AN: I feel like maybe this should come with some sort of apology. It ran away with me. LOL

Anyone who wants to consider the first chapter a one shot and nothing more, please feel free to do that. Anyone who likes this extension to it, I'm glad you do! I will admit that we have a different Daryl here than we saw in the earlier seasons, but it's the Daryl I felt like we might have seen with the right motivations.

At any rate, I enjoyed writing this chapter, so I hope you'll enjoy reading it! Let me know what you think!

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Luckily some of their travelling companions were good at following instructions.

Daryl kept watch most of the night—not that there was much to keep watch over because everything around them seemed still and calm for the time being—and then he'd ventured out to walk the fences and check for Walkers. The fences around the old house held pretty well, and Daryl could imagine that they could even take a bit of a beating if Walkers were to come. The posts were set well.

But there weren't any Walkers that Daryl could see. They were out there, of course, but they weren't close.

With hours to go before the dawn, Daryl had woken Glenn and asked him to pick up a night shift of keeping watch. He'd asked him, too, to let Carol sleep as long as possible before she got up to start a small fire for cooking. He'd assured Glenn that the fire wouldn't draw too many Walkers, and what it did draw, they could handle before they made it through the fences.

And then he'd taken his crossbow and he'd set out to wooded area not too far beyond the house.

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Daryl thanked the raccoon he shot for his sacrifice, and assured the furry asshole that he didn't die in vain. There were people who hadn't had a decent meal in months—some of which barely had much more than those months of existence under their belts.

He skinned, cleaned, and cut up the raccoon before the sun came up. By the time that Carol was building the fire he'd told her to build for cooking something for breakfast, Daryl was ready to put the meat on the makeshift grill they carried with them made out of an old grill's grates and large rocks that held the grates just above the average small fire.

By the time everyone was drawn from their beds by the smell of the food or the good common sense that morning had started, Daryl was already selecting the best pieces of the meat—cooked almost to perfection as far as raccoon went—and piling them into the plastic bowl that he passed to Carol. Maybe raccoon and oatmeal wasn't a traditional breakfast, but it would fill bellies as good as anything, and that was Daryl's main concern.

Daryl served himself some meat on top of the oatmeal that he scooped out of the pot that Carol had set to boil on another small fire, and he sat down in the grass beside her. Everyone else who was coming out went through the same steps they always did. They took a bowl from those that were stacked up—which Carol would wash while they were packing up things to keep moving, so that they would be ready for the next meal—and they took utensils if they were necessary. Then they served themselves what they thought, judging by what was on offer, would be an acceptable amount of food.

They already knew that, if they judged incorrectly, Rick would be around to make sure that things were balanced just a bit differently.

The extra meat was something everyone seemed happy to see, and Daryl was happy that he'd managed to catch the raccoon in his sights. He didn't like to admit it, but he was a pretty firm believer that things sometimes worked out the way they did because of karma—what you put out, you get back. It wasn't always the case, and sometimes life was just shit, but when something good happened, it gave him a bit of an uplifted feeling that maybe the whole karma deal was right. Maybe life wasn't always just shit. Maybe, one day, all of them that had waded through the shit that other people's bad karma had brought down on them would get what they deserved.

And maybe he found the raccoon because Carol deserved at least one good, hot meal to fill her belly for the first time in months.

"It's too much," Carol whispered, leaning over Daryl. He couldn't help but notice that she'd already swallowed down several large mouthfuls like she was starving—and she probably was.

"Eat it," Daryl said.

"At least take some," Carol said. "You've hardly got any and I've got—half the meat."

"Eat it," Daryl repeated. "You the one that's needin' it. I'ma be fine."

Carol frowned at him, but she accepted his urging to eat. Daryl speared another chunk of the raccoon from his own bowl with his hunting knife—his preferred tool from removing the meat from the heat of the grill in the first place—and flicked it into Carol's bowl. She opened her mouth to protest, but instead simply thanked him when he shook his head at her.

Daryl kept an eye on the rest of the group, all sitting down with their breakfasts in various parts of the yard outside the farmhouse, and he noticed when Rick started making is telltale circles around the group.

Carol saw him, too, when he noticed her overflowing bowl of food and Daryl saw her visibly tense and stop chewing.

The act itself—one that practically made him smell her fear—made Daryl's gut tense. He felt the tension spreading to every muscle in his body. Carol's tension was brought on by something akin to fear. Daryl's was brought on by something very different.

As Rick approached, hand already out to make a request for the bowl, Daryl raised up the hunting knife he'd kept resting on his lap.

"Don't'cha touch that bowl, Rick," Daryl said, keeping his voice as steady as he could.

"Daryl..." Carol said.

Rick looked at him.

"Are you threatening me?" Rick asked, furrowing his brow at Daryl the same way he might if Daryl had been his lap dog and had growled at him over a morsel of meat.

