Plenty to hate about prison, some stuff to hate about military too, but at least I knew what to do. At least I had clear purpose.

During a particularly bad trip, Merle slurred out a mess of upsetting gibberish that Daryl had a hard time shaking off. Even now, it comes back to him. The only reason T-Dog is alive is because of Merle's inability to keep it together. If the man didn't have so many vices, that medication wouldn't have been on hand. T-Dog would be suffering or dead at this very moment. Probably would've been kinder to let him bleed out than sentence him to that kind of painful demise.

Guys like us hate being told what to do, 'cept it's the only way to live. Can't handle figuring it out for our own dumb selves.

Unsure why he feels responsible for the dumbass all the sudden, or why his big brother's words float back to him now. If he ain't dead, he might well be soon. Learning how to function with one less hand ain't any kind of easy, even before the dead started trying to eat the living. Living and bleeding, that's what they all are.

I could be a soldier. Or a prisoner. Can't be no kinda man.

When Merle got dark, he got chatty, 'till he passed out. Maybe that was one of the reasons why Daryl had never felt a powerful urge to indulge as deeply in recreation as his brother did.

What if he opened up?

What would fall out of him?

The farmhouse looms ahead and Daryl wants to keep his eyes open, wants to take in everything about this new place, what it has to offer what it's dangers might be.

Why though? What would be the point of that? He's just going to do what he's told. He doesn't even mind it. 'Daryl, scout ahead.' Okay. 'Daryl, help me look for the girl.' No problem. 'Daryl, we need medicine.' Yeah, right here, hoss.

Why does it feel so good? Pretending like these people might actually need him? Daryl is never needed, and never needs anyone else. Even the end of the world can't change that.

He tells himself it's personal, and maybe that's not even half a lie. It is personal. He admitted as much to Andrea last night. What made him go and do a thing like that? Blabbering on about his shitty life. Ever since Sophia went missing, he'd felt his temper boiling a little hotter whenever he heard someone start to give up on her, whenever he saw their eyes getting heavy, already mourning her. Especially her mom.

Kids get lost in the woods. Doesn't mean they stay lost. Daryl got out, didn't he? Nobody had to tell him to find the girl, that was the truth of it. Whatever Merle might think about how they were wired to be kept on leashes and ordered around, there wasn't any truth to it, in this case. He would've looked for her, no matter what. It was what made sense. It made sense because he was a tracker, and because he was the only person who'd been lost in the woods before.

Hell was already pouring out, so it couldn't exactly break loose, but things could always get worse. They seemed to learn that every day. Carl would be laid up for a while. T-Dog too. Carol was the first to say it, quietly, like she hoped no one would hear, 'Maybe we don't need to go all the way to Fort Benning to be safe.'

It made sense she'd want to stick around. Her daughter. But nothing else made sense.

Safe? Safe? Did she really believe that? Did any of them?

Probably not.

It might take a while for them to admit it, even to themselves, but Daryl knew that they had to be thinking it. He was. Nowhere is really safe.

Even this little idyllic dollhouse.

The procession of cars approaches the house with golden light flooding the farmlands round about. Daryl leads them, continuing a pattern they established earlier. No one seems to be exactly sure why it's better for Daryl to be out front; maybe because the bike maneuvers well and if he saw trouble he could stand to hold it off a moment, so the others could turn their cars around.

Shane is out there to meet them in a second, he must've sprinted. He shows them the area they were supposed to park with big hand gestures and more yelling than is necessary, seeing as how no one can understand what the jackass is saying anyway.

Rick and Lori come out of the house with an older man with a head of stark white hair and dark circles under his eyes that suggest a sleepless night. Or maybe several. Strangers gather in front of his house, Daryl finds himself looking only at their boots. He didn't get much sleep either, but he can't exactly bring himself to just ignore his surroundings, that ain't his way. There are three women, all wearing well-worn boots, three men, one is stylish enough with his footwear and unsure enough in his demeanor that Daryl feels certain he's young.

For a moment everyone stands there, uncomfortable and uncertain. Dale doesn't bother with introductions, he just zeroes right in on Rick, "How is he?"

