A/N: I know the last chapter was harsh for poor Daryl. I feel like it was a long time coming and it was the scene that started me on this whole path in the first place. Now it's about to get a little worse before it starts to get better for him. Despite that, I think everyone out there will enjoy this chapter. If you do, please drop me a review if you can – I love reading them. If you don't, then let me know that too!

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Chapter 10

Daryl barely put the truck into park before everything he'd been holding in came pouring out of him. He reached for the door and threw it open in a scrambling rush. He managed a few stumbling steps before he bent over and vomited. He never did get rid of that feeling, that dark, sick, horrible brew that had bubbled up in him when he'd felt his hand twitch while Beth had been schooling him.

For the first time in his life, Daryl had glimpsed at the darkness that had engulfed his father. He hated him, absolutely despised the man. Daryl hated to even think of him as a father since he'd never been anything but a drunkard and his torturer. But now he finally saw how easy it could be to fall down that dark slope especially while drowning in your own anger and fueled by alcohol. It was by no means an excuse. There was never a fucking excuse for that shit. Still, Daryl had an iota of understanding behind it and just the thought made him hurl again. Part of that man was in him. He needed to escape it. Daryl needed to escape the cycle, the path he was stuck on that had somehow become his life.

Daryl eased himself back up, whipping his mouth with the back of his hand. He wasn't going to be that man. He wasn't going to continue to be a shitty father like he was. He was going to do better… be better for Hope.

He looked over at the trailer home. There was loud music and laughter and giggling coming from the open windows. Merle was partying again. This was his life – a shitty trailer, no money, and a druggie brother with fast women and degenerate friends. Daryl knew instantly he couldn't do it, not for one second longer.

His first step was shaky. From his nerves or from his sudden decision to change his life, Daryl wasn't sure. But the second step was more certain, and the ones that followed were damn determined.

There was an old shed just behind the trailer where the brothers kept some of their stuff. Daryl opened it and hauled out all he knew he needed. He tossed the pup tent, some fishing gear and a few other supplies into the back of his truck, securing them as needed.

Once done, Daryl knew he had to face the god awful music inside, in more ways than one. He carefully climbed the wobbly porch steps. Upon opening the door, he was hit with the smell of cheap perfume, pot smoke and liquor. Merle was seat on the couch with a busty blonde on one arm and a large red headed woman at the other end. The one with the waves of auburn hair was passed out, a fresh needle hanging from her already marked up arm. Merle gave his brother a lazy grin and stretched out his feet to rest up on a crated stool as if he was proud of the scene before him.

Merle's friends, Joe and Len, were seated in mismatched chairs across from Merle. Both men were menaces; Joe was older and had been running with Merle for years while Len was newer and always gave Daryl an uneasy vibe. Another man and woman Daryl had never seen were in the kitchen, fumbling around for glasses to fill from the array of liquor bottles on the table. Both were pale with stringy, dirty hair that hadn't look like it had been washed for weeks. Food wrappers and beer bottles littered the area. Daryl couldn't believe the disaster that had been created in the hour he'd been gone.

"Hey little brother," greeted Merle. "A little late to the party but come in and grab some ass." Merle gave a squeeze to the buttock of the blonde next to him, and the woman giggled drunkenly.

Daryl shook his head. "No thanks."

Merle rolled his eyes dramatically. "Oh, that's right, saw the brat today."

"Don't call her that," growled Daryl, bristling.

Joe snorted loudly. "What? Daryl, you got a kid?"

Joe had recently been released from a two year stint a few weeks ago. Since then, Merle and his old pal had been almost inseparable. Daryl had remember a feeling of relief when the man had been plucked from his brother's life those few years before; the path Joe was one was so much darker and much more dangerous than anything Merle had ever dabbled in. Merle had been gravitating more and more towards the older man for reasons Daryl didn't understand.

Merle grumbled loudly. "Yeah, dumbass here doesn't know what a rubber is. He got some chick knocked up awhile back. He goes and sees it and hooks up with the baby mama now and again."

