A/N: Well, this got a decent amount of attention over the eighteen hour period after I posted the first two chapters, so here's a third one. I have up to chapter six already written, since this story is primarily on a different site. So, review if you want fast updates? Don't be a ghost reader; it's no fun to write for people like that.

In response to my guest reviewer who thought that Daryl would never have ratted Merle out. . .

I definitely see what you're saying, but I'm going for a bit of a different perspective on the relationship of the Dixon brothers. Daryl isn't stupid. He's sixteen years old, and, where Merle'd been in juvie about a dozen different times by that age, he doesn't want to be like that. Is he going to go to the cops and tell them that his brother's holding and selling and using a multitude of different drugs? No. But if he's the one who got aggressively cuffed and dragged into the police station, he's not going to take that. He doesn't want to be like his father or his brother. He's the good kid in that family, which isn't saying much, but it means something to Daryl, even if he won't admit it to himself.

I don't really view it as ratting Merle out, either. A kid from Daryl's upbringing, when cornered, is going to lash out. And Shane and every other cop other than Rick was doing plenty of cornering. Daryl did what he had to do to get out of that situation.

Sure, Daryl feels a sick kind of loyalty to his brother. But it doesn't mean he's going to go to juvie because his stupid brother decided to pin those drugs on him. Not to mention that Merle wasn't there to intimidate Daryl into doing what he said. Daryl changes how he acts depending on who he's with in the flesh. And there's plenty of resentment there, as you'd imagine, because Merle'd left Daryl with their father as soon as he was old enough, not knowing what it would mean for his baby brother. So, yeah. There's my reasoning. Anyway, I hope you continue to like the story, my guest reviewer.

Rick awoke to the piercing ring of the telephone. He squinted his eyes against the golden sunlight dripping into his room, ignoring the tiredness that itched at them. He turned over on his side to look at his clock and shivered when his quilt slid off his shoulder, exposing him to the bitter chill of the autumn morning. Focusing on the digits of the clock, he narrowed his eyes in irritation. He didn't have a shift until later in the day, and he was purposely planning to sleep in. He hadn't woken up this early since he'd been in high school, and that had been his least favorite part of the place. Normally, he would have hung out with Shane at some coffee shop to pass the time, but the son of a bitch still hadn't called and apologized for how he'd acted. And Rick sure as hell wasn't going to go running back to him; he had no desire to see the guy when he was being such an asshole.

He turned his attention to the person on the other end of the line when he heard his mother answer the phone. His curiosity was sated immediately, though, since she came up the stairs to knock on his door.

"Rick, honey! It's Glenn!" Glenn was his friend, two years younger than him and a junior in high school. I wonder if Daryl's in any of his classes, Rick pondered absently. He blinked in confusion at the thought, trying to think of why something like getting a call from a friend had reminded him of the younger Dixon. He disregarded it to jump out of bed and pull on a long-sleeved tee shirt to fight off the bite of the air. He opened the door to take the phone off his mother's hand, mouthing a quick thanks.

"Hey, Glenn," Rick said, stifling a yawn.

"Oh, man, Rick, did I wake you up?" He heard the typical concerned worry in Glenn's voice and smiled. He missed that kid. He'd been the first one to befriend the bookworm after he'd moved from Michigan when Rick was junior, and he prided himself in yanking his head out of the textbooks a bit alongside Shane.

"Yeah, but that's what I get for trying to sleep in." He yawned again. "What d'ya need?"

"My piece of crap car died on me again." Rick shook his head fondly at the anxious note in his voice. Glenn worried too much.

"Didn't you just get it fixed?"

"Yeah! But those guys don't know what they're doing, man. I swear to God. They've botched the job three times."

"Didn't you think that was reason enough to get another mechanic?" Rick asked, but he continued before Glenn could answer. "All right, all right. I'll look around, see if I can find anyone better," Rick said reassuringly, but then looked at the clock again. "Wait, how the hell did you get to school?"

"The thing lasted till I got to the lot, but now I have no way to get home." Glenn's dismay reached its peak in his voice. Rick couldn't hold back a laugh.

