A/N: Another Daryl chapter. This one took a slight turn because I happened to see previews for TWD 3x15, and it's got a Daryl/Glenn scene. This chapter was SUPPOSED to be a Daryl/Glenn scene…but, well, in-canon and all that. My thoughts behind it were to explore Daryl's relationship with another member of the group, other than Carol and his brother. Does his heart have room only for the two of them, or this menagerie of folks with whom he now spends his days and nights?

I also strongly considered ending this story with the last chapter (at the suggestion of a very talented writer *AHEM, ImOrca*), but apparently, I have a little more to say. ;-)

All of them are armed all the time now. There is no other way; like Rick has so bluntly declared last night, they are going to war. And making Daryl as uneasy as the pending showdown with the Governor is the knowledge that their group is fractious, strained nearly to the breaking point.

Prior to Merle's return, he had only seriously considered leaving the group once: when they couldn't decide what to do with Randall. He had told Dale that the group was broken, and at the time, it had been true: Rick and Shane fighting over leadership and the love of a woman; Lori, terrified, pregnant and conflicted, adding to the destruction of the friendship between her husband and lover; Andrea straining against everything, determined to prove her worth alongside the men…

…and Sophia. Staggering out of that barn, a little slip of a girl he hardly knew. Holding Carol's crumpled form back from her daughter's destroyed being, in the dusty yard. Lashing out at her, seeing the pain in her eyes: "Sophia wasn't mine." Pain deeper than anything the waste of space that had been her husband had ever inflicted on her.

He had been so thoroughly disgusted with all of them (himself included) he had almost just left, gone. A year ago his instinct was to flee from them, to avoid the fallout when it all crumbled to the ground. He is a different man now. These people have changed him. Caring about them has changed him. The lines of tension crisscrossing the group mostly lead back to Merle. And, accordingly, to him. In his gut, he knew it was up to him to relieve some of them. Or at least, make an attempt.

He walks through the yard, spots Glenn assembling Molotov cocktails with Maggie. He nods at him, this man whom he considers a friend. Someone whom Daryl respects, likes, had grown to trust, before Merle's violence and latent racism had driven a wedge between them. Glenn acknowledges him with a return nod, but his mouth is set in grim, thin line. He wants to smooth thing over, apologize for Merle. The set of his jaw prevents Daryl from approaching. Somehow, he knows it might be easier without Maggie around. He'll wait for his chance.

He keeps walking across the yard, towards the old VW bus one of the Governor's people had driven through the gates days before, filled with walkers like a malignant, juicy piñata. The driver had left the keys in the ignition in his or her haste to escape. After a quick examination, Hershel had told the group he could make the vehicle roadworthy. Daryl can see the old man's legs (well, leg) sticking out from underneath the bus, his movements kicking up puffs of dust.

Hershel's hand searches for a wrench lying in the dirt beside him, and Daryl lopes over, scoops it up, and passes it to him.

"Here ya go," placing it in his hand.

"Thanks, Daryl," Hershel's voice, muffled. "One more thing down here, then we'll see if she's runnin' okay again." He hums to himself, caught up in the work. Daryl's mind wanders again to Dale, who also found great satisfaction in trying to fix broken things. Cars and groups of people…He doesn't usually let himself think about Dale. Dale, whom – despite any rationale he or anyone else can provide – Daryl murdered. Yes, yes, it was to prevent the inevitable; a mercy, really. But still…the only person whose blood he definitively has on his hands.

Hershel scoots from under the van, squints up at Daryl and the bright midday sun. Daryl extends his arm, hoisting him to his feet. He steadies himself, grabs the crutch leaning against the vehicle's door. Wipes grease and sweat from his forehead, nods gratefully at the water Daryl offers him. Tough old bastard, Daryl thinks with admiration. He's not sure if he could've handled having his leg sawed off with nothing to blunt the pain and trauma. He's not sure he'd be okay living with only one leg.

"Hop in there, see if I got it runnin'," Hershel prods him, slamming down the open car hood. Daryl climbs into the driver's seat, wait until Hershel backs away from the front of the van. Turns the key in the ignition. The van grinds angrily to life, but the engine settles into a quieter buzz in a few seconds. Daryl turns it off, gets out of the car.

Carol, who's on the watchtower with Rick, has turned at the sound of the engine burring to life. She shades her eyes with a hand. "Nice job, Hershel!" She spots Daryl, waves to both of them, then turns back to watch duty.

Merle strolls into the yard with several automatics, placing them on a bench to clean them. Daryl immediately feels those lines of tension pull tighter, watching Glenn stop stuffing gasoline-soaked rags into bottles and follow his brother's movement with a face made of stone. Maggie grabs his arm, whispers something to him, and Glenn reluctantly turns back to his work, his mouth grimmer than ever.

Hershel's voice startles Daryl. "Merle's gonna have to make amends eventually," he clears his throat, continues. "Apologize. It won't do to have us fightin' with each other."

"Guess so," Daryl grunts, noncommittal, though he agrees. He just doesn't see it actually happening.

"You're prob'ly sick'a hearin' this, Daryl," Hershel starts, scrubbing a hand across his beard, "But we're all a family now. Blood or not. Yeah, I love my girls somethin' fierce, but all a' you folks mean everything to me, each and every one of you." Thankfully, Hershel's not looking at him. Somehow, he knows the older man knows better than to say this kind of thing to him while maintaining eye contact.

"Glenn and Merle'll sort it out," Daryl mutters.

"Yeah, maybe so. But if you care about both of them – and I know you do – you might have to help it along, like," the older man pauses, thinks on something. "Maggie hasn't really talked to me too much about what happened in Woodbury." He stops, his face hardens a little. "But I think, more than what your brother did to Glenn, more'n that, it's what he let that bastard do to my little girl."

Daryl doesn't know what to say. He's ashamed, ashamed of what his brother has done, and wishes he could erase it all with a sweep of his hands, with the right words, with anything. But he can't.

"I've forgiven your brother, because the good Lord says it's the right thing to do," Hershel shakes his head, "And because despite everything, I have faith in something better'n us, showin' us how to do things the right way." He coughs a little, and Daryl passes him the canteen again. "But I've got forty years'a patience on Glenn. And I'm Maggie's father, not her lover. Lovin' someone, lovin' 'em the right way, you put them before ye'self."

Carol's laughter peals out from above them. Both men look up at the sound, instinctively grinning. She's swatting Rick playfully, who's chuckling as well. Daryl's gaze lingers a little on her, happy to see her happy. She catches him looking, waves again.

"Guess you understand that a little, too," Hershel's voice next to him.

Daryl considers, then answers. "Guess I do."

"It's good, you know. It's good. People need other people. It's survival, but it's more than that. It's what makes us strong. It's what makes us stay." Hershel claps his hand on Daryl's shoulder. He doesn't shrug it off. He likes it. He likes belonging.

It's love. It's what makes you strong. It's what makes you stay.