New Meanings To Old Words: Love

Boy oh boy, aren't we hitting the fun stuff. I'm not even gonna tell you what's in store for you below. All I can say is I hope you enjoy the way I've broken this down.

Warning to those who care: There's some (not much, but some) religious content in here. Please remember the views expressed are an adaptation of the inner workings of an imaginary character in a story's mind. I have no will or want to force a belief upon someone, or to offend anyone.

As always read, review and most of all enjoy!~michelle

Disclaimer: I own nothing, except Callie and the crew of misfits (Danny, Miles, Jenna, Mike, Nina, Ben and Gracie).

Every Grain Of Sand

Jimmy stared at Hershel, but didn't really see him.

He listened to him, that firm tone of his laced with such disappointment that it pierced his heart, but he didn't really hear him.

No, it wasn't Hershel staring at him with that hurt expression that seemed to run so deep into the lines of his face that Jimmy was sure it would never lift again. No, it wasn't Hershel speaking to him about disappointment, and human decency, and the will of the Lord.

It wasn't Hershel saying that he would pray for Jimmy's soul. That he would pray, but he didn't expect those prayers to be answered.

It wasn't Hershel.

It was his father. The man he'd just buried in haphazardly dug hole on the grounds of his church.

"I don't know what to say to you, son." Hershel said shaking his head as he stared at Jimmy from across his desk. The man got up then, and turned his back to Jimmy. "I just don't know what's left to say." Hershel took a breath and shook his head as he stared out the window at the world beyond his office.

Jimmy took in a deep shuddering breath, watching Hershel's head hang and his hands clench tight behind his back.

"Sir," Jimmy said, his voice barely registering in the room. He cleared his throat ready to say the word again and try to explain but he was cut off.

"Your father was a man of God," Hershel said, the words said with so much vehemence that they stung like a slap to the face. Jimmy flinched slightly watching the back of Hershel's head shake a few times before he turned and pierced Jimmy with that steady stare. That steady disappointed, hurt, and hateful stare. "He was a man of God. And he entrusted you with the values and wisdom to appreciate that. He taught you the value of life, and gave you the power to be a faithful servant to our Lord. Someone who could continue his legacy in his absence." Hershel's voice was gaining power, and Jimmy's eyes darted towards the slightly ajar door for a brief second wondering at who might be outside listening to this.

Jimmy knew Beth was confused by the entire situation. She'd been crying and trying to get him to explain what was going on to her. But Hershel had pulled him away from her. Then they'd entered into his office, covered in mud, blood and gore from the oozing wounds of his dead family.

He honestly didn't think he could feel any worse than he did at that moment. Frozen in place, standing as stiff as he could as Rick explained what he'd done. All of it.

Murdering that girl included.

His eyes had slipped to the woman, Callie, at that point. Her body settled stiffly in the chair that Jimmy sat in now, her eyes fixed on Hershel's desk. Hershel had looked at her, tried to speak to her, but she hadn't said a word. She'd simply looked up at him, and whatever the look on her face was it had been powerful enough to knock Hershel back a step before he recovered and nodded back at her.

Rick had gone on to explain the rest. He explained what had been in the church. As well as what his group had unknowingly done in their passing of the building days ago. And what Jimmy had done before that, to the people—the Walkers as Rick had called them-that had wandered up that hill to his father's church at the ringing of those false bells.

That had been the end of the conversation that night. Hershel waving a hand saying that he'd heard enough. His dismissal of Jimmy with no words just a shake of his head had hurt more than he'd been prepared for it to. And Jimmy thought Hershel would never speak to him about it. That the older man would never be able to look at Jimmy again, let alone find the words he wished to speak in the jumbled mess that Jimmy had made of things.

But he had. And he'd pulled Jimmy aside this morning to express those feelings.

"You were to be his legacy," Hershel was saying, his voice quavering slightly as his disgust and disappointment took hold. Jimmy looked up and met the older man's eyes, watching those feelings filter so freely in heavily browed eyes. "And look what you've accomplished. You've murdered innocent people, sick people, on the lawn of his church."

Jimmy stared, because what else could he do. He stared at the man, the kind man who took him in and protected him when his entire family came down with this illness. The man, who along with the rest of his family helped him to maintain a sense of sanity when all he wanted to do was break down. The man who had held him back that first day, when he went to go into the church after deciding that he'd rather be with his family than alone.

He stared because there wasn't anything he could say to that man to make him see. There were no words left to be said between them. Hershel's eyes said it all.

