His back was pressed tight against the wall so nothing could grab him as he pulled up the drawstring up on the crossbow for the hundredth time that night alone. His arms had become toned from lugging the heavy weapon constantly during the last couple weeks and tired less as a result.

Daryl peered around the corner. All the geeks were moving toward the sights and sounds of gunfire yards away. Since he was going to move in the opposite direction, it could not be more perfect. He'd run into some slower geeks sure, stragglers that had gotten left behind. He'd be in good company. That's what Daryl would be too, a straggler who had gotten left behind.

Better he cut ties with them then let them do it first. A stab of guilt and unease hit him as he thought of his brother. Daryl may not survive if he waited around for them to do it.

Two small figures stood out in the crowd of walkers. It was the two kids from camp, the Grimes' son and Carol's daughter.

Daryl kept waiting to see if anyone was with them. From the looks of it, there wasn't. They ran off to the side of the house, out of sight. Maybe there was someone over there.

He looked down the street in front of him, on the opposite end of everyone. His path was clear. He couldn't have asked for a better opportunity. Daryl bit down on his bottom lip in agitation. Maybe wasn't going to cut it. He had to make sure Carl and Sophia got to someone. He turned his back to his planned route to go after the kids.

At first glance of the area, Daryl didn't see them. On a double take, he saw two figures lying as flat as possible on the ground. Before he could question if one was hurt, they sprung up and ran about five steps to hide behind a car.

It was obvious they were making a run for the end of the street, back to their parents. They were being smarter about it than he would've thought they would be.

A geek very abruptly changed directions and started determining making its way to the car. A well-aimed arrow dropped it before they even knew they had been in danger.

They moved from behind the car and went another ten steps, then flattened down on the ground again. Daryl followed behind as an unknown shepherd, urging them on wordlessly and taking down any walker that came within a seven meter radius.

The children stopped running and stood right in the middle of the street and everything going on. He looked past them to stare at what they were looking at. The end of the street was packed with walkers. The only way back to the others was to go right through the mob. They'd be torn to pieces and from the way their shoulders sagged and how they huddled together against that horrifying backdrop of the shuffling dead, they knew too that they would never make it.

Someone had to take them somewhere where they'd be safe until their parents came back to get them.

All this time Daryl had been thinking that there was going to be someone else who would swoop in and take care of them. There hadn't been someone else yet and there wouldn't be.

He was the only one who could reach them.

His neck was beginning to get sore from the way he had it resting back against the headboard.

It takes approximately seven minutes for the brain to fully fall asleep. Daryl was unsure why he had logged that information away, but it came in handy. For good measure he waited for what felt like eleven, maybe even twelve minutes before he went to get up.

When he pushed himself off the bed, Daryl must've tugged her hair because Sophia jolted awake with the sound of a stepped on kitten.

Shit, Daryl cursed.

Sophia sat up though her half-lidded eyes never fully opened. From what he saw this morning she woke up slowly. It should be easy to get her back to sleep without her even knowing she had ever been awake.

"Sssshhh. Back to sleep," he said quietly.

She responded with a soft, choked mewl.

In the name of all that is holy, don't you start crying. Daryl begged.

"Hey now, there's nothin' here and if there is anything, an' that's huge if, I'll kill it."

That had to be the greatest don't be afraid of things that go bump in the night speech ever, if he did say so himself.

"Yer safe. I swear on my mother's grave,"

Sophia gave louder whine and straightened up a little more. Guess he had gotten too cocky. Mother's grave, what an awful picture to be putting in her head.

Even though it didn't pan out well last time, Daryl put a hand on her shoulder and eased her back down on the pillow. Sophia shuffled closer to him, so much so her head was almost resting on his leg.

The girl still looked on the verge of tears. At loss on how to comfort her and even more scared of completely setting her off by saying something wrong, Daryl kept his hand on her shoulder.

The silent I'm right here of his warm hand smoothed away the wrinkles on her young forehead. Second by second Daryl watched her fall back asleep and breathed a cliché sigh of relief. He may also have looked at his palm like it was magic.

In order to get off the bed without disrupting either one of them, especially with the way Sophia was crowding him, Daryl had to pull himself straight forward. The action required heavy usage of his stomach muscles, which he didn't know were weirdly sore. Sitting at end of the bed after stressing them, he looked over his shoulder at the two kids as he rubbed the achy muscles.

