Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters. Though if they gave it to me I certainly wouldn't say no..

Warnings: See original chapter for a complete list of warnings. This particular chapter will contain significant adult language, violence, and mild slash.

Authors Note: Please read and review. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. The encouragement and constructive criticism your reviews provide makes the writing process that much more enjoyable!

*An early chapter this week! Hopefully this weekend will see another on top of this. I realized the current chapter was going to be a mammoth, and I needed to break it up a bit. Hope you are still enjoying!

Rotation – Chapter 6

Providence turned out to be a ramshackle strip of farmsteads that bordered the hemline of the back state highway. In fact it looked more like some sort of rundown strip mall then a neighbourhood. All broken cola bottles and old cig filters, tumble weeds and unkempt front lawns. Basically everything you could expect from rural Georgia.

He raised a disgusted eyebrow, taking in the peeling paint and cracking siding on the nearest front porch. Skipping over the sun faded deck chairs and rusty porch swings as his keen hearing only just picked up the sound of a lone wind chime tinkling hollowly in the near distance. And people had the nerve to call him a redneck? Damn.

It had taken them over three hours on foot, even at a fast clip. Far longer then they both were anticipating. The trip itself had been unaccustomedly silent, even for him, with the both of them already on edge and practically vibrating with hyper sensitivity and alertness. Their systems flooded through with too much adrenaline and half realized panic to make any concerted effort at anything even resembling conversation.

In fact it wasn't until they were within shouting distance that he broke the silence at all. Shifting his bow off his shoulder and closer to hand as he scanned the area, making sure they were still alone. Satisfied he brought the man up short, not even thinking about it when his fist fell across the man's chest; bring the man to a stop beside him. And perhaps, if he had been really thinking about it, he might have noticed that the kid didn't even make a peep. Letting the well meant manhandling go without even so much as an irritated glance.

Something that by itself, should have told him something right then and there..

"Alright. What's your plan kid." He finally asked, watching the Korean out of the corner of his eye as his attention turned back towards the uneven row of houses. Each house was situated at the head of the property with the fields and acreage spiralling out from the back. He spotted a few barn and cattle paddocks but no livestock, and certainly no geeks. Where had they all gotten to?

"What?"

"You've done this before." He clarified, turning towards the younger man once again. "This is your game, what are the house rules?" He asked. Effectively corralling his impatience before it came back to bite him in the ass.

At this the kid seemed to come to life, pointing towards the first house in the line with an assessing, but confident air. "Right. Well I was thinking. Old places like this often have root cellars." The man began.

"A lot of people have been going back to it lately. You know with the economy? It saved on the energy bills right?" The kid continued, seeming to gain steam the longer he went without being interrupted.

"Most people that have them keep them stocked pretty well. Canned goods, home made perserves, non perishable stuff. And better yet, it is not the first place people generally think to look if they are just on a simple smash and grab. So it is likely most of them are still pretty untouched." The kid finished, adjusting the brim his baseball cap as he turned away from the bright afternoon glare.

And for a long moment he was tempted to ask the same inane question he had voiced back in that mall in Atlanta. Still half unsure if the man was actually being serious or having them on completely. Because you just didn't get that kind of smarts purely on the streets. There was something more to this kid.

Simple pizza delivery guy his lily white ass.

But he raised an eyebrow nonetheless, waiting a long moment before nodding and letting the man take point. Waiting until the kid had shouldered his pack and started off towards the house closest to them. He had to give the kid credit. All else considered the man certainly knew his shit.

But as they started getting closer the atmosphere of the place slowly began to take shape. After the infection every abandoned place had a story. Standing as the lone testament to what might have happened there. And the story to this place was already at the table of frickin' contents.

There was a silver, big wheeled truck parked in the front. Still so shiny and new looking that he wasn't even surprised to see that the vehicle still had its dealership plates. They came around the side of the truck cautiously; starting despite themselves when they realized that entire right side of the truck was speckled with indefinable smears, pock marked with bloody hand prints and shallow dents.

The only the thing was that marks weren't old..They were still wet..