Over the years, Daryl had never corrected Merle when he said he was going to see Hope. For some reason his brother assumed since he was seeing Hope, there must be something going on with Beth too. In Merle's mind, there had to be a reason like sex for Daryl to actually want to go visit his own kid. If Merle thought he was getting some ass, then his brother was off his case about women and left him alone. Daryl had never been drawn to the casual sexual encounters like his brother. There had been less than a handful in his life, and always fueled by an insistent Merle and drunken courage… okay, all but one, the one encounter with Beth Greene. Either way, if Merle thought Daryl's dick got wet once a year and Merle let him alone, so be it that it got Beth Green's name a little dirty. Wasn't it already dirty from having a Dixon's kid anyway?

"Shut up, Merle," snapped Daryl, entering the domicile finally.

Daryl knew he should just walk away. He could wait until they all passed out. Then he could have just finished packing up and left but something in him wouldn't let him. He couldn't just let it be. Daryl grabbed the crate from under Merle's feet, shoving them to the side.

"What the hell, Darylina?" Merle shouted as he sat up and furrowed his brow. "Bitch wouldn't put out or somethin'?"

"Hope ain't a brat and Beth ain't some piece of ass I go see. It ain't like that," Daryl growled, stepping over the out stretched feet of Joe and Len with the crate under his arm.

Len snickered, pulling his joint from his smirking mouth. "Yeah, only a bitch could get him all twisted up like that."

Daryl kicked the leg out from under the flimsy chair and sent Len flying backwards, his joint flinging across the room. "I said she ain't a bitch. You don't get to call her that," barked Daryl.

"Chill, man, chill," suggested Joe, obviously confused by Daryl's reaction.

Len jumped to his feet, his thin mouth drawn into an angry sneer. "Lost my damn joint. You owe me for that shit," ordered Len, his dark eyes narrowing at Daryl.

Daryl returned the look with a snide one of his own. "Don't owe you shit."

Len was fast, but not as quick as Daryl. The slightly smaller man lunged forward, shoving at Daryl. While one of his arms was taken with the crate, Daryl was able to raise the other to take the brunt of the push without losing his balance.

The outlet for his frustration and anger suddenly was presented before him, and Daryl was going to unleash it. As Len came at Daryl with for another intimidating shove, Daryl dropped the crate at his side. He brought his arm up hard, fist cocked, and connected with Len's nose. A Dixon was sometimes the cause of fights, but a Dixon always finished a fight.

Len rocked backwards and yelped, blood already apparent. The blonde on the couch shrieked and scrambled to the other end. Both Joe and Merle rose quickly to their feet. The two drunks from the kitchen stumbled forward, cheering them on. This was about to get serious.

"Now, gentlemen, there isn't a need for this," ordered Joe, raising his hands in a calming manner.

"Fuck that shit," growled Len, smearing blood from his nose across his face as he attempt to wipe it away. From his pocket, Len retrieved a blade, flicking it out towards Daryl. "If the hilly billy wants to play, I'll play."

Before either angry man had a chance to react, Merle slammed into the side of Len. The knife went flying from Len's grasp, skittering across the curling linoleum in the kitchen. Both Len and Merle landed hard on the dingy floor with Merle on top of the lesser man. One, then two hardened fists slammed into the head of Len, the man going limp under the large Merle. Merle snarled, sat back and picked up the limp Len by the collar of his shirt before dropping him back to the floor. A Dixon always finished a fight.

The blonde shriek again as Merle stood up, seeing the blood on Len's face. "Shut up, Karla," shouted Merle, throwing a glaring look back at the woman and quieting her instantly.

Joe bent down to ensure Len was still breathing. Once verified, he eased his body back into his chair and grabbed another beer as he grumbled, "Well, that's put a damper on the festivities."

"Twitchy fucker pulled a knife on my brother," replied Merle darkly. He shook one of his fists to the side, flicking blood from it as he turned his angry eyes on Daryl. "Why the fuck ya gotta go start that shit? Huh?"

Daryl didn't immediately answer his brother. He turned his gaze over the mess that was strung out before him. Drug addicts he didn't know passed out or using in his home, garage and beer bottles littering the floor, and knocked out man at his feet who had just threatened him with a knife. Never in his life had Daryl been so ready to be done with it all.