"I'm not going to say that things will be fine between us," Hershel said quietly, once again turning his back on Jimmy and facing the window. The bright shining sun of the new day did little to help the darkness that was clouding over Jimmy's mind. "I don't think I can ever trust you. Not in my home. Not with my land. And not with my daughter." Jimmy's eyes widened a bit and his breath left in a rushed puff, but still Hershel didn't turn to face him. "I will not toss you from this farm for your ignorance. I can't in good faith send you to the wolves of this new world." Hershel took a breath and again shook his head before dipping it down. "I have no more to say on this and would ask that it never be mentioned in my presence again. I would ask you to keep your distance from Beth," he paused then, his head dipping a bit and shaking slightly. "I'll explain things to her. I would ask that you continue to your tasks around the farm, as any other farmhand would do. And when you are not involved in that I ask that you stay to your room or the house and stay away from Callie and her children. As well as the rest of her and Rick's group. You've caused them enough sorrow and heartache, and she was quite benevolent in her treatment of you in my opinion." Hershel's voice was low and Jimmy leaned forward a bit as his last words echoed out. "I have nothing left for you. No words. No compassion. No respect. You are here as a visitor and guest only, and I ask you to act as such."

Jimmy swallowed, waiting for Hershel to turn and face him. Waiting in vain. Hershel didn't turn. He wouldn't.

Couldn't.

Jimmy stood, his legs shaking beneath him and continued to stare at Hershel's back. The man's hands were clenched so tight that Jimmy could actually see where his nails were digging into the palm of one of his hands. But still he didn't turn.

Jimmy walked out of Hershel's office and let his bleary wet eyes search around him for a bit. He felt lost. A strange feeling to have in a house that had become a second home to him, but there it was. He could hear the sound of laughter coming from the back bedroom where Rick's son was laid up. His breath caught at the sound of Callie and Rick's voices echoing low around him and the sound of the front screen door swinging shut as they made their way out. He sniffed twice, blinking rapidly as he could to try and clear his wavering vision.

He was lost, utterly and completely.

"Jimmy?" Patricia's voice called out and his head lifted meeting her gaze head on. There was so much he could see in her eyes; questions she wanted to ask, comfort she wanted to give. But over top of it all, lingering in the air around her was disappointment. Disappointment so strong that it held an odor all its own. An odor that all at once seemed too heavy to breathe. "Jimmy," Patricia said his name again and he just stared at her. "Jimmy c'mon. Let's get you something to eat. You-"

He pushed past her and out the back door before she could utter another word. He could hear her calling after him, but the sounds faded away as he worked his way around the house. He was breathing hard, almost hyperventilating because that smell in the air of that house had been so strong. So strong that it had nearly killed him to breathe it.

Jimmy's eyes lifted as he walked slowly around the house, his feet barely lifting from the ground as he walked. He turned, as if his body was working on autopilot and headed towards the barn. Because he needed to. He needed to apologize to them.

His body worked slow and steady towards the barn until he was a few feet away. The doors were held tight by the chain and lock around them but creaked slightly as a low breeze pushed at them. The smell, the faint smell that had almost gagged him the first time he'd helped Otis and Hershel put people in there was almost welcoming now. Familiar in a strange sort of way. He breathed it in, and continued to stare at the barn.

His eyes slipped to the woods suddenly, a thought slicing through his brain so quickly and sharply that it instantly cleared his tear-filled vision. His jaw clenched tight and he worked his way around the back of the barn where he knew the leads were kept and grabbed one off of the hook.

Working his way into the forest area he walked, and walked, and walked. He really wasn't sure how long or how far he walked before he stumbled upon the familiar area. The ground so soft around where the water from the ravine not far off had collected, that he almost slipped twice as he edged around the little pool.

He stood back a bit, his mind working a mile a minute as he stared.

He needed to prove to Hershel, to Patricia, to Maggie and God to Beth that he wasn't the horrible person that they believed him to be. He needed to make them see that he was good, that he like so many before him, had simply forgotten. Forgotten that they were sick.

He stared and felt his throat tighten at the sight of the two people figures clawing and growling at him from their place in that suctioning silt hidden beneath that little pool of water. He stared, and for a moment considered going to get Hershel. Considered asking the man to help him. Considered doing this task with him as he'd done so many times in the past. A task that had bonded them together.

But he knew he couldn't. He needed to do this on his own. Needed to prove to Hershel that he could. That he could be gentle with these people. That he could show compassion and be the man that his father would have wanted and expected him to be.

Shifting the lead in his hands he felt the small beads of sweat slide down the side of his face. There were only two. Neither of them people he recognized, which wasn't really that odd. The sight of so many strangers had ceased to amaze him after witnessing the amount of wandering souls that had made their way up to his father's church. People he'd never met before but that had simply wandered into his world.

These two, he could handle. A man, half of his torso gone leaving only his right arm to reach out in swinging arcs towards where Jimmy had stopped. And a girl, a young girl, her clothes and body so covered with mud and blood that he couldn't really make out much in a way of anything on her. The only thing he could see were her reaching hands, flexing in that odd sort of way that this sickness caused, and her hair. Short and blonde, and matted to her head on one side by a wound that seeped thick black-red blood and gore down on to her shoulder.

