AN…My sincerest apologies for how long this one took to get out. Most of it has been written since last week, but my other hobby/job very much got in the way this week and I've had to do some crazy knitting to catch up on some tests I am doing. Please don't hold back on letting me know what you think. You guys are the best reviewers of the fandom, I kid you not!

Part Nine

They're gone.

He's been running for fucking miles, ducking through trees every time he sees another biter rearing up ahead, and in doing so, he's lost them. The first word about his brother and he's let them slip through his fingers like grains of useless fucking sand.

His chest heaving for breath, Merle collapses to his knees and squeezes his eyes shut. He can clearly see the skinny bastards as they mention Daryl, speak to him like he's a friend and want him to know that his brother came looking for him. If only he'd stayed on that roof… No, if he'd have stayed he'd be dead, plain and simple. There'd been no telling how strong that chain on the door was, how long it would have held the hungry pricks back. He'd been stranded, no back up, and he'd had to make a choice. As his wrist suddenly burns from the memory of being hacked into with that shitty saw and separated from his hand, Merle chokes down a sob. Fuck, none of it is right, what this world is turning them all into. The decisions they are forced to make just to survive.

For the first time in an hour he lets himself think back to the Latino's camp, back to the look on Jody's face as Merle sacrificed him so he could get away. How cold he'd felt inside as he made that choice and then ran after the only other people he'd met in this fucked up new world who had laid eyes on his brother, and now it's all gone and the only thing that seems at all safe now is his own useless ass.

There's nothing he can do but head back to Woodbury. There's no point trying to go back and track the group—if he does that he's just going to end up head on with the herd again, and that's the last thing he needs right now. He doesn't need to see that boy torn to shreds, or worse, shuffling along with the others, his eyes dead and his mutilated body decomposing as he rushes at Merle, forcing him to kill the boy twice.

The woods around him now are mostly quiet except for his own harsh, indrawn breaths as he struggles to forcefully banish the roaring in his head, the fire in his muscles from running a fucking marathon when he's damn near past fifty years old. He's getting too old for this shit, and even though he is fit and smart and ready to take the world on head first, he wouldn't say no to a bottle of water and a nice, warm bed to have a bit of a break. Pity the kid had been carrying their pack, freeing Merle up to do the actual hunting. Pity the kid had come at all, he thinks now, even though Merle knows he'd likely be dead with how distracted he'd been by the talk of Daryl without the kid there watching his back.

Merle shakes his head hard and gives in to the build up of emotion in his chest, a low, guttural growling noise that sounds half way to a scream of remorse before he clamps it down and gasps desperately again for breath—for calm. It's there in the background, fighting to re-enter him after his breakdown. He's so angry that he's blistering with it. This shit isn't right. He knows that. It's not how he is, this blubbering, emotional mess that can't keep himself in check. He launches himself to his feet so suddenly that he almost trips over again, but before he falls into the dirt he takes off stumbling into a run, slamming his shoulder into a tree, coaxing his body and mind back to the here and now with a little dose of pain. It's enough, and as he stands back with his body throbbing from the impact, he can feel the calm start to filter back in like an apparition. He takes his one good hand and rubs it across his face until he's wiped away all the tears he hadn't known he'd shed. Merle slumps back against the tree trunk, just listening to his own breaths as they steady, and then finally, he's ready. For what he has no clue, but in this place, in this time, there always seems to be something he has to be ready for. He's certain it won't take long to find him.

He's not sure what it is that brings his head up to scan his surroundings. He can't hear any tell-tale groans, or the shuffling of walker feet as they stumble through the woods like the brainless fuckers they are. He can't smell their rotting stench that's impossible to miss, even from twenty paces away. But there's something, or maybe it's the something inside of nothing that he's not used to in these woods, that makes him nervous. Merle investigates quietly, his steps sure and confident as he makes his way soundlessly in search of whatever it is that is making him feel uncomfortable.