Chewing viciously on his lower lip, he said nothing as he brought them both to a halt, letting a hand rest against the younger man's chest in silent communication. Something wasn't right here. He could practically smell it. It didn't even matter that there wasn't a walker in sight. In fact it only served to put his hair on edge.

Because he knew the place hadn't been this empty when they had passed it only a few days earlier. Recalling even now, the brief sight of a few geeks stumbling aimlessly through the weed strewn fields as they drove by, the crops withered and dead on the stalks. Left to rot by an owner that would likely never come back to collect.

"What is it?" Glenn hissed.

Crouching further into the long grass he ignored the kid's half whispered question, weighing their options privately. He had made it this far by surviving on his instincts. It was like that small, half forgotten voice in the back of your head that screams for you to duck the moment before some arsehole pulls the trigger. It was what had been keeping him alive. Letting him know when it was time to run..time to fight.. And now, it was screeching at him to just turn around. To let this whole thing go and head back to camp empty handed. Fuck this.

"Daryl…What is it man?"

He cursed under his breath. Hand coming down to stead himself as he leaned forward. Fingers digging into the brittle, sun roasted clay as he thought hard. Any other day, any other time it was a situation that he wouldn't have even questioned. Unlike the others he knew when to cut his losses. The alternative just wasn't worth it.

…But today..

He was fucking hungry..

It turned out that the kid had been bang on. Because they found a cellar entrance built into the side of the very first house they came across. Scraping off a thin layer of leaves and grime, their fingers paused as Glenn brushed away the last of the dirt to reveal a freshly broken padlock. They shared a look. Someone had already been here. Shit.

The moment they swung the doors open they immediately regretted it. Rearing back as the scent of old blood rose. It was thick, sudden, and absolutely unmistakable. His forearm rose instinctively to cover his nose as the stale and almost putrid stench only intensified. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Glenn's throat work convulsively. Probably forcing down bile by sheer force of will alone as the smell threatened to make even his eyes water.

Damn that was rank.

They paused for a long moment, letting the smell waft through the air. Rising like a tide as it blew upwards from the dank, dark looking staircase until it slowly dispersed around them. Mother Nature slowly, but steadily doing her job. After a while he chanced it and inhaled sharply. Watching as Glenn covered his nose with his sleeve as he sank down to his haunches, pointing his crossbow into the near dark of the cellar as he listened for any movement. Nose twitching violently as the scent of spilt blood rose like a spicy, copper tinged perfume in his senses.

A lot of people think that blood smells a lot like nothing. Perhaps holding only the faintest hint of harsh minerals, or smelted iron. But he had always been able to smell it for what it was, even from the moment a fresh wound met with the open air. And if he was forced to put a name to it, he imagined that it would smell a lot like surprise. Or maybe even that of pain. All firing neurons and bursting blood vessels, zinging impulses that told the body how to react, to pull away and protect..

But when it came down to the meat of it, for whatever reason, he had always thought that human blood smelt more like a jar of long forgotten pennies then anything else. The scent pungent and subtly harsh as the coins mouldered under a thick layer of dust and grime, the smell only sharpening with age.

Something bad had happened here.

When he finally moved forward he was unconsciously appeased when the man made no move to go first. Not even making so much as a fuss as he readied the crossbow and took point, clambering down the old metal staircase head first into the low, natural light. The younger man automatically deferring to him in a way that made his insides flip. It was a sensation that spread like an electric spark as it coursed up the length of his sweat soaked spine. Forcing him to finally register the feel of the man behind him as long, colt like legs brushed against the backs of his thighs, pressing in close, like the man was afraid to loose him in the dim light.

Because really, wasn't that just a thought?

He paused at the base of the stairs, letting his eyes adjust to the gloom. But even then the kid saw them before he did. Eyes sussing out the patterns and shapes in the disconnected gloom only a few moments before he did. ….What was that?

Only a second later he was brought up short by a wordless little sound. A short, cut off little exclamation that bubbled up unbidden from the younger man's throat. It was something that he couldn't define by sound alone, but the kid's facial expression, always so easy and open to read, said it all.

Distress..

A/N: Please let me know what you think? Reviews and constructive critiquing are love!

"The truth is incontrovertible. Malice may attack it, ignorance may deride it, but in the end, there it is." - Winston Churchill