"Damn brats," he muttered.

Daryl crawled into the crisp sheets. It was funny how the few movements between beds had woken him up completely. He lay there for the longest time with his eyes shut. Eventually it felt moronic to be laying there with his eyes closed and the concentration it took to keep them that way was keeping him awake, he opted to stare off into the mostly black space of the room.

Was there some furniture warehouse store where hotels and motels all bought their stuff? Daryl pictured rows and rows of shelves full of the telephone sitting on the nightstand.

He had seen that telephone in every motel. He wouldn't forget that stupid generic telephone. It was the same one he got the call on that Merle had overdosed and was in critical condition.

Daryl stared at that phone until he swore he saw a red light blink.

Rrrring. Rrring.

He must of fell asleep and dreamed that he heard a phone ring, that was easier to admit he may be losing his mind a little. There could not be a phone call. For one there was no service and for another, that whole world was over. There was no danger of Merle taking on more drugs than a human being could handle. Instead he was God knows where with only one hand, that could have gotten nasty infection.

If only Daryl had went on the supply run to Atlanta. None of this would of happened if he had stuck by his brother. The game trail he had found could've waited a day or he could've found another one later. He had been so antsy to get out on his own for the night, was so willing to do anything to get away everyone. It was selfish and it cost them both.

Toughest asshole I ever met. Daryl reminded himself what he said to the others.

Or he was dead.

Smooth move shithead, now you'll never go to sleep.

Carl had never been asleep.

It happened so fast that he hadn't had time to comprehend it. Now he had endless hours to think.

It was a little boy, a nasty thought hissed.

Carl had killed a walker for the first time ever. In a sick way he had always wanted to, show that he could protect the group. Now that he had, Carl wished he didn't. It had been a little boy once. Or was it? At one point did the walkers stop being people?

Sophia rolled over to his side of the bed and curled herself in to ball right next to him. If he nudged her away, she'd start hogging the blankets so Carl did nothing about it.

The boy had to be no older than six year old and Carl rammed an arrow right in to his skull, popped his eye like it was a grape.

It wasn't a little boy, he repeated over and over again.

He heard the crick of springs as Daryl got up and then the undoing of a zipper as he dug in to the backpack. There wasn't a sound to tell him what he took. Carl heard him walk across the room

Did Dad ever feel bad when he put a walker down? Did Shane?

Carl really doubted that Daryl did. The man disposed of walkers like it was his day job.

What if I'm the only one who feels bad? His thoughts escalated, What if I'll never be strong?

The thoughts in his head were twisting Carl's entire core tighter and tighter. He got out of bed and over to the open window. Daryl was sitting on the small balcony of the fire escape, occasionally throwing his head back to drink from a bottle. He didn't notice Carl. It was just as well, Carl didn't know why he had come over. He definitely wasn't going to tell Daryl why he couldn't sleep.

"Ya want to come out here?" asked Daryl.

How did he know I was here? Carl asked confused. He hadn't seen Daryl look over at the window once.

"Yes,"

Carl pulled himself half out of the window and stood on the ledge. Carefully he reached over and grabbed the top of the railing.

"Hold up there," Daryl stood up, listing over a bit. He grabbed Carl under the arms and hauled him over the side guard. Carl could smell booze on him before he read the label on the bottle, Jack Daniels. So that was what he got out backpack.

"Thank you," he mumbled, though he didn't mean it. He could've done it himself, he only needed sometime to think about his next move.

Being picked up touched a nerve. Carl was always one of the smallest boys in school. It had to be his biggest insecurity. At the end of the world, he was still the smallest.

"Believe it or not, I was runty kid," said Daryl. Apparently Carl's displeasure didn't go unnoticed.

Carl didn't say Really? It did flash through his mind. It was difficult to picture Daryl as a kid to begin with, let alone being on the small side. Nothing about the man was runty now.

"But its not the size of the dog in the fight, it's the size of fight in the dog. Remember that."

That statement was a little odd and concerning as Carl watch Daryl took another hit from the whiskey bottle.

