Disclaimer: I sadly do not own The Walking Dead.
Warnings: Potential spoilers from Season 1 and 2. Rated for themes, language, violence, and adult content.


Packages in Zombie Zone, Area S - 3

"And in return for clearing their land of walkers, they're offering up a bag of seed, a baby rooster and a few chickens, half a dozen eggs, and a bucket of water. What do you think?"

Daryl stood tall, arms crossed, confused at the notion of herding walkers away rather than just killing them. "Sounds like a big job."

"Yeah, that's why they're willing to give up a couple of birds."

"Minus your handler fee." He frowned.

"It's not that bad, Dixon. I'll just take a chicken and a couple of eggs." Daryl pressed his lips flat. "What? I've hired new scouts. Gotta feed them too! They're the ones bringing in the jobs and bringing back the pay! It's better than lugging all that stuff by yourself, right?" He remained silent. She smiled. "Let me know if you change your mind because I know a few other guys who are willing to do the job for less."

"Never said I wouldn't take it." Daryl scoffed.

Amy gleamed. "Good to hear! I'll let them know. Here's the map. It's a big farm a few days walk outside the Clear. There's no rush, but they'd like the job to be done by the end of the month."

"Free room and board?"

"Breakfast, no bed."

"Anythin' else?" he asked.

"Nothing you'd like but..." Amy pressed her palms down on her kiosk, thinking. She opened her mouth, but closed it. Daryl grunted, so she talked. "There's a one-time position as a sharpshooter. You'd have to protect a runner in and out of the Zone."

"This for your new scout?"

"No, it's for Zombie Zone Express." Daryl gave her an incredulous look. "What? They only bring things in and out of the Zone. They don't have customers like we do to protect people's packages." She motioned at Daryl, staring at his biceps. "Not sure about the pay, but from what I hear people pay them to transport things, I'm sure the pay's pretty big. If they like you they'd probably call you back for more jobs. If you want to, that is."

"I'm good." Daryl huffed then began to walk away, warning her not to walk home alone.

"Well, that's all for now. But make sure you come back on time! Can't guarantee if I'll be able to hold onto good jobs for you!"


Daryl tossed a crumpled cloth at a wall, creating a loud thud that echoed in his tiny kitchen. The cloth fell into his bag. The leftover chunks of two rabbits and a squirrel were shoved into a small compartment. His canteen followed suit, then his hand-made arrows, a magazine, and the worn-out transceiver. Zipping his bag closed, Daryl sighed. He looked around the apartment once more, noticing it to be barer than it had ever been.

There was nothing left for Merle, if he did return. Merle never did, at least when Daryl came back from hunting trips. Daryl always returned to the apartment to find it empty. He managed to fix the window issue with a plank of wood he found on his way to the apartment, placing it between the glass and the frame.

Once outside the apartment, Daryl managed to catch a glimpse of the kid with his pizza box. Daryl eyed him, scanning him from head to toe. The kid waved hesitantly, shifting his eyes between Daryl and the door he was knocking on. He knocked faster. The door opened swiftly and the kid was dragged inside. Daryl frowned, twisting his key and tugging the handle repetitively to ensure the door had locked. He left his Borderlands apartment as the sun was rising, kicking up a storm of dust as he walked.


When he flashed his permit, Daryl was allowed to go through Wall. He received his customary "You're in the Clear" a few hours from when he left his apartment. It took a few more to reach the edge of the Clear, then a few more to go beyond.

The pavement began to disappear from sight and the distance between each house grew. The tiny forests with scattered trees became no more; more trees began to surround him, the grass grew thicker and the ground more earthy. He sighed in relief when he was deep into the woods. A bird called softly in the distance. A twig crunched loudly, crumpling under the weight of his foot. A piece of wood ended up digging into his sole. He laboured through a large patch of mud, dragging his feet through the viscous goop, struggling to keep his balance steady. He took a few minutes to rest, breathing deeply when he finally got through to the other end of the shallow but troublesome mud.

He continued to walk, taking a small sip of water and nibbling a piece of dried rabbit every so often. He managed to shoot a small bird down, but the arrowhead was too large, resulting in guts splattering on the ground, on the trees, and on his shirt. A flurry of feathers scattered towards the ground. Drying mud caked around most of his foot. He rubbed the bottom of his boots against a small rock, scraping the gunk off.