When he sees them, he's forced to blink and double check the vision. Shock doesn't even begin to cover how he feels. They are a sight to behold for sure: a black, Nubian Queen with walkers chained to a tree, their jaws and arms missing as they watch what is going on. The other two he remembers from the Atlanta group. The black one takes out a biter with her sword and Merle feels his pants tighten. He's impressed—as well as pissed off once he sees what the walker had been feeding on, that another deer is lost to that filth that are so close to forcing human extinction. Blondie's holding up the other one and she looks sick. Real sick. He remembers her, a mean asshole of a husband and a little girl. He sees nothing but three women looking more than a little rough, dried blood adhered to hair and flesh, though he has to look hard to find it. They all appear exhausted, but the sick one looks nearly ready to give up her fight for life. That doesn't sit right, not with how he remembers her struggle just to get along each day with her fat ass dick of a husband staring on with an evil eye and a heavy fist. It shits him that he remembers so much about her. He's always had an eye for a face, especially a pretty one, and violent assholes are always on his radar.

It's obviously his lucky day. These people will know even more what's happened to his brother, and it is this that decides him to step forward, despite his healthy fear of the black bitch's sword. They don't notice him straight away, but he hears her, the fear in her voice as she contemplates a herd coming down on them, as she tries to sacrifice herself for the sake of the others. It surprises him, that this quiet, mousy woman who once would never have said boo would put herself on the line to save these other two women, and right then and there he decides he's going to take them back to Woodbury, even though he suspects it's the very last place they should be. Hell, it's the last place he should be, but aren't all their options limited these days?

"Well, holy shit," he drawls, happy despite himself. "Looky what we have here."

Blackie and Barbie spin sharply at his voice, recognition spreading over Andrea's face and fury across the dark one. But on the other one, the sick one—Carol, he suddenly remembers—a strange look overcomes her face and he stands transfixed as she utters his name like a prayer, like a goddam gift that he's appeared before them, stretching out her tiny, shaking hand to him with her lips smiling like he's the most wonderful thing she's ever seen. Other than Daryl, he's never really known anyone to be pleased with his presence, so the sheer surprise of her welcome strikes him as hard as a kick to the balls. He can already feel his face relaxing, his sarcastic smirk softening as this new feeling unfurls inside, pushing out all the other bullshit he's endured so far that day.

He's just about to reach out his hand to clasp hers when her offering slips, starting to fall. His first response is anger, thinking it's a joke and that she's making fun of him, but then he sees her body is falling also and without thinking, he pushes the other two aside and catches her before she hits the ground.

"Put her down."

The tip of the sword is at his throat, his own knife completely useless as he cradles Carol in his arms and he's pissed at himself for being so stupid. He's no knight in shining armour, no superman come to carry the damsel away to safety, and he's screwed if the black bitch wants to spear his butt to a tree.

"I ain't no threat to you while I'm holdin' her," he says, eyes narrowed, vaguely wiggling his knife hand that is completely useless to him now. Holding her gives him some leverage, however, so he tries not to think too hard about how it feels to hold her in his arms, tries not to care at how laboured her breathing is, how she feels light as a feather and how her colour's not looking so good.

Andrea places a hand on her friend's arm, encouraging her to lower the weapon and Merle finally realises he's been holding his breath, nodding sharply at Blondie in gratitude.

"How long's she been like this?" His attention is arrested, though, as he feels Carol's body shuddering in his arms before a hoarse cough erupts from deep in her chest, and then her eyes open and she's staring straight up at him. She seems dazed, disbelieving and then he's the one whose dubious she's still all right in the head as she places a hand against his cheek and relaxes it into the curves of his face.

"Daryl's gonna be so relieved. I knew that Cherokee rose didn't just bloom for Sophia." Her hand moves fast back to her mouth as she barks out another series of violent coughs that make it difficult for Merle to hold on to her. When she's done, she lies limp in his embrace, scaring the shit out of him. Her face appears waxy and pale and he understands clearly that she needs to see a doctor right the fuck now.