"Jesus Christ, Glenn! You didn't hafta go and give me a whole sob story to ask me for a ride. I'd still do it even if your car was perfectly fine."

"I know that," his friend said. "But how am I going to get it home?"

"I know a few guys who can get it towed for you. It'll be back at your place before school lets out, and I'll be there to drive you home when the bell rings. Sound good?"

"Rick, you are a savior. Thank you so much."

Rick interrupted his typical wave of gratuities. "Glenn, just get to class. You have—" He looked at the clock. "—five minutes."

He heard Glenn swear loudly. "Oh, God, I have to go. I'll see you later!"

Grinning as he heard the line disconnect, Rick pulled on his robe and left his room. He put the phone back in its cradle when he passed the small table that held it, still yawning every few seconds. He had half a mind to go back to bed, but he really wasn't in the mood.

"What did Glenn want?" Susanne asked when he entered the kitchen.

"His car broke down. He needs a ride home," Rick responded, shaking his head fondly at his friend's antics.

"Good of you to help him out," she remarked as she asked him to set places for breakfast, returning to the pan of sizzling bacon.

"You know me. Always helpin' someone out here or there." He smiled as he remembered saying something similar to Daryl when trying to convince him to take him up on his offer to drive him home. The grin lingered on his face as he grabbed silverware from the drawer and grabbed plates from the drying rack next to the sink.

"What has you so happy, huh?"

Rick looked up in surprise, setting down the three sets of dishes he had gotten. "What do ya mean?" He hadn't really noticed anything different in his behavior.

"Don't be like that. You're m'own son. There ain't nobody who knows you better than me."

"Ma, I really don't know—"

"Do ya want me to spell it out for you?" She laughed, a soft, tinkling sound. "Ever since you got home from interrogating that kid, you been nothin' but smiles."

Rick raised an eyebrow and stopped his proceedings to help with breakfast entirely. "I didn't interrogate him. I jus' asked him some questions. Shane was the one who wanted to interrogate the poor guy."

"Why'd you stop him?"

"Because he was being a real asshole about it," Rick said. His mother looked at him reprovingly for his use of vocabulary.

"I haven't seen you and Shane fight like this since you were boys," she commented. "Is he jealous of that kid?"

"Ain't got nothing to do with Daryl," he responded and began to fold napkins. "It's got to do with Shane being a damn sadist."

"C'mon, honey. Shane's your best friend. Don't you think you're bein' harsh?"

Rick huffed, sitting down at one of the places he had set as he waited for his breakfast. He would be more than ready to forgive Shane—if the cocky son of a bitch had the face to apologize, first. How he had acted with Daryl was absolutely despicable to him—especially when the teen had offered no resistance to their questions.

He looked up from his dark thoughts when his mother shoveled some bacon and eggs onto his plate, the aroma wafting to his nose and making him groan with delight. One thing he was really going to miss when he finally got his own place was his mom's cooking. There wasn't anything quite like it in the entire world, and he doubted that the ramen he was going to be eating as he saved up his money for his monthly rent would even come close.

"So, you gonna see this Daryl kid again?"

"For Christ's sake, Ma!" Rick said in exasperation. Damn, was this woman persistent. "I did my job; I questioned him and let him go when he was proven innocent. That's the end of it."

"Hey, now, he's only a few years younger than you." She tapped her lip thoughtfully. "How old?"

"Sixteen," Rick responded, rolling his eyes.

"Why, that's Glenn's age. Ain't no reason you shouldn't talk to him."

"It ain't that I shouldn't talk to him. It's that I have no reason to. Probably never gonna see him again." He tried to convince himself that the frustration he heard in his own voice was directed as his mother.

"Yeah, well, you ain't if you don't try," Susanne said gravely, looking at him closely as she raised a piece of bacon to her mouth.

"Aw, Ma, just let it alone?" he damn near pleaded, trying to fight the blood that rushed to his cheeks. Did his mother really believe that he would be so unprofessional as to become friends with someone his damn workplace had just arrested?

"Fine, but only if you call Shane," she responded, and her eyes glinted mischievously. He sighed. Rick didn't think he remembered a single instance where his mother hadn't gotten her way somehow, and if the past predicted anything, that wasn't going to change now.

