A/N: sorry for the long wait! also apologize for any of the dialogue that isn't word-by-word exact... unlike earlier during, I didn't have time to watch the DVD's while writing.

So, this takes place after the barn massacre in season 2, after Sophia's death.

"Daryl?"

Freakin' hell. "What?" His tone was bitter, harsh, biting; a tone he hadn't used since Atlanta. There hadn't been any need for him to.

There was a hesitant pause from the other speaker upon hearing the young redneck's hoarse voice; but then, of course, Dale had never backed down before. "Daryl… are you alright?"

No. " 'm fine."

A deep sigh. "Daryl…"

Something within snapped, and he spun around and strode over to where Dale stood only a few feet away. He might've even punched the irritating bastard, if only the elder didn't wear such a sad, depressed expression. The expression everyone, even the Greene family, was wearing. Dale didn't flinch or back away – by now, he was confident he knew Daryl Dixon to know when he was crossing a personal line, when he should back down.

Now was not that time. So he faced the younger man calmly, even when Daryl growled, even when Daryl roughly shoved at his right shoulder.

"What you want, ol' man? Wanna choke on your teeth? Want a bolt ta through that thick fuckin' skull of yours? Huh?! Cause that's what you're gonna get if ya don't just leave me be!"

The words shook up a bit of his determination, and he might just have walked away; if he hadn't spotted that bright, feverish gleam in those blue/steel eyes, a shimmer that he hadn't seen, well, since Rick Grimes had first told the archer about his brother being left in Atlanta.

Grief. Hurt. Denial. And all those nasty little emotions in between. Swallowing thickly, Dale straightened and looked the hunter directly in those swirling irises. "It's not your fault, Daryl."

He couldn't help the sneer that formed on his lips as he seethed silently at the older man. "The hell you know anything." He turned around, started storming away; just like he had on the highway. Only this time, there was really nowhere he could go to. Not like he could leave the farm unnoticed, not with everyone wandering around fixing fences and helping the Greenes out with their farming. So he only got about ten feet before he realized that his feet couldn't carry him as far as he wished, and he stopped.

It gave Dale the opening he needed to add on, "It wasn't your fault for Sophia. That… that's not on you."

Sophia.

Sophia.

Sunny blonde hair and big blue eyes, eyes that would go so wide with fear whenever her daddy would get a bit mad or maybe a tad drunk. Daryl still remembered nights in the camp where it took Merle's physical restraint for him not to go storming over to the Peletier camp and riddle Ed's face with arrows – he deserved it, abusive bastard.

"The hell ya goin' getting' all riled up for, baby brother," the older Dixon brother had taunted, laughing cruelly. "No need getting' your panties all in a twist for 'em white trash."

"They got a little girl… a woman… they're gettin' beat," he'd argued.

"So?! Watcha gonna do, Prince Charming? Ride over there on your loyal fuckin' steed ta save the day? Ain't our problem, comprende?"

"They're getting' beat, Merle, for fuck's sake…"

"And you wanna be next, little brother? Ya damn fairy fuck, ya wouldn't last a minute 'fore gettin' an ax ta the face or somethin'. Leave. 'em. be."

The conversation had ended with the brothers rolling along the forest floor, screaming and punching and spouting profanities every-which-way until Shane had come along and ripped them from each other's grasp, ordering them to either get along or get their asses out of camp.

And Daryl had forced himself to forget all about Ed and Carol and Sophia Peletier; at least, until they'd lost the quarry camp.

No one had gone to that girl's aid before, when her father had marked her own lily-white skin with bruises. Had she thought no one would go looking for her after she'd gotten herself lost in the woods, all alone? Had she thought Rick wouldn't come back for her, that no one would?

Had she been frightened? Well, hell yeah, 'course she'd been frightened… but had she been scared of being abandoned? Left to die? Left to the walkers? The group had tried leaving the girl, and if not for Carol's and Dale's and even his own objections, maybe they all would have piled into that RV and left. Shane sure had been hell bent on deserting the search.

"You're just gonna give up now? We've got ourselves a trail! I just found a damn doll the other day!

"Yeah, Daryl, that's what you found: a doll. Look, we have to start facing the reality here, man…"

"Ta hell with ya, you don't know what you're talkin' 'bout!"

"Oh yeah? Yeah?! I tell you what, Daryl, if Sophia had seen you coming, with 'em geek ears strung 'round you're neck and a scowl ugly and bloody as hell, ya know what?! She would've run in the other direction!"

The words still burned his ears, scorched his mind; still haunted him. Shit if the pig was right. Sophia probably would've run.