He could handle them. He'd get them to the barn, take them in through the back area as Otis had taught him to do, and he'd pick up where he and the other man had left off. He'd do it by himself, until he could work up the nerve to once again approach Hershel. Until he could get past the lump in his throat and the pain in his chest that the older man's inability to even turn and face him had caused.

Nodding his head, Jimmy wiped each of his sweating palms on his pants and then flexed his hands around the thin pole of the lead. He would do this on his own.

He would prove that he wasn't the monster that everyone believed him to be.

Don't have the inclination to look back on any mistake

Like Cain, I now behold this chain of events that I must break

In the fury of the moment I can see the master's hand

In every leaf that trembles, in every grain of sand.

Callie curled her toes in the cool grass and let out a small sigh at the strangely comforting sensation. She used to walk barefoot all the time back home, her large plantation house settled so far back from the roads and the prying eyes of her neighbors that she'd never cared what they thought of it.

Memories of days spent out in the sunlit backyard, hanging the wash to dry on the lines assaulted her. Smiling and laughing and easy times watching Sammy and Hannah use the laundry as a sort of obstacle course that they would run through for hours when they'd visit.

It seemed like so long ago that she'd been able to do such a simple thing as enjoy the feel of the cool grass on her bare feet and hang laundry.

Shaking out the shirt she held Callie felt the smile tip her lips as she watched Ben and Gracie run through the fluttering fabric. A twinge of pain, pain that she'd worked long and hard over the past few months to push deep down and away, came flaring back. Her hands clenched just a bit on the shirt and she looked down at it.

The red and white Hawaiian shirt, the one that Danny had borrowed from Dale days ago, stared back at her. The large reddish-brown stain settled deep into the fibers of the fabric sent a chill down her spine and completely killed the euphoria of her happy memories. That stain, that bloody patch, the same staining that seemed to have settled upon all of their clothes like a plague reminded her that happier times were not something to linger on.

Not anymore.

Callie shook the shirt and her head and draped the damp fabric over the line in front of her. Ben skirted around her legs followed by a slower, yet more determined than ever, Gracie. The little girl's hands were reaching out trying to grab her brother and she was smiling widely as she slipped into and around Callie's legs.

"I thought you were confined to the house for today," Carol's voice echoed around and Callie shifted slightly to look at her in a bit of surprise.

"Yeah, well," Callie shifted her feet around showing them in all their bare and slightly dirty glory to the sweetly smiling woman. "I feel I'm being quite magnanimous in my handlin' of this dictate Master Dixon has laid down, and if he thinks otherwise he can kiss my ass." Carol chuckled a bit and Callie shot her a small smile. "Plus, I had some things to get done, and," Callie took a breath shifting her eyes back towards the house. "I really didn't feel like being in there right now." Carol nodded and shifted a bit on her feet while Callie eyed her. With a sigh Callie smiled and reached out a hand. "Anything at the highway?"

"No," Carol said quietly her eyes lowering to the basket of wet laundry at Callie's feet. Callie watched as Carol shook her head and grabbed a shirt from the top of the pile, one of Daryl's Callie noted with a slight smile, and shook it almost angrily. "All of the supplies were still there. Which I suppose is good. But-"

"Daryl's gonna find her," Callie said quietly, causing Carol's eyes to meet hers. "He's determined to. And if there's one thing I've learned in the months I've known that man it's this: Do not get in the way of a determined Dixon." Callie shook a finger at Carol and smiled. "He's gonna find her. If not today, then tomorrow. He's gonna find her and she's gonna be fine."

"How can you-" Carol cut herself off and draped Daryl's shirt over the line in front of her. "How can you be so sure, after-" Carol turned and stared into Callie's waiting eyes, instantly a look of pity and shame slid into place and Callie felt her head shaking. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Callie said reaching out and squeezing Carol's arm. "You have every right to be worried, and you have every right to speak your mind on it. She's your daughter," Callie let her hand slide off of Carol's arm and she reached down for the next item in the basket. "He's gonna find her Carol. She's gonna be fine. The day you stop thinking that, the day you let your fears override your hope is the day you lose her."

Carol was quiet after that, and Callie could feel the woman's eyes stuck to her. Callie didn't turn to face her until she caught Carol move from the corner of her eyes. Carol grabbed another item from the basket and nodded her head as she lifted it onto the line.

"He's a good man," Carol said idly, and Callie shifted a small smile to the woman as she met her slightly amused eyes.

"Yeah, he is." Callie said with a chuckle and a nod as she worked the next item onto the line. "You think you could try and tell him that for me. He apparently has selective hearing and comprehension skills where what I say is concerned."

Carol laughed and shook her head and the two of them fell into a sort of comfortable silence. Callie's bare feet continued to flex in the cool grass; her eyes continued to watch Ben and Gracie as they circled around Dale's form as he lowered himself from the top of the RV. The older man shot her a smile and Callie lifted her gaze to where Danny was settled upon the little folding chair under the umbrella.