"Fine," he said, but he pulled a face. "But I ain't apologizing."

"I never said ya had to. Just . . . speak."

Rick couldn't hold back his laughter at that, bacon crunching on one side of his mouth while he sniggered. "'Speak'?" he asked. "That's the best you can come up with?"

She glared at him, but a grin was tugging at her lips. "It helps a hell of a lot, you know. Keepin' everythin' inside don't do anyone any favors. You take that from a woman who was married for twenty years."

"Oh, so, now Shane and I are married?" he asked teasingly. "Gee, Ma. You're really desperate to keep me from being single, ain't ya?"

"Stop bein' smart and eat your breakfast," she advised. He chuckled before shoving the last of his eggs into his mouth, smiling to himself.

"I'll call Shane, but I ain't apologizing," he repeated as he got up to take his plate to the sink for washing. He quickly scrubbed the plate clean and left the room, calling over his shoulder, "Thanks for breakfast."

He swiped the phone up from its cradle as he walked by the table again, running up to his room and lying down on his bed. He stared up at the ceiling, fingers hesitating over the numbers as he considered disobeying his mother and just going back to sleep, since he was suddenly tired and frustrated. But he prided himself on being a man of his word, so Rick dutifully dialed the numbers and held the phone up to his ear, hoping that maybe he'd be lucky enough to get a busy signal.

"'lo?" a tired voice answered, and Rick rolled his eyes. Guess he wasn't the only one unlucky enough to get woken up on his morning off.

"Hey, asshole," Rick greeted, only half kidding.

"Rick?" Shane asked, his voice thick with sleep.

"Who else? Jesus Christ?" He was unwilling to shed his sarcasm just yet.

"Aw, hell, Rick. You ever hear of sleepin' in?"

"Yeah, well, Glenn woke me up. Figured I'd ruin your morning, too. 'specially 'cause Ma wanted me to give you a call."

"How come? She hear 'bout our disagreement? And what'd Glenn want?"

"A ride home," Rick said, and then snorted. "That's not what I'd call it, but, more or less, yeah."

"You still pissed off about that?" Shane sounded slightly more awake, and he heard the sound of a tap running. The guy was probably making himself the coffee he relied on so heavily.

"What do you think?" he asked sarcastically, falling back onto his bed, the air whooshing out his lungs in a frustrated little breath.

"He was just some nobody kid."

"Doesn't change the fact that you were bein' a dick," Rick quipped.

"What do you want? Me ta get down on my knees and beg for . . . what? Forgiveness?"

"It'd be a start." He let authority color his tone, and he vaguely recognized the tone he had used when ordering him around during their questioning of Daryl. Rick knew that Shane wouldn't want to seriously cross him, despite how ill-tempered he was. Hell, he was probably the only one Shane knew wouldn't take his bullshit. Maybe that was why Rick was able to keep him around. He snorted at the thought.

As predicted, Shane let out a defeated sigh. "Sorry, man. I'm sorry. All right?"

Though his friend was pissed off to be made to do something that he undoubtedly considered unforgivably demeaning, Rick could hear the sincerity in his voice. "Yeah, all right," he ceded.

"We cool?" Shane asked, still sounding a bit miffed.

"Not yet." Rick grinned at the frustrated groan that reached him from the other end of the line. "You gotta help me find an apartment, still."

"You tellin' me you didn't call that guy back?"

"It was too late after we were through talkin' to Daryl," Rick explained, though he knew there was very little excuse for letting the opportunity slip from his grasp. Though, he had to admit that he wasn't too keen on the apartment to begin with. The whole bathroom situation still made him a little more than uncomfortable.

"It took us forever to find that shithole," Shane griped. "You seriously gonna drag me along while you look for another one?"

"If you want to return our friendship to its previous—"

Shane cut off his overdramatic spiel. "Fuck you. I'll see you at, let's say, eight."

"You don't have to get all pretty for me, Shane," Rick said chastely, and started laughing as Shane started to splutter. "I'll be there." He laughed harder when the line went dead after a string of muttered curses.

Daryl walked into class five minutes late.

