This may not be my best work, it took me ages to get this to a place I was halfway happy with. Oh well. I hope you at least enjoy it a little!

Matthew

The night air was cool on his cheek, and he gulped it down gratefully. He had a searing stitch in his side, but he couldn't stop running. The handgun banged against his thigh, and the backpack was thumping rhythmically against his back as he crossed the wastelands. No walkers were in sight, but he couldn't stop scanning the area. Finally, he stopped, clutching a road sign for support. Fumbling slightly, he groped around in his pack for the bottle of water Morgan had shoved in, and forced himself to take short sips. No telling how long it would have to last, and if he had learnt anything from Daryl, it was that if walkers didn't kill you, dehydration would. He leant over his knees and tried to collect his thoughts together.

He'd found Dale before Andrea. He'd heard the commotion from downstairs, Dales shouts a scuffle and then the thud. For some reason, he'd been unable to move for a full five minutes. He'd known he needed to go downstairs, that the more time he wasted; the more life would ebb out of Dale. He'd finally ordered himself down the stairs, hesitantly, shakily, trying to steel himself, to convince himself that it would be no different to seeing a walker lying there, knowing from experience it wouldn't be.

He'd seen him almost immediately. His eyes were closed, and the blood was pooling around him. Matthew didn't see how he could lose so much blood and live. Despite himself, he walked to him, and knelt beside him, to check for a pulse. It was weak and fading fast.

The next few moments seemed to have erased themselves from his memory. One minute he'd been kneeling in Dales blood, the next, he'd been banging on someones door. He remembered that at first he hadn't known whose door, and then it had opened and Morgan had been stood there. He remembered being grabbed and pulled into the house, which had stunk of stale alcohol and vomit. Then Daryl had staggered into the frame.

Why had he gone to Daryl? Daryl had abandoned him, pushed him off onto Dale, washed his hands of him and Harry. Matthew couldn't find a decent reason in his head. In the absence of any concrete memories, Matthew theorised that he had gone to Morgan, but seen him go to Daryls. That was the only theory that he could come up with.

Morgan had sprung into action. He'd started to clean him up and calm him down. Matthews blood-stained clothes had been thrown into Daryls back yard, onto a smouldering pile of wood that Daryl had been smoking squirrels on. He'd somewhat bravely ventured into Daryls room and found a shirt and jeans that would fit him and somehow, managed to sooth him and coax the information out of him. When Matthew had stammered out his story, Morgan had stood up and turned to Daryl.

"Don't let anyone in. If anyone comes knocking, hide him in your room. Nobody's going to want to go in there. Daryl." He'd grabbed a stunned looking Daryl by the shoulder. "Don't. Fuck. This. Up." Then he'd left. Matthew hadn't been able to look at Daryl. It was hard enough to be in the same room with him. He hated him. Matthew was surprised just how much he hated him. How could his feelings have changed so much in such a short time. It could have only been five to six weeks since he had really thought he was getting something like a life back, for him and Harry. Daryl and Georgie had been together and they had been acting like a real family. Well, not the sort of family he had been use to-he couldn't think of any of his friends who had been taught to shoot, snare and trap animals and then skin them-but it was something.

Then Georgie had died and Daryl had been lost to them. He had been so sure he'd come round, that he just needed time. But then he had handed them over to Dale and Andrea. He hadn't even told them himself; just let Dale and Andrea guide them into their house. How could anyone do that to their family? Matthew had simply come to the conclusion that he was never part of Daryls family.

Morgan had been back within minutes, with T-Dog and a backpack.

"You got to get out of the village. You got to hide. Doug hasn't started shooting his mouth off yet, but you can bet that when he does, you'll be suspect number one." T-Dog had taken charge and started to sweep Daryls kitchen for anything that would be useful.

"What?" Daryl had snapped out of his stupor and stared at T-Dog. "Why can't he jus stay hidden here? Ya can't send him out there."