What if she had? What if she'd been right there all along, huddling under some bush, and saw Daryl walk right past her? What if she hadn't come out because she'd been afraid he would've yelled, snapped at her like he had back at the old retirement home outside Atlanta? What if, because he couldn't keep his damn mouth shut, he'd practically sentenced that little girl to death? What if this was all his fault?

Hell, what was he trying to pull? Who was he kidding?

Of course it was his fault.

"How are you?"

"How do you think I am? I shot Daryl."

"Oh, come now. We've all wanted to shoot Daryl."

His words from a few days before had been meant to cheer Andrea up; and yet, the slightest sliver of truth were lodged in them. Ever since arriving at the farm he'd been torn between praising Daryl Dixon and simply shooting the young man in the back of the head – maybe not with a gun, but at least with a bullet of truth – because the archer couldn't seem to make up his mind. He kept skittishly dancing between being with the group, being Rick's new partner while Shane went off and lost his mind, and wandering off on his own. Dale had told himself he'd be patient, he'd wait for Daryl to realize that he was needed with the group on his own.

But why was it taking so long? Surely, Daryl was not a blind man. He could see that Shane was too preoccupied fighting for Lori and Carl that Rick needed someone to watch his back, someone who wasn't trying to steal his wife, someone he could trust to keep him alive, and vise-versa.

Someone like Daryl.

And Dale could see that even Rick was figuring this out rather quickly. He'd heard the screams of pure horror and panic when Andrea had accidently gunned down Daryl, thinking the bloody man was a walker. He'd seen Rick drag the unconscious Dixon back to the farm, then enter the farmhouse and sit by while Hershel stitched the hunter's wounds. And if Rick had already discovered that Daryl had to be his wingman…

He took several steps towards the back in front of him, eyes fluttering briefly to the angel wing vest that the younger man now wore continuously, before he was side-by-side with Dixon. Daryl didn't object as he usually would to the close proximity in which he was standing; in fact, he didn't seem to be aware of Dale's presence at all, his eyes hazed over, staring into nothingness ahead.

"Daryl?" No response. "Daryl, are you alright?" Still nothing. "Daryl!"

His final shout got him an elbow in the face. Sudden, shocking pain radiated throughout his nose and sinuses as he stumbled backwards, clutching the tender flesh, while Daryl watched wide eyed. "Shit… I didn't mean ta do that…" Daryl took a step forward, almost wanting to make sure the elder was alright, before losing his nerve and simply going completely still.

Dale cradled his injured nose for a moment, feeling the bones and sighing in relief when he didn't find any fractures. There was a warm stream of blood, however, and he fumbled for his handkerchief and then pressed the cloth against his face, wincing. "It's, it's alright, Daryl," he stammered as he held his head up high towards the sky, trying to staunch the blood flow. "I'm sorry for startling you. I just wanted to make sure you were…"

But when he lowered his head to face the younger man, Daryl was gone.

He went, grabbed all his gear, and hauled it several hundred yards away from the farmhouse, across several fields, to the point where he could no longer even see the building and the group's camp anymore. Good. He didn't want nothing to do with those city folk anymore. They'd turned to him for one thing and one thing only: find Sophia. And they'd found her. A fucking monster locked up in a barn full of other fucking monsters. Sophia had been a walker, Rick had gunned her down, and Carol hadn't attended her own daughter's funeral. Everything was going to hell, and he didn't want anything to do with that. Not anymore.

Merle was right, for once in his friggin' life. He tried not to think about the hallucinations he'd had several days ago when he'd fallen down the ravine, tried not to think about the poisonous words his older brother had whispered in his ear.

"That group don't care 'bout you? They gonna cast you aside like dog shit, little brother. Just you wait 'n see."

"Rick 'n I…"

"You his bitch now?"

"I ain't nobody's bitch."

"Listen here: ain't nobody gonna care 'bout you except me, baby brother."

Rick had trusted him to find Sophia, to keep the group together with the miracle of finding that girl safe and sound. But he'd failed, and Rick was blindly following Shane around. Shane, who'd no doubt killed Otis to save Carl's life, all because he wanted that boy to call him daddy. Because he'd fucked that boy's mother. Because all of them – but mostly Shane – were screwed in the head.