Without a glance at the others, he turns on his heel and starts walking out of the woods toward Woodbury. About ten steps away he is yet to hear their footsteps following him and he turns around fast, growling angrily.

"You two comin' or not? She needs a doctor an' I can get her to one, now let's haul ass."

They start following him once he's almost out of sight, the two of them hurrying to catch up and the black one dragging along her pets behind them. He thinks that might be a good thing, might be something new that Phil has never seen before and it will give them an in to the town that they otherwise might not have had—not that he thinks Phil will knock back three women at the gate when all the men on watch can see them coming, and see they are all lookers. He's going to question Merle hard about bringing them in, though, and he cringes as that conversation starts to play out in his head. He's going to have to admit that two of them know his brother, and then the suspicion Phil was just starting to relax around him will spike all over again.

Fuck, he's tired. He's tired of being careful, of towing the line, of keeping his head clear when all he wants to do is to snort a line and maybe drift off into a corner somewhere and find sweet oblivion. Maybe then he'll see Daryl and actually get to say howdy before the apparition fades and leaves him living in this shit again. There's no drugs in Woodbury. He's looked. And even if he did manage to find some and succumb to the intoxicating lure of getting high, he knows Phil will have his head. Literally. He can't ever relax around that fucker, knowing that just one wrong move could set their leader on a course toward Merle's destruction that he just doesn't want to instigate. He's only ever been scared of one man in his life before and Merle swore to himself when he'd turned his back on his home, leaving that asshole alive, that he's never going to be afraid again. Phil worries him, but Merle isn't scared of shit anymore, not even death, and that thought goads him into a laugh. Oh how he lies to himself. He's still scared of dying, or he'd never have cut off his own fucking hand to get away from a bunch of geeks straining at a locked door.

They've almost reached the town when he stops, turning back to the women, shuffling Carol in his arms a little as the weight of her strains at his shoulders.

"You seen my brother?" He asks the blonde, and prepares himself for the ultimate blow.

"Not for a long time," she admits, but then she's reaching out and laying her hand on his arm. He starts walking again, letting her talk while wondering about her touch. "About seven months ago we got run off a farm. Carol and I got separated from the others, but I'm sure, if anyone else made it out, it would've been Daryl. He's survived a lot."

Merle's eyes narrow at that. There's no way anyone knows about how he and Daryl raised themselves up—if he's confident about anything it's that Daryl doesn't reveal shit to no one, but especially not to a bunch of dogooders at the ass end of the world.

"Like what?"

Andrea's eyes soften as her gaze lands on Carol and Merle dreads whatever she's about to say, knowing that he's not going to like it. Her expression wavers between sadness and sympathy and it makes him nervous.

"We lost people. A lot of people. They went back for you, you know, to Atlanta. You were already gone. Daryl tried to find you but they eventually had to come back and when they did, we were already fighting. We lost so many: Jim, Jacqui, Ed…Amy."

His head shoots up, looking at Carol and putting the name of her dickweed of a husband back in place. Ed. So the useless son of a bitch got bit. Good, he thinks, and grins. Then the other names filter through, Jacqui—another dark bitch, though she'd been nice, kind of. She didn't put up with his shit, and if he hadn't been high as a kite, he might have liked her. He remembered Jim, tinkering with that old guy…Dale?...with the RV, and Amy…

"Your sister?" He remembers her, a pretty younger version of Andrea and he can't help the remorse that surges forth. "Sorry. She was a good kid."

Andrea nods, blinking back her tears and when she continues, her voice is low, defeated as she fights against the emotions of so much loss. "We got stuck on an Interstate when a herd blew through. We mostly hid until they moved past, but somehow Sophia…. A couple of walkers chased her into the woods. Daryl searched for a week." She looks at him, smiling, proud and Merle nods. He knows how Daryl is with kids—that he'd never let one stay lost in the woods if there's any choice about it. "He didn't find her then, but that whole time he kept giving Carol hope, and I guess they got close. When Sophia was found…" Her voice cracks and Merle slows his pace, not wanting her to stop, even if he's hearing shit that makes his heart ache. "Rick had to put her down. Daryl didn't take it so well, tried to distance himself from the group, but Carol brought him back. I guess they must have talked a bit about you."