"Why do you care?" The words had been out of Matthews mouth before he could stop them. "You handed us over to Dale and Andrea, you were done with us. So why do you care now?" He stood up, shaking all over, from the adrenaline? Fury? Or something else. "At least you managed to teach me how to hunt. At least you managed to teach me one useful thing." At some point, he'd started shouting. "So don't bother yourself with pretending to care, I'll be fine!" He'd half stumbled half ran out of the room into the downstairs bathroom, nausea overwhelming him before he managed to get to the toilet bowl. As he retched, he felt a calm hand rubbing his shoulder. Soon, it was nothing but stomach acid and he'd sat up to see Morgan looking at him.

"Listen son." Morgans quiet, even toned voice had calmed him enough for him to stop shaking. "I know grief. And whatever you think, Daryl didn't abandon you because he didn't care. He can barely take care of himself right now. You've seen the house. He's been a mess." Morgan had lifted up Matthew by his elbow and led him into the living room, where Daryl had joined T-Dog in his frantic search of the room. On seeing Matthew, he'd staggered over to him, and held out a knife.

No. Not a knife. THE knife. Matthew stood up straight, and pulled it out from his coat, studying it reverently. It was simple enough, a wooden handle, with 'DIXON' carved into it, a serrated edge and a leather band wrapped around the joint. To anyone else, it was just an ordinary knife. But Matthew remembered the first time he'd seen it in action. He and Daryl had been in the woods. Georgie had suggested that Matthew should go out for a couple of days without the younger children, to get a feel of what survival was really like. It had been a big deal

On the second day, Daryl and Matthew had seen signs that there was a herd of deer nearby. After half a day of tracking, they had found a buck grazing in the fields. Matthew had managed to get an arrow into the animals hind legs, and they had tracked it until well into the evening. With the light fading, Daryl had taken out the knife and flung it into the creature, effectively killing it.

Later, Daryl had shown Matthew the knife, explaining that his grandfather, or as Daryl called him, his granddaddy, had made it, and given it to his father. Then Daryl had gotten it off his father (he vaguely mentioned that Merle had been pissed about this.)

"When you turn 16, whenever you think that is, you can have it." Matthew had been stunned and simply stared. "Wut? I ain't got kids. You're closet thing I got to family. Hell, you an Harry, you are family. More family then Merle, wherever he is. I wan you ta have it."

And now he did. He'd wanted to refuse it at first, show Daryl that he didn't need or want anything from him. Instead, he'd taken it. He'd thought Daryl was going to hug him. Instead, he'd gripped him hard on his shoulders.

"Jus…don't git cornered. Find water. An make a couple of marks fur me. I'll come fin ya when this shit's sorted. I'll sort it." Matthew closed his eyes. He didn't doubt that Daryl had probably meant it, but he didn't want to put too much faith in him. He couldn't face being let down. He had to rely on Morgan and T-Dog. They had smuggled him out of the village, pulling one of the panels on the, frankly useless, fence and pointed him in the right direction. And then he had run. He knew he could survive, he knew he could find everything he needed; Daryl and Georgie had taught him well enough for that. He was smart enough that he could keep low and hide from the walkers. He could kill walkers with the knife or the gun. All he needed to worry about was what would happen to Harry and Sophie. He shook his head. He couldn't worry about that, not until he got to the town and found shelter. He started to move again, setting off at the steady jog he had been going at previously.

Harry would be ok, he reasoned. He was hardy, and had friends he could rely on. Surely T-Dog or Morgan would explain to him the situation, he would understand why Matthew had left. Even Harry knew that Doug hated him. As for Sophie, as long as she stayed silent, she would be ok. Morgan hadn't said anything. Carl and Harry would never say anything that would put Sophie in danger. So as long as she kept her cool, didn't panic, no one would have any reason to suspect that she was already technically a murderer. No-one needed to know she could take a human life.

No-one needed to know that it was her that had placed a bullet between Merle Dixons eyes.