The sun was hanging directly above him when he stopped to sit atop a smooth boulder. After a quick scan of the surrounding area, he relaxed by spreading his body across the rock—although his crossbow never left his hand. He sighed and stared at the clouds as they passed by. He followed a small one in particular, moving faster than all the rest, as if it doesn't want to be caught or held back by anything. The breeze felt wonderful, relieving compared to the Borderland's grimy air.

Something rustled in the distance, snapping a few twigs and crunching a dead leaf or three. Daryl shifted. He shivered and took a quick look around. It was dark, hard to see, hard to tell if something would be coming from the distance. He quickly cursed at himself for letting his guard down and falling asleep before focusing on the sounds in the forest.

He raised his weapon, aimed at the foliage, ready to fire. He tried to breathe quietly, softly, holding it when necessary. He waited for whatever was there to reveal itself. Then twang! The bolt flew towards the target, hitting it square between the eyes. A small doe collapsed to the group, thumping heavily against the dusty forest floor. Daryl looked around before he discreetly pumped his fist. He prepared a fire.

Slowly chewing the meat, Daryl savoured the freshly cooked tenderloin. He sat beside the crackling fire with two sticks holding large pieces of meat, cutting the rest of the carcass, saving some meat for the future. Along the perimeter of his camp, sat a few snares, signals, and traps. A short distance away was a small creek with clear running water. He slept well then packed his belongings, cleared his tracks, and set off when the sun rose.

Between the forests were patches of tilled land. Many of them were empty, devoid of crops, animals, and signs of human life. Eventually, he found a small dirt path and walked not beside it, but a few feet into the forest. He followed it, passing what seemed to be a chicken farm, and a small shack.

He rustled the map out of his pocket, staring at the poorly drawn squiggles and straight lines. Although it was simplistic, it served its purpose. Daryl noticed the road with abandoned cars and made his way there.

He scoped the vehicles, quickly ruffling through trunks and around the seats. The sweat began to accumulate, so he wiped it off his brow with the back of his hand. A walker growled hungrily from a van. It was a pitiful little thing strapped to a small car sea. When Daryl came by, it reached out its arms at him, yearning for some of his fresh flesh. Daryl sighed. Then stabbed it in the head, through the thin cotton hat. It squirmed, kicked, and released a blood-curdling cry.

His inventory grew, expanding to add a flashlight, two batteries, a rope, and a small half-used first aid kit. Somewhat satisfied, Daryl hopped into a large truck, sliding himself flat against the long front seat. He locked the doors and closed his eyes, wishing he had Merle's bike.


He reached the farm two days later but didn't walk to the front door until sometime in the afternoon. The morning was spent surveying the land, counting the number of walkers—from what he saw, there wasn't that much, maybe thirty or so scattered here and there—and patrolling the perimeter.

An old man with a charming drawl answered the door. He laid out some rules, explaining that Daryl was not to set foot inside the house, speak to his children or anyone else on the farm; breakfast was to be found on the porch every morning with a glass of water: he was free to come and go from the property as long as the job was completed within the month, although he should notify his presence and departure beforehand; and that the barn was off-limits.

During his stay, he sat on the porch every morning and complained to himself that the food tasted like shit, although he took his time and chewed every last bite. He borrowed a horse without asking permission and lost it after a snake scared it away. He tumbled down a cliff. Daryl chose to clear the land of walkers in four days.

Daryl returned to the farmhouse, pants covered in dust, boots worn in and falling apart. He just reached the fence when a horse and her rider galloped by him, almost knocking him over.

"Watch it!" he yelled, shaking a fist.

The rider pulled on the reigns, urging the mount to slow. She pulled on the reigns until she was staring straight at Daryl. The girl lifted her hat up slightly and smiled, adjusting the shotgun on her back. Her brown hair curled towards her skin, bouncing lightly as the horse jostled to a halt.

"Was aiming for you but I missed," she teased, rearing her horse.

"Ain't you supposed to be makin' breakfast or somethin'?"

She rolled her eyes at his comment. "Quick trip to town to get some supplies. Here, you deserve it for being such a prick the past few days. You're lucky we found our horse." She flung a small square his way.

