Getting into Woodbury hadn't been a problem but getting out had been considerably more difficult, particularly with Glenn's physical condition. They'd had no choice but to make their presence felt when they realised that their missing friends were most likely about to be executed and they'd had to take out the guards who were moving them from the holding cell. Predictably, things could not run smoothly for them on the way out of town and once the alarm was raised, there seemed to be armed guards and equally armed civilians everywhere.

Seeing little alternative as the bullets and smoke grenades flew, Daryl had offered to lay down some cover for the others so that they could get Glenn and Maggie over the barricade and out of town. He knew in that moment that he was making a choice that could have made his unspoken promise to Carol impossible to fulfil, but he had known that if he had to die, he could do so knowing that he had kept half of that promise. He took on the responsibility of ensuring that they made it out alive, even though it meant that he did not.

Captured by the Governor's soldiers and half dragged through the town with a bag over his head and both hands tied at his back, he had been sure that he was about to die. With every stumbled step, he had thought of the people he was leaving behind, offering up one of his infrequent prayers to a God he had never really believed in, and never been able to let go of, that they would be safe. Turned out they had no intention of killing him themselves, they had another plan for him.

When they finally pulled the bag from his head and he got his first look at the Governor, a chill ran through him. Soulless, that's what his mama would've said about the man in front of him, the man riling up a crowd that surrounded a fighting ring within the town walls. Daryl hated him on sight because he saw him for exactly what he was. Disoriented, he glanced around, trying to make sense of his surroundings, looking for an escape route and instead he found his brother.

Laying eyes on Merle, alive and breathing, after so many months of believing that he was dead, would have felt like a dream come true if not for the fact that he found himself at the centre of a mob who were baying for his blood. No, not just his blood, not after the Governor was through spewing his hatred and lies about Merle being a traitor and Daryl himself being a looter, they wanted their blood. He saw Merle's expression when he saw him, the flicker of surprise quickly hidden behind a mask of indifference. That old familiar hurt flared up in him, catapulting him back to when he was a kid and he'd had to watch the brother he idolised walking away from him with barely more than a backward glance. Lost in a haze of painful past memories, Daryl barely heard the order for he and Merle to fight to the death, or the words that poured from his brother's mouth and proclaimed that he would do whatever was necessary to prove his loyalty to the town of Woodbury.

They fought. Daryl holding his brother off, trying to figure out the play and make it look convincing at the same time while the crowd screamed their encouragement. Amid the screaming and the snarling of the walkers that had been brought out to liven up the proceedings, he caught his brothers eyes and he knew that nothing had changed. Before Atlanta it had always been him and Merle against the world, now it was him and Merle fighting for their own survival. As they had done a dozen times before when the odds were against them, they pushed aside their differences of opinion and focused on the outer threat. Back to back, shoulder to shoulder, they lashed out with fists and fury, filled with a new determination to survive the encounter or die side by side.

The staccato rhythm of automatic weapons was the sweetest of sounds, causing the crowd to panic and scatter as several of the guards and a couple of civilians fell to the ground. Smoke grenades spewed smoke into the arena and further gunfire exploded into the night, lights shattering under the assault and plunging the arena into darkness that was lit only by flaming torches. Amid the terror and confusion, Daryl grabbed his brother's arm and hauled him from the arena, stopping to reclaim his bow from the guard who had taken it as his own and feeling great satisfaction in putting him on the ground as he did so.

The rescue party consisted of only Maggie and Rick, who had come back for him. They weren't happy about Merle being there and Daryl understood that. His brother had always had a knack for putting people on edge, like a fox in a hen-house Merle had a real talent for stirring things up. Daryl hadn't known what to think, aside from a feeling of stunned disbelief that the world had seen fit to reunite them against all the odds. Trudging through the woods on the way back to the car, Daryl had taken in the familiar swaggering walk, listened to the constant remarks that left his brothers mouth and had known that it was real, Merle was back, the only differences being the metal knife mount with which he had replaced his severed hand and a leaner build.

The arguments as to whether Merle and Michonne should return to the prison were difficult to stomach. Daryl had spent months mourning the loss of his brother, believing with every breath that he had failed him, and now he was faced with a choice that left him cold. None of the others would contemplate having Merle at the prison, not one of them could accept that there were potential benefits to the situation as well as the obvious drawbacks of putting Glenn and Maggie in close quarters with the man who had abducted and tortured them. He couldn't argue with their views, had it been anyone but his brother, he would have shared them, but he couldn't leave him behind.

Round and round in circles they went, arguing back and forth, the nauseous feeling in the pit of Daryl's stomach getting stronger with each passing moment.

Telling them that he wouldn't be going back with them was one of the hardest things he'd ever done. After a winter where they had watched over one another, after so much shared loss and pain and joy, he was about to walk out on them when they potentially needed him the most. The thought of leaving them vulnerable, of one of them having to explain to Carol that he had left them, left her, was almost unbearable. In the seconds after he had voiced his intentions to leave with his brother, Daryl found his resolve wavering, the need to stay with Merle warring with his desire to return to Carol, emotions spinning like a violent centrifuge.

Even as he gathered his things and walked away, he could feel the wrenching pain of leaving them all behind. Seeing Glenn all beaten up, Maggie holding him up despite having been through her own ordeal, seeing the ravaged expression on Rick's face, had made him want to reconsider. He could almost imagine the way that Carol would panic when they came back without him, the immediate fear that would make her assume that he wasn't with them because he had been killed. The thought of causing her more pain, even a flicker of emotional discomfort, was like a knife in his ribs. But he couldn't have what he wanted, he wanted the family he had made and the family he came from in the same place and it wasn't going to happen. He had told the others that Carol would understand his reasons for leaving and he prayed that he was right, because as he walked away with Merle he wasn't sure that he did.