It was all fine and good. Daryl knew that even lapdogs bit when they felt they had no other choice. Maybe Rick knew that, too.

"There's plenty of food," Daryl said.

"The meat's almost gone, and protein is important. It needs to be shared," Rick said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Them that gets outta bed gets the best breakfast," Daryl said. "Ain't you never heard the early bird gets the worm? You got the best of the beds—we got the best of the breakfast."

Rick couldn't have looked at Daryl any more oddly if he'd sprouted a second head and tentacles. He was used to Daryl being obedient—going along with whatever he said. He was used to Daryl being a good beta.

And Daryl was a good beta. It was something he'd been taught to be since he could remember. Honestly, it suited him just fine to go along behind someone and follow their lead—assuming, of course, that he either couldn't best them if the need called for it, or he agreed with where they were leading him. At the moment, he neither agreed with Rick nor viewed him as an opponent that he couldn't best if the need should arise.

So he held his challenge by neither lowering the knife nor diverting his eyes away from Rick's.

"Are you threatening me, Daryl?" Rick asked again. He tipped his head to the side almost like a German Shepherd that couldn't make heads or tails of something as simple as a plate glass door.

"No," Daryl said. He shook his head. "I'm not threatenin' you. Tellin' you there's more'n enough food over there. Tellin' you that—you can have all you want outta what's over there, but there ain't none up for the having over here. But I ain't threatenin' you, Rick."

"We agreed that we would all work to make things fair," Rick said.

"And we are," Daryl said. "This here's your group. You told us that. Remember? There weren't no debate about it—it's your group. You told us we do what'cha tell us to do 'cause it's your group an' you the one that's—hell, gettin' us wherever the hell we goin'. But you forget we're all independent thinkers. And your group ain't what it's cracked up to be if you go losin' each of us. Now—this is your group, but that's my raccoon. I hunted it. I cleaned it. Carol built that fire and Carol cooked it. Now—I didn't sleep not a minute and a half last night, Rick, so I'm not feelin' up to discussion."

Rick set his jaw. He didn't appreciate Daryl's words and, without having slept the night before, Daryl almost found that humorous.

"You think I haven't seen the way you look at me?" Rick asked. "The way you all look at me?"

"I think you ain't seen much of nothin' lately that don't concern you," Daryl said. "Maybe none of us have. We been missin' a lot. A whole lot that's right under our noses."

"Daryl..." Carol offered quietly. She must have known by now that she wasn't going to stop the discussion that was taking place because there was very little force behind her words. Calling his name was simply some small attempt to keep him grounded. What she didn't realize was that he was completely grounded. He'd wasn't going into this hot-headed. He'd had plenty of time to think about it while he'd spent the night keeping watch over her as much as he kept watch over the yard. He'd had plenty of time to think about it while he'd been hunting something with the sole intention of filling her belly—more than it seemed nature had already filled it—and to hell with anyone who tried to stop him.

"Eat your breakfast, Carol," Daryl said.

"I have plenty here..." Carol offered.

"And that was the whole idea behind it," Daryl said. "We're tired of starvin' to death."

"There isn't much food," Rick said. "We agreed that we would make sure that those who needed it most got what they could."

"And if you opened your eyes," Daryl said, "then you might see that's what I'm doing. You an' yours ain't the only ones that's got needs."

"Daryl," Carol offered again.

"You know what happened with Shane," Rick said. "By now—everybody knows."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Yeah," he said. "We know what happened with Shane."

Rick ignored all of the possible meanings to Daryl's words. Daryl got to his feet. He was starting to feel tired of having Rick physically standing over him. When he was on his feet, it was a reminder to Rick that he wasn't a child.

"All of that could have been avoided," Rick said, "but—he wanted to control the group. Control all of us. He wanted to lead us all in a direction that wouldn't have been good for us. It wouldn't have been good for any of us—not if we want to survive. Not if we want to keep our humanity and keep who are."

"That's what got him killed?" Daryl asked. Rick nodded his head. "You sure, Rick?"

Rick diverted his eyes, but he nodded his head. Daryl nodded in response.

"Now's it you who's threatenin' me?" Daryl asked.

"Are you telling me I have to?" Rick asked.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"No, you don't," he said. He sheathed his knife and walked past Rick into the house. Inside, it didn't take long to gather what supplies belonged to Carol and what supplies belonged to him. He rolled their blankets, tied them to their packs and gathered everything up. He carried it out the farmhouse and across the yard to where they'd parked their vehicles along the road and just outside the fences.

His truck had his brother's bike on the back. Carol's car was one that Rick and Lori were driving, but Daryl was almost certain she had no real affinity for the vehicle—and there would be other cars that were more reliable than the Cherokee. Daryl tossed their things into the back of the truck.

"What are you doing, Daryl?" Rick asked. He was coming across the yard. Carol was a few steps behind him. She was carrying the bowl of food that she hadn't actually finished eating because of the excitement surrounding the meal.

