Chapter Two

Three Years Later...

It took Merle less than two days to realize that his new little brother truly was one of the Saints.

It took him even less time to decide that he didn't care.

The kid was quiet, hardly speaking to anyone that wasn't Merle, and he didn't seem to mind Merle's bad habits. He didn't seem to mind when Merle showed up at their little cabin in the woods, high as a kite and cursing everything in sight. Didn't mind his rough jeers and harsh language, or the messiness of their home. Instead he took it all in stride, making sure the house stayed clean, taking care of him while he was too fucked up to do it himself. Make no mistake, the kid wasn't a push over, hell he called Merle out if he thought he was wrong and wasn't afraid to speak his mind, however his recent trauma seemed to have imbibed him with a caution that Merle had a feeling he hadn't had before.

He'd seemed almost hesitant to piss him off, almost as if he were afraid of Merle turning on him and treating him like the Mazurkas had. Merle had shut that down real fast, promising that although he was an asshole, he wasn't horrible enough to treat him like they had. It took almost a year for Daryl to stop walking on eggshells around him but once he did, Merle found himself feeling like the kid was really his brother and he loved him more than he would ever admit. The broken man he'd found in the Mazurka's basement over three years ago had become his whole world.

He glanced at his brother, jerking when he found the kid watching him, blue eyes dancing with mischief.

"Back with us now?" He asked, the southern accent flowing off his tongue naturally.

Looking at him, you'd never be able to tell he wasn't from their little backwater Georgian town. His natural Irish lilt hadn't made an appearance since their first day together despite Merle's assurances that it was fine and he'd taken to dressing similar to Merle in cut off plaid shirts and white wifebeaters, worn jeans and work boots. He'd even gotten a job at the local garage, taking up the mantle of the best mechanic in town with ease.

Merle smirked, his own steel grey eyes dancing with matching mischief.

"Now don't ya go teasin' ole Merle. I ain' e'en done nothin'." He replied and Daryl snickered then sobered up, stormy hues darkening somberly.

"Two more of the guys at the garage caught that virus. The new one tha' makes folks eat each other."

Merle frowned.

For the past two months this strange new virus had been running rampant all over the world. No one knew what started it but the sickness, but there was no cure and every person that caught it died then came back eating people. No one knew how to stop the infected but all the major cities had started quarantine and evacuating. Major businesses had shut down in an effort to prevent bankruptcy and the military had been called to contain the Quarantines. The world was slowly going to hell in a hand basket and Merle knew if it continued it wouldn't be safe for either of them to be out alone.

"Ya ain' goin' back to work."

Daryl scowled at him, bringing his thumb up to naw on the nail.

"I have to. We gotta eat."

Merle scowled back.

"We c'n hunt in the woods 'round here. But it ain' safe in the city no more."

Reluctantly, his brother nodded in agreement, seeing the logic in his words, however Merle could see in his eyes that although he loved to hunt, he hated not being able to go to work. The garage was his way of occupying his mind from the memories, the nightmares.

Steel-eyes softened and he placed a heavy hand on the smaller man's scarred shoulder.

"I know ya don' like it, Kid. But better safe than sorry."

The younger nodded again then stood, slinging his crossbow over his shoulder.

" 'm goin' huntin'."

Connor sighed sadly as he entered the cottage him and his Da shared to find the older man sitting in front of the fire with a contemplative look on his face, a small picture clutched in his weathered hand.

Even without being able to see the picture from this vantage point, the blond knew it was the picture of him and Murphy as babies with their Ma because every night when he came home he found him the same position with that very same picture.

"Da?"

Noah turned and glanced at him, and he was shocked to find tear tracks marring the man's cheeks.

"Da?" He repeated apprehensively and his father stood and pulled him into a warm embrace.

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry?"

"Your uncle called...your Ma has contracted the illness...She passed an hour ago."

Pain shot through Connor's heart and he closed his eyes in agony. First, Murphy, now their Ma, it was like his family was slowly dwindling and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Tears burned his eyes but he refused to let them fall, refused to allow himself to break. He couldn't. Someone had to be strong.

A pair of strong lean arms wrapped around him and his father's scent surrounded him. Peppermint, gun powder, and leather invaded his nose and he felt his resolve breaking slowly.

"It isn't healthy to hold it in, Connor. I am here, you don't have to be strong right now."

A soft whimper left the younger man and he burrowed deeper into his father's embrace, allowing his Walls to fall, allowing himself to break just this once.

His father held him tighter and let him cry out his grief, a few tears slipping from his own eyes in silence.

He couldn't help but pray that he was able to protect his only remaining son from the darkness slowly ensconcing the world.

'*

*'

Things went from bad to worse in little to no time.

Just two weeks after Merle forced Daryl to quit his job the world went to hell in a handbasket. The military blockades and quarantines were overrun by the infected and soon the streets were flooded with them. Nothing anyone did seemed to affect them and soon they'd managed to overtake every major city. Merle and Daryl had stayed in their cabin in the woods for nearly three weeks before they were forced to move because the Infected were getting closer to their home. They decided to head to go to the Atlanta safe-zone, Merle choosing not to divulge to his brother that the only reason they'd joined was to rob the camp blind, especially after seeing the children present.

Unsurprisingly, no one recognized Daryl. He'd changed alot since his "Saint Days" and looking at him one would barely be able to recognize him even if they had known his past. Still the others at the camp avoided the two like a plague, frightened by Merle's abrasive nature and sharp wit and Daryl's silence and intensity. Only few were brave enough to speak to either brother but most would admit they were more unnerved by Daryl than they were by Merle.

A month passed and they managed to live in relative peace with the other survivors with only minor altercation. Then Merle went on a run with a few of them...and didn't return.

"Hold up, hold up. Let me process this. You're telling me you handcuffed my brother to a roof...and you left him there!"

Merle, his savior, his brother, left to die like a dog tied to a post just because these people couldn't be bothered to deal with him. The only family he had left, the only person in the world left to care about him, gone.

The new guy, Rick Grimes, looked guilty but his jaw jutted out slightly in defiance. His emotions projected stronger than anyone he'd felt since the loss of his twin and tears burned his eyes. Guilt. Remorse. Determination.

He lunged at him anyways thrashing violently in Walsh's grip. Rick bent down in front of him and Daryl felt his heart and emotions trying to reach for the man but he firmly pushed it all down. He couldn't bond, not with this man. Not with the man that had left Merle to die.

"I'll help you get your brother back."

Sweeter words had never been spoken.

No.

God please, no!

Not Merle.

Not Merle!

A scream of grief left Daryl as he took in the sight of his brother's bloody hand lying dismembered on the floor, beside a bloody hacksaw.

Merle was gone.

He was alone...again.

Connor.

Da.

Ma.

Merle.

Doc.

Rocco.

Romeo.

They were all gone.

He fell to his knees beside the hand, and picked it up, ignoring the three men behind him as he wrapped it in his bandanna. Then he turned, pale eyes blazing when they landed on T-dog.

"You bastard!" He snarled raising his bow. Rick raised his gun and started talking about how they all had to stick together, his guilt and the guilt of their other two companions permeating the air but Daryl disregarded it, spotting a trail of blood leading back to the doors.

Merle was alive.

He lowered his bow, and fell to his knees, mentally thanking God for his brother's survival.

Merle was alive.

So why was he still alone?

TBC...