AN: Thanks for all the reviews and follows. I'm going to try to stay regular with updating this but I can't say for sure how often or when chapters will come up. I'm a traveling nurse in her early 20's so I work an erratic schedule. But, with the interest shown, I promise to keep this going to the best of my ability.

Part Three, Night

Daryl had been walking probably four or so hours in no particular direction, other than away from Beth. Merle followed along the whole way, making useless comments here and there. As the day wore on and the sun moved across the sky, Daryl began having random internal debates regarding what his exact plans were.

Initially, he decided that Beth was best left with as much distance between them as he could manage. Then he began to think about walkers. He knew she could manage a few, maybe even a group. But he'd only seen Beth defend herself in the company of others. He wasn't sure how she'd fare on her own with a large group. With these thoughts, he began to deviate from his path and started to go sideways.

Eventually, Daryl considered the possibility that other people might find Beth. Could be a good thing, assuming they were good people. But he knew those were a rare thing to find anymore. Then the idea that a group of rogue men might come across her.

To add to Daryl's discomfort of his sidekick ghost brother, it seemed he could read his mind as well as talk to him. After the thought of Beth meeting up with unsavory men, Merle chuckled and said, "Oh, she wouldn't fetch for much. Not a virgin no more. Dunno why you'd care no how. You already had that piece, don't be greedy"

"Shut up" he grumbled.

"I reckon she's a fine enough piece though. Pretty thing- young, alone, probably getting scared and nervous. It'd be like cat nip. I wouldn't mind getting in the line myself for a run at that" Merle said.

Daryl stopped walking and faced Merle. "You shut the fuck up. I don't care if you ain't real, I'll slit your fucking throat myself" he hissed.

Merle put his hands up and smiled, "If I didn't know no better I'd think you fell for that little girl. Half your age, too. You make me proud"

Daryl ignored this and walked around Merle, heading back in the direction of Beth and the funeral home. He backtracked another two hours without any concrete plan, seething in hatred for his ghost-brother's callousness and, ultimately and honestly, for himself.

He weighed his options as the day went from afternoon, to late afternoon, to almost dusk. There was no way in hell he was walking back up to the funeral home. But he also resolved that he could not leave Beth to her own defenses with no one to help her. After a while, he decided the best course of action was to keep a distance from Beth while protecting her from afar. He would keep to the edges of the forest, circling the funeral home and picking off walkers and turning anyone that ventured that way in another direction. He'd move with her, when the time came that she left the funeral home, and he'd keep a radius around her and protect her. If and when she ran into anyone from Rick's group he'd give himself over to them. Maybe they'd kill him, maybe he'd go free. Either way, he wanted to allow the option. He wanted to give her some closure if he could.

Daryl set up a camp at the forest's edge, in a heavily wooded patch to hide himself in case she was scanning the forest edge. He didn't want her to think he was lurking and sulking and watching her. He found some acorns and plants he recognized as edible and chewed them unenthusiastically. Merle sat near him and watched him.

"It's nice being back together, little brother. Like old times. I say we blow this idiot plan of yours and see what trouble we can get into down the road" Merle suggested.

"I ain't going nowhere" Daryl answered.

"Suit yourself, man. Guess I'm along for the ride then," Merle shrugged. He leaned back and laid against a nearby stump, "you take first watch, I'm getting some shut eye".

Daryl snickered. Did that mean he'd get some peace and quiet from this delusional manifestation of the shitty side of himself? Not wanting to start ghost-Merle back up he remained silent until his brother's shape stilled completely and his breathing slowed. Daryl took the chance to look hard at Merle. It was morbidly fascinating how deeply and how vividly his own burgeoning insanity was developing. If he really knew no better he'd think it was his big brother right there in the flesh.

Weary of his continuous mental cycle of reliving the past godawful 24 hours, Daryl turned his thoughts towards Merle and his own history. For all his evil and his self-serving bullshit, he knew his big brother loved him. It was probably his only redeeming quality. He'd protected Daryl as much as he could, when he was around. He used to get so angry at Merle for not being around as he'd spent his time crying over some new set of wounds his father had laid on him. But, at the same time, whenever Merle got out of wherever had him locked up or indisposed, Daryl felt some rebellious awe towards his brother. Merle always met their father's rage with his own matched rage. Daryl had wanted to cultivate that confidence and rage, to survive. So, he'd followed his brother for years. Merle's ever-reluctant but participating shadow in various debauchery and scams.

"Weren't nothing gonna change you though. Even after all the walker shit started up. You just couldn't adapt, couldn't let Pop be dead" Daryl said to his brother's sleeping form.