He hammered in his tent stakes a bit harder into the ground than he had to, pounding them into the ground with all the strength he had left. Which wasn't a lot. Sleeping now brought along a torrent of horrific images, scenarios of Sophia getting torn apart alive than bleeding out on the forest ground. Then, the scene would change to Merle getting his face eaten off, and he would shout out that he just wanted his brother back (like he would ever say that to his face); and then, strangely enough, it would be Rick, and he would be screaming, fighting, but unable to save the older man. Next was Dale, and then Carol, Glenn, T-Dog…

The list would go on and on, an unstoppable film of death and walkers and gore, until dawn woke him. The very memory of the nightmares

He pounded down the last stake, and then grabbed his arrows, several long sticks he'd been collecting, and his knife. He sat himself against the ruins of an old chimney – there must've been some kind of building out here that had burnt down – and began whittling himself a new quiver-full of miniature spears, occasionally checking their length with his crossbow. He handled the wood skillfully; after all, how many hours had he spent as a child whittling, just to get his mind off his shit father and shit brother and shit life?

He couldn't believe that this time, he was trying to get his mind off some stranger's kid he'd hardly known.

"Shut the fuck up! Shut her up, or I will!"

That'd been the last thing he'd said to Sophia Peletier, and the knowledge sent cold snakes squirming in his gut. He bent over a bit more, glared at the wood in his hand, and chewed on his lower lip.

"…and them roses would pop up where the mothers' tears fell, a sign that somehow, their children were being watched over. N' I 'lieve that this one? It bloomed for your little girl.

"We're gonna find that girl, and she's gonna be just fine."

He brought the blade down so hard on his current stick it snapped in half. Cursing, he threw the splinters away and grabbed a new one.

He saw Lori Grimes approach him from the corner of his eye, but made no move to acknowledge her. She was cheating on Rick, a good man, and she was too damn stubborn to admit even to herself that she was in love with Shane Walsh, the ultimate asshat of a man. And an insane one, too – he'd torn the doors off a barn full of walkers just to make a point, for Christ's sake. She claimed to have Rick's back, but Daryl knew fully well that she didn't deserve her husband.

Not… that he cared about any of that.

She stopped several feet away from him, waited for him to notice her. When he didn't move, she sighed, and spoke up. "Daryl? Daryl, Rick's gone off to find Hershel."

He considered not answering, but then sighed heavily and shrugged. "So?"

She frowned. "I want you to go and bring him back. Bring my husband back to me."

He snorted, because her act of loving Rick, as a wife should her husband, was so fake he nearly laughed out loud. It also made him spittin' mad, because Rick was doing everything in his power to protect this woman, and she was just a bitch.

Okay, maybe that was a bit much. But she still didn't deserve Rick.

Oh, but once again, this was none of his business.

So he told her off, scared her away as he'd done to so many that dared to approach Daryl Dixon. He ended his tirade by spitting at the ground near her feet. "Just go find him yourself!" he snarled, clutching his knife. "I'm done lookin' for people!"

And, at that moment, she didn't seem too scared; pissed, but not scared. He realized why as soon as he heard his own words. "I'm done looking for people." People meaning Sophia. Shit.

She walked away, chin in the air, and after a minute of staring hard at the ground, he glanced up and watched her retreating back. For some unknown reason, he nearly ran after her to tell her he would go and find Rick, bring him home. If not for her, than for the group's sake. After all, this was Rick Grimes. The man who'd handcuffed his brother to a roof and left him there. The man who was too conscientious for his own good. The man who was willingly overlooking the fact that his best friend had murdered a man just because he didn't want to face the painful truth.

The one man, besides Dale Horvath, that Daryl could stand to be around. The one man who'd actually asked him about his welfare, who'd warned him to be careful when hunting for food and Sophia, the man whom Dale kept pushing Daryl towards, telling him that Grimes could be trusted, could be counted as an ally. A friend.

But Merle's influence still had its claws sunk deep into his brain, and Daryl simply watched regretfully as Lori stormed away. He didn't get up, but he didn't go back to his arrows either.

He just sat there, and tried not to think about just how damn confused he was.

Rick came back in one piece. Barely. He was a hunter, he noticed things. Like how Shane came back with a dead man's gun after claiming Otis had died covering him. Or how slowly, the group was crumbling, always at each other's throats like some sappy soap opera with zombies thrown in. Right now, he noticed the little scratches that Rick had tried covering up, along with the dry blood. He saw the young scoundrel, Randal, that Rick dragged out of the car; and when he heard what had gone down in the town, his mind went all fuzzy.

"I'm done looking for people."

They'd almost lost Hershel, Glenn, and Rick all at once last night, because he'd been too depressed, too hurt, too angry to go and look for them. He'd sent Grimes's wife, she'd almost died, they could've lost Shane too… and all because he was afraid that if he went alookin' for Rick, he'd find him dead or worse, just like Sophia. Pathetic. And you think your worthy of joinin' their little inner circle, Darleena? Merle teased. You ain't worthy of breathin' the same air as that do-gooder Officer Friendly.