Slowly, Daryl bent down and picked up his crate. "I'm done," he said simply as he rose back up to look his brother in the face.

"What the hell's that supposed t' mean?"

"I'm outta here," replied Daryl evenly and escaped to the back of the trailer.

Daryl went the hallway to his room, the hovel that it was, and started to shove some of his junk into the crate. He grabbed his duffle bag from the closet and filled it with whatever clothes he thought were worthy of taking with him. Admittedly, there wasn't much. He grabbed his phone charger, shoving it into the pocket of his coat. It had taken him less than five minutes to pack up his room and just a bit more than that to fill his truck with his gear. Not much of a life for a man and father his age, he thought depressingly. He knew that was changing today, right then and there.

With his duffle bag on his shoulder and crate in his arms, Daryl stomped through the living room. He ignored the curious look of his brother as he stepped past the blonde who was now on the floor trying to clean up Len, lamenting he was her ride back to her place. He shoved his gear into the passage side of the truck before returning to the trailer for one last thing.

Merle seemed to be waiting for him when Daryl pushed through the door again. "What the hell's goin' on, Daryl?"

Daryl brushed past him to the closet. "Said I'm done."

His answer seemed to perplex his brother, Merle's face scrunched up hard as he frowned and crossed his arms over his thick chest. "I won't be lettin' that asshole Len back in here."

"Whatever. Don't change nothin'," answered Daryl, pulling his crossbow from its resting place. There was no way in hell he would ever be leaving that behind. He snagged the bag with his extra bolts as well.

"Why the hell ya talkin' all damn crazy like that? You've been off fer months now. C'mon, have a beer, sit the fuck down," Merle said, gesturing back to the couch with the sleeping red head.

Daryl slid his bow into position on his back. "No, Merle, I'm done."

Merle jerked his head back and sneered. "Done with what? What the fuck does that mean? Done with bein' a dumbass redneck? Done with jerkin' yer self off in the back room like some damn crazy coot?" he harassed.

Joe gave a chuckle from his seat before taking another pull from his beer.

Daryl gave a confident look to his brother. "Yeah. I guess I am. Rent's paid up. Fixed that compressor for the landlady so she gave us 'til the end of the month so ya can stay but I'm leavin'."

Merle snorted smugly. "Where ya think yer goin'? Disneyworld?"

Daryl shrugged. "Don't know. Don't matter as long as it ain't here."

He moved to go around Merle and out the door, but his brother caught his arm tightly. "Ya ain't takin' my bike."

It hadn't been in his plan but the statement made Daryl stiffen and frown back at his brother. "It's more mine than yours and you know it." There was no way he could take it with all the junk in the back of his pickup but that didn't seem to matter at the moment.

"Fuckin' take my bike and I'll beat yer fool ass senseless, ya got that?"

Daryl jerked his arm from his brother's grasp. "I paid for all the damn repairs. I'm the one that does all the damn work on it."

He knew it was a losing battle, but it wasn't stopping him from trying. As much as the crossbow at his back and the woods just beyond those doors were a part of Daryl's inner identity, that bike also held its place. Although it technically wasn't his, his own had been sold a few years back to get Merle out of a jam. It had always been his brother's promise to make it right. Now it looked like it was just another broken promise in the long history of the Dixons.

Merle pointed a finger up at Daryl with his head cocked. "Don't fuckin' touch my bike, lil' brother. Blood is blood until ya fuck with my bike," he warned.

Maybe it was the ire he'd gotten out with that one good punch or maybe it was because he didn't want to tangle with his brother, either way Daryl knew his words were true. He was just done. It wasn't something he needed to be done, he just needed to be done and walk out that door.

"Whatever," responded Daryl and disappeared out the door.

He heard his brother make a few more snide remarks about being yellowed bellied or having tits or something like that. None of it mattered as he climbed into the cab of his pick-up truck. He was done, truly done. Daryl started the engine and pulled away from the trailer home, not bothering to look in the rearview mirror as he left.

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A/N: All the wonderful reviews is why I'm posting this one earlier than planned - I'm addicted to reviews so please - feed me!