Desperado

And freedom, oh freedom, well that's just some people talkin'
Your prison is walking through this world all alone

Desperado
the Eagles

Claimed this, and claimed that; Daryl was certain if these people saw another human being they would claim it for the right to either defile or kill it, likely both. They were merciless, with no regard for others not even among themselves. The rules of ownership were all that mattered and all that defined them. They cared for nothing but themselves and their needs. They were truly men breed for what the world had become, no better than the dead that stalked the living.

He had known men like that his whole life. Men lost from truth or simply those that did not know the value of life. It had taken Daryl getting lost in the woods at 6 to understand his place in the food chain and the fragility of life. That it was so easily wiped away and snuffed from the world as if it had never been and it had taken meeting a woman who wished herself dead for him to treasure it.

Even the barest thought of what he had lost through his grief addled mind sent searing pain through his heart, so fresh he could almost feel the blood seep from the wound's opening. The weight of the Prison's loss lay heavy upon his shoulders as his feet carried him forward; away from the gapping empty wound that was the Prison and the life that was being made there.

Throughout the days he had caught a glimpse of a grey-green figure passing through the woods, but whenever he looked closer, it was always revealed to be a very human like shadow or a walker. He waited for and feared the day it was no longer a shadow but the specter of a now dead woman, like the mythical Undine*, come to claim him for her own.

When he saw such a shadow he paid attention to the sounds surrounding him, letting the presence of the life wash over and anchor him in the present. He never dared think what would happen if he were alone and saw one of those shadows. Would he run off into the woods in search of the phantasm it resembled until he died? Would he slowly loose his mind to loneliness and grief? Was there anyone left to find? And if there was what were the chances he could find them again? And so he stayed. He stayed with men he would never have chosen to associate with before. He stayed and watched for the moment he would leave, but it hadn't come yet.

They were going nowhere. And so was he. He had lost everything and everyone. They had ignored all the warnings, Andrea, the Big Spot, Karen and Bill, the Flu, and then finally it fell. They lost everything, all because he hadn't read the writing on the wall. Now there was nothing and no one. That was the most devastating concept. Nothing, no one, they had all scattered or died because of him.

Because he hadn't been strong enough to take the shot when it mattered, when so many lives hung on the line he had failed. And now he was alone, overwhelmingly so. There would be no more concerts by a girl who couldn't fathom death. Never again would she sing so innocently, and he would never watch as Judith grew into Bell's weapons or watch as Carol taught her how to cook. All that stretched before him was an empty road to nowhere.

Who better to walk such a road with than others who were also stuck on it? He may disagree with their methods but he wouldn't turn down the defense against the herd or the encroaching loneliness of his life. For the time being Joe's Gang was a benefit, one day that would change. As the days grew colder and shorter he had begun thinking more and more of leaving. Yet he only continued to wonder, the time never seemed quite ripe to leave.

They were looking for some people. Supposedly someone had been killed, and they wanted revenge, big surprise. It's what everyone wanted, revenge for something or other. Daryl hadn't asked details and they hadn't been shared. In the end it didn't really matter' they wouldn't be deterred and he didn't want to face the emptiness of the world alone just yet. So he stayed; he stayed so those he had failed wouldn't come calling in the night.

The one face he feared most coming for him in the night was Beth, he had failed her the most. She was the most crushing failure of his life, he was supposed to protect her, and she was his last chance at redemption after the prison. How could he face the others, if they still lived having failed to keep Beth safe? If only he had taken the shot back at the prison. All this could have been avoided. Maybe they would still have the prison, Beth and Maggie would likely still have a father. And he could still be waking up to a beautiful woman as opposed to the hungry empty eyes of the other in the gang.

"You always this quiet?" Joe asked falling into step beside Daryl and breaking the mental reprimand for his failings of the last season.

"Guess I don't see much to talk about." Daryl answered not wanting to get drawn into conversation. He liked the silent company of the others and preferred not to talk about that which was past. His past was his. It had wounds he would rather not open to the world.

"How about where you came from," Joe said his voice highly suggestive. He wanted to know where he had been before. The man had some sort of sick code about truth and lies. That it was only through being honest that men could truly trust one another. By not sharing what his past had been Daryl violated that to a certain extent. It wasn't an out and out violation but it wasn't a full disclosure. In Joe's code it bordered with a lie.

Bell could keep her Vikings, long dead warrior gods that celebrated and drank in the afterlife. He knew that he would never see such a drinking hall, even if they existed, he would never see it. There was an eternity of darkness awaiting him behind the veil. Unless he could somehow make up for his failings, maybe then he would find those he loved in an afterlife. So he continued forward through the hordes of the undead with men more damned than himself.

They were no longer a benefit. He was as alone in the group as he would be on his own. The mood had changed slowly where Joe had seemed coldly caring at first but over the winter it had slowly shifted to hostility over the unanswered questions about his past. Daryl had slowly been pushed to the perimeter.

Tonight was his chance, he would disappear slip away into the night, let the cold darkness swallow him. He could cover his tracks, sleep in trees. Disappear into the world of the dead. He had been planning to slip away as soon as they bedded down. But Joe kept pushing them on certain they were going to accomplish something, Daryl thought he could see the man giddy when the moonlight caught his face between the trees.

