave that group behind."

Daryl growled, standing and throwing the stick into the fire, sparks dancing in the air from its impact. "Damnit, Merle. Why couldn't ya just play nice for once?" He began to pace back and forth. "Dontcha realize we're out here freezing our nuts off when we could be back there? Sheltered by four walls instead of this piece of shit?" His kicked at the tent, his thoughts involuntarily going to Carol.

He wondered then how she had truly taken the news of him leaving. Daryl had barely found her. She was still trying to recover, and he was faced with an impossible decision. This wasn't the first time in the three days that Daryl had wondered if the decision he'd made had been the wrong one. And he just hoped the entire group – she – hadn't really seen this as just a choice between his brother and them.

"Play nice?" Merle's eyes widened. "To a group that left me up on that roof in Atlanta to die? You've got to be kiddin' me!" Merle was standing now, moving to step around the fire. "Now, don't fuck up our sleeping arrangement with yer temper tantrum. Jesus, boy, I always knew you were prone to baby fits but this could very well take the cake."

"We went back fer ya!" Daryl exclaimed, stepping back from his brother who was now standing directly in front of him. It never worked out well when the two got in close proximity like this. "T chained the door so you'd be safe."

Merle held up his stump. "Yeah, real safe alright, baby bro."

Daryl began to adamantly shake his head. It was just like Merle to want to play the victim, never wanting to take responsibility for his own actions and what they might have caused. The memory of his father going after him once Merle had left haunted him, heightening his feelings. "That door was still locked up tight when we went back. You cuttin' off yer hand was yer own doin'."

"So it's my fault? Yer defending that Officer Friendly caging me up on that roof like some kind of animal?"

"Ain't nothing ever yer fault, is it, Merle?" Merle watched Daryl closely, his eyes narrowing at the smaller figure across from him. Dropping his gaze, Daryl decided not to push the issue any further. "Get some rest. I'll take first watch."

And with that, Daryl settled himself on the log that was previously occupied by his brother while Merle grunted and found his way into the tent. There was something deeper there. Daryl knew Merle had sensed it. He was thankful that, for once, his older brother thought it better not to press the issue, too.

xxx

The plan hadn't come to him immediately. It wasn't until after he'd helped that family stuck on the bridge over looking Yellow Jacket Creek that he realized that his brother wasn't as in tune with his tracking senses as he once was.

It wasn't a faultless plan either. Daryl still wasn't sure how he was actually going to lead his brother onto the prison door step, or how he was going to convince Rick to take Merle in when he couldn't do it before, but he figured he could get them close enough to at least keep an eye out without Merle ever knowing the difference.

And he was right.

Daryl shimmied on his vest, wanting to cover his open back by something a little more than his rucksack. He adjusted the torn shirt, the product of an argument earlier in the woods, one that unlike the night before he hadn't been able to control his temper enough to diffuse. He pulled it up and around him as much as he could while shrugging on the vest, hoping that the leather would be heavy enough to keep the tattered garment in place.

He had threatened earlier to leave Merle where he stood and head back to his group. Over the several days, his thoughts seemed to be increasingly more focused on Carol, how she might be reacting to the entire situation and the inevitable fact that she was defenseless without him there. The last thing he had wanted was for her to feel like she'd been abandoned all over again. But he had taken all of two steps before realizing, again, that he couldn't just leave his brother out there to die.

And until he could figure out a way to get Rick and Glenn to agree to let Merle in, he couldn't just waltz back to the prison with him either.

So instead he led him just close enough so that they could be there in a flash if the time came, but far enough away that Merle wouldn't have a clue. After all, it was Merle who had essentially put the thought in his head way before that family distracted them on the bridge. And if the Governor did decide to attack, he needed to be there to protect them – to protect her. Not that he'd ever admit that to anyone.

"Is this what the silent treatment feels like, Darlina?" Merle asked from behind him, following his younger brother through the woods blindly.

Daryl snarled. "The fuck you babblin' on about?"

"I'm just saying. You barely said two words to me since that whole scene back there. Yer panties still in a twist because I left you with daddy dearest?"

"I'm fine, Merle. Just tryin' ta find us somethin' to eat. Which is so much easier ta do in peace and quiet." Daryl had been purposely trying to avoid the conversation that, the night before, he knew Merle would eventually want to have. Where were they headed?

There was a rustling and a familiar shift in the leaves that could only mean one thing. Daryl lifted his crossbow and fired in the direction of the sound without hesitation, watching the lone Walker fall to the ground with a big thud and an arrow between its eyes. Merle let out a whistle, clearly impressed.

"Yer lethal with that thing, baby bro."

"Yeah," was all Daryl said before he moved the few feet to retrieve the arrow still stuck in the Walker's softened skull. Securing the bolt in the side pouch of his rucksack, Daryl adjusted the pack before continuing to lead them discreetly around the prison.

They had walked for hours, seeing the same scenery over and over. Daryl tried to adjust the route in a weak attempt to fool Merle, but Merle wasn't stupid. He wasn't a good enough tracker to realize they were anywhere close to the prison, but he was good enough to know they had been walking in circles.

"You got a plan of action, baby brother?"

Daryl stopped and looked back in the direction of where his brother stood behind him. "Huh?"

"Is there some reason why yer leading me 'round and 'round?" Merle emphasized by lifting his left hand, pointing at the trees and circling his wrist.

Merle was suspicious now, and Daryl realized he was going to have to come clean to his brother at some point. He just didn't want it to be now. He went to open his mouth when the sound of vehicles could be heard in the distance. The prison was still out of sight but because Daryl had made a point to keep them in a relatively close proximity, the sound bouncing through the trees found them anyway. It's exactly what Daryl had wanted.

He put a finger to his mouth, quieting his brother, before turning and following the distant sound of wheels on gravel. He stopped when the road came into view, just inside the line of trees before it gave way to the clearing of the prison and a tall field of dead grass. With Merle close behind him, he crouched and readied his crossbow as he watched a foreign vehicle approach the fences lining the prison.

Merle took a second to take in the gloomy confinement before them, knowing then that his brother had planned to lead them back the entire time. Merle crouched, pulling up behind Daryl as he inched into the tall weeds.

"Is this yer master plan, shit head?" He was pissed now. "Lead me back to my execution?"

"Merle, shut up." Daryl whispered harshly and pointed to the vehicle coming to a stop just outside the prison gates. Merle's eyes widened. He recognized that tan, military Hummer better than anyone else.