"This is a sight I haven't seen in quite some time," Lori's slightly amused voice had Callie's attention shifting away from Danny. Lori settled her own basket down on the ground and lifted a brow at Callie and shot an amused look to Carol.

"I figured Danny's been on bitch duty long enough," Callie said and immediately closed her eyes and lifted a hand. "Sorry," Callie said chuckling and waving her hand around. "His words, not mine. Sorry." Callie shook her head again and shot a smile to the slightly chuckling Carol beside her. "Honest to God I need to get some more sleep." Callie shifted her eyes to Lori and watched her raise a brow and shake her head. "How's Carl doing?"

"Good. Thank you," Lori said quietly returning Callie's nod. "He wants to be outside," Lori continued, a serene sort of smile flitting onto her lips as she pulled a dry shirt off of the line and tossed it into her basket. Callie caught her eye and she smiled. "But Hershel said he needs another day of rest, but tomorrow-"

"That's good," Callie said as Lori nodded. The women fell into a comfortable yet heavy sort of silence. Again Callie was reminded of those old days when she'd sit out in the backyard with Suze, when Bobby was on a tour or at Fort Benning for something or another, watching Sammy and Hannah run along in the sun. She felt the tears begin to well and shook them off as Carol's voice broke the silence.

"I was thinking we could make dinner for Hershel's family," Carol said timidly and Callie slipped her eyes to the woman still hanging wash on the line. Carol smiled and looked to Lori. "They've just been so kind to us, I'd like to do something," Carol shook her head. "They have that huge kitchen, and goodness it feels like ages since I've seen so much food." Callie was nodding idly as Carol talked with Lori. "I was thinking you could ask."

"Me?" Lori asked, looking slightly amazed at the suggestion.

"Well, you're Rick's wife," Carol said, and for some reason Lori's eye slid to Callie. Callie smiled back at Lori, but Lori looked away without returning the gesture. "You're kind of our unofficial first lady. I think it would be best if you asked." Lori stared at Carol for a long time, and Callie felt just a bit bad for the woman.

"She's right," Callie said working her bare feet along the grass to hang her last pair of pants on the line. Her foot hit into the worn green backpack at her feet and she stumbled quickly away from it. Lori watched Callie move, her eyes slipping up to her face with confusion furrowing her brow. "She is. It would be best coming from you. You should ask," Callie slipped her eyes to Carol who was smiling a bit as well. "I think it's a great idea."

She didn't. Not really. Fuck. That she thought was going to be the most uncomfortable dinner in the history of uncomfortable dinners. But then again, Callie didn't really plan on attending it so what the fuck did she care. If for nothing else, it was a good idea for Carol's sake.

Lori didn't say anything, just nodded her head and eyed Callie as she moved towards the now empty basket. Callie felt that woman's eyes on her the entire time she moved but didn't turn until Lori's voice rang out.

"Do you need me to wash these for you?" Lori asked. Callie instantly turned and saw Lori opening the worn green backpack, her fingers touching off one of the shirts settled inside. Callie's eyes went wide, and her breath caught in her throat, and in a flash she grabbed the backpack away from Lori and settled it against her chest. Lori looked up at Callie in shock and slowly got to her feet as Callie zipped the backpack closed.

"No," Callie said finding her voice somewhere in the torturous confines of her dry throat. Callie cleared her throat and shook her head, her eyes skipping to Carol who looked on with a sad sort of smile tipping her lips. Carol's hand reached out and Callie stepped away, her bare feet slipping slightly in a patch of grass. "No, it's fine. I'll take care of it."

With that Callie gathered her empty basket and slung the backpack over her shoulder. She pretended not to hear Carol as she slipped up to Lori. "It's Jenna's," Carol said, her quiet voice echoing in Callie's ears as she walked off. Callie firmed her lips tight.

Callie worked slowly towards the Hummer and dropped the basket near the open tailgate. Jenna's backpack slipped off of her shoulder and Callie stared at it for a long moment. Slowly she sat on the ground and settled the pack between legs. Her hands shook a bit as she worked the zipper slowly open, she blinked the wetness away and stared down into the bag.

It was her 'go bag' as Callie had called it. She'd made all of the kids, including Danny, keep one. A bag that held a few essentials and emergency gear just in case they had to abandon their camps and travel light. The bags were all settled into the back of the Hummer where they always remained. No matter where they were. They'd been there at the Quarry, and they remained there now.

Because you just never knew what this fucked up world was going to throw at you.