A few steps behind her were their other group members—all of which were coming, it seemed, to watch the show and, perhaps, to choose sides.

"Calm down, Daryl," Rick said, holding his hands out to Daryl as soon as he walked through the gate that Daryl left open. "We can talk about this. Let's just—talk about this brother."

"You ain't my brother," Daryl offered. "My brother was prob'ly dead a long time ago. Got handcuffed to a roof—remember? Don't try your cop bullshit on me. It don't work. I been talkin' to cops my whole life. Or did you forget where I come from? I see it when you look at me—you ain't forgot."

"Daryl..." Rick said, this time dragging his name out like he was about to try to talk him down off some proverbial ledge. Daryl shook his head at him.

"You think this group can't survive without you?" Daryl asked. "You think—we couldn'ta made it this far without you? You think we couldn't at least be starvin' half to death in some farmhouse if it weren't for you? You must really think we're some incapable dumbasses, Rick. What have you really done that none of us couldn't do? The way I see it? We been draggin' your ass around. Savin' you. Keepin' you going. It ain't been the other way around. But if you're better off without me? Then I know I'm better off without you. Carol an' me? We can do just as good as we're doin' now if not better."

Rick laughed to himself.

"You can't just decide you're going to take Carol and leave," Rick said. "You can't just pick people to take. Like you said, she's an independent thinker."

Daryl nodded his head.

He looked at Carol. She was looking at him. He could see her chest heaving. She was nervous, but she was swallowing it down. He let his eyes drift down to the belly he'd seen clearly the night before—she'd done her best to hide it under layers and bunches of ill-fitting clothes.

"He's right," Daryl said. "You're an independent thinker. I'll keep your secrets—if that's what you want me to do. All of 'em. But—I won't make your decisions for you." He walked around and fished her pack out of the back of the truck. He offered it in her direction. "You decide. You stayin' with them, or you comin' with me?"

"What are you talking about, secrets?" Rick asked. But neither Carol nor Daryl offered him a response.

Carol glanced at Rick and then she looked at Daryl.

"I'd just be a burden out there—on you," she insisted.

Daryl shook his head at her and opened the truck door.

"You stayin' or you goin'?" He asked.

Carol considered it only a fraction of a moment and, if anything, she seemed like she was mostly wondering if Daryl was sincere in not thinking that she was a burden. Then she handed the bowl of food to Rick.

"Good luck to all of you," Carol said. "I hope—you find what you're looking for. Give this to Lori."

Daryl laughed to himself. He tossed her bag back into the back of the truck.

"Good call," he said. "I'll get'cha somethin' at the next stop. Anyone who wants to come? We ain't drivin' too fast—you'll catch up if you just follow the road."

Daryl walked around and got in the truck. He cranked it—aware that there was some discussion and some movement outside the vehicle. Whatever they decided was on them. He would welcome whoever wanted to come along, but he was just as satisfied to leave them behind.

Daryl pulled the truck onto the road and Carol sat quietly beside him as he drove. He rolled down the window, lit a cigarette, and tapped out a nervous beat on the steering wheel with the fingers of his hand that was loosely steering the car on the abandoned road.

"I don't want to be a burden to you," Carol said.

"You won't be," Daryl said. "If anybody's been a burden—it weren't you."

"You didn't have to leave the group," Carol said.

"I did," Daryl assured her.

"I hate that you left because of me," Carol said.

"Weren't because of you. Been a long time comin'," Daryl said. "Never meant to stay this long."

"Why did you?" Carol asked.

Daryl glanced at her. He couldn't tell her that she was the main reason that he'd stayed. He couldn't tell her that he'd thought about leaving the group a half a dozen times before, but he couldn't imagine just up and leaving her behind and at the mercy of Rick's sometimes spotty benevolence.

Maybe he didn't have to. Her expression changed. Maybe there was even a hint of a smile on her face. She sighed and settled into the seat a bit more.

"How long you think we got?" Daryl asked. "'Til it—uh—'til you..."

He gestured toward her belly—the secret he knew she was hiding beneath her rag-lady clothing.

Carol hummed.

"A few months," Carol said. "Maybe four? If everything goes well."

"It'll go well," Daryl said. "Four months—we got time to get—well, to get where the hell we goin'."

Carol looked at him a little nervously. Still, he knew she trusted him. She had to or she'd have never left the comfort of the group behind to follow him blindly.

Trust him or not, though, this was certainly a case of the blind leading the blind. Daryl fully believed what he'd said to Rick, though. They were at least as capable of surviving on their own as they had been with Rick as their leader. That much Daryl knew was true.

"Where are we going?" Carol asked. "Do you know?"

Daryl smiled to himself.

"We're goin' where we're goin'," Daryl said. "You got your secrets—I got mine."