A/N: The Walking Dead does not belong to me. If it did, I'd make a few changes… Hershel's words here regarding the people we know least belong to the writers of Lonesome Dove: The Outlaw Years. (Anyone know that one? Anyone?) Slightly heavy Merle and Daryl moments ahead…


"Daryl? Son, will you come with me?"

It was with a certain degree of frustration that Daryl had followed Hershel out of the prison and toward the cement slab where they kept the spare cars. Merle, he noticed, took the opportunity to slip away almost immediately. Daryl swore quietly as he watched his brother step into the sunlight and approach Carol in the yard.

Gritting his teeth at the sight, Daryl stopped short as Hershel's crutches tapped to a halt. Weighted down with rocks on the hood of a car was a tattered paper map. Daryl's eyes darted toward Merle, who had seated himself on Carol's bench, then back to Hershel in impatient expectation.

The older man tilted his head in something like sympathy. Ignoring the map, he studied Daryl before speaking. "I spoke to your brother not long ago. He's an interesting man."

Daryl tensed, the realization that this conversation had very little to do with prospective towns to search and much more to do with the scene taking place across the yard dawned unpleasantly over him.

Instead of elaborating on his initial statement, Hershel tried a different path. "It took me a great deal of time to come to the realization that things now are not how they were. That while I sat on my farm, the world had changed, and that all that was left was for the people in it to change as well. Some for better, some for worse."

Daryl watched as his brother and Carol spoke mutely across the yard.

"My girls carry guns," Hershel continued. "They use knives. There's very little left of what they were, especially of Beth. And as hard as that was for me to take, I am grateful for it. I am grateful that they've adapted to this world and that they've survived. The alternative is more than I could bear."

Daryl tensed as he watched Merle's hand dart out to capture Carol's wrist. He straightened immediately, ready to bolt until Hershel's crutch crossed his body as a warning. The old farmer's eyes were also trained across the yard. Together they watched as whatever Carol said caused Merle to drop his hand.

Daryl relaxed ever so slightly and leaned back against the hood. Hershel sighed. "As I said, we've all changed." He gestured with his chin to Carol's straight-backed form. "That's not the same woman I met on my farm."

Daryl swallowed, but didn't speak. Even if he could, he wondered what he'd say.

Hershel's eyes demanded his attention. Reluctantly, Daryl relinquished it. "And I'd wager a guess that you aren't the same man you were before all of this either. And neither is your brother."

"We were gonna…" Daryl stopped, unsure why he'd said the words. It had been so long ago. A lifetime, even more. "At the quarry, back before the farm. Merle and me…" He closed his eyes against the sun. Carol's imprint burned behind his closed eyes. "Doesn't matter now."

After a moment, Hershel turned to finger the tattered edge of the map. "You know, they say that the map we're used to, the map of the world, isn't really that way at all. That things are stretched, closer or farther apart, larger or smaller, not shown the way they actually are."

Daryl looked to him in confusion, not following the turn in conversation.

"When you take something round, like the Earth, and try to flatten it to fit on a sheet of paper, everything gets changed out of proportion. The way we usually see the world isn't the way it is at all."

"The people around us," he continued, "they're the same way. The people closest to us, well, sometimes they're the ones we know the least. We think we've got them all figured out until they act different and surprise us. We've got them figured out before they figure themselves out. Makes us think we don't know them at all."

Daryl watched his brother and Carol for a moment more before acknowledging Hershel's words with a slight nod.

Hershel offered a worn smile, then gestured to the wood pile across the way. "I'm sure you could use some help with that fence."

One more nod, and Daryl took his leave, calling to Merle as he did.


"Thought I told you to stay away from her," Daryl growled in greeting. Another load of planks hit the pile upon Merle's approach. He gestured to the rotting section of fence before them, and Merle tested the crumbling wood with the metal attached to his arm.

"Easy, there, little brother." His eyes flickered back to Carol, still mending on the bench across the yard. "Just havin' a friendly conversation is all."

Daryl scoffed as he heaved more wood onto the pile and went back for another load. "Be a first for you."

Allowing a smirk to open his features, Merle agreed. "Maybe so." He eyed his little brother curiously. "Lotta firsts goin' on 'round here."

Despite a cautious stare from Daryl, he chose not to continue the thought. They worked in silence for a while, the sun beating down over their heads from high above before slipping slightly downward in the sky. After a time, it became easier to tune out the incessant groans and snarls of the walkers held at bay just yards beyond them.

The routine was easy, mindless, almost. Haul wood from the pile over to the smaller stack before the fence. Pry off the rotting wood and reinforce it with new. Repeat. Over and over for what felt like miles and miles of unending fence line.

Several loads in, Merle paused to mop his face with his grimy shirt. He exhaled heavily and glanced down at Daryl crouched beneath him and hammering in yet another board. "When'd you take up with the Mouse?"

Merle had to give his little brother credit. He continued to hammer without breaking the cadence. Merle found himself almost impressed.

"Ain't took up with no one."

"Well, that's a cryin' shame. Seems to me a man might find some comfort wherever he can since the world's gone to hell." He stretched his neck and squinted across the yard at Carol's shimmering form. "Could do a hell of a lot worse than that one."

