Warning: Talk of character deaths in more detail. Including child death.

I think a lot about killing myself
Not like a point on a map
But rather like a glowing exit sign
At a show that's never been quite bad enough
To make me want to leave.
- Neil Hilborn "The Future"

They were well into the fourth quarter of the game before Daryl had calmed his body and trained himself to breathe calmly and made it back out to the couch to sit stoically at his brother's side. Merle kept hitting his side, but Daryl just shook his head and focused his energy on the last few sips of his beer. Ed was enjoying his high too much to care about much else and when the man called for Carol to bring him the cash to pay for the rest of the pills that Merle brought along for him, Daryl excused himself to go outside and have a smoke.

Her blue eyes were burned into his memory. The shock. The steel. The fire. Her movements were small and flitting and quick, and her eyes held the weight of a thousand emotions. He breathed in the nicotine, feeling the way that it reached throughout his body, touching the tensed muscles and releasing them in the only way they knew how to relax. The familiar fire filled his lungs and he closed his eyes, leaning his back against the exterior wall of the house, listening for Merle's familiar footfalls, eager for his brother to be ready to leave finally. He would not be able to calm down until they were far away from this house. He needed something stronger to drink.

Merle came out of the house finally and Daryl booked it to his truck, slamming the door to get in as he punched it to life again, his eyes glued on the steering wheel.

"What's got your panties in a twist there?" Merle lazily climbed into the truck, chuckling to himself as he dug in his pocket to pull out a smoke to light up, his eyes tauntingly on his little brother. "You go out to find the missus fresh out of the shower and she turn ya down? Mehbe ya got a little too excited an' made a mess of yerself 'fore ya even tried somethin?" He was laughing as he spoke, taking a drag off of the cigarette between his fingers.

"Shut up Merle." Daryl didn't look up as he tried to calm the shaking in his hands before slamming the truck in reverse. "We're done with them. Ain't doin' no more business with the Peletiers."

"Bullshit, we ain't." Merle glared at Daryl, reaching over to punch his shoulder roughly, causing the truck to jump to the side a bit with the way it jerked Daryl's arm until he caught himself and righted the truck again. "Guy likes what we got an we ain't got the luxury of pickin' and choosin'."

"They knew Michonne." He said. "Wife... she said - she said she knew about me... my part in the whole thing. Could be a set up. Revenge." Daryl kept his eyes forward, knuckles turning white as he clutched the steering wheel.

"Michonne? Michonne... Mi-shonne..." Merle worked over the name several times and never once seemed to touch base or catch any sense of recognition to him.

"Michonne." Daryl grabbed a book off of the dash and threw it at his brother roughly, chancing a look away from the road to glare at Merle. "Mike's girl, Michonne." Growling as Merle still looked confused. "Black Beauty."

"Ahhhhh. Mi-shonne." Recognition hit Merle and he grinned to himself nodding. "The beaut herself... forgot about her completely there for awhile." Sitting back against the bench seat. "That woman had herself some fight in her. Wish that I woulda got a chance to ride that ass. Such a waste-"

"Shut it." Daryl growled, eyes focused on the road, shaking his head. "This is serious, Merle. That woman is angry. Michonne was her best friend and she hates us because she's dead."

"That were years ago, Daryleena an it was her own fault. Don't make no sense ta be mad at no one but Black Beauty for that one. Ain't like ya stuck the gun in her hand and helped her pull the trigger." Merle's eyes darkened a bit. He may have taken some prodding in remembering Michonne by her name, but he made no qualms about his feelings on suicide and anyone who committed it. "Damn woman painted her own brains 'cross the wall, we didn't never touch her."

"That doesn't mean it isn't my fault." Daryl cut in quietly, shifting in his seat with a sigh. "I was the one who sold to him that time... when you was in the clink. He ain't never done nothin' like that any times that you was there... it was somethin' about the set I took 'im or somethin'. It was -" Daryl's voice trailed off, his shoulders slumping a bit more, taking on the weight once again as if it were a fresh guilt once more. He had almost turned himself in during the trial as the supplier, and they hadn't even been really looking for him. Luckily Merle had gotten out just in time to stop him.

"Yeah." Merle twisted to look at Daryl, his own eyes narrowing at his brother and taking in his state of mind. "You went to a meeting with a regular customer and sold him the same pills I always sold him. Then you left it in his hand and went home. You ain't the one who left 'em on the table for her little brat ta get into."

"Andre." Daryl whispered, more to himself than to Merle, feeling the way he shook and he had to finally pull off to the side of the road to keep from crashing. Daryl heard the way that Merle cursed under his breath before he climbed out of the car and crossed over to push open the driver's seat.

"Get over there and find yer tampons an stick one in, pussy." Merle shoved Daryl across the bench seat before taking over the wheel, annoyed. "Ain't on you, that boy's dead. Happens. Get over it. Ed don't give two shits and that's all that matters. His ol' lady ain't gonna do nothin' about it, an we're not givin' up a good sure sale over some misplaced anger or guilt. She becomes a problem, we deal with it. Till then, you just shut it and deal."

Daryl didn't speak, feeling his chest tighten again as he shook his head, slipping across the bench seat and reaching down to cling to the material of the torn out knees of his jeans as his brother absolved him of the sins against the young family, but the memories filtered through his mind. The picture of the little boy - just three years old - filling up a quarter of a page of the newspaper as his story took up the rest of the page. The boy with the dark skin, wide grin, and smiling eyes was just - gone. His Daddy had taken a pill and passed out on the couch, leaving the baggie open on the table and he had woken up from his nap and climbed up on the table and emptied out the rest of them.

Michonne, his mama, had come home to find her fiance still passed out, and her little boy lying on the floor in the kitchen, already dead from the overdose. The woman had sat silently through court as Mike went away for possession and criminal negligence and manslaughter. The day he was booked, she had gone home and without changing out of her court clothes, she stuck a gun in her mouth and pulled the trigger. He remembered reading in the paper about how a friend had shown up with some supper for her and found her that way, hours later.

A friend.

Cobalt eyes that had taken in the sight of a dear friend cut down completely and reached for the blame towards the only person who had a hand in the death and had gotten no kind of punishment for it, seemed to go completely unnoticed by everyone else. She saw. She blamed him. Merle absolved him of his sins so much that eventually the anxiety attacks and nightmares had dulled down completely. Daryl had let himself stop thinking about it. But now - this woman knew. She hated him almost as much as he hated himself, he had seen it in her eyes.

And God, how he needed more of that.