As promised...chapter 2 for all you wonderful readers! Enjoy!

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT own any of The Walking Dead characters and I'm NOT making any money off of them! I only claim the OC characters I created for this story.

For those on Twitter follow me at GrapeMystic or at FansOfCARYL and also check out my CARYL group on fb called Fans of CARYL with links to the new & improved CARYL website as well!

CARYL ON!

Merle Dixon sat on the rickety steps of the run down trailer he and his brother called home, cleaning his rifle. Daryl was due home any minute from work and after hearing the reports coming in on all the radio stations, Merle thought it might be best if he and his younger brother took off for the weekend and headed for the woods to get in some hunting. If anything, by the time they would get back Sunday night, things would have settled down by then and be back to normal.

Taking aim at a tree across the dirt road, Merle made sure his scope was sighted in just right before giving it one last wipe down with his rag. One thing he and his brother always made sure of was that their weapons were clean and in proper working order. There was no use tracking down dinner if your rifle malfunctioned or misfired from not keeping up with it.

Hearing his brother's pick-up truck coming down the road, Merle set his rifle to the side and pulled a smoke from his pack sitting next to him. Taking a long drag as Daryl pulled in and dust flew up as he came to stop, Merle then stood up and smirked as his younger brother got out the driver side, "Been wonderin' when your lily white ass would get here."

"Shut up," Daryl groused as he reached into the bed of the truck and pulled out his tool box.

Narrowing his eyes, Merle pursed his lips, "Thought you were goin' by and pickin' up Jess."

Daryl walked over to his brother, their eyes meeting and he sighed, "I did." Shaking his head, Daryl continued, "Got there and couldn't find 'em, so I headed out back to the garage."

"He there?"

"He was there, only it wasn't him. Was one of them things they been talking 'bout. Fucker tried ta attack me." Pulling out his own pack of smokes, Daryl lit one up and shifted from one foot to the other, "Grabbed the gun he had sittin' on the table and shot his ass...only he kept comin'."

Merle's brow creased in confusion, "What you mean he kept comin'? Where the hell you shoot him?"

"Three in the chest." Daryl moved away from Merle and tossed his tool box onto the steps and began to pace some as he tried to figure things out in his own head. Finally, he stopped and looked at Merle, "Didn't stop comin' at me 'til I shot him in the face. Went down and didn't get back up."

Rubbing the back of his neck, Merle shook his head in confusion. All afternoon he'd been listening to the reports on the radio but didn't really think anything of it. Figured it would pass quick. Now his own brother had killed someone, a relative of theirs that had turned into one of the dead bastards that he'd been hearing about. Fearing the cops might come looking for Daryl, he looked back up at him quick, "Anyone else know you were goin' there?"

"Fuck no," Daryl said, stopping his pacing. "Merle...I ain't never seen shit like that. It was like...it was Jess, but it wasn't. It looked like him and all...but his eyes were all weird and shit and he was growlin' and all like a damn rabid dog and tryin' ta bite me."

Merle nodded as he listened and then flicked the butt of his cigarette into the yard, "Here's what we're gonna do. I ain't lettin' ya get in trouble for this shit. You got the gun?"

Daryl nodded and then motioned to the truck, "It's behind the seat."

"Okay. We're gonna get our shit together and head out ta the woods for the weekend. Take the tents and all and do some huntin' out there. We can bury that piece so it'll never be found." Looking to his brother, Merle took a step towards him, "Get what ya need and let's get goin'. Don't want ta be here if'n the cops come askin' questions."

Daryl took one last drag off his and then flicked it out to the yard with the hundreds of others that littered the area. Snagging up his tools as he headed inside, Daryl went to his room, getting his hunting pack out of the small closet. He could hear Merle moving around in his room doing the same and Daryl took a seat on the bed. Holding his head in his hands, he closed his eyes, trying to will the images of his uncle out of his head.

He wasn't one for violence, having been brought up in a family that almost reeked of it. Both his parents had been abusive towards him and his brother growing up, but after his mother had died, Grayson Dixon turned his sights more towards young Daryl. Merle would always try to intervene, taking the hits for Daryl, but once Merle left home and joined the army, Daryl was on his own with their father.

Jess had tried to help Daryl during that time, taking him in when his brother Grayson would go on benders and disappear for weeks at a time. He taught Daryl how to hunt and survive out in the woods. He even made sure Daryl stayed up on his classes in school. But when Grayson would return, he would drag Daryl back and proceeded to use his younger son as a personal punching bag.

It wasn't until he was sixteen that Merle finally returned home, finding Daryl beaten within an inch of his life. Merle carried him out, taking him straight to the hospital and then calling Jess once Daryl was settled into a room. Merle wanted his own type of justice, but Jess had been the voice of reason as usual. The police were called and when they went to the house they found Grayson dead on the floor in his bedroom. He had aspirated on his vomit in one of his drunken states.

After that, Jess had moved both boys into his place, taking responsibility for them and making sure they didn't follow down their fathers path. Even though Merle was a grown man, he still needed guidance and Jess made sure both boys had it. They might be Dixon's but that didn't mean they had to be anything like Grayson Dixon had been.

Rubbing his face, Daryl stood back up and began to grab a few clothes, stuffing them into the pack. When he had it ready, he grabbed his knife, attaching it to his belt and then pulled his crossbow from the closet. Getting the extra quiver of bolts, he gathered everything up and headed out, ready to get away from there and what he had done.

Reviews are my cookies that keep me writing...so load me up with cookies! CARYL on!