He had been taking extra time to use the less-traveled hallways of the school, so people would have no reason to question his blackened eye and jaw, or the limp he had to put into his gait to keep the pain in his ribs in check. They were definitely cracked, and, if he wasn't careful, they wouldn't heal properly. Either way, no one ever questioned where his bruises came from. It didn't take much to put two and two together when he was a Dixon. Everyone in town knew what a piece of shit his father was. But he still didn't want to bring attention to himself.

Daryl tried to be small as possible, his blonde bangs combed over to cover the marred side of his face as best they could. He didn't make eye contact with his teacher, but he could sense Mr. Howard's disapproving glare on him. His English teacher was the only one who gave a shit whether or not he came to class, and it pissed him off. He wasn't failing, and he didn't have enough absences to lose credit. Hoss should really mind his own business, he thought to himself as he put his bag down and slid into his seat.

"Do you have your homework, Dixon?" Howard asked. Daryl didn't look up as he shook his head.

"What was that? Speak up."

He was angry enough to look up this time, despite wanting to hide his blackened eye. "No, I don't have my fucking homework. A real fuckin' surprise, innit?" The classroom erupted into laughter, but the glare Daryl sent their way shut them up pretty good.

"Watch your mouth, Dixon, or I'll have you in the office before you can say another word."

"Go ahead and do that." He sneered at the man. "Don't make a difference to me."

But Daryl knew that he would never go through with his threat. Howard wanted him where he could make him squirm. And, as much as he hated it, Daryl knew that he would let him get the satisfaction of his fight. He wasn't able to sit there and take the abuse, even if he knew such behavior would make the man's taunting stop. Because he was always a bomb, ready to go off at any second. And Howard knew it.

"You know what?" the man asked, and Daryl didn't answer. He would undoubtedly have plenty of time to give the bastard a piece of his mind. "I think you're lyin'. I'm gonna keep you here."

"Go ahead and do that," Daryl muttered in response, hoping to put an end to this entire thing, even though he knew his silence was the only thing that would grant that.

And, as predicted, the man continued loudly, "'cause you don't have any more of an excuse to slack off and do what you want than the rest of us."

"Never said I did." The silence in the room was nearly tangible. Daryl felt that, if he moved, breathed, even, he would be cut to pieces by the tension.

"You think you can just walk into this classroom like you don't have a damn care in the world. We all know that ain't true, Dixon."

"How the fuck would you know?" Howard's words were a bit too close to the truth for comfort. Daryl knew that the man was just inciting him, and he was just too fucking eager to take the goddamn bait. Something inside him was telling him to stop, but he was just so angry at everything, he couldn't bring himself to do it.

"Because I know the kind of person you are, Dixon," Howard said, the malevolence in his eyes the only thing giving away his true motive. His face was entirely impassive otherwise, and it irked Daryl to no end.

"Yeah? And what's that?"

"You're the kinda guy who runs around acting like he ain't afraid of anything. But you're afraid of a lot more than you'll let on, ain't ya?"

Daryl just looked at him, unsure of what he was getting at, and a smirk turned up the corners of the man's mouth. "Let me tell you, son, you got a lot more to be afraid of then your daddy."

He froze, his own breathing not even disturbing his perfect stillness. He continued to stare blankly at the man, who eventually turned around to continue his lesson. The bruises littering his body seemed to ache worse than they had all day, and Daryl wanted to curl in on himself to stop the sudden pain.

Howard had never gone this far. Sure, he'd given him lecture after lecture for not being on time or not doing his homework, but he had never been so damn personal. He was so staggered by the fact that someone would openly mention his father—and, worse, use it as a weapon against him.

Daryl could feel everyone's eyes on him, and he fought valiantly to keep up his cool façade. To make it seem like he just brushed off the words his teacher had said to him, even though they kept repeating in his head over and over again. He had to focus to keep his breaths even and slow, even though they wanted to escape from him in panicked little gasps that revealed the turmoil that lay just under the surface. He had half a mind to get up and walk out of the classroom, reporting himself to the office, because anything would be better than sitting in this room with a fucking douchebag who thought it perfectly fine to bring up someone's personal business in front of a room of twenty some odd people. But he was still basically paralyzed, hands trembling just slightly over the wood of his desk. He focused on clenching his fists to stop the tremor, hoping that no one had seen it, and that was the most he could do to help himself as he let the words of Mr. Howard's lesson wash over him.

