Author's Note: I promise I'll be updating more frequently. This next week I have all of school off, so I will get at least two more chapters up from whatever I have updated then. I promise I will get into a pattern of updating once a week. I thank you guys who are my first followers because it really helps me feel more appreciated and lets me gain more confidence to try new fan fictions.

I also promise that I will try to start adding more Merle perspective into the story. I know I'm favouring Daryl's side and will try to work on it.

BANG!

A gunshot rang out in the middle of the clearing, shattering what Daryl assumed was silence in the early Georgia morning. The younger Dixon had been sleeping, leaning back against a tree by their self-made fire pit where they'd roasted some of their deer the night before. They'd eaten and drank like redneck kinds, so the both of them fallen asleep as a happy man. Daryl hadn't gotten too drunk all things considered. Unlike Merle, when Daryl drank he didn't do it in order to get blackout drunk. Hell, he didn't even do it to get drunk. All Daryl wanted to do was get a buzz. With that being the case, Merle passed out much quicker than the younger brother, but he woke up earlier as well. And then he fired off his gun. Daryl didn't appreciate that.

Daryl literally jumped to his feet with crossbow now in hand, firmly ready to attack the threat. Instead he was greeted with a cloud of feathers slowly falling to the ground about fifteen feet away from his brother. Merle was laughing outright at Daryl's reaction to the point where he looked like he was going to fall to his side, then he called him a fruit for being so scared, and then he laid back down and passed the fuck out all over again. Of course he could do that and not have it be a big deal. Daryl normally would leave it be and go back to bed himself, but he had not been in the mood to be awoken in such a manner from his first real sleep in months, both before and after the apocalypse started. He stomped over to Merle and aimed a hard kick at his thigh to wake him. "Merle!"

The other Dixon responded with a groan of protest that sent a retaliation punch to Daryl's shin without so much as an eye twitching, let alone opening. When Daryl tried again, Merle decided that he wouldn't be getting any more sleep. Merle looked up with that smug grin he had. It was one that Daryl despised even if it did add a sense of normality in these times of chaos. It was familiar... but Daryl still wanted to punch him in the face for it. "You want somethin', little brother?" he asked, completely feigning innocence. Maybe he really did believe he was innocent and hadn't done anything wrong. Merle was funny like that sometimes. Okay, all the time. He was right in his own mind. Daryl knew that. It made it easier to like him. "What'chu doin' wakin' Ol' Merle from his sleep?"

"Why the fuck are you firin' a gun for? Tol'ju yesterday you're gonna rain walkers down on us if you keep firin' that thing off!"

"Damn little Tweety bird didn't shut the help up! Had to get it to quiet down if I wanted to go back to bed, now didn't I?"

"Could'a rolled over."

"Is Darylina mad she didn't get her beauty sleep? Or is she mad that Ol' Merle killed a pretty little bird?" Daryl's expression was still pissed off but his brows furrowed in brief frustration that his gender was once more called into question. "C'mon now! Killin' the only thing that proves you still got a pair'a balls!"

That was the point Daryl knew he should walk away. He was done being made fun of for the moment. He backed off from Merle, who smirked and then closed his eyes yet again, and really looked around to inspect the morning. There was a layer of grey clouds coating the entire sky leaving no room for the sun. There hadn't been any disturbances to their camp in the middle of the night except for a fox that had curled up right next to one of Merle's overturned beer bottles some time during the night.

Well that would be a nice surprise for Merle when he decided to fully regain consciousness. Daryl couldn't be bothered to go kill it and save it either. They didn't need it because they had enough deer to last for a week if they were careful, four days if they weren't. The biggest worry was that Daryl couldn't tell what time it was. If he couldn't see the sun he had no way to tell what time of the day it was, which meant he didn't know if they should wait around or go get moving before walkers were really active. Even before the apocalypse, the Dixons never bothered to wear watches. They used the sky and the sun to tell time. Some people wore watches, some people could read Roman numerals, Dixons had the Sun.

"Should probably be getting' our shit together," he said to himself, crossing over to Merle again and kicking him away to scare away the fox. They needed to find the nearest town and go try to siphon more gas for his truck and Merle's motorcycle. They would be running on fumes soon if they weren't already. Neither Dixon would be fond of leaving their vehicles behind. It would be a pain in the ass to haul all of their things on their backs. And both of them knew that if that's what it came down to that Daryl would end up with the heavier load to carry.

Merle was really attached to his motorcycle. It wasn't necessarily because he'd won it from, to quote Merle, "a nigger in a bar fight." Daryl quite honestly didn't know, nor did he want to, what the specifics of that fight were. He knew that Merle liked to fight dirty, especially against the non-white opponents. The best use for the bike, though, was that it held the drugs Merle still did. Obviously, the goddamn apocalypse was the one place to be shooting up heroin or whatever the fuck Merle did. He always somehow managed to do it when Daryl wasn't around and always put it away before he returned. Merle didn't want his little brother to steal his supply, now did he?

"Need'a load up on alcohol anyway," he said as he sat up with a groan. Merle looked over to the sighing Daryl. Of course all Merle wanted was to get booze. "Maybe if we're lucky we'll run into a pair'a tits that ain't gonna be tryin' to kill us." He laughed to himself like he'd come up with the greatest idea in the world. Daryl, however, who was finishing up wrapping the deer, didn't let him get away with it and said,

"Why? Walkers ain't gonna mind the clap. Real pair'a tits would."

Daryl knew he'd been successful when all Merle did was decrease his laugh into a snicker and say, "Screw you, little brother."