"There ain't nothin' out here but mosquitoes and ants," Daryl griped. His back was turned, fidgeting with his crossbow while his brother took a piss against a tree.

"Patience, little brother," Merle sighed. "Sooner or later, a squirrel is bound to scurry across your path."

Daryl rolled his eyes. Such sage wisdom from a good-for-nothing asshole, he thought sarcastically. "Even so, that ain't much food."

"More than nothing."

"I'd have better luck going through one of them houses we passed back on the turnoff," Daryl suggested, checking the scope on his crossbow.

"Is that what your new friends taught you?" Merle hummed. "How to loot for booty?"

The mention of his friends sent an uncomfortable jolt through his chest. "We've been at it for hours. Why don't we find a stream, try to look for some fish?"

Merle chuckled darkly. "I think you're just trying to lead me back to the road, man. Get me over to that prison."

Daryl considered his words for a moment. Maybe Merle was right. Maybe he was just trying to get back to them.

"They got shelter," he muttered. "Food," he continued. "A pot to piss in."

"Anna."

Daryl flinched at her name but elected to ignore his brother. "Might not be a bad idea."

"For you, maybe. Ain't gonna be no damn party for me."

"Everyone will get used to each other," Daryl assured, checking his scope again.

"They're all dead." Daryl's breath caught in his throat and he lowered his crossbow. "Makes no difference."

Guilt clawed at his chest. Had he left his friends – his family – to die?

"How can you be so sure?" He asked, as if Merle would alleviate the anxiety building in him.

"Right about now he's probably hosting a housewarming party where he's gonna bury what's left of your pals," Merle described, referring to the Governor. That was one thing Daryl could count on from his brother. He'd always tell him the truth. "Let's hook some fish," Merle sighed. "Come on."

The two walked for about thirty minutes in silence before Merle decided he didn't like the quiet.

"Smells to me like the Sawhatchee Creek," he commented, stepping over a protruding root.

Daryl shook his head. "We didn't go West enough. There's a river down there—" he gestured to the water he could just barely see through the trees, "—it's got to be the Yellow Jacket."

"You have a stroke, boy? We ain't never even come close to Yellow Jacket," Merle challenged.

"We didn't go West." Daryl insisted, "Just a little bit South. That's what I think."

"Know what I think?" Merle began. "I may have lost my hand, but you lost your sense of direction"

"Yeah, we'll see."
"What do you want to bet?"

"I don't want to bet nothing. It's just a body of water. Why's everything got to be a competition with you?" Daryl snapped.

"Whoa, whoa. Take it easy, little brother. Just trying to have a little fun here. No need to get your panties all in a bundle."

Daryl was quickly realizing why he was being so short with his brother – aside from the fact that his brother grinded on Daryl's last nerve, he was angry because Merle insisted on grinding on everyone's last nerve, too. He hated to admit it, but Rick was right. Merle would put everyone at each other's throats. It was just his personality.

Abruptly, Daryl's thoughts on the matter were put on hold as the sound of crying filled the air.

"You hear that?"

"Yeah, wild animals gettin' wild," Merle said, brushing off his brother's concern.

"No, it's a baby."

"Oh, come on. Why don't you just piss in my ear and tell me it's rainin', too? That there's the sound of a couple of coons makin' love, sweet love. Know what I mean?"

Daryl ignored his brother and the two approached the river. There, on a bridge crossing the river, were two men fending off walkers, and Daryl had a decision in front of him. He hoped he made the right one this time.

"Jump!" Merle called, laughing. Daryl scowled at his brother. "What?" Merle asked with a stupid grin on his face. Daryl groaned and took off through the trees. "Hey, man!" Merle called. "I ain't wasting my bullets on a couple of strangers that ain't never cooked me a meal or felicitated my piece. That's my policy," Merle declared, following behind Daryl at a much slower pace. "You'd be wise to adopt it, brother."

Daryl didn't care what Merle thought, said, or did as he made it to the bridge, his boots slapping against the pavement as he pulled his crossbow off his shoulders. He steadied the weapon and aimed for the head of a walker pulling at the leg of one of the men. The arrow went through clean.

Daryl dropped his backpack next – he didn't need it limiting his range of motion – and fired another arrow between the eyes of a blonde walker approaching him. He ripped the arrow from the walkers head. He needed to conserve his arrows. Daryl counted at least nine walkers in the immediate area; he wouldn't have time to constantly reload. Not without cover.

He drove the arrow into the next closest walker.

"Come on, man. I'm trying to help you out! Cover me!" He called.

Not long after, he could hear gunfire as he continued towards a red car, where he could see two walkers surrounding a woman and her baby in a red hatchback. He could just barely make out a third climbing through the back.

He fired an arrow at the one on the hood of the car, then used the crossbow to bash in the head of the one at the driver's window as he made his way around the vehicle. Dropping his crossbow to the ground, Daryl grabbed hold of the walker in the back and pulled hard until it fell at just the right spot for him to slam the trunk shut on its head. They'd have to forgive him for getting walker blood on their belongings.