Daryl hated how the man could affect him like this. The incessant sound of his domineering voice made it impossible for him to calm down. The pain he felt everywhere on top of this incident with his asshole of a teacher was too much for him. His panic roiled inside of him, pressing behind his eyes, putting a lump in the middle of his throat that was impossible to swallow down. He could also hear Merle somewhere in his brain, ridiculing him for being so damn weak. The knowledge that his brother was right just made everything worse, and he clenched his fists tighter. He knew he wouldn't even be able to hope to calm down until he could leave this hellhole of a classroom, but he also knew that wasn't going to happen for another thirty or so minutes.

So he steeled himself, gritting his teeth behind his lips, tightly closed against the pained gasps that were fighting to escape from his throat. With Merle's mocking words a cacophony in his ears, he knew he could endure this; he'd been through much worse.

And he had the scars to prove it.

Rick pulled into the school parking lot, happily spinning the key to his new apartment on his finger. This new place was substantially better than the last, and he wondered why Shane hadn't located it right away. If its tenants had just cleared out, which seemed likely, then Rick had really lucked out. The rent wasn't as cheap as the first, but Rick certainly didn't mind paying for a wall that separated the bathroom from the main room.

He watched as rain splattered against his windshield, surprised. The forecast hadn't said anything about rain, but freak storms weren't all that uncommon in their area.

Rick was tracing the patterns the raindrops left on the glass with his eyes when the passenger door flew open, startling him. His head snapped to the side to see Glenn climbing into the seat like a soaked cat, his black hair shiny and dripping, plastered to his head like tar.

"Man, this day just keeps getting worse and worse," he groaned, pushing his sodden hair out of his eyes as he shut the door. "Thanks for this, Rick."

"Don't mention it. Your car is home, by the way. I found a guy who can look at it. He'll be over tomorrow afternoon."

"I swear to God, you're a freaking savior."

Rick just smiled as he started the car and followed the line of vehicles eagerly attempting to leave the grounds. He probably would've been smart to have just come a little later, but knowing Glenn, he'd have thought Rick'd forgotten about him and stressed out even further than he already had today.

"How was school?" he asked, inching forward as the line began to move ever so slightly.

"I guess it was okay," Glenn said, but his voice was a bit subdued. Rick looked at him briefly to see his friend shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"You guess?" Rick asked. "Something happen?"

Glenn let out a large breath of air he'd obviously been holding. "Mr. Howard really tore into some kid today. Said some stuff I'm pretty sure could get his ass fired if anyone went to administration."

Rick shook his head in pity for whoever had been on the receiving end of Mr. Howard's wrath. He'd never been in that position, but he had witnessed plenty of his legendary lectures, so he knew how unpleasant they could be.

"Who was it?"

"Daryl Dixon," Glenn said, scratching at his chin absentmindedly as he stared out the window.

Rick felt heat rush down his body as he looked at his friend. "Daryl?

"What?" His friend turned to look at him in surprise. "You know him?"

Rick shook his head. "Hardly. He got brought into the station yesterday. Turns out Merle Dixon doesn't care if his little brother gets caught in the crossfire, so I took him home when he was all cleared."

Glenn sighed. "You serious? That, and what Howard said. . . Guy's having a tough week."

"What did Howard say, exactly?" Rick asked, dreading what the answer might be. But Glenn shook his head, twisting his mouth.

"I don't wanna say, man. S'enough that entire classroom had to hear it."

Rick sighed, but he respected Glenn's decision. His friend's reluctance, however, did prove that the old bastard had said something pretty damn awful, and that made anger pool hot in his stomach, burning into him the longer he thought about it. He didn't even have driving to distract him with the miniature traffic jam in the school parking lot.

Glenn must've noticed the tension in his body, because he put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Come on, man. Daryl'll be fine. Everyone knows he's tough as nails. That's why Howard likes to mess with him."

