A/N: This is a much shorter chapter than I had originally intended. Mostly because I lost what I had written previously in what I'm calling the Great MacBook Crash of 2014. So, sorry folks. But at least here is something so I can move on with this one.

Daryl lit a cigarette, enjoy the fleeting tingle of the nicotine hitting his system as he leaned against the Triumph. His Triumph, he supposed. It had certainly been long enough. The roadhouse was full to bursting, the sounds of music, hoots and hollers tumbling out the cracked windows and the half open door. From the sound of things, he figured there was a celebration happening inside; a hunt gone well. That's somethin'. Normally at this point he'd have gone inside, settled at his usual place at the bar and ordered his usual beer. Tonight felt... different. There was something in the air he couldn't name, something that had been haunting him all day. The shimmer of a feeling, just enough to set him on edge. So he sat outside, resisting the urge to go in and fumbling with the tarnished catch of his lighter.

"Daryl."

He sighed as Ellen Harvelle strode towards him with a determined look on her face. He liked Ellen well enough. She was steely eyed in her determination to give her daughter a home and stay strong in this world. She had a keen eye and a good habit of keeping her ear to the ground. It was something he could appreciate.

For all Ellen's savvy, he wondered if she had any idea he wasn't human.

He knew what she saw: the human shell he wore, with it's long hair and lined face, draped in worn cloth and smooth leather. Hunters traveled in the world of myths and legends, whispers and rumors and here he stood, a mystery among mysteries. He knew Ellen would serve him a drink every night without question. That didn't mean she trusted him.

"So I hear my friend got our solemn loner to talk," Ellen said with a smirk. Oh. It made his insides squirm.

If he was being honest with himself, it wasn't just tonight that felt different. All day he'd been thinking about the striking woman from last night, with her frail physique and her endearing insights on life. Carol. He didn't understand why he couldn't just banish her from his thoughts.

"Carol's different," Ellen said shortly. He smirked and took a quick drag off his neglected cigarette.

"Yeah, I got that last night."

"No. You don't. So listen up."

Daryl blinked, startled at the hint of aggression he picked up in Ellen's voice.

"'M listenin'."

"Carol is my friend," Ellen said as she folded her arms over her chest. "Been my friend since we were girls. She's a good soul."

The phrase gave him pause. A good soul. He'd been on this world a long time and he knew the truth, that true good souls were rare among these strange creatures. He'd seen too many people to count pretend, perform acts of kindness and charity but always with a selfish twist at their core, trying to put forward goodness only to impress others.

"What happened to her?"

"Same thing that happened to the rest of us," Ellen said with a shrug. "A demon. Her little girl started actin' funny and strange things started happenin' around the house. By the time I heard what was goin' on it was too late. Showed up at Carol's house and Sophia was just… gone and there was this thing wearin' her skin. We tried an exorcism, but…"

"But," Daryl murmured. He threw down the stub of his cigarette and ground it into the dirt with the toe of his boot. "How old was she?"

"Twelve."

"Bastards." The curse slipped from his lips before he could think. It shouldn't have happened. Demons were an aberration, something that should never have existed in the first place. They crawled over this world like locusts, devouring everything good and decent in their path, and they'd been created by his brother. He burned with the shame of it, ducking his head and tangling his fingers in the long hank of hair at the back of his neck.

It's all a matter of choice.

Choice was dangerous. That much had been drilled into him for a long as he could remember. It brought confusion where there had been order and discipline. He'd seen it firsthand and he knew what choice could do. Lucifer had started the war with his choices and look at everything that had happened since. Look at humanity, with all the free agency they'd been granted. How they had mistreated that freedom. Even God, with all his might and power, had chosen poorly with his creation of the Leviathans. And yet...

The power to choose was the power to change everything.

Daryl felt his nerves tingle with with the same frisson he'd felt in the air all day and night, that sense of something, and suddenly it had a name.

It felt like anticipation.

"It's just been six weeks," Ellen said. Shit, Ellen. He'd actually forgotten she was there for a moment. She was scrutinizing him with narrowed eyes. He heard her message loud and clear in the way she stood, by the gleam in her eye and the clench of her jaw. Hurt my friend and see what happens to you.

"It was just a conversation," Daryl drawled slowly. Of course it was. He blinked and flinched at the smirk that broke out without warning on Ellen's face.

"We'll see." She spun on her heel and strolled back to the bar without a second glance at him.

He needed another cigarette.