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Warnings: A little bit of language in this chapter, some f bombs, and child abuse.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.

Daryl kept up his frustrated pace, walking along the roadside, flipping the cars off that honked at him. There was no denying he was angry, Merle had no right, and honestly he wished he'd never come home. He wondered momentarily if he was being over-dramatic, and as much as he hated to admit the fact that he felt a little abandoned by his older brother.

He rearranged the crossbow on his back; the worn leather strap was not the most comfortable thing in the world. He jumped back away from the car that was going way too fast, and purposely trying to scare him off the road. Daryl threw both his middle fingers up at the car, he wasn't about to walk in the grass beside the road, there were thousands of snakes in there, and he was still missing Merle's boots. He turned one of the road corners, walking along the old worn dirt road ignoring every detail of useless scenery until he came to a house.

Regretfully he marched towards the door; he took a few minutes to gain his nerve, and knocked. He was hoping he wouldn't have to see her again after their last conversation, but Merle's knife was located somewhere in that house, and Daryl really wasn't in the mood to deal with his brother's wrath. When she opened the door, her blonde hair fell in loose waves around her face; with a smug smile on she eyed him.

"I knew you'd come crawling back, Dixon." He rolled his eyes at her.

"Yeah well, don't get too excited. I left my knife here." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, flinching when she moved her hand slightly. He mentally cursed himself, hating that that was his first reaction.

"I don't know what you're talkin' about." She played dumb, and he grew more annoyed. He knew she knew exactly what he was talking about.

"You're the one that took it out of my pocket, Anne." Daryl rested his elbow on the side of the house, seemingly uncaringly.

"Nope, I don't recall." Her smirk was really starting to get on his nerves.

"I'm serious; just get me the damn knife." He eyed her hand that had now found its way into his.

"And what do I get in return, hmm?" He hated the way she sounded, and he yanked his arm away, exasperatedly waltzing his way inside her house. He could tell she was following him, going on about how he had no right to be in here. He rolled his eyes, trudged up the stairs and into her room. He went through her drawers, moving jewelry boxes and cigarette packs out of the way, trying to spot the oak wood knife.

"You have no right Daryl! This is my house, get out!" He heard her screech at him, he turned raising his hands in exasperated anger at her.

"Well, where the hell is it then?!" He watched her face as her lips turned into a smirk again, he began rummaging once again, going through everything he could find. "You're a real bitch, y'know that?"

"Is it this one?" She pulled the knife from inside the desk drawer, swinging it in front of her. When he went to grab it from her she pulled it around her back, looking up into his eyes mischievously. "Not without a kiss first."

He resisted the urge to gag at the sound of her giggle, feeling her press up into him, pouting her lips. "Fuck, no. Just give me the damn knife." She huffed, pulling the knife from around her back and opening it so the blade flashed in front of his eyes. She traced it carefully down the side of his face, making his breathing stop to a halt before he grabbed her hand in his, yanking the knife from her grasp. He wasted no time in leaving that house.

"Crazy fuckin' bitch." He shook his head, making his way off her front porch steps, putting the blade back in his pocket and stalking off down the road towards his house. He planned on sneaking the knife back into Merle's room before Merle could even notice it was gone.

Daryl arrived at his house, rubbing his face, before taking a deep breath and stepping through the door. He shut it quietly behind him, hanging his crossbow up, and walking into the kitchen. He saw his mother huddled over the stove, making what seems to be some sort of stew; he stood there frozen for a few moments. Daryl's eyes surveyed the scene, noting Merle leaning casually up against the counter. He heard their voices, frowning at how casually his mother could talk to Merle, after barely speaking for the length of time he'd been gone.

"Oh, hi Daryl, honey. Did you see that Merle was back?" Her smile was bright and welcoming, but Daryl couldn't manage to return it. "I'm making vegetable stew."

Daryl turned around, walking out of the kitchen and casually slipping into Merle's room; he slipped the knife out of his pocket and into the table beside his brother's bed. He walked into his room; his jeans were already dry so he didn't bother slipping out of them. He put his shirt in the laundry basket, before slipping another one over his shoulders. He buttoned it up, running a hand through his hair, mentally preparing himself for dinner.

It only took about fifteen minutes before his mother was calling him to the table. He quietly walked in, quickly taking a seat across from Merle. His mother poured him and Merle their servings of soup and a glass of water with it.

"Did you know Merle visited Florida before he came back here, Daryl?" She smiled at the both of them, as Merle returned it graciously. Daryl raised his eyebrows once, seemingly unimpressed. "I should have known he'd come back."

"Aw, ma. You know I could never leave you for long in the care of Daryl here, he can't keep nothin' alive. Remember that pup he found? Hah! Damn thing didn't last a week." Merle chuckled lightly.

Daryl remembered that puppy, just like he remembered his father shooting it through the brains. He claimed that it was just another mouth to feed. He ate in silence, not joining in on the conversation until Merle directed it back to him.

"So Daryl, how're you keepin' up with the bills an all? Cause' since I've been here, I haven't seen you do shit." Merle inquired of him.

"We manage." Daryl stated simply, pushing his food away from him. "Thanks for dinner, ma'." He got up from the table, putting his bowl in the sink and walked out.

"Y'know, dad was right when he said you ain't worth anythin'!" Merle always had to get the last word in and didn't fail this time, as he called after Daryl.

Daryl slammed his door shut, kicked a wall, and sat down on his bed angrily. He rested his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. Bringing Merle back was like bringing all the pain of his life back with him. He hated Merle, and he hated that he hated the fact that he couldn't hate Merle.

He replayed his brother's words in his head, it was this awful habit Daryl had, he always listened to Merle and sometimes he wish he could just forget everything he said. He fell back on his bed, sighing to himself.

"Daryl!?" He heard his father yell from the kitchen.

Daryl was twelve years old and his best friend had been throwing a fit to come over to his house for a change. He was hoping and praying his father would be at work for a few hours at least. That wasn't the case as he motioned for his best friend to stay there.

"I'll be right back." Daryl walked into the kitchen, his eyes cast down childishly. "Yes sir?"

He watched his father's furrowed eyebrows. "Did you make that mess?" His father pointed to the broken glass in the corner. Daryl knew it was Merle that had broken it, in his anger this morning. Daryl would've cleaned it up himself, but he was late for school already. So when his father asked, he had no answer.

"So it was you then, you little shit." Daryl braced himself for impact, closing his eyes as he felt the familiar pain of a punch to the side of his face. He was quickly knocked down, and every hit came as a blur, his eyes quickly pooling up with tears he couldn't control. He heard every word his father threw at him, despite the ringing in his ears from the initial blow.

He heard a door creak open, while both he and his father jumped at the sound of a gasp. He looked at his best friend, who seemed like he'd just seen a ghost, the boy's eyes wide with terror. Daryl tried to get his friend to stay, but his friend reacted too fast as he ran out of the house.

"Why – Didn't –You –Tell –Me –Someone –Was –Over?" Each word out of his father's mouth came with another kick to his stomach. Eventually the pain stopped as his father stormed out of the room. Daryl lay there, his arms curled over his head and sobs wracking his body. He never spoke to his best friend after that.