A shout in Spanish caught Daryl's attention, and he looked up to see another walker descending on him.

"Daryl! I got ya!" Merle called, aiming his revolver at the walker. He stepped out of the way, and the walker fell with ease.

The fight continued. Out of the corner of his eye, Daryl could see Merle lounging against a truck, watching idly as Daryl and the other man struggled with the slow trickle of walkers. It didn't matter. They were winning without Merle.

Daryl dropped his last walker and looked over to see how the other man was fairing. It seemed the man had run out of bullets as he tried to keep the last walker at bay, his back to the side of the bridge. He pulled out his hunting knife and quickly plunged it into the walker's head, pulling it out with a disgusting squelch. For good measure, he kicked the walker over the edge and watched it tumble into the water.

"Gracias," the man said through panting breaths. Daryl nodded in response and turned back to Merle, only to see him sauntering up to the car.

Merle opened the backdoor and went to start rummaging through the strangers' belongings. The man shouted in Spanish. Too casually, Merle pulled back the hammer of his revolver and pointed it over the door.

"Slow down, beaner. That ain't no way to say thank you." The man continued to plead with Merle in Spanish.

"Let 'em go," Daryl said.

Merle smiled and lowered his gun. "The least they can do is give us a enchilada or somethin'." He bent over into the back seat to continue his search.

Daryl walked around the car, looking between the man and his brother. His decision made, he approached Merle and lifted his crossbow, tapping Merle on the back.

"Get out of the car."

"I know you're not talking to me, brother." Daryl didn't back down, and Merle, not taking his eyes off Daryl's, straightened and backed away from the vehicle.

Daryl looked back at the man, still holding his weapon aloft.

"Get in your car and get the hell out of here," he demanded. The guy didn't move. "Go! Get in your car!"

The man finally jumped into action, gesturing for his son to join him. They got in and drove off. Daryl didn't lower his crossbow immediately, the brothers glaring at each other as the tires squealed in the distance. Merle shoved the crossbow out of his face.

Without another word, Daryl stormed off, grabbing up his arrows as he passed the fallen walkers.


"The shit you doin', pointin' that thing at me?" Merle asked from behind as Daryl made his way through the woods, headed North-East.

"They were scared, man."

"They were rude is what they were," Merle countered. "Rude, and they owed us a token of gratitude."

"They didn't owe us nothin'."

"You helping people out of the goodness of your heart? Even though you might die doing it?" He scoffed. "Is that something your Sheriff Rick taught you?"

"There was a baby!" Daryl snapped, turning back to his brother. They stopped and stood face to face.

"Oh, otherwise you would have just left them to the biters, then?"

"Man, I went back for you. You weren't there. I didn't cut off your hand, neither. You did that. Way before they locked you up on that roof. You asked for it."

"You know—you know what's funny to me? You and Sheriff Rick are like this now. Right?" Merle crossed his fingers together. "I bet you a penny and a fiddle of gold that you never told him that we were planning on robbing that camp blind. I'm sure Anna would find that real heroic."

"It didn't happen."

"Yeah, it didn't 'cause I wasn't there to help you." Merle smirked.
"What, like when we were kids, huh? Who left who then?"

"What? Huh? Is that why I lost my hand?"

"You lost your hand 'cause you're a simple-minded piece of shit," Daryl bit out, walking around his brother to leave.

"Yeah? You don't know!" Merle shouted, grabbing hold of Daryl's shirt to stop him. The fabric ripped. Daryl tripped over his feet and fell to his knees, his back exposed. Merle stared at the long-jagged scars that crisscrossed over Daryl's skin.

"I— I didn't know he was—"

"Yeah, he did. He did the same to you. That's why you left first," Daryl muttered, pulling at the torn pieces of his shirt in a futile attempt to cover himself. He opted instead to reposition his backpack over the scars.
"I had to, man. I would have killed him otherwise." Daryl began walking away from him. "Where you going?" Merle called.

"Back where I belong."

"I can't go with you. I—" Merle shook his head. "I tried to kill that black bitch. Damn near killed the Chinese kid."
"He's Korean," Daryl retorted.
"Whatever," Merle groaned. "Only one who would be alright with me bein' there is Anna, and just barely." He let out a sigh. "I just... can't go with you."

Daryl paused and looked back at his brother.
"You know, I may be the one walking away but you're the one that's leaving— again." He took a few more steps in the direction of the prison.
"Like you left Anna?"

Daryl froze, the words hurting him more than any physical blow Merle could have inflicted. He hated that Merle was right. He'd spent all winter trying to find her, and the second she was right in front of him, he left her.

"And she just let you," Merle continued.

"It wasn't like that," Daryl insisted quietly.

"Man, you don't even know her anymore."
"I know!" Daryl shouted. He knew painfully well just how much he didn't know her anymore. She wasn't the woman she'd been back on the farm. And she wasn't the woman in her journal that kept her alive in his mind all through winter. He understood that as soon as he had laid eyes on her.

But it didn't matter. She was alive. He had the chance to get to know her again, and he'd be damned if he just threw that away.

He strode away, determined not to let anything Merle said stop him this time.