And that just pissed him off more. He stayed in his little, secluded camp for the week that Randal healed; and then, when Shane came over demanding he go interrogate the kid – because, since he was a redneck, of course he had all kinds of fuckin' experience in friggin' torturing people – he didn't object. He went into the shed they'd locked Randal in, locked the doors, and let his fists do more talking than his lips.

"Your boys shot at my boys…" At Rick. "…and your tryin' to tell me your innocent?!"

His knuckles were bleeding heavily by the time he was done, and the toes of his feet throbbed from where they collided with the tip of his boot every time he kicked that worthless brat. He got measly information, but eventually left the shed and delivered what he could. He could see that gleam in Dale's eye, minor disappointment at his tactics, mostly concern, and he turned away. Knew the man would come forward and say his piece when he wanted to, and while he said quite a few words trying to convince him about Randal, the real conversation came after Rick officially announced that the prisoner was to die tonight. Yet one phrase did stick out.

"You're a decent man!"

That had been the second time Dale had called him that, only this time, for some reason, Daryl hadn't objected.

As soon as the 'meeting' was over, Daryl left the farmhouse and wandered around aimlessly, only by chance happening to find Dale working on the RV. Supposedly working on the RV. Really the elder was just fiddling with radiator hoses and screws while mumbling to himself. Daryl watched him, questioning his decision to come this close to the agitated man; but Dale turned to face him before he could leave.

"You were absolutely right, Daryl. This group is broken. Shattered. It's lost its soul." Dale twisted his hat in his hands the entire time he spoke, and then went back to running his fingers over the RV engine.

"I know," he replied simply, shifting uncomfortably. "Said so already."

"I mean, I just don't understand! How can they not see how wrong this is, how inhumane it is to put down another human being like, like, an animal?! They're too high strung right now, too scared, and they have no right to make this decision while they're not thinking clearly."

He stared at the ground and leaned against a nearby tree, offering a half shrug. "You're the one that said to trust Rick. He made tha decision…"

"He's too preoccupied with Shane to put his full attention into this," Dale stated bitterly. "You know what, Daryl? Maybe… maybe you were right about another thing. I think that perhaps there really is no such thing as decent. Not, not anymore."

That got his attention. His owns words thrown back at him; okay, not thrown, but still coming in his direction. And coming from the same man that had just called Daryl 'decent' less than five hours ago, it was the very image of despair and hopelessness.

"The group is broken, and there is nothing left," Dale continued quietly, shaking his head and raising his eyebrows. "It'll be the death of us all, just you wait and see."

Hell no. "Listen." Shoving down every tiny insecurity, teaching from Merle, and flight instinct he had, Daryl straightened and caught Dale's gaze willingly for the very first time, holding it there. "I said tha group's broken; never said it was unfixable." His eyes darted to the ground, but then came back up, determined. "An' nothin', not even this 'inhumanity', is gonna take any of us down. Won't let it. Rick's busy but he ain't blind – he knows that this'll change everythin'. But it ain't gonna kill 'im. Ain't gonna kill Shane neither, or the others, or me, or you." Sophia's face flashed in his mind, and he decided right then and there that they weren't going to lose any more people. "I promise."

He didn't even notice that he'd used the term 'us' instead of 'them'.

But Dale did, and slowly, gazing steadily back at Daryl Dixon, his tense shoulder relaxed, and he nodded.

Wandering back towards the farmhouse to get orders from Rick on when to take out Randal for his execution, he noticed that Merle's voice had silenced itself. And for some reason, his mind flashed back to the time he'd been lost in the woods, and could've sworn he'd seen a chupacabra, that blood-sucking, demon of a dog. And then he thought of his hallucination of Merle only a few days ago, teasing him, taunting him, filling his ears with sweet toxin.

And, huh, he couldn't tell the difference between the two memories.

Strange.

That night, Dale died.

So, as you can see, I didn't go too deep into the beginning episodes of Season 2 analyzing Daryl and the other characters because I feel there are already tons that do that, especially with the episode 'Chupacabra'. Hope you enjoyed, review, and when this fanfiction is done I shall be posting another, AU, Walking Dead story with the plotline of:

After losing the prison and Beth, Daryl finds Rick, Michonne, and Carl; and the four find a small neighborhood protected by the remains of the US government. It's free of walkers, and it's SAFE. But the military draft, for the Biter War, threatens to take Rick from his family; so Daryl volunteers and goes in his place. Two years later, Daryl returns to Anchorage with a whole new set of scars and secrets that could tear whatever stability and safety they've found in half.

Any ideas for this one? Add it to the review! :)