Callie's fingers slid over the fabric of Jenna's shirt and she let out a shuddering sigh. She'd pulled the backpack out earlier, with every intention of going through its contents. Jenna wasn't going to be using the items inside now, so it made sense to go through it and divvy out what was inside. It made total sense, but Callie just could seem to bring herself to do it. So instead, she'd carried the thing with her as she walked around working on the laundry, and its weight on her shoulders felt like it was filled with rocks. Again.

A smile tipped Callie's lips and she found herself blinking back the tears as a familiar set of shoes entered into her periphery. Callie didn't turn to face him, just let him slip slowly to the ground beside her and waited.

"You know she used to have like six of those fuckin' notebooks of hers shoved in there," Miles' voice, tired and hoarse croaked out and Callie smiled a bit as she shifted to look at him. His eyes were fixed on Jenna's bag, but his they tipped up to hers after a moment a small smile playing on his lips. "She finally took 'em out after Danny and Mike berated her for like an hour." Miles continued his good right hand reaching out and tapping on the front zippered pocket of the bag. "She still kept two in there," Miles said chuckling. "Said Danny and Mike could 'bite her', she wasn't givin' them up."

Callie chuckled and worked her hands to unzip the front pocket. Sure enough two well used tattered spiral bound notebooks were settled inside, and Callie slipped her fingers over them.

"She was always writing in those damn things," Miles said quietly watching Callie slip them out of the pocket. She stared at them for a moment before shifting and handing them out to the obviously intrigued boy beside her. Miles reached out slowly, his eyes sliding from the notebooks up to Callie's face. He stared for a moment before taking a hold of the offering. "I'm sorry, Cal."

"I know," Callie said quietly nodding her head and letting Miles take the notebooks. He placed them reverently upon his lap and spread the fingers of his hands over them. "Are you alright?"

Miles nodded and then thought better of it, his head began to shake and he tossed a hand out at the space in front of them.

"Fuck no," Miles said a bit of a chuckle in his voice as he looked over at her. "But I'm dealing with it." Callie stared at Miles for a few moments before nodding her head.

She felt Miles continue to stare at her, as she worked to slowly pull out the two rolled up shirts that Jenna kept in her bag. Callie folded each one neatly beside her on the ground and let her fingers slide over the fabric.

"Had a chat with Daryl earlier before he left," Miles said quietly causing Callie to look up at him with a raised brow. "He, uh," Miles cleared his throat and rubbed at the back of his head. "Helped me to see the err of my ways."

"Oh yeah?" Callie said smiling a bit and feeling her brow rise a bit higher. Miles smiled and shifted his eyes around the campsite. Callie watched his face contort a bit and followed his line of sight to where Andrea and Shane could be seen chatting not far off. Callie bit at the inside of her cheek and glanced at Miles from the corner of her eye, waiting for him to continue. Waiting to see where this little pow-wow was going to take them.

"Yeah," Miles said still staring at Shane's form in the distance. "He's got a gentle touch, that one." Callie snorted out a laugh and Miles shifted his eyes to her. "He made me realize something that I forgot." Miles smiled at Callie's raised brow and bumped his shoulder into her. "That we're family now. All of us. That we got each other's backs no matter what."

"Good thing to remember," Callie said nodding as she slipped her gaze back to the bag and pulled out the small sheathed knife. Callie smiled a bit as she figured she was going to have to show that redneck her appreciation his stepping in with Miles, and maybe inquire 'bout this gentle touch of his. Maybe get herself a little dose of it. A smile was pulling at her lips when she felt Miles shift beside her.

"I'm going to tell you something, Cal." Miles' voice rang out, and there was a different tone to it. A tone that had her smile fading quickly. Gone was that little bit of joy and happiness that his previous statement had held and what replaced it was something she could only describe as determination when she caught his eyes as she turned to face him. "I'm going to tell you, and you have to promise me something." Callie's brow furrowed as she watched Miles shift on his hip and remove something from his pocket. She stared at his hand for a moment, a chain slipping between the slats of his tightly clenched hand. "When you go," Miles said holding the chain and letting the item hidden in his palm fall to her wide eyed stare. The dog tags caught the sun and blinded Callie for a moment before she blinked away the effects of the glare. Her hands reached out towards them, and her eyes slipped up to Miles' as he finished his statement. "You take me with you."

I gaze into the doorway of temptation's angry flame

And every time I pass that way I always hear my name

The onward in my journey I come to understand

That every hair is numbered like every grain of sand.

The sound of rushing water and an intense searing pain in his side caused Daryl's eyes to pop open. The blinding sunlight overhead flashed white hot into his scrambled brain and instantly had him turning to the side. Which he was quickly reminded was a fuckin' mistake when that searing pain in his side was aggravated to all new levels of fucked up.

"Sum'bitch," Daryl grumbled over the rush of blood through his ears, amplified by the water he'd apparently rolled into at some point. Rolling onto his back Daryl reached over his body, his right arm feelin' like a fuckin' dead weight as it skimmed over his shirt towards the pain in his side. His fingers touched off of the bolt just as his head finally lifted the inch needed to see the fuckin' thing sticking out of him. "Motherfucker," Daryl seethed his head splashing hard back into the water as his right hand followed suit and slipped lifelessly off of his body.