Heaving another plank onto the pile, Daryl glared but didn't respond.

"Might give her a go myself if I didn't think she'd cut my nuts off with that knife of hers." Chuckling, Merle observed with some amusement the tightening of his brother's jaw. "Course," he elbowed Daryl sharply, "that's half the fun, ain't it now? Hellcat like that."

So quick was the movement that even Merle was caught by surprise when Daryl's forearm pinned his neck against the fence. Eyes angry and wide, he breathed heavily, throwing his weight against the larger man. The walkers beyond them snarled their delight.

"Easy...easy." Merle lifted his arms in half a show. "Just playin' with ya. No cause to get everyone all up in arms."

Daryl's eyes followed his brother's gaze to Rick's watchful form, roused from a crouch across the yard. Stepping back, Daryl waved him off, but continued to eye his brother in disgust.

Merle ran his tongue over his teeth, but remained positioned against the fence. He watched over Daryl's shoulder as Carol collected her mending and headed indoors, most likely to start on the next thankless task.

Daryl returned to his work, but Merle waited a moment, watching before speaking.

"Just tryin' ta get ya ta look at what's in front o' your face."

"Ain't like that."

"Who the hell says it ain't like that? You or the Mouse?" Merle raised his hands in surrender once more at Daryl's threatening step.

"End of the world over here," he wheedled, still backed against the fortified barrier. "It's the damn apocalypse, and you're still pussy-footing around what even that damn kid with the stupid hat can see." He shook his head in disgust. "If it ain't what you want, brother, that's fine. But if you's just too damn chicken shit to try...hell..." He clucked his tongue and waited.

"She ain't..." Daryl shook his head and roughly grabbed another plank. Throwing himself behind the task, he roughly wedged it into a gap.

"She ain't what?" Merle followed. "She ain't keepin' your sorry ass fed? Mendin' your clothes? Watchin' you even when you think she ain't? You know she's got a knife point ready for anyone so much as gives you a black eye."

The only response was the squeal and splinter of another nail driving into the wood.

"And you's doin' the same thing for her. Ain't no way she made it this long without you lookin' out for her."

"She's a hell of a lot stronger than you know."

A satisfied smile pulled at Merle's lips as he absently stroked his neck. "Maybe." He shook his head at the falling sun and grabbed another board from the stack. "But you best not waste what's right in front of you, boy. No way to tell how much time we all got left."

Conversation ended, they continued their work until night fell upon them. When the last of the rotted wood had been pulled away and the last load of new lumber used to shore up the fence, stars were beginning to make their appearance in the navy sky.


Content with the results of their labor, Daryl leaned against the newly snug fence and unscrewed a bottle of water. He drained half of it, then offered the rest in wordless gesture to Merle, who was leaning beside him. Taking only a small sip, the larger man ran his thumb around the mouth, chasing a drop of water with his nail.

"I wish I coulda done it."

The words shattered the relative quiet of the moment, where even the drone of walkers had seemed to fade away. Daryl's eyes slipped over to Merle, but found his face shadowed by the creeping night.

"'Stead of leavin' like I did. Wish I coulda ended it back then." Merle remained focused on the half-empty bottle.

Realization fell over Daryl, his face growing damp and tingling from an uncomfortable heat.

"Shouldn'ta left you there with him."

Daryl's boot nudged the grass as breathless minutes passed. "Weren't your fault."

Merle exhaled a humorless huff. "I was gonna do it. Pop him with one o' those huntin' rifles from the shed. Take that son of a bitch's own knife and..." he made a vague motion with the metal remains of his hand.

Daryl parted blades of grass with the worn sole of his boot. He imagined he could feel each one through the thinned rubber.

"They'dve took you away." Merle lowered his head and picked at the leather strap bound to his arm. "Didn't much care what happened to me. That's why I signed up to head out an' fight them turban heads wherever they took me. But if I'da killed him, they'dve took you away." He fidgeted with the blade. "Figured, the way I left it, I'd always know where you were. Could always come back. Thought eventually I'd get you out."

Daryl remained silent. From the woods came the screech of an animal most likely caught by a walker's greedy claws. A few moments of that, then silence once more.

"I was wrong, leavin'. Didn't know how bad it'd get."

Minutes later, Daryl shrugged, worrying the skin of this thumb. "Was a long time ago."

Merle looked up to the stars, picking out the Big Dipper and the Little up in the sky. Together and apart for all of eternity. "Funny thing is...I left you there...but you, little brother, you're the one what made it out. You're the one still got a chance."

Their eyes met then. Confusion swam in Daryl's, while in Merle's he saw only something like regret.

"Hell," and Daryl looked away. "We're both here now."

"Yeah," Merle inhaled, studying the constellations one more. "We're both here now." Reaching out with his good hand, his fingers clenched over Daryl's shoulder. Light at first, then stronger and stronger until there would surely be bruises in the morning. Somehow, Daryl couldn't bring himself to pull away from the pain.

Grip tight on his little brother, Merle inhaled the night air and felt, for the first time, ready. Ready for a sacrifice twenty years too late.

"We're both here now."

And he held on like it was good-bye.