"Don't worry I'm not gonna get shit faced," drinking had not hindered Daryl's ability to read minds. "Just a night cap, try and get myself to sleep. You wanna give it a go?" Daryl offered the bottle.

Carl took it and looked at it for second, then snapped his head as he had seen Daryl do, taking a bigger mouthful than he intended. He knew it wasn't going to taste good, He didn't expect it to burn.

Carl gagged, spitting some of the whiskey up. Daryl doubled over laughing so hard.

"That'll put some hair on your chest," Daryl was still laughing.

"Or maybe a treasure trail," Carl said, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. "Any other place I can expect to grow hair?"

"Mmmm, everywhere."

Daryl took another swig from the bottle. It made Carl feel better when he grimaced a little.

The night was warm, like the darkness held all the warmth of the day. Carl looked out. Looked out at what he couldn't say, it was only black. He liked to think that off in the not too far distance, Mom, Dad, Shane and everyone else were sitting around a small campfire. Every once in awhile one of them would look back towards the town and from across that not to far distance they were looking right at each other.

"Hey you know how to play red hands?" Daryl nudged him. Careful to avoid the hole where the ladder was, Daryl moved to sit in front of him and laid his hands out flat, "Its easy, put your hands under mine,"

Carl hit the top of Daryl's hands before he got his mouth open to explain the rest. He knew the game, just not by the name Daryl called it.

"Where did you learn CPR?" asked Carl.

"First aid course I had to take for my job,"

"What did you do?"

"Technically old job. I use ta work as a roughneck out on the oil rigs."

"Did you like it?"

"Yeah I did. The pay was decent, though sometimes seemed underpaid. I really liked it, was a good fit for me."

Daryl went on about specific instances like the extreme weather that sunk heavy trucks in the mud, agonizing eighteen hour shifts that ended with Daryl so out of it he showered with his clothes on.

"…Eddie hops out of the pumper. 'Is it dead?' he asks, I'm thinking there is no way this moose survived, there is a five foot trail of blood and clumps a hair an' tissue from it to the fender. Have ya ever smelled fresh road kill?"

"Ugh yeah." Carl flipped his hands up and smacked the tops of Daryl's.

"yeah it was starting to get that smell. But this damn thing gets up, don't know how 'cause all of its legs were broke. It ran away on stumps," Daryl put the game on pause to illustrate how this moose ran away with the second joint of his fingers. "Couldn't get far obvious, I caught up with it and put it out of its misery. It was too damaged by accident for the meat to be good but got me fine pair of antlers."

A month ago, that story would have disturbed him. Now he laughed picturing a grizzled, walkerish moose trotting along on its knees.

I have gotten stronger, Carl realized with a swell of pride.

He hit the top of Daryl's hands for the third time in a row. Reliving these glory days distracted Daryl more and more from the game.

"I was maybe going to go up to Alaska and work up there for a few months, thought it'd be cool to see y'know? I've always wanted to see the northern lights,"

"Why didn't you go?" Carl asked when Daryl drifted off and didn't pick up again.

"My old man's health took a nose dive, not long after Merle was discharged from the army and came back all fucked up, I had to look after those two, I couldn't be hours away out on a rig, let alone in a different state at the end of Canada."

"That really sucks,"

"Ah I couldn't leave Georgia anyway, get too homesick. Just a pipe dream, I s'pose."

The very evident bitterness in his voice made more than an empty pipe dream.

"Last shift I pulled was on New Years Eve. Began the next year fixing up the old John Deere and farmed till the bitter end " Daryl concluded as if he had told his whole life story.

He didn't know Daryl from Adam so to speak. In this chapter in his mysterious life beforehand, Carl found something quite unexpected he and Daryl had in common. Family. It meant a lot to Daryl. It was sad it sounded like he didn't have much of one.

"What about you? What did you do?" asked Daryl, pulling his hands away before Carl got him again. They switched up positions.

"I didn't have a job,"

"Slacker."

"I had to go to school," Carl watched his hands, ready to pull his hands back as soon as Daryl so much as flinched. "I played baseball since I was eight,"

"Take it you liked it,"

"Not at first, my parents made me do it for the first year, help me make some new friends," Carl kicked himself for saying that, he didn't want the older man thinking he was a loser. "We won divisionals last year, the paper put our picture on the front page. I even got a home run"

"Nice,"

Carl was getting a little cold and tired, he hid it as much as he possible could. He liked swapping stories, made him feel like one of the guys.