Merle didn't reply, of course. That part of Daryl's brain had gone to sleep. He sighed deeply. He sunk down and rested again the trunk of a tree. Daryl sat and watched the funeral home as the night got darker. Every hour or so, he walked a circle around the funeral home, killing a couple walkers as he went.

As the night began to ebb off and the sky lightened, he saw Beth emerge from the house. She moved slowly and delicately through the field. Every now and then she bent to pick up something, probably foraging. He doubted she had much of an appetite either. He wondered momentarily why she wouldn't just eat some of the house food. She looked small and lithe moving through the early morning fog and dew. She was beautiful and fae in some dingy nightgown, walking among the gravestones like a ghost. He winced as it occurred to him that her strange gait was due to her being injured. After a while, Beth looked up and scanned the edge of the field where it met the forest. She brushed her forearm across her face a few times. She was crying. Crying and looking for him, for better or for worse.

Daryl felt nauseated and small. He looked away and made one last circle around the funeral home. He sat back down at the tree near where Merle snored without a care in the world. Daryl was tired to his bones, probably down to his soul. He watched absentmindedly as the fog lifted and the air grew warmer as the sun came up. He didn't think he'd ever felt worse in his life. Without realizing it, Daryl eventually fell asleep.

Part Three, Day

Daryl was over Beth. He felt the ecstasy of pinning her down, relished the feel of her writhing against him. Her panicked cries and whimpers excited him. His hand was around her throat and he periodically squeezed to hear her almost animal-like gasps for air. He continued his assault on her, enjoying her increasing distress.

But he wanted more. He tightened his grip more on her throat. Her cries became higher and her eyes began to widen. Daryl brought his other hand to her throat and squeezed with all his might. Beth's eyes bulged and she began clawing at his arms, desperately. He felt sparks on pain as she drew blood, tearing at his flesh.

And then, he twisted both hands in opposite directions. Daryl heard a faint crunch of vertebrae grinding against one other. Beth's voice cut off midway through a scream. Her eyes became incredibly vivid and watery before dimming and glassing entirely. Her fingers arched and slacked.

Daryl moved away from her instantly. His realization dawning as though he'd been violently awakened. He began to scream. He grabbed at her limp body, gathering her up to him in an embrace. His screams turned to sobs, wracking him body. He was short of breath, he was choking on his cries.

The door of the room crashed open. He looked up and it took him a second to register his surroundings. He was in Merle's old bedroom. He was kneeling on the floor. He was so small. His face was wet with tears and his nose was running. His heart rate accelerated at the site of the figure in the doorway, his blood sang in his ears, his fingers and toes went numb. In his arms was something small and delicate and his father stood staring at him, his eyes blazing.

"The fuck are you two doing in here?! The fuck's all the racket?!" his father roared.

An even and eerily stoic voice answered from behind Daryl. Merle sat on the bed, "The little fucker shit my bed. I rang its neck"

"The fucking cat?" his father yelled.

"Yeah. So what?" Merle answered. Daryl sobbed on, clutching the dead kitten to his chest.

"Don't do that shit in my house, you little dickwad. Daryl quit your pussy-ass blubbering" his father bellowed. Daryl stifled himself as much as he could manage, suddenly aware he was a small thing between two monsters.

His father raised his arm and Daryl noticed with horror that he had The Rod. The thin metal rod that hurt so badly he couldn't sleep after he saw it. Merle rose from the bed, as if to meet his challenge. The two men stared at each other, both on defense.

"Out, Daryl. Out. Fucking. Now" his father said slowly. Daryl scrambled and darted out the room. The door slammed behind him immediately. And then he heard the sounds. Like they were killing each other, like only one of them would ever leave the room again. Daryl ran from the house. He hid beneath the rusty porch. He clamped his hands over his ears and hoped they would forget he existed. He stared down at the dead cat. Why had Merle brought it in if he was just going to kill it? Why hadn't Daryl let it out the house when he had seen what it had done? He grew hotter and hotter. He was covered in sweat; he realized his was going to burn up and die under the porch.

Daryl opened his eyes and gasped. It was late midday. His neck hurt from his positon propped up against the tree. He heard bugs buzzing and the sounds of the forest around him. He stood up too fast and his vision swam, threatening to double him over in a faint. His eyes adjusted and he looked across the field to the funeral home. No sign that anything had changed. He put his hand against the tree to brace himself and closed his eyes. He focused on slowing his breath, focused on pulling himself out of his dream panic.

When he had calmed himself some, he opened his eyes and looked to the ground near the tree. Merle was no longer by the stump.