Thanks for the patience guys! And the reviews, they make me happy indeed.

CHAPTER 10

In Which: Glenn and Daryl manage to surprise each other (to nobody's great surprise).

The next day dawned like a bowl of gruel being slopped over the landscape, the sky a dingy off-white that seemed to coat everything in a fine layer of dust. Glenn couldn't help being irrationally pissed.

Here he'd gone through all that work last night, packing and (most importantly) psyching himself up to depart on this Most Epic of Quests and the universe couldn't even help him out with a little cornflower blue and Vitamin D action. No, it blocked these psychological boons with a layer of bird-shit clouds. The great bird in the sky was quite literally - in a strictly metaphorical sense - shitting all over his parade.

Well, screw that. He'd just have to drive until he found the sun again.

And he would leave now, before breakfast, as he had decided last night. There was no point in telling the others, they would just try to talk him out of it, call him an idiot and generally waste his time. Besides, Daryl knew and could tell the others where he had gone. He ignored the sudden cramp in his chest at the thought, chalking it up to travel nerves, and started packing his car.

From the other end of camp, Daryl found his feet carrying him unwillingly over to where Glenn was packing his things into a Subaru Forester that had seen better decades. His brain felt clogged and he wound up standing off to the side, chin tilted down, hands in pockets, silently watching. Glenn glanced in his direction every so often but didn't attempt to break the silence.

"Guess you're leavin' now," Daryl eventually mumbled without meaning to and frowned.

Glenn bit his lip. "Yeah," he said, turning to face him. "There is one thing I want to do though. Before I go. I've been meaning to bring it up at some point, but it never seemed like the right time. Didn't know how you'll react."

The redneck didn't say anything, but his eyes darted like a confused bee as he slowly brought his face back inline with Glenn's, a question in them as they locked on. Glenn climbed half into the trunk of the Forester, emerging with a small blue cooler and a pair of metallic salad tongs.

His expression was very grave as he offered them to the older man.

"The hell's this?" Daryl asked suspiciously.

"Just open it. Careful, it's full of dry ice."

Daryl's face said wtf but he set the cooler down on the ground, lowered to one knee, gingerly opened it and peered inside. His face paled instantly, almost as ashen as the sawed-off hand that stared up at him. His eyes started leaking and he snapped back up to glare outraged at Glenn, setting his jaw at a ridiculous angle to compensate for the quiver.

"What the hell! Y'savin' it for lunch?"

"What are you-what? No, man! No, no, I thought...well, since we haven't found your brother yet and it's been such a long time I thought...well, I thought...we could bury it."

Daryl just stared at him with wild, angry eyes.

"Say a few words, you know?"

Daryl's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Give you some, I dunno, some closure."

Daryl's gaze dropped back into the cooler. "You kept it this whole time?" he rasped.

"You put it in my backpack, I thought you'd want me to."

Daryl's jaw fell and rose and fell and rose as his mind searched for words and failed miserably. Finally he settled on a nod and turned to enter the woods, Glenn close on his heels.

They'd only walked for five minutes when Daryl stopped. "Good a spot as any."

Glenn pulled an e-tool out of its slot on the side of his backpack and offered it to Daryl. One severed hand doesn't exactly take a lot of effort to bury and two minutes later Daryl was tamping the dirt down above it. Glenn accepted the e-tool back and stood there awkwardly. He chanced a glance at Daryl and the poor guy looked pretty out of it, like he couldn't decide if he should burst into tears or die on the spot. One stop short of aneurysm city.

Glenn cleared his throat and regarded the ground solemnly. "Well, Merle, you're probably dead," he began.

Daryl made a little choked sound and Glenn could have bashed his own head in with the e-tool. Smooth, man.

He hurriedly continued. "I didn't know you, but Daryl did." Another dazzling jewel of insight. "And family is the most important thing. And uh. Even if you were a complete and total asshole," another choked sound, possibly a huff of laughter, "I know you loved and looked out for your brother, which is the most important thing so... Um, I hope you're resting in peace. Wherever you are. Uh. Amen."

