Daryl:

He examined the cut across his collar bone again, it was a small one but it was firkin' deep and even though the bleeding had subsided there was still more than he wanted coming out. The beating last night had been a short but brutal one a last pleasure for his ol' man before he left on one of his "I ain't gonna be back for a couple months so get your fuckin' asses in gear and make sure I have a fuckin' house and food to eat when I do come back" trips.

Only problem was this time there was only one ass to get in gear, Merle had left for the army a year ago and left him with the ol' man. The beatings were usually avoid during the school year due to him leaving long before his dad got up and arriving home long after his dad went to bed. His grades were good because of it but he still preferred the outdoors and that was the reason he arrived home late. Huntin' was somethin' he loved but unfourtanly they don't teach that stuff in the shithole of broken dreams.

He grabbed the last of the vodka he could find, a needle and some dental floss. Holding the needle and dental floss over the sink he poured some of the vodka over it and then moved his body in closer to the sink to pour the remaining amount across his cut, he bit the inside of his mouth to stop from making any sound while he moved the needle into his skin and across the cut to close it up.

When it was done he decided to head for a shower, Merle wasn't around and he needed to find a job. His dad never paid for anything in his or Merles lives it was their mother and then when she died it was Merle, he would always work odd jobs here and there and dropped out of school just so he could work more and make payments. His brother was an asshole as a person but he always had a roof over his head and some form of food because of him.

After twenty two years of shit from their dad Merle joined the army and just left with only a note saying "I've joined the army, peace out fuckers" scribed across the only table they had. The beating that night had been a bad one and he ended up not been able to walk for days.

Of course his "friends" he suppose he could call them that of the past year and a half had helped, Meg was a natural at fixing up people due to her own experience's and Cas followed her everywhere due to the fact he was obviously in love with her to everyone apart from Cas and Meg themselves. They each had their own problems and hanging out with a Dixon was one of them that never helped them.

His last name was the reason finding a job in this small town of Georgia was going to be a fuckin' problem. His dad was a drunk and a lady beater and some say killer, His brother a "reformed" druggie, high-school dropout, a major asshole with no respect for anyone other than Daryl himself and even then it was limited. Merle's jobs had always been out of town where no one really knew their name. He couldn't do that, he had no ride to bring him anywhere and had to rely on his own feet to get him from place to place.

"Ya's left me in one big pile of heap shit" he muttered to no one but himself while digging out a newspaper he seen yesterday. It's was a small local paper and he knew they always had job's advertised on the back page, hopefully there would be something going to fit his needs. He didn't care what he worked as, as long as it paid the bills.

This was more than a few jobs in the paper, he didn't bother calling Herschel Greene cause he knew for a fact that the ad had been there forever and the job as farm hand had already gone to Rick Grimes who Daryl didn't mind as a person it was just his fuckin' crew and Cas who would be doing the book keeping and paperwork. He chuckled trying to imagine Cas outside in dirt longer than two minutes.

He didn't fancy working in Axel's scrapyard because Axel was just out of jail and would probably be back in there soon. Philip Blake had a job going in his construction office for a secretary but Daryl's strong point defiantly wasn't people but kept a mental note to tell Meg about it.

The last ad in the paper was for Bobby Singer's Mechanic shop as an earned boy/Mechanic. He was unsure whether to bother even looking into it. Bobby was known as a drunk but a lesser one than his father and Merle had worked for him before only to get fired for crashing his nephew's 67' Chevy impala he was supposed to be servicing.

He loved to work with his hands and the job would be perfect, the shop itself was only a ten minute walk away through the trees at the back of the house, He didn't mind the dirty work and even though he didn't have a ride of his own he did have a licence.

There was no number listed or address which was a classic Bobby thing to do, so he changed into some clean clothes and pulled on his work booths and headed for the shop. The shop was more of a small shack Bobby used as a working area, and a good few fields or so of land covered in new cars, old cars, burned out cars, any sort of car you could think of as well. He was also more than certain there was probably a body or two hidden in a few of them.

He looked around for a while before finally locating Bobby sitting in front of a RV hose pipe sipping on a beer with a confused look on his face. He cleared his throat to let Bobby know he was there. Bobby swung around on his chair a looked at him with a confused look. "Young Dixon? What you doing here?" he asked standing up from the chair and moving in front of him.

"I seen ya ad for the job in the paper, wonder if you still need someone?" he told him.
"I might need still need the help but ya have some balls on ya thinking you have a chance considering what your brother did when he worked here" Bobby replied giving him a hard cold stare that would've probably scared anyone but he wasn't anyone.

"I ain't my brother, I ain't gonna slack on the job and I ain't gonna do nothing you don't tell me to do" he said his voice coming out clearer and a little more annoyed this time. After looking at him for a long while Bobby finally muttered "your right you're not your brother but why should I believe you'd be any good?" Bobby questioned.

He didn't have to think for an answer it just came out "cause I ain't afraid to tell you your wrong Singer" he replied with more confidence than he ever had in his life.
"Okay, Fine. I'll hire you. You start tomorrow. You work weekdays from six am to nine pm, Saturdays seven am to five pm and you have the day of Sundays. Don't be late. Also if I see you near the fucking Chevy at all I'll bury you alive got it?" Bobby laid the rules down with no messing in is voice at all. He could only nod and shake his hand before leaving and heading home.

The hours weren't bad and the pay from what he remembered Merle getting was good and hopefully his summer wouldn't suck.