Rick nodded, but his words didn't do much to calm him down. He waited anxiously for when he was going to be able to leave the parking lot as he finally inched nearer to the exit. When he was just a few cars away from leaving, a figure, huddled against the gusting wind and rain, made its way into his vision. At first, Rick couldn't tell the gender, since the hood was drawn over the head and face, but he quickly identified him as a male from the shape of the body. He could see that he was soaked to the bone, and even from this distance, Rick picked up on a tremor in his limbs. He pulled to a stop, granting a few irritated honks from the cars behind him, and rolled down the window.

"Hey," he called as rain splattered into his face. Glenn let out a little grunt of protest at the sudden onslaught of rain until he realized what Rick was doing. "You need a ride?"

The boy turned his face to him in shock, and Rick's mouth fell open in surprise at the face lurking behind the shadows of his hood.

It was none other than Daryl Dixon's.

"Holy shit," Rick said, and he heard Glenn mutter something that sounded like 'speak of the devil'. Only one of Daryl's pretty blue eyes were visible, but he could see plain as day the glazed sadness in it. He was concerned to see that the carefully guarded aspect he had observed in them at the police station was gone, but he forced a smile onto his face regardless. "Looks like I'm givin' you another ride home, huh?"

The relief that Rick expected never made an appearance on Daryl's visage. Instead, the teen looked like he wanted to disappear into the rain-darkened asphalt beneath him. His eyes flickered around to look anywhere other than into Rick's, and his mouth opened and closed as he probably tried to think of an excuse as to why he would rather walk home than get a ride. Suddenly, a car decided to honk its horn right behind Rick's, and Daryl flinched at the loud noise, rain dripping down his prominent cheekbones like tears. There was hardly a moment's hesitation, and the ostensibly frazzled teen ducked his head and clambered into the back of the car. Once Daryl was in the car, Rick let the smile on his face dissipate, replaced by a concerned frown. He automatically turned the heat on high, seeking to rid him of the shivering wrought by being doused in the freezing, late autumn rain. His blue eyes looked at Daryl through the mirror, his bowed head, his darkened hair that dripped onto his equally soaked jeans.

This persona was so different from the tough kid he'd seen in the police station. He wondered if what Howard had said was responsible for this change, and the urge to go and shoot the bastard with the gun he had at his hip flared inside him. He shook his head; those kinds of thoughts were absolutely ridiculous for a cop to have.

"How'd you do on your pre-calc test?" Glenn asked suddenly, breaking the tense silence hanging in the air. Daryl jerked his head upward slightly, as if surprised that someone was addressing him about such a thing. Rick realized that there probably weren't many people who cared about Daryl's academic achievements.

Right when Rick thought that Daryl was going to ignore his friend's inquiry, he muttered, "Ninety-three." Maybe Daryl was so quiet because of whatever Glenn had witnessed during their shared English class. He imagined that that would make the air between the two less than comfortable.

Glenn let out a low whistle. "Man, how did you pull that off? I got an eighty-eight. My mom's going to kill me."

Daryl just shrugged, unfazed by his classmate's enthusiasm. "I like trig."

The conversation died out pretty quickly, and Rick realized that that was Daryl's goal—a tactic to keep everyone out. But he knew that wasn't in Daryl's best interest, and Rick couldn't help but think of ways to make it so he was in Daryl's inner circle.

"Hey, Glenn?" Rick asked, getting the attention of his friend, who was sitting with his head in his hand, probably daydreaming.

"Hunh?" he responded and turned his head slightly in Rick's direction.

"It's Friday. You wanna hang out? We could go see a movie or something. I don't have another shift 'til eleven."

"Oh, man, that sounds awesome!" The teen's dark eyes brightened, undoubtedly at the thought of not having to face his mother after getting that eighty-eight he had mentioned. "We could go see One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest. It only came out last week, but I couldn't go to see it because it's rated R."

"You tellin' me you're using me to go and see an adult movie?" Rick asked, letting mock hurt fall into his expression. When Glenn scrambled to apologize and clarify, he burst into laughter. "S'fine by me. Any movie with Jack Nicholson is worth the watch."