The easy affection she seems to hold while talking to him makes him uncomfortable. He should be relieved to hear that his brother is alive, that he's doing what he can to survive, but it feeds Merle's insecurities. He wants to find his brother, but what if Daryl doesn't want to find him? What if little bro has moved on and Merle is stuck living in this shitty town led by a psycho? What if he has to kill for the rest of his life, do someone else's dirty work while his soul burns and quavers until there's nothing of him left? Until he turns just as cold and filled with evil as the man at the top?

The woman in his arms moves, moans, gasps painfully and wiggles her ass against his forearm. When she's done, her hand is raised and resting against his chest. Merle shudders at the touch and wishes he could kick his own ass. All these long months he's pushed Ava away for blatantly throwing herself at him, hated her for expecting him to protect her, and without even asking this little filly has him running to catch her, has him almost crawling to carry her back to a doctor in Woodbury, and now has his heart hammering inside his chest because she's managed to place her dainty hand on him while she's unconscious.

He feels sad all the sudden. Feels a wash of hopelessness overcome him. All he wants is his family—Daryl—and all he's getting are bits of the world that might have brushed up against his brother for a short period of time. By the sounds of it, though, Carol has brushed up against him the most. Merle knows there's going to be limits on what they shared—Daryl doesn't let anyone in, not unless they push hard, and over the last forty years, the only one to even try to push was Merle.

"When we get to Woodbury," he says, stopping again once he's reached the end of the trees before they hit the road, "you'll need to hand over your weapons." He's looking hard at Blackie and her sword, knowing that she'll be shot on sight if she doesn't give it up. He's wondering how much warning he should give them, how much truth of where they are going he should share, but he suspects the dark bitch won't step foot in the place if she knows how evil it is, and he has to get Carol to their doctor. He has to, whether he wants to or not.

"No."

"You listen to me, my Nubian Queen—" he rasps out, suddenly livid at her attitude. He's trying to help them, for Christ's sake. Don't they want this woman to live? How much? Fuck, how much does he tell?

"My name," she informs him through gritted teeth and eyes that nearly glow against her dark skin, "is Michonne, and I will not give up my katana."

He thrusts Carol's form in front of her face, makes her look at her friend and in that instant Merle can see that this bitch cares—all three of them care about each other in a way he's never seen before and he eyes them all, awed.

"She ain't gonna make it."

Andrea and Michonne snap angry eyes on him like a whip, and that bitch has drawn her fucking sword against him again. He's so done with this shit, done with pussy-footing around people's feelings, people's ignorance.

"Why did you bring us here if you think she's going to die?"

He represses a growl in his throat, knowing that if he wasn't holding Carol he might well have punched Michonne in the face by now. "I don't want her to fucking die, you dumb bitch. I need to get her to this doctor but the Governor ain't gonna be lettin' any one of you inside if you don't surrender your weapons. I'll make sure you get them back, but for now, this is what we gotta do."

Carol works herself up into another round of body-racking coughs and she's curled into his chest, her hand fisting into his shirt as she grimly hangs on to what little she can find.

Michonne nods her head at him, agreeing about the sword, and he doesn't wait any longer, moving into a laboured trot as he tries to get them to Woodbury faster. She hands her sword over as soon as they reach the gate, Martinez jumping down and draws it open so they can pass through. Andrea hands over her gun and then they follow him as he heads to the hospital building, eyes wide in surprise at the state of the town. At its goddamn existence when they've been so used to living out in the open.

It isn't until he's carefully positioned Carol on a bed in their makeshift clinic, watching the doctor rush about connecting IV lines and examining her vital signs, watching the Governor appear and stand over him with a strange expression on his face, that Merle remembers Jody.

Fuck.