Taking in a few deep, utterly painful breaths, Daryl blinked past the bright sunlight and tried to focus his attention onto his surroundings. The wind was blowin' through the trees further off from where he was layin'. Birds were fuckin' chirpin' somewhere in the branches above. The cool water was flowin' at a steady pace around him, and woulda been fuckin' soothin' if he wasn't currently in a world of hurt.

Daryl's bleary vision slipped to his left and met the blank staring button eyes of a rag doll. He felt his face contort in confusion, his scrambled brain trying to recall how he knew it would be there. The memory of sitting on the horse, seeing that something down in the ravine, then the last image he saw before apparently passed out. That doll.

Sophia's doll.

Sophia.

Closing his eyes tight, Daryl took in a few more sharp breaths. On the third breath out he rolled his body to his uninjured right, his face bobbing under the water for a second before he used whatever vestiges of strength he could find to push up to his knees. Settled there in the water on his knees and he watched the world tilt and turn on a strange axis. His right hand lifted to his head, sliding in what he thought was water but soon realized was blood from a nice deep fuckin' gash at his temple. The sight of the bright red blood staining his fingers had him falling forward, his arms crashing into the soft sediment of the little creek and keeping him from face-planting back down into it.

"Fuck," Daryl said, feelin' like a broken record but using the anger behind that word to propel him into some kind of half-fuckin' hunched sort of standing position. He took a few staggering steps, his eyes squinting through the haze of his head wound, leading him towards the bank not far off. Adrenaline was the only thing keepin' him moving at this point. Adrenaline and the sure as shit knowledge that he could stay there soakin' up the sun any longer than he already had.

He was bleedin' like a gutted pig from that bolt wound in his side, and the one on his head. Not to mention the other abrasions he was just gettin' the joy of feelin' come to life as he moved. And if there were any Walkers about they could no doubt fuckin' smell his ass a mile away. He staggered again, nearly falling forward more times than he actually stepped forward, but finally he managed to get his ass up onto that bank.

Again Daryl shifted, fuckin' painfully, to get a look at the wound in his side. The bolt had ripped right through the muscle, as far as he could tell it didn't hit nothing vital. Otherwise his ass woulda been still layin' in that fuckin' water just waitin' for some geek to come get dinner. His breathing was hitched and coming out in painful gasps with each shift he made, but he managed to grab his knife and slice off his shirt sleeves.

And suddenly he heard Callie, chucklin' and goin' on 'bout his fuckin' sleeveless shirts again. He tore at the fabric roughly, using his agitation at that woman laughin' at him-the smile that he could see in his mind's eye made him move just a bit faster to bind his wound. Tying the fabric tight around his mid-section he sheathed his knife and put his hand to the mass of painful tissue at his side. An almost debilitating pain shot through him as he worked to get his left leg under his body.

He gained his feet, and opened his eyes. Once again the world teetered at a strange angle, a wave of nausea flying into him and almost causing him to fall back to the ground. Sheer force of will kept him going and he staggered towards that doll and grabbed it up before pushing all the way to his feet.

He stared into those button eyes for a moment, using it to focus his wavering vision and steady his mind. He nodded at the doll, before shoving it into the small of his back between his belt and pants. The movement nearly had him pitching back down to the ground, but he held his balance against a nearby tree stump, his eyes searching the area. He knew he was gonna need somethin' to act as a crutch to keep his ass up if he really wanted to get out of this shit.

Bending, a movement that no one should ever fuckin' do with a head wound, "Motherfucker," seething yet again from his tight clenched jaw, Daryl picked up a branch. It was a good size stick, and he tested the durability of it while closing his eyes and workin' to keep his brain from exploding out his eyes. His fingers curled around the tip of the stick, feeling the worn edge of it with his thumb. It didn't feel natural at all, the sharpened point of that stick and his eyes focused on it for a moment.

Rustling noises in the brush across from him had his eyes snapping to a stretch of green. A large fuckin' stretch that coulda been hiding all shades of shit behind it. This time he fought the fuckin' urge to call out for Sophia, and instead let his mind see the more viable possibility. If that girl had been hidin' there and saw him, she woulda been out already.

Which meant it was something else makin' that rustlin' noise in that big ass stretch of green.

Adrenaline, pure and unfiltered skittered through his blood and pushed away that dizziness and nausea of his head wound. It shoved the fuckin' pain of that bolt slicin' through his body outta the way and had him reaching quickly and deftly behind him for his crossbow.

"Son of a-" his hands hit nothin' but his soakin' wet back. A fleetin' memory of him pullin' it before he fell off his mount and it dislodging from his hands on the way down slipped into his mind's eye. Sparing one last look at the now silent stretch of green Daryl quickly made his way back towards the water.