"He'll pull through," Lori's voice is shaky, but at least she's got one.

Rick's face is bloodless. He looks like he's more likely to faint than speak.

"Thanks to Hershel and his people." Lori takes a step to her side, arm sliding easily down the back of a small blonde creature who is stiff as a board beside the front steps.

The girl is young. Definitely still in high school, but in spite of the fact that she's got the kind of dollface that belongs in this dollhouse, the first thing that strikes Daryl about her is how hard she looks. Her blue eyes are heavy, fixed on the ground in front of her. She's tense, though he notices her shoulder dip a little as Lori rubs her back. She looks up and locks eyes with him.

Daryl isn't the sort of person who gets breathless just looking at someone for the first time. That doesn't happen. Except it just did. Even if she's a nice looking girl, that's not the reason he stares back, can't break himself away from her armor-piercing eyes; not for any of the base reasons that would make Merle grin, he's not even sure what exactly it is, besides maybe just surprise that when everyone is looking at her, she's looking back at him.

It's clear this girl did something that saved Carl's life, but no one seems to want to reveal what that is. The old man with the white hair stands with a little more tension through his shoulders, even as Lori gives the blonde another quick side-ways squeeze of appreciation.

"We were so worried," says Carol in a breathless whisper as she steps forward to embrace Lori. On either side of them, the tension seems to ease up. Carl is alright, and the relief everyone feels seems to express itself in warm hugs all around. Daryl watches, glances up briefly to see if the blonde is still looking at him.

Holy shit, what does this girl want? He barely gets the thought out and tears his eyes away again, intent to pretend like she's not burning a hole in his face with those pale, strangely intense eyes.

"How'd it happen?" asks Dale, still squarely focused on Rick.

"Hunting accident," with the tiniest scoff of exasperation Rick hits the side of his leg and shakes his head, "That's all. Just a stupid accident."

The girl is still staring. Like the cracking of a whip she bolts suddenly and makes a beeline right towards him. Daryl watches her come with a tight jaw as she somehow manages to maneuver around his crossbow and put her arms around his waist. Unable to remember the last time he was hugged, Daryl stands stunned for a moment, but she seems to time it perfectly, everyone else is too preoccupied to even notice at first, except for the tall brunette with the wrinkled brow.

Daryl looks around, not sure whether to push her away, or alert someone to the situation, or pretend like it's not happening. She ain't exactly hurting anything, it's only that this is… uncomfortable. And warm. Very warm. Too damn warm, all the sudden. The crossbow hangs off to the side of him as he awkwardly puts one hand against her arm. Am I pushing or pulling? Neither, it seems. His fingers close around her and he finds himself just holding onto her, feeling her pulse race. Her soft fall of hair brushes his shoulder.

She hangs on long enough that the others finally see it. Daryl makes an effort not to look at their faces, especially not Shane, Glenn or T-Dog as he can already imagine good and well what they're thinking.

As quickly as she came at him, the blonde pulls back, the tiniest smile on her face. Those eyes have lost all that viciousness that made him so uneasy. They're warm, maybe a little sad. Her pink lip trembles, but all she says is, "Welcome!" brightly, before she immediately turns on her heel and heads back into the house, both hands clenched in fists.

The tall brunette and the old man glance at the door closing briefly before they look at each other. The brunette raises her eyebrows, "You see?" she mouths.

"I apologize…" The old man turns to Daryl, clearly expecting an introduction.

"Daryl Dixon."

"I'm sorry for that, Daryl. My daughter, Beth, is not quite herself. She's had a rough go of it recently."

"Ain't we all," mutters Daryl, getting at least half his bearings back after one little blonde doll managed to knock them down. Only a girl. Only gone a little batshit. He manages to shake it off, or at least look as though he shook it off. He still has to make an effort not to meet the eyes of any wiseass who might have something careless to say. It ain't funny. She's hurting, that much is obvious. Like everyone else, she's probably lost a lot of people. Finding new ones has got to be a bit overwhelming.