He caught it and stared. The package claimed it was glow-in-the-dark and came lubed. Daryl wasn't sure if it was expired but what was evident was that she was trying to tell him something.

"I ain't touchin' you if that's what you're lookin' for…"

"You probably can't even get it up," she giggled. And with that, she rode off to the stables behind the barn, jumping off her horse with ease, looking once more at Daryl before she strolled into the front door.

Daryl balled his fists and clenched his lips, looking in the girl's direction but staring off in the distance.

Daryl found his breakfast the way he asked it. His eggs were boiled with the shells left on. He put them into his pockets and carried the tray to his camp on the other side of the tree line. He sat on a small decaying stump, chewing on the small pieces of meat.

When he returned to the house, he saw the farmer standing on the porch, waiting for him. The farmer shook his hand, claiming Daryl had exceeded his expectations, explaining that as long as Daryl wouldn't do things without permission, he'd call on Daryl for his services again—but he'd rather not.

"I'll send the scout with the payment. Should receive it in a few days."


He made a pit stop at the Helm. Daryl reached Fishin' for Gold but noticed Amy wasn't standing at her kiosk. Instead, a small voice perked up from behind the metal frame, "What are you looking for, mister?"

When Daryl saw the young boy manning her stand, he frowned. The somewhat cute freckled face smiled brightly. Even though they were in the Clear, the child's neatly trimmed brown hair and a sheriff's hat wouldn't fly in a place like this.

Daryl crossed his arms, thinking. "Wenonah."

"Well, she's not here."

"What're you doin' here, kid? Shouldn't you be in school or somethin'?"

"Wenonah asked me to look after her stand," he replied factually, swinging his feet below the chair.

Daryl quirked a brow, unconvinced. "Then tell her the job's done."

"Which one?" the boy asked playfully. He pushed up his hat, probably in an attempt to look tough, but it fell back down. Daryl snickered to himself quietly.

"The farm job." The boy pushed his hat back up again, using one hand to hold it up.

"Oh!" The kid's eyes brightened. He stood up against the metal kiosk, staring at Daryl. "That means you're the man with the nice guns! My mom won't let me touch guns. Can I see them? Please! I won't tell her if you won't—"

"Don't think that's a good idea."

"Do you know what the Zone's like? I've always wanted to check it out!"

An angry voice flew out, "I thought I told you to stay near me at all times!" A woman grabbed the child by the shoulders, got down to his level, and whispered furiously into his ear.

"Aww, mom!"

She stared into his eyes, firmly holding the bouncing boy down. "How many times do I have to tell you to stay put? Remember what happened to the boy down the street?"

"Duane?"

"Yeah, Duane."

The boy pouted, held his hands together in front of him, and twiddled his thumbs. He looked at his mother, who quickly pulled him into a hug, embracing him tightly in her arms. She whispered something into his ear, holding him for a few more seconds before pulling away. The boy smiled softly then sat down on the chair, eyes downcast.

"Now, what can I help you with?" she asked politely, turning to Daryl. She placed her palms on the metal stand and looked at him, brown hair swaying.

Daryl was caught off guard and jumped slightly. "Finished the farm job. Old man said he'd send the pay with the scout. Any others?"

"Sorry, I'm new here. My laundering business just fell flat. What's your name and game?"

"Dixon, meat and meatbags."

The woman sized Daryl up, pressing her lips tightly together. She pulled a notepad from inside the stand and flipped it open. Scanning the paper, she moved her finger across the page and turned it to the other side, repeating the process until her finger traced a large paragraph quickly, skipping illegible scribbles here and there.

"Had a few jobs come in but Wenonah said she couldn't hold onto any for you. She didn't think you'd be gone for more than a week. Ended up giving them to some other hunters a few days ago."

Daryl clenched his jaw. His leg twitched, but he resisted the urge to stomp his foot. A deep breath entered his lungs and he held it there before releasing it slowly through pursed lips.

"Anythin' else up for grabs?"

"There's a missing boy, reward is a mag for his whereabouts. Two, if you bring him back."

"Dead, alive, or in between?"

She didn't answer his question. Instead, she explained what he looked like and where he was last seen. Daryl didn't look too pleased but he said he'd keep an eye out for him.