Using his branch he began feelin' around the creek bed, his breaths still puffing out in rapid succession as fear began to light up his senses. He couldn't lose that fuckin' weapon. He needed that fuckin' weapon. He pressed forward, that stick sliding slowly along the bottom until it stuck on something. Reaching down, Daryl locked his fingers around the familiar weight of his crossbow and felt his lips turning up in a sneering sort of smile as he hefted it out of the water.

Nodding his head for a second, then regretting the motion as the dizziness yet again tilted the axis of his vision. He felt like he was gonna puke any second. The memory of him watchin' Rick wrestle with his own concussed head as they walked the forest for Sophia and Jenna days ago flittering into his mind. A small chuckle rumbled in his chest and he shook off that nausea. He wasn't gonna be pukin' like some little bitch.

No fuckin' way.

Grabbing his crossbow in his right hand along with his walking stick Daryl made his way as quickly as his broken, dizzy-ass could, to the bank again. He took a moment to breath, a moment to stare up the ridge he'd fallen down. Whistling just a bit at the sight of the drop he marveled for a single second at how fuckin' lucky he was he hadn't broken his damn neck. At that thought his eyes slipped to the bit of gold peekin' out from under the hem of his shirt. He felt a sort of sarcastic chuckle rumble through his chest again as he shook his head at that 'lucky' badge.

"That's some fucked up type of lucky," Daryl muttered. His vision blanked for a second, his body leaning hard on the walking stick he held and he teetered on the edge of passing out for a few seconds. He felt his body sagging and pushed against it. Pushed fuckin' hard.

He had to get the fuck outta here.

As he walked slowly along the bottom of the ridge lookin' for a viable way up, his mind shifted to the doll settled at his back. He slipped his eyes behind him once, skimming the area for any other sign of the girl. The doll was a sign. The first real concrete fuckin' sign that they'd had, that they'd even been followin' the girl's trail. He'd done a bang up job of convincing Carol, T-Dog and Glenn that it had to have been the girl in that house, and leavin' those marks on the trees. But if he was bein' honest, he hadn't done a great job convincin' himself. Especially when those marks just up and fuckin' stopped.

Daryl's brow furrowed as he searched the area again. The doll was down here. Down almost right below where those fuckin' tracks had stopped. His eyes slipped up the ridge line again, and then snapped back down. Had she fallen too?

He was about to take a few steps away to check around but his foot stopped mid-step.

No.

No she hadn't fallen. She was light on her feet, and smart. She probably just dropped the doll down there after gettin' spooked. His lip curled and he nodded his head as he yet again searched the deserted area around him for any signs of the girl. He wasn't gonna believe that girl had fallen. Because if he did, then that would lead him into thoughts of another kind.

Thoughts that he had no business thinkin'.

That girl was alive. Alive.

Snarling, Daryl turned back to the ridge line and worked his way down along it. After a bit of searching he found an incline that wasn't fuckin' perpendicular to the ground. Close, but not a straight right angle. Slipping his crossbow's strap over his right shoulder and letting it hang at his side, he took a few deep steadying breaths.

"Three breaths, Daryl", Callie's voice slipped into his mind and he felt his head nodding as his shoulders lifted painfully with each breath. The same words he'd heard echoing through the blood pounding in his brain up on that rooftop in Atlanta. "Three breaths, that's all you get. Then move the fuck on."

Move the fuck on. Move the fuck on from the pain. Move the fuck on from thinkin' that little girl was somewhere down here. Move the fuck on, Dixon.

Daryl nodded one more time, the pain in his side shoutin' out against him as he leaned his left foot forward into that loose fuckin' dirt that made up the side of the ridge he chose to try and climb and he moved the fuck on. He felt his crossbow dangling at his side, bumping into the back of his thighs as he worked upwards. He used that strangely pointed walking stick to spear the soft ground, his left arm tossing forward painfully to grab a hold of the spindly fuckin' branches poking up outta that ridge.

It was slow going, and the pain in his side was screamin' by the time he reached a bit past what he figured had to be halfway up. He abandoned his walking stick after a few more ill-fated attempts to spear into the slightly harder ground. His arms were out wide from his body, hands gripping into the thin trees and vines he'd used for purchase when a wave of dizziness nearly had his knees buckling. The world titled, his vision sparkling a bit with white and black flecks. He shook his head against it.

Which was the wrong fuckin' move as those specs in his eyes just decided to bounce together painfully and multiply. Daryl closed his eyes for a second, three more deep excruciating breaths moving his torso and twitchin' at that pierced oblique on his left. Those three breaths were followed by about five fast puffs, and his eyes opened to stare up the rest of the ridge towards his goal.

"C'mon now," Daryl said to himself shifting his body around and working to build a bit of momentum with his outstretched arms. "Quit bein' a pussy."