Unfortunately, it seems that T-Dog either doesn't realize what Daryl is trying to definitely not acknowledge, or he just doesn't care, because the man sidles right up to him and claps him on the shoulder using the arm that isn't all bandaged up. "Hey, man. You okay?" with a half-smug smile. At least he's got the courtesy to stir up a little bit of genuine concern in his voice.

"Never better," Daryl growls back at him.

"Only met her last night, but she's a sweet thing. A little intense, maybe," T-Dog shrugs and Daryl grinds his teeth, wondering why everyone feels like they need to defend this crazyass girl to him. What do they think he's gonna do to her? He'd much rather pretend nothing happened at this point.

"She ain't taken my wallet or nothin'," Daryl snorts, annoyed that he still feels hot in the face.

To his credit, T-Dog seems to finally realize that it's time to just laugh this off. After a little chuckle he pats Daryl again, somewhat less awkward. "She's Beth, that's Maggie—they're Hershel's daughter. Then there's Jimmy," he motions to the young looking guy, "Farm hand. He's kinda glaring at you right now on account of Beth just broke up with him last night," T-Dog added in undertone.

"Just figured the sun was in his eyes," Daryl frowns back at the dumb kid. Actually, he'd just thought that was what his face looked like.

"Otis and Patricia," he motions to the couple standing up on the porch now, watching the lot of them with matching, grim expresisons. "This place is nice, huh?" he adds in undertone.

That's all he needs to say and Daryl gets it. Fort Benning is no longer the attractive prospect that it used to be. A little relief sweeps over Daryl to know this. He'd never been crazy about the idea. It's good for them to have a goal, a reason to keep moving, but Atlanta turned out to be overrun. There is a good chance that most places would be like that, especially places where people would flock, like Fort Benning.

People were the problem. They brought the problem with them.

Daryl gestures to T-Dog's arm "Well, gotta stick 'round, at least 'til our wounded are up for travel." Even then, Daryl never really felt like Fort Benning was the answer.

"Nah, I'll be fine. Already fine. And Carl's gonna be good." T-Dog trails off as he adds, "But the doc wants both of us to spend some time off our feet. Now that I got something to fight the infection in my system…" looking uncomfortable, he nods at the ground, "Thanks, by the way."

"You needed it. We had it." Daryl finds he can't look at his face, he caught a little too much sincerity in T-Dog's eyes.

"I mean it, I appreciate it."

"Forget it."

"I won't."

Andrea, Glenn and Carol are already starting to set up camp, Shane's giving instructions again, Dale is expressing some strong feelings about where to park the Winnebago. T-Dog grips Daryl's shoulder one last time before he drifts off to help whatever he can before he's inevitably ordered to rest. Just in front of the stairs, Rick is asking Hershel for some maps.

Good. Maybe I can get to work.

Before the world ended, Daryl would get restless, stuck in one place for too long without anything to do. Luckily, there was always some desperation. Usually, he needed cash to repair his truck or Merle's bike, or to bail Merle out. Or, he needed food, in which case he'd often trek off into the woods for a few days at a time. He'd figured out that the best way to live was to have a purpose, something to accomplish each day, even if that purpose was just 'feed yourself' or 'find cigarettes'.

Finding Sophia is more than that. He can't sleep, thinking about her out there scared and exhausted and hungry. He feels guilty eating, know that she might be going hungry. Purpose after the end of the world is a little more difficult, but no less simple.

Find the girl.

It isn't long before Maggie returns with a map, and Daryl notices Rick beckoning a few people over to take a look at their territory. The search area.

"How long has this girl been lost?" It's clear that Hershel has been too preoccupied with the shot boy to think much about the lost girl, but now that Carl is resting and on his way to recovery, Daryl can hear real concern in his voice, that can't possibly he helped by Rick's answer.

"This'll be day three." Rick can't say it without betraying that he hasn't sleep much in three days.

We can't give up on her.

Unrolling the map on the hood of Hershel's truck, they use rocks to hold the edges' down, "County survey map. Shows terrain and elevations." Maggie explains and Daryl lets his eyes trace over the roughest parts of the forest first.

"This is perfect." Rick finally sounds hopeful. But Daryl can't blame him for being a little morbid. His son almost died yesterday. "We can finally get this thing organized. We'll grid the whole area, start searching in teams."