"Someone wants a squirrel for an old music player. It runs on batteries and comes with a few discs. Do you like the Backstreet Boys?" Daryl stood silently. "There's also a search for some gunmen wearing masks. Shot down a deputy." The woman paused, covering her mouth with a hand, clutching her jaw tight. "Ahem, reward's a gun of your choice and some ammo."

"Didn't think the cops would be puttin' out ads in a place like this."

She lowered her voice, "It's not them who put the bounty."

Daryl nodded, and inquired for more details. She described what she knew, ranting about how her husband was shot down in the Zone after he chased some hoodlums back across the border. Daryl made a mental note when she was finished then asked her if there's anything else with a larger reward.

"And there's a position as a runner's backup."

"Dangerous job migratin' in and out of the Zone." Daryl closed his eyes, but asked anyways, "What they givin' up for it?"

"Food. Money. Weapons." She eyed her son carefully and whispered, "Sex." Her son didn't seem to be paying any attention, so she continued. "Payment varies depending on what you want, who you go with, and how deep you travel. Trips to the Borderlands aren't bad, but the ones to the Old City... Well, most people don't come back."

"I see." Daryl shoved his hands in his pockets and walked away, deep in thought.

The kid waved goodbye, pretending to shoot a gun in the distance with his fingers. He pulled his trigger finger. His mother scolded him.


Daryl climbed the stairs wearily. He tugged on his crossbow, which was resting on his semi-filled bag that bounced heavily behind him. Days sleeping on uneven ground that smelled like cow shit had resulted in tiny aches that were easily brushed aside, but bring in close proximity to his bed smashed what little resolve he had left.

When he reached his floor, Daryl saw the guy—the one who taunted him with each and every visit he made to the apartment by the stairs—leaning down to speak to the little girl, the kid with the oversized shirt and baseball cap. Daryl stepped in as soon as he saw the kid reach for the girl's doll, smiling at her a little too sweetly.

"What's goin' on here?" Daryl barked. He stepped forward, underneath the dead bulb that hung above Room 201. The lack of light led to a lack of clear vision, making Daryl unsure of what was happening.

The kid looked at him, his face morphing into silly expression. Daryl got a good look at him. He had smooth skin yet there was a little stubble above his lip, brown eyes, black hair under his cap, and a goofy grin that seemed a little too infectious. Daryl moistened his dry mouth with his tongue. The girl stared at Daryl, taking her doll back. Her stomach cried out.

"Nothing!" the kid exclaimed, waving his hands in front of him as if it was a peaceful gesture.

"Don't seem like nothin'." He stepped closer towards the kid and crossed his arms.

The kid focused on Daryl's threatening biceps when his smile began to fade. When he saw them bulge, he gulped. "Just trying to help out," the kid murmured with a faltering voice. He kept his body facing Daryl, only moving his eyes to look at the girl. "I'll see you later."

The girl turned, quietly making her way to her apartment, struggling to hold her doll as close to her body as she could.

"So," the kid began, hesitantly offering his hand to Daryl. But Daryl stared. Hard. "I'm Glenn."

That's when it hit him. "You're a chink."

Glenn looked offended. "I'm Korean!"

"What's the difference?" Daryl asked sarcastically. But he regretted the question because as soon as he stopped talking the kid started to ramble about geographical locations, economical considerations, and language variations. Daryl was stunned by how fast his lips were moving. Oh so fast. When Glenn reached the different shapes of noses Daryl shut him up by grabbing his shoulder. Glenn tried to squirm out of his grasp but Daryl pressed him against the wall, close enough he could feel Glenn's breath on his skin. "D-don't touch her."

"Wha—?" Glenn said, dumbfounded. Slightly angling his face away from Daryl's, Glenn took a deep breath before meeting his eye. He flinched, looking down, forcing his hands to stay at his sides, blinking repeatedly before he met Daryl's eye once more. "I don't even—"

Daryl squeezed the shoulder, causing the kid to grimace slightly. Daryl looked deeply into his eyes, telling him not to go near the girl again. But all he saw in the kid was resilience. And something else he couldn't discern, something that felt dangerous. He needed to retreat. Immediately. He released the Korean, who rubbed his shoulder in an attempt to alleviate the pain.