With that Daryl nodded his head, and maneuvered his body so that he could half swing-half step to the next bit of vines and branches. His left hand shot out and grabbed for them, his fingertips grazing the edge of them before slipping off and flexing wildly in the air for them. He felt his balance shifting. Felt his heavy, concussed fuckin' head tilting backwards and he overcompensated with his shoulders and arms. His right clenched tighter against the branches he held, but the weight of his off-balance body was too much for his arm and those branches to take.

The branches pulled from the dirt below and Daryl felt his body tip backwards. His eyes went wide, his puffing painful breaths speeding up again as his adrenaline began to pump and ready his body for the fall.

He was weightless for a single second, that horrid feeling of fallin' once again assaulting his senses. Then his body was ricocheting and bouncing off the ridge again. His head smashed yet again against something hard and sparks blanked his vision completely. Throbbing, searing pain shot through his entire body as he slammed hard head over feet again and again down that ridge.

Again, he hit bottom. And again he felt his body bounce off the ground and into the water. And again the world went black around him.

Daryl wasn't sure how long he lay there unconscious. Wasn't sure how long he'd given into that almost euphoric sense of leaving all the pain of those two falls far away. But he knew when he woke up. He felt the warmth of the sun on his face. Felt the rush of water around his legs. His upper torso settled on what felt like a million tiny spiky rocks that were digging into his flesh. His head rolled from side to side as his brain swam with the pressure of what he figured was more than a mild concussion.

His jaw was slack his breathing no longer that stilted painful puffing, but now just a slow steady release through that wide hanging mouth of his. He felt himself closing his mouth, working saliva around his dry mouth. It was the only thing he could actually seem to do.

He couldn't move anything else but that fuckin' mouth of his.

His body was too heavy. Arms dragging like lead weights at his sides as he worked to command them to do something. Anything.

But why did he need to? He was comfortable. He was warm. He was laying on a river bank, starin' up at the sun on a lazy day.

No. He wasn't on a river bank.

Daryl's head tipped to the left and then the right as his eyes blinked open. Bright white light burned his vision and he closed them again.

He wasn't on a river bank. And this wasn't some lazy fuckin' day. Couldn't be. There weren't no lazy fuckin' days to be had anymore.

Daryl's eyes blinked open and then closed again as his head rolled along those jagged little pebbles beneath him. His eyes opened again, and this time something blocked that white hot light from searing his retina. A big fuckin' shadowy shape, bobbin' and weavin' in time with the roll of his head.

"Hey," A voice hit his ears, a voice he hadn't heard in months. His eyes slipped open more, but still he couldn't make out the person behind that shadowed shape. "Hey!" again the voice sounded, more urgent and fuckin' pissed off this time. Daryl felt his lips curl a bit in a sneer of a smile as the dark shadowy shape finally began to clear. "Why don't you pull that arrow out, dummy. You can bind your wound better."

Daryl felt the smile tip his lips up as the shape cleared into sharp focus. His tongue worked in his dry mouth again trying to create some spit as his throat constricted with each dry swallow. He worked for what felt like hours to get his mouth and mind on the same fuckin' page so that he could finally rasp out the name he'd been longin' to say for months.

"Merle."

I hear the ancient footsteps like the motion of the sea

Sometimes I turn, there's someone there, other time it's only me

I am hanging in the balance of the reality of man

Like every sparrow falling, like every grain of sand

~Every Grain Of Sand/ Bob Dylan

AN: Okay, alright….I know. Y'all probably hate the break down and are all WHERE'S THE CHUPACABRA WE KNOW AND LOVE. Well, to those of you really looking for a Daryl-centric chapter sit on pins and needles and bounce as you will, cause it's comin' next chapter. That's right. We're gonna focus our asses on the nitty-gritty of the Daryl / Merle fun in Chupacabra next chapter so be on the lookout.

As for the warning above, I apologize if that was off putting to anyone. I really hope you guys enjoyed this chapter and I'd love to hear what you think. I had so many qualms about it… but here it is for you to enjoy!

Goodness, feeling good about getting this all out and done so I can fully enjoy SEASON 3. Which OH MY GOD I know a lot of you have put in the reviews/PM's to me. YES. FUCK YES. I saw it, I watched it twice, I sat and watched Talking Dead, and I settled myself in for the awesomeness that's coming. RICK, MY GOD. So happy with where he's getting to go this season. I LOVE Daryl, don't get me wrong but Rick is a VERY VERY VERY close second in my mind. I heart him so bad. Fuck. I'm pretty sure that we can all say that the saying has definitely been changed from TGIF to TGIS (Thank God It's Sunday). Good God. Hit me up with a PM if there was something you wanna discuss. I'd love to hear what y'all thought.

And yeah, with that, I say good night and big balls.

See ya next chapter!