Glenn was positive he had just delivered the worst eulogy in the history of the universe. He was so mortified he couldn't look Daryl in the eye when the man turned to him and instead studied his boots with furious energy.

"Hey," Daryl said hoarsely, giving his eyes a brisk swipe. "Thanks." Then he inhaled deeply and looked around, clearing his throat and wiping his face of emotion, pulling himself out of whatever headspace the 'ceremony' had put him in. "We should get back."

"Okay."

They walked back in silence, with Daryl once again standing off to the side as Glenn tossed his backpack in the passenger seat of the Forester. Glenn turned and was surprised to find the other man making direct eye contact, holding his gaze firmly. Wheels were turning behind Daryl's eyes, taking his thoughts to some unknown destination.

Glenn squared his shoulders, preparing to give a manly, confident nod in farewell.

"Come with me!" Or not.

Daryl's eyes widened. "Glenn..."

Glenn just looked at him beseechingly, knowing he probably looked pathetic but, damn. He really, really didn't want to do this alone.

"You wanna leave, that's on you," Daryl said almost bitterly.

Glenn bit his lip and glanced to the side. Then back to Daryl, then to the side, then to Daryl. The other man stared like a sullen lump.

"I just don't see the point in staying here. We're not accomplishing anything, we don't know these other people. Let's just go!"

Daryl's eyes hardened. "'These other people'? Man, I don't know you! Ain't got no reason to go with you," his eyes flashed and he spoke with a vehemence that threw Glenn off kilter. "Goin' or stayin'd be the same to me, 'cept here I'm likely to live longer. You wanna be walker bait, that's on you. Dumbass."

In other words: no, no, no and hell no.

"Wow, Daryl, tell me what you really think. Don't sugar coat it on my account." Glenn turned quickly away to hide the hurt in his face. "See you around," he lied automatically.

The door of the Forester creaked as he opened it and it took three turns of the key for the engine to turn over, but that was okay. He could switch vehicles along the way if necessary. With one last wistful look at the ratty, dirt encrusted man outside the window, he left.

Even with the whole, you know, zombie apocalypse thing, he'd never given much thought to Murphy's Law. If he had, he probably would have had more misgivings about attempting such a journey alone, probably would have planned for more potential emergencies.

But he hadn't and he didn't and was therefore honestly surprised when the Forester crapped out on him before he'd gone even thirty miles.

There was a very bad sounding clank, followed by scraping, followed by lurching and smoking and the whole nine yards. It finally rolled to an impotent stop, made one final death rattle, and gave up it's soul to the junker afterlife. He sat frozen for two minutes, thumped his head on the dashboard for another minute and a half, and then checked the two other cars on the road. Both too smashed to run, even if he could siphon gas.

Fan-friggin-tastic.

Scooping up what food he could smash into his already stuffed backpack, he hoisted it, set his jaw and started to run. All he could do at this point would be to check every car he came across until he found one he could use, hole up in a wreck if he was still on foot when night fell. He was an open target on the road like this, on the highway like this, and why the flying mother of all fuckers did he leave by himself. This was bad. This was so very bad.

He ran. And he ran. Then he jogged. Then he half power-walked, half limped. Killed a couple of walkers, hurt his wrist. Limped some more. Pathetically, it was only afternoon. By now he was hungry and thirsty and tired but he didn't want to dip into his supplies yet, and he couldn't stop. He had to keep going, just a little farther. He hummed a sea shanty to himself and cradled his wrist.

After a few minutes he noticed his humming was accompanied by the sound of machinery. He turned around to see an old, blue pickup lumbering towards him. Squinting his eyes, he waited for the dark blob in the cab to morph into a recognizable object. It had to be his eyes playing tricks on him, because he could swear he could see:

Daryl scowled. He was furious.

No more'n thirty miles out was a distinctly recognizable steaming pile of Subaru. The shit-for-brains punk was nowhere in sight, but his backpack was gone so Daryl figured he'd find him up the road someplace. And wha'd'ya frickin' know, there he was, skippin' like a fairy down the side of the road.