"Not you. Not today." Hershel chides him firmly, "You gave three units of blood."

Rick looks for a moment like he might protest, but even as Hershel speaks the man seemed to lose a few shades of health, his skin is grey, his eyes bloodshot and rimmed with dark circles. "You wouldn't be hiking five minutes in this heat before passing out."

"And, I was thinking I'd drive up to the interstate, see if Sophia wandered back." Shane looks over Rick's shoulder at Carol, briefly. "Maybe check out the woods around there a second time, see if anything's changed."

Personally, Daryl would prefer to track alone anyway. Still, it would have been nice to have someone working in a nearby grid. He has a gut feeling Sophia won't go back. "I'm gonna head back to the creek, work my way from there." Daryl already found the path on the map he wanted to take right about the moment the unfurled the map.

"All right, tomorrow then. We'll start doing this right." Rick says, still looking like he might fall over any second. The man needs to get some serious fluids in the mean time.

"That means we can't have our people out there with just knives." Shane grumbles, eyes flashing to Hershel, challenging but cautious. "They need the gun training we've been promising them. I'd be happy to—"

But Hershel won't hear it. "I'd prefer you not carrying guns on my property."

Daryl falters, hands a little tighter around his crossbow. It isn't technically a gun, so he'll hang onto it, unless Hershel specified crossbows as well… hell, even then, he isn't about to give it up.

"We've managed so far without turning this into an armed camp." Hershel adds, a disapproving glance swept over them, but he tightens his lip, content to leave it at that.

"All due respect, you get a crowd of those things wandering in here..." Shane can be known to use a more respectful tone, but Daryl agrees with him completely this time. It doesn't make sense not to be armed any more. They ought to teach everyone.

"Look, we're guests here. This is your property and we will respect that." Rick's words make it seem like he's speaking to Hershel, but it's clear he's not. "First things first: Set camp, find Sophia."

"I hate to be the one to ask, but somebody's got to. What happens if we find her and she's bit? I think we should all be clear on how we handle that." Shane speaks delicately, eyes slanted in Carol's direction again.

"You do what has to be done." Rick's jaw is set.

We'll find her. Daryl suddenly ain't breathing so well.

"And her mother? What do you tell her?" Maggie asks quietly.

"The truth." Andrea answers for the rest of her tongue-tied friends.

She'd know anyway.

"I'll gather and secure all the weapons. Make sure no one's carrying till we're at a practice range off site. I do request one rifleman on lookout. Dale's got experience." Shane acquiesces easy, suspiciously easy, but Daryl's attention is more on Hershel and Maggie, sharing some kind of psychic conversation.

Hershel gives a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head in response to his daughter's unasked question.

Daryl can't even begin to guess what that's about yet. Just find the girl. You can figure out these people after she's back with he mama.

"Our people would feel safer, less inclined to carry a gun." Rick manages a steely tone as he faces Hershel.

The old man still seems distracted, but it's clear he heard the question. Grimly, he agrees with another small nod.

"Thank you." Rick responds through tight teeth.

"That stuff you brought, got more antibiotics, bandages, anything like that?" Maggie sounds hopeful.

"Just what you've seen." Andrea admits. She looks exhausted and then Daryl realizes he's exhausted. They were both up looking for Sophia instead of sleeping last night.

"We've got a good amount, mostly on account of Beth scooping up everything she could carry inside the FEMA shelter, but something she said makes me think we oughta stock up while we can." Maggie grimaces, "I'll make a run into town."

"Not to the same place your sister went?" Rick asks in alarm.

"No, there's a pharmacy just a mile down the road. I've done it before." Maggie shrugs, looking to her father, but he doesn't protest the plan.

Rick swivels his head around to where the others are setting up camp, "See our man there in the baseball cap? That's Glenn, our go-to-town expert. I'd ask him along just to be cautious."

Good idea, nobody should be going anywhere all alone. Daryl smirks to himself as he peels out to go do exactly that. "Good thing I'm nobody," he mutters to himself under his breath.


Just a short Daryl POV section, to touch base with our favorite redneck. Next section up very soon!

Late Night – Foals