Daryl with his fists balled, walked past the kid, who stood there staring at him. Daryl pulled his key from his pocket and slid it into the lock. The kid stopped breathing somewhere behind him. When Daryl turned the key, the knob didn't. Daryl's eyes opened wide. The door was unlocked. He turned, his glare ready to shoot Glenn down, his mouth ready to fire questions at him. But the kid vanished.

He stepped into his apartment, alone like always. The clutter he kicked to the side was nowhere to be found. He checked his secret compartment to find that a pound of dried meat was missing, leaving only enough to last him a few more days with strict rationing. And his hot slice hadn't arrived. He tossed his bow onto the bed and flung his bag shortly after. Daryl growled and kicked the wall. His brother's name escaped his chapped lips.


Daryl grunted, hoisting his body into a sitting position. The bed was creaking, threatening to break under his weight. He rubbed his eyes and yawned. He pulled his sheet off him and swung his feet to the side of his bed, cock dangling between his thighs. Daryl hopped, sliding his pants on, his dirty and overused underwear sat in the corner of his room. His stomach growled, demanding nourishment.

The window seemed to be steadfast with his nifty mending, only shaking slightly against the strong whistling winds outside. He buttoned himself and strode to the window. It wasn't raining, but the sky was darkening.

He quickly packed his bag, slicing a few strips of meat for his trip before hiding the rest underneath the sink, the remaining amount inadequate for a single meal. His cupboards that held cans were empty—save the dust. Daryl picked a shirt off the ground that appeared to be cleaner than the rest and put it on.

Theo greeted him at the gate cheerfully. He denied seeing Merle when Daryl asked, rubbing the back of his head when Daryl scowled. Daryl thanked him with a shrug as he walked away.

He reached the Helm, which was more crowded than usual, by midday. Garbage was strewn all over the floors between puddles of beer, piss, and who knows what else. Daryl avoided puddles determinedly, sidestepping over each one with disdain. There were people running around, hounding the stands. Hired arms pushed them back, commanding them to line up in single file or they would be assisted outside.

Fishin' for Gold was crowded, Amy was having trouble speaking to all the men and women asking for jobs, but not as much as Zombie Zone Express, which had twice as many people—although they were all lined up in an orderly fashion with offerings of cans of food, a large bunch of carrots and vegetables, a multitude of weapons, and other valuables in their hands. He eyed the stall at the end of the row carefully with sidelong glances, licking his lips and patting his stomach lightly.

To join the line at Amy's stall, Daryl stood behind a rowdy couple—though chances were they weren't really a couple at all. The taller one was loud and obnoxious, his girl was short and spunky. Before them was a large group of people, perhaps around twenty, shoving each other here and there.

One person stumbled and was pushed out of line. He yelled at the person behind him, cussing in a language Daryl wasn't familiar with. A gun was pointed at another man's head, causing a small uproar. Fists collided with skin, the sounds echoing throughout the Helm. Those hit with collateral damage joined in the fray, jumping on the one who hit them or defending the one they were fighting. Daryl held his bag close with one hand, his other hanging close to the knife on his waist.

He eyed Zombie Zone Express once more, the customers lined up quietly, the food in their hands calling Daryl over with sweet aromas.

He took this moment to surge past the crowd. He reached the stall, where a surprised Amy stood alone, no guards beside her. A glint of light flickered in the corner of his eye. It was Andrea sitting behind large boxes, with a sniper rifle in her hand, ready to take down anyone who gets too unruly or close to Amy for her liking. He nodded in her direction then turned back to Amy.

"Sign me up for the Expresstrain," he commanded, slamming his hands on the metal stand.


A/N: "We-no-nah" was printed on the boat Andrea and Amy were fishing in at the beginning of the episode "Vatos" (1x04). I know it phonetically spells out 'Winona' but I like Wenonah better.

I usually don't do these but I thought it would be nice to say thanks to everyone who's following this story and everyone who's commented! So, thanks! It means so much to me! I really hope I live up to your (and my) expectations when this is all over!

I know the romance really isn't there right now but I want to flesh all the feelings out. This is, I guess, how I see Daryl exploring his possible attraction to another male in the midst of an apocalypse. This is a slow burn, folks!