Glenn grinned at him, half annoyed and half amused. Rick was still smiling as he turned to go in the direction of the movie theater, purposely missing the street that would lead him to Daryl's house.

Daryl seemed to notice, because his one visible eye looked into Rick's through the mirror in confusion and a bit of anger. He fought to keep the nonchalant smile on his lips, his brow entirely clear of lines etched by worry.

"Hey, Officer?" Rick sighed inwardly. Daryl hadn't called him by name, like he'd asked last night. "In case ya forgot overnight, the way to my place was back there," Daryl said, but the attitude that Rick would have expected wasn't there. The guy sounded so resigned and tired, Rick almost turned around and brought him to his house, just so he would stop looking so dejected.

"You ain't gonna come see the movie with us?" the cop asked instead, feigning surprise. He thought that his imitation paled in comparison to the genuine shock that crossed over Daryl's face.

"Didn't know I was bein' invited," Daryl responded, averting his eyes, his face quickly becoming stony again.

"Of course you are," Glenn interjected as he seemed to catch on to what Rick was doing. Rick smiled a little more genuinely at that. His friend was really too smart for his own good, and he was thankful for it. "Who wants to be home on a Friday night?"

Daryl didn't seem to have an argument against that, but he still seemed uncomfortable. "I got some stuff I gotta do. I should probably jus' go home."

"It's the weekend, Daryl; do it later. Ya got two days."

Rick wanted to kick himself as Daryl began to subtly panic, eyes darting everywhere in his surroundings as he and Glenn cornered him with their logic. He found the strength to continue with his plan as he told himself that this was so Daryl would have a good time. So Rick could have time to dispel that melancholy glaze over his ridiculously blue eyes. This would be worth it.

Finally, Daryl nodded, and Rick grinned. "I'll go. I like Jack Nicholson," he said, trying to make it seem as if he were the one making the decision, even though Rick knew he had pressured him into it until his options were basically nil. Glenn, too, looked happy, probably thinking about the incident in Howard's class. Knowing his friend, he was doubtless formulating ways he could make up for merely being there during the whole thing, even though it was in no way his fault.

Daryl looked a little more at ease as he settled back into the backseat, arms crossed over his chest. Rick forced himself to take his eyes off of him to watch the road. "Do you know what show times there are today?"

"Three o'clock sounds like a safe bet," Glenn responded. "But we can check when we get there."

Rick nodded and looked at the time in his car. 2:33, it read. They had ample time to get to the theater and buy their tickets, which meant that Rick could work in a few minutes to talk to Daryl, make sure that he was okay. That was the whole point of this little adventure, and he intended to make good on his promise, even if it was only to himself.

Rick pulled into the theater's parking lot and stopped in front of the entrance. He took in the typically crowded lot of a rainy day and smiled slightly at the opportunity it offered. "Glenn, go check the times and get our tickets, all right? I'm gonna go park."

Glenn nodded, looking relieved that he wouldn't have to be in the rain for long. He opened the car door and stepped out, feet splashing in the puddles as he ran toward the entrance.

"Why do ya need both of us ta park the car?" Daryl asked suddenly, and Rick turned around to meet unveiled suspicion staring at him from the teen's one visible eye.

Rick shrugged. "Well, I wanted to save Glenn from the rain, and you already know me. Ain't it better to walk with someone you know?"

Daryl narrowed his eyes, looking for deceit in his allegedly considerate actions. He seemed to find none, and he gave a curt nod. "I guess."

Rick just smiled and swerved away from the entrance, circling the lot as he looked for a parking spot. It was Daryl who found one, inconspicuously placed between two large SUVs, and Rick turned into it. They both stepped out into the rain, exiting the car on the same side. Rick pulled up the collar of his jean jacket to fight off the wind, but he didn't have any other protection from the pelting rain that was blown into his face. He was glad that Daryl had his hoodie, but he began to regret not sending him with Glenn when the shivering that had gone away in the heat of the car returned full force in his slender body. Not for the first time, he told himself that it was worth it.

"Congrats on your test," Rick said conversationally. "It ain't every day that someone does better than Glenn."