So he continued to follow at the back of the group, revising his plan, if he could put enough distance between them perhaps he could slip away sooner. As they pressed forward Daryl slipped further and further behind. As they walked up a small ditch beside the road Daryl thought he saw his chance. There was a Chevy abandoned like every other vehicle in the world now; if he could just make it to the back of the vehicle he could wait for the others to disappear into the darkness and then he too could vanish into the darkness of the night.

No one had looked back at him by the time he reached the Chevy their eyes and minds occupied by what Joe was saying by the hood. His chance had come, Daryl almost couldn't believe his luck. It seemed despite everything he was going to be able to get away from these people. Then he heard the exuberant joy in Joe's voice. They had found someone, maybe the people they were looking for. Three people that was all Joe had told Daryl, but he'd read the tracks they had followed through the woods, two adults, and one adolescent.

Joe's teasing jubilant voice drifted from the front of the car, where Daryl assumed he'd found the people back to where Daryl waited. And the old sickness he'd felt as a child when his father would drink settled deep in the pit of his stomach. There had been nothing he could do to stop his father, but he could do something to stop Joe. Or at least give the person they wanted to kill a chance. Trial by combat, that's what it was called. The ancients did it. The survivor's actions were considered favored by the gods.

He couldn't stay silent. This was why he had stayed. This was his redemption. He could save the people the gang had hunted all season. "Joe! Hold up." He said stepping from the darkness beyond the light of the small fire. And he look straight into the eyes of a man he had thought dead. Joe had a gun to Rick's head!

"You're stopping me at 8 Daryl." Joe responded clearly displeased. Now there was only way Daryl would be free of the man, death.

"Just hold up," he said walking closer. Such a sad realization, death stalked the edges of the light. Daryl could feel its clawing hunger, it would claim several souls before the sun would rise over the carnage.

"This is the guy that killed Lou, so we've got nothing to talk about." One of the others said, Daryl had never bothered to learn names.

"The thing about nowadays is we've got nothing but time." That was Joe, cold, deadly, psychopathic Joe. His eyes glanced around the men with weapons draw on unarmed people. Daryl's people. "Say your peace Daryl." There was hint of something in his voice, was it hope? Did Joe hope this would be the night he could be rid of Daryl permanently?

It would be quite a feat to stop the execution that Joe wanted, but he had to try. If they lived through the night, Daryl at least wouldn't be alone; if these three had survived perhaps just perhaps there was hope of others. "These people, you're gonna let them go." He tried to make it clear this wasn't a discussion, he wasn't going to stand by and watch this happen. "These are good people." He wasn't lying Rick and Michonne were good people. They strived to make a better life for anyone they met. Hell, they may have even tried to save these men, had events been different.

But Joe wasn't. "No, no I think Lou would disagree with you on that. I'll of course have to speak for him and all because your friend here strangled him in a bathroom." Daryl head the inflection in Joe's voice.

There were of course worse things than death, and standing by while vandals murdered your friends was one of them. He had one last thing to try, taking a deep breath he spread his arms out to the side and with a sigh said "You want blood I get it." If this didn't work Daryl couldn't fathom how they see the morning. Know full well what he was doing he slid the crossbow strap from his shoulder, placing it near to Joe's feet he continued "Take it from me man, come on." As he stepped away from the weapon Daryl hoped split blood would appease them.

"Come on." He continued to step back waiting for Joe to make his decision. For a few heart beats Joe looked on Daryl with disbelief, it seemed he couldn't fathom why one man would give up his life for another. But Daryl owed Rick, Michonne and everyone else lost or otherwise everything. He owed them for taking him in, for accepting him. And for Bell. Even if it had only been a few short months of the beginning of a relationship it was still more than he would ever have had without them.

"See now that right there is a lie. This man killed our friend." And there was that word. The word he had been dreading hear from that man's lips. It seems in the face of something he couldn't understand Joe fell back on his old stand by, 'it's a lie.'

Daryl thought perhaps his act of self-sacrifice had stunned Joe enough to let them get away. "It's a lie." Joe articulated. It was the first blood in the water around sharks.

"Come on." Daryl tried one last time, the words were barely out of his mouth when the butt of a rifle landed squarely in his gut. After the first few blows the pain became so overwhelming that his mind retreated to the dark place from his childhood beatings. Every so often between the blows Daryl could hear Joe gloating to Rick about how they were going to completely destroy him before they finally killed him. It was too bad for them that Daryl hadn't lied. Rick was a good man.

What was even worse for them was that not one of them had the sense of demons. Not a single man thought to run from the wrath of a good man. And to threaten a man's family with rape before death was to sign your death certificate.

By the time they realized who they were dealing with it was too late. Joe lay on the ground bleeding from a bite wound in his throat, the rest were taken down quickly in their panic. It was still a while before silence descend on the night. The last of the thugs expired slowly as he was opened for chin to groin. He suffered, not as much as he should have but he left the world in agony.

*The Undine is a mythical being that is formed from two elements and given life. These creatures have no place in our world and must depend on the love of a mortal to remain in our world. When that love is lost the Undine must return to the elements from whence they came. The mortal though is not spared, having come in contact with something mythical. The mortal is marked and at a chosen time the Undine returns to claim the soul of the mortal.