"You won't tell my parents I hit Sophia, will you?"

"As long as you don't tell 'em I tried to drown you. "

"Fair enough but if you do, I'm also going tell them you let me drink,"

I have you, Carl thought with a smirk.

Daryl meet Carl's smirk with a cooler one of his own.

"Then I'll tell them that you two keep kissin' each other,"

Carl went so red he glowed.

"Yeah, thought so."

A border of hieroglyphic like lines was the first thing Sophia saw when she opened her eyes. It took her a minute or so to figure out the unfamiliar room and how she had gotten there.

Everything had piled up in her mind. Literally everything in the world, she missed how it use to be. When she could walk down the street and wouldn't have to worry about being eaten.

Not like the world before had been completely peachy. Sophia remembered the fights in her house. In the silence of the night she heard her father's voice screaming as if he was out in the hallway and she was hiding her bedroom like always.

Tears started to roll in cold wet lines from her eyes backward to her ears.

In a way the world hadn't changed. They may not have eaten each other but people had always hurt each other. She thought of herself, Mom, and before she knew it Sophia was crying over the scars on Daryl's back. Someone had cut him so deep he'd never fully recover.

That's why he only knew how to be rough. He had been taught to be that way like Sophia only knew to be afraid when she was around men. They were broken.

It's not fair! Forgetting her place, she didn't try to stifle herself as she had the other nights.

Something tugged the blankets out of her hands, scaring the hell out of her. It was only Carl. She had yards of the blanket pulled over on her side of the bed. She threaded some over to him. Looking at her best friend's sleeping face calmed her.

Scritch.

She bolted upright.

Scritch.

It sounded like nails against wood.

"Carl," she shook him, "Carl,"

Carl didn't budge. Sophia listened hard. It was probably nothing.

Scritch

If it was something she had to wake up Daryl. Sophia swung her legs off the bed but couldn't find the courage to put her feet back on the floor.

What if there's a walker under there, trying to scratch its way out? Sophia thought, quickly pulling her legs back up on the bed.

Fear made it too far of a walk. Sophia jumped across the beds, tripping over something at the foot of the other. With a startled yip, she fell off the bed. Whatever she tripped over came down on her.

Fricking crossbow! Sophia cursed out the weapon, untangled the strap from around her leg.

Once free she wasted no time, jumping up onto the bed.

Since she was still unsure if there was anything, she only lay down behind him. Sophia would wait for a bit, no need to wake him up yet.

Sophia touched the back of his shirt, wondering if she could feel any of his scars. Through the fabric she couldn't. Slowly she started hiking up the back of his shirt. Daryl didn't move an inch. Lightly she traced her fingers down his shoulder blade.

Even in the dark, the scars didn't hid. Sophia could feel raised, bumpy strips of skin. Her fingertips would run down one but quickly find another line. It was the Braille of abuse.

Who did this to you? Sophia began to get choked up again.

In the nick of time, Sophia dodged the knife. The buck knife plunged full hilt into the pillow instead of her chest. Tiny downy feathers spilled out.

Daryl grabbed her by the throat, crushing her windpipe.

Author's Note: Somebody's got some 'splainin' to do.

(V) (;,,;) (V) (flips the coffee table and side steps around the room)"woop, woop, woop."(that was Zoidberg from Futurama) Thank you so much everyone, you're all amazing and I can't thank you enough. Englund101, JesseGlennFan, ms wonderful, RynnZekioZusha, Dannie Tomlinson, griffin1776, LeanneDaseyLover, Missy92, writergirl94, Auds1978, WalkerScuzzie, but-the-clouds, Little Karma, Rat, bluenight23, kdoggt, jemlou, Kountry101, Lucifer's Garden, Rebecca taylor, twin1, DreamOn97, PsychoBlonde

The moose story was based on a true story that my dad told me when I was about twelve.

You may have noticed I changed my profile picture, it's a part of a larger picture which has something to do with what's coming up

So here's how you get the bigger picture: go to Google, click on images and search: The Walking Dead Issue 6 cover