Daryl didn't respond, so he let the topic die. It wouldn't do either of them any good if he pushed him. Last thing he needed was for Daryl to close up on him. He glanced over to look at Daryl from the corner of his eye, carefully enough so that the Dixon wouldn't notice.

He could just see the tip of his nose past the edge of the hood. His head was bowed against the wind, and his hands were shoved deep in his pockets as he continued to walk through the parking lot. Rick noticed he was slightly pigeon-toed in one foot as he watched his tattered construction boots splash against the asphalt. He wondered if that was the cause of the slight inconsistency in his pace. He himself had a problem where his feet were too splayed when he walked. His mother always told him that it made him look like a real western sheriff when he wore his bull hide boots.

Just as his eyes traveled up to see if he could catch a glimpse of Daryl's face to better scope the guy's mood, a particularly strong gust of wind blew his hood back, revealing what Rick suddenly realized he'd been trying to hide. Even though Daryl quickly tugged the garment back into place, Rick had seen enough.

Vibrant bruises, stark against Daryl's white skin, had jumped out at Rick underneath the blond bangs Daryl had tried to hide them with. He had just barely seen a swollen, black eye beyond the shadows his hair cast, and the bruise that he'd seen on his jaw was an alarming shade of purple. He felt murderous intent fill him as he thought about the unknown assailant who had marred Daryl's skin in such a way.

The tension in Daryl's body was visible as the two of them stopped. Rick reached toward Daryl slowly, but it didn't stop the younger from flinching away from his hand. He tugged his hood down and impatiently brushed his veiling hair out of the way, careful not to touch the no doubt painful bruises coloring the left side of his face.

"What the fuck happened?" Rick growled, and the controlled rage in his voice was nearly frightening to himself. Daryl looked angry, but he could see the fear lurking beneath the façade. He softened his voice as he continued, "Daryl, what happened?" He didn't want to be the bad guy here. Someone had apparently already taken that role.

"Why the fuck do you care?" he snapped, seeming to have recovered from his injuries being discovered. But his harsh words were somewhat subdued by his quivering bottom lip, be it from the cold or this conversation in general.

Rick realized that he had to take a more gentle approach. "Those are some nasty bruises, man. A guy's gotta wonder, doesn't he?" Daryl just glared at him, and he could see the plea for him to leave it alone in his eyes. But as he stared at the swollen, darkened skin around his left eye and jaw, he needed to know.

"I jus' had an accident hunting last night. Y'know, after ya drove me home," Daryl responded after a few minutes. "Tripped up an' fell when I was trackin' a deer. Ain't somethin' ya really wanna advertise."

Rick looked at him, having the nagging thought that something wasn't right. It wasn't easy to get a single black eye from simply falling. Usually a blow to the nose bruised both eyes, not just one, and not nearly as severely as he'd seen with Daryl's. "Oh, man, I'm sorry. I thought someone had hit you pretty good for a second there," he voiced his suspicion. Gauging his reaction could give Rick an idea of the validity of his explanation.

But Daryl didn't give anything away, just stared at him in shock and a bit of wariness. Rick determined that he was either extremely close to the truth, or he was so far from it that he surprised the Dixon. After a second, he gave Rick a small, forced smile that did little for his misgivings. "Nah, jus' some stupid accident." He started walking again, pulling up his hood. "C'mon. Let's go."

"Did you twist your ankle when you fell?" Rick asked after him. Maybe the randomness of the question would reveal something.

"What?" Daryl asked, turning back around to face Rick.

"You're limping." He gestured down to his feet. Daryl's eyes followed his gaze, and a strange look came over his face.

"Yeah. I twisted my ankle."

Rick nodded and walked forward so that he was again walking next to him. "Let's go find Glenn."

Daryl didn't respond in any way other than to continue walking. Something kept Rick from breaking the silence between them, and not another word was exchanged between them as they continued their path to the theater.

Just as he had when he dropped Daryl off at the wrong house yesterday, Rick felt a creeping sense of foreboding that the Dixon was hiding something—something big. To his ultimate frustration and concern, he was unlikely to find out for a while, given the way things were going with Daryl.

He found that, despite his burning curiosity and worry, he didn't mind waiting so much.