He rolled down the window as he pulled up beside him. "Well, if it ain't the dumbest shit in all o' Georgia. Lookit you, wavin' that yellow ass like a red flag at a rodeo."

The kid didn't answer, just stared and worked his mouth open and closed like a retarded fish.

Daryl shifted uncomfortably. "Th'fuck you starin' at? Ain't got all day."

The kid slammed him with a brilliant, blinding smile, corners of his mouth stretching near to his ears. The glare of it caused everything else to dim.

Daryl didn't like it and turned away indifferently as the passenger door was wrenched open and 150 pounds of lanky, manic Asian boy spilled into his truck. He made the mistake of stealing a glance and that smile clocked him again, a sharp right hook/kidney punch at close range, leaving him smarting and winded. Or at least it might've, if he was some kinda pussy who couldn't hold his own.

"Thanks, Daryl," the kid panted, kicking his pack violently with his heel, trying to stuff it under the seat. "Seriously."

Daryl put the truck into gear. "Whatever."

He didn't give a shit about the weird look bein' thrown his way. He was staring resolutely at the road as he drove and it weren't his fault if his periph picked it up, the (misplaced, unearned) gratitude, admiration and somethin' else he didn't know, didn't reckonize.

Which suited him just fine, not knowing. It creeped him out, set his teeth on edge that the Asian could be so open, so shamelessly expressive. Like he didn't know that he shouldn't, like he didn't know how easily people could use it to their advantage. He knew Glenn was tougher than he looked, knew he could be shrewd and skeptical, but for some reason he never acted that way with Daryl. No, around him the guy was different.

Glenn was curious and starry-eyed and trusting and unashamed. Glenn was innocent. Glenn was weak.

Merle woulda sneered and broken him.

Daryl felt like a whore in church.

Anyways, it made no difference that nobody had ever looked at him that way before. He didn't like it, didn't want it, sure as hell didn't need it. All he needed was to make sure that pouty mouth kept on wanting to smile at him, instead of wanting to eat him. With no one to watch his back, it was just a matter of time before Glenn got bit and that would be... Daryl's abs clenched.

Unfortunate.

But enough o' this shit. He was here, Glenn was here, they were driving and that was that. He cleared his mind and focused on the road.

Glenn gazed out the dirty window. A lone walker had heard their approach and was shambling frantically towards the road. As they passed, it flopped over the guard rail and faceplanted into the shoulder, legs scissoring uselessly in the air above its head.

Glenn snickered, then sighed. "You know, in a weird way I'm kinda going to miss Piñata Joe."

"Shouldn't be namin' walkers, man. F'real. That's messed up," Daryl replied severely, jerking the wheel with more force than necessary to avoid some human roadkill.

Glenn's head smarted from where it smacked against the window and he glowered, slouching lower into his seat. "Dude I name everything. My ferret, my desktop, my tablet, my favorite pen, my car, my machete—"

"Wellat's different. Everbody names'er cars."

"Oh yeah? What's this called then?"

"Nellie."

As if responding to its name, the truck shuddered with a grinding wheeze, gave a rattling cough and then continued along as if nothing had happened.

Daryl gave Glenn a sidelong glance, narrowly avoiding a broken down Beemer. "Nervous Nellie."

"Give the man a Pulitzer."

He perked up. "That some kinda yank hooch?"

"Yes, 500 proof and very expensive. Eyes on the road please."

"Nobody likes a smartass."

"But I like you," Glenn replied, grinning cheekily. "I can't believe you're here! I feel like singing the Indiana Jones theme song right now."

"Don't even think about-"

"Dun dada daaaaahhh, dun da dahhh. Dun dada DAAAAHHH-"

"Don't make me pull this truck over! I will leave your ass on the side o' the road!"

Glenn stopped, cheeks puffed, but his eyes didn't stop shining. Daryl couldn't resist or deny the twitch that lifted the corner of his mouth.

I have an idea that you are here

I had the idea that you were near
I have an idea that you are here
I had the idea that you were...near

Could it be you're here (x4)

"Idealistic" by Digitalism