As sad as it is, getting the cars stuck in the snow is a good day, since most days the cars won't even start. Daryl and the Sargent does the best they can to keep the cars running on fumes and frozen engines, but there isn't much they can do in terms of motor vehicle service now that the world's ended. It's not all bad news, though. The snow also means that the Walkers have become less active and on the coldest days they don't see them at all. Rick reckons that they freeze solid, unable to move on their stiff legs and Daryl can definitely see the sense in that.
It does, however, mean that they have to stop hunting in the woods, by Rick's request as much as Daryl's own free will. The snow lies thick between the trees and Daryl isn't about to step on a hungry walker who's napping in a snowdrift. Instead he takes Carl hunting in the open fields, leaving the rest of them to set up camp around the stranded cars. Daryl teaches Carl to lie in wait where the wind blows the earth free of snow, exposing tufts of green that lures rabbits and deer out to nibble. Carl's aim with the crossbow is improving, but it's still nowhere near his skills with a gun and most days it's still Daryl that takes down their dinner.
Today is not one of those days.
Daryl hangs the scrawny rabbit over Carl's shoulder and Carl returns the crossbow with a nod and a badly suppressed smirk.
"Yer gettin' better." Daryl says, padding Carl's shoulder, the two pheasants hanging from his own wrist slapping against Carl's back and they start to head back.
They're less than half a mile out when Carl spots them.
Lying by the roadside, side by side, are five Walkers, almost covered by the drifting snow. They begin to snarl and moan when the two of them get closer, but Daryl can't stop his feet, can't stop walking until he's right in front of one of them. It gives a sad gurgle, but doesn't toss. At some point it's arms froze to the ground, but the reason it's stuck in the first place is the wooden cross spiked through it's chest keeping it pinned to the ground, same as the rest.
Daryl's seen a lot of things and a lot of things that's a hell of a lot worse than this, but still the small hairs on his body begins to rise in a way that even the cold around them hadn't managed.
"There's no way it could be him." Carl states matter-of-factually and Daryl wants to believe him, has to believe him, because there's nothing logical about the alternative.
"Don't tell yer dad." Daryl says, shouldering his crossbow and taking out his Walker is brittle and it's arm snaps when he accidentally steps on it.
When they come back the rest of the group have parked the two other cars in a triangle to the stranded one, which is so deeply stuck in the snow drift that they hadn't even been able to get it out in reverse, shovels or no shovels. Luckily it had been the Sargent himself driving it, which hadn't stopped him from taking Rosita's head off.
They've pushed and shovelled the snow from around the stranded car into high walls, sheltering off from the wind as well as keeping the light from the fire contained, leaving only a faint glow over the camp. Daryl can't imagine it'll draw people, even if there's anyone stupid enough to be out in this weather and after what they've just seen he's not too afraid they'll get overrun by Walkers.
They've spread a few yoga mats out around the fire, but most of the group is huddled together in piles inside the one of the cars to combat the cold, blankets and quilts wrapped around them. Eugene is sitting in the open door of one of the other cars, wrapped in a thick blanket, while Glenn and Rosita are standing around the fire as appointed guards.
Daryl takes the rabbit from Carl's shoulder and nods for him to go join Glenn by the fire. Instead of following the kid himself he guts and skins the rabbit with practiced hands and rubs it in the snow to remove the blood. Then he scrapes the inside of the skin free of fat and sinews before he tugs it away in a plastic bag with two other skins that needs final processing.
"We can't keep going like this." Glenn says and pokes one of the burning logs with a stick, sending sparks flying towards the night sky. He's not addressing anyone in particular, but Daryl still gets the feeling that Glenn has been holding this back until Daryl was back from his hunt."The snow's getting deeper and our snow chains are practically useless. We need to find a place to haul up."
"And put off saving the world?" Rosita scoffs, rifle slung over her arm.
"Maggie's do in less than two weeks. You want her to give birth in the backseat of a frozen car?" Glenn presses.
"With all due respect for your gender," Eugene chips in, apparently siding with Glenn. "but it is highly unlikely that the outcome of that will be positive."
"Shut up, Eugene." Rosita says loudly, crowding him backwards with the anger emitting from her small body.
"Hey!" Daryl says, leaping over the snow barrier and into the circle of light, not stopping until he's behind Glenn, effectively putting himself at the other man's back. "We can discuss this 'till our faces turn blue, doesn't matter a damn thing. What Rick says goes." Daryl looks at Rosita until she backs off with an angry huff. "Now stop bickerin' like a couple of old folks, yer gonna raise the dead."
Glenn doesn't look too happy either and Daryl doesn't blame him. They aren't starving, but the most variation they get is roasted meat or meat soup. Everyone is exhausted from sleeping in cars and they're never really warm, any of them. Daryl doesn't even know how they've avoided getting sick, but with Lil'Asskicker and Maggie, just the thought of anyone catching a cold is enough to give them all nightmares.
"Cross country road trips used to be a hell of a lot easier." Maggie sighs and Daryl takes her word for it. It's true that before the Turn you didn't have to scavenge for gas, but Daryl's so used to hunting his meals that it makes no difference to him that the Roadside 7-eleven's out of coffee and fresh bagels. The only thing that's different now is that Daryl has people depending on him to succeed. There's kids that needs feeding and, hell, he has a pregnant woman that needs fancy vitamins that Daryl's never even heard of.
The store has been stripped clean of anything edible, but Daryl does find a few bottles of antifreeze behind the shelf and he heads back out to the cars, Maggie, Carol and Beth close behind him with their guns out. They haven't seen a single walker, except the store manager who had locked himself in the back room, but they're all in a skittish mood after a barely-escape last night that cost them most of their sleeping bags and blankets.
Rick, Glenn and Carl returns with a few gallons of gas they've managed to pull out of a truck parked round back and they divide the precious fluid between the three cars.
Daryl leans his gloved hands on the metal roof of the car and tries to work out a kink in his back by stretching like a cat. He hates being stuck in the backseat. Not that he'd prefer being on his bike with the roads like this, but damn if he doesn't miss the sound of that engine.
"I know this isn't exactly ideal." Rick tells him as he leans against the car so his shoulder's next to Daryl's hand and Daryl finds he has a hard time taking his eyes off the point of connection. "We could all use a good night's sleep in a warm bed."
"There's a motel a few miles up the road." Maggie says, voice hopeful and map folded out over the bulge of her stomach. Maggie's as tough as her old man and Daryl knows she'd never ask for this directly. But she needs it and frankly Rick does too, so Daryl is more than willing to take her hint and push the idea.
"It's worth a try." Daryl says, dragging his eyes from his hand to Rick's face. "At least we can scavenge blankets 'n covers. If the place isn't overrun."
"Let's do it." Rick agrees, pushing off the car and squeezing Daryl's shoulder as he moves away. The Sargent doesn't argue, so they get back in the cars, Beth and Tara taking the backseat of Glenn and Maggie's car with Daryl.
It turns out the motel isn't overrun and by some weird luck the place even have an emergency generator out back that Daryl and the Sargent manages to get going with joined effort. The rest of them secure five rooms on the 2nd floor and collect blankets and mattresses from the rest and by the time they've moved their personal belongings up the stairs there's hot water in the pipes.
They agree to keep the lights turned off, instead dividing their flashlights and some candles between them and people scurry into the rooms in more or less random groups. Carl and Michonne takes the first room they get to and Rick waits in the door, holding it open until Daryl joins them. Not that he'd need an invitation or a reason to follow, but the gesture isn't lost on him.
"Dibs on the shower." Michonne says causing Carl to call dibs on the bed.
"You're sharing with me." Rick says, cutting off Carl's sulk with a stare. "Come on. Let's go say goodnight to Judith."
The two of them leave the room and Daryl is suddenly insanely glad they've got metal-scrap alarms on the staircase, because no way in hell could he keep awake for a watch right now and he doubt anyone else could either. He strips off his boots and jacket, folding his vest on top of the pile before he slips under layers of blankets and comforters.
He wakes when Michonne comes out of the shower and again when Rick and Carl comes back to the room, but both times he refuses to move, willing his body to sink further into the mattress. He vaguely registers that someone slips under the covers, but he can't even find the strength to check who it is, just assumes it's Michonne and hopes she won't slap him in her sleep again.
She doesn't. Instead she wakes him two times by stealing most of the covers and the second time he can't fall asleep again. He lies awake, looking at Rick's face in the moonlight that streams in thought the window, because no one thought to close the curtains.
Even in his sleep Rick looks worried and Daryl wonders if the weight of what they're doing and what they've done follows the other man into his dreams. For some reason Daryl's almost certain that's the case. Rick just never stops, can't stop.
Hershel begged him to stop once, Carl too, but all Rick did was find new ways to fight. Dug the ground 'till his hands blistered. Build a shed for the pigs Glenn and Maggie brought home, working himself so hard that Doctor S. had to spend an hour pulling splinters out of Rick's fingers. Pushing himself to a breaking point some days, just at the prospect of putting crops on their table one day.
They never got to harvest any of it.
He hasn't noticed that Rick's eyes have drifted open, pallets of blue reflecting the moon, and he can't help but wonder how long they've been staring at each other.
"When I found out about Lori and Shane... Not killing him was one of the hardest things I've ever done." Rick mumbles and even if Daryl wasn't shocked into silence he wouldn't have known what to say. "Killing him wasn't anywhere near as hard."
Daryl shifts from his stomach onto his side so his whole body is mirroring Rick's and the other man just continues talking.
"The first time I shot a man I went home and got in the shower and cried for near two hours." Rick whispers and Daryl wants to ask why Rick is saying any of this. He wants to get up and clamp a hand over Rick's mouth, but at the same time he can hardly breathe, because if he does Rick might stop talking. "The last time I killed a man I didn't even wash my hands. There's no point anyway, the feeling of blood doesn't go away." His eyes leaves Daryl's for the first time. "It never goes away."
Daryl does get up then. "Get dressed." He says, pulling on his own boots with his back to Rick. At first Rick doesn't move, not until Daryl turns his head and slightly louder growls, "Yer wanna get a pneumonia? Get dressed."
Once they're out the door, Daryl closes it softly behind them and turns to his leader, who looks as lost as Daryl's ever seen him, probably because Daryl hasn't said what the hell they're doing outside in the frozen darkness.
Daryl doesn't hesitate - knows he'll lose his nerve if he does - just pulls Rick into a hug. It's awkward, because Rick is taken completely off guard, but Daryl doesn't let go. He still can't think of a single thing to say so he doesn't. He just tugs Rick's head into the crook of his neck, rests his chin on the top of Ricks hair and holds him.
When Rick finally hugs back it's crushing. Rick holds him as if he forgot how much pressure a human body can stand, but Daryl can take it.
If Daryl had been born into a normal childhood that hadn't given him deep-rooted issues with being touched he might have been a hugger. He reaches for people to calm them or soothe their nerves, small signs of comfort and pads of encouragement. An arm slung over Carol's shoulder and a tickle fight with Maggie, highfiving Sasha and squeezing Carl's shoulder and once he'd even wrapped both arms around Glenn's shoulders from behind and planted a loud kiss on his matted hair in a fit of survivor's joy.
But a hug like this is new, uncharted territory and it takes him until Rick starts shaking before he manages to push his own anxieties far enough down to focus on the sobbing man in his arms.
"Daryl?" He looks up from the rabbit hide he's working on to find Carl waiting for his attention "Do you think you could kill a walker with a home-made bow?"
"You sure couldn't with those skinny arms." Daryl teases with a smile. "Why'd you want to try anyway, your dad take yer gun away again?"
"No." Carl hesitates. "It's just, you have your crossbow and Michonne has the sword."
"And yer dad has the Colt." Daryl supplies now that he sees where the conversation is going. "What about Glenn and Maggie, then?"
"They have each other." Carl answers without hesitation, like GlennAndMaggie is a fixed point in time and space.
"So you fancy yerself a Robin Hood, then." Daryl quirks an eyebrow as he gets to his feet and manages to draw a uncertain smile from Carl.
"'Cept I'm not a hero." The kid mumbles as Daryl closes the distance. Daryl knows the kid has issues, hell they all do. Carl aren't worse off than anyone else and Daryl is probably more screwed up than the rest of them combined. The difference is that Carl is still a kid and kids Carl's age apparently doesn't have eyes in their damn heads.
"Maybe not the kind ya read about in them comic books of yours." Daryl tries, painfully aware that there's a reason it's usually Michonne that gets stuck with the pep talks "In the old days the heroes were the ones that survived."
"There's a line though." Carl says, blue eyes coming up to read Daryl's face. "Between being a hero and being a villain."
Daryl nods and shifts his weight while he picks his words. "You remember the first time we talked? You were just a kid."
They had been with the group for near two weeks, Merle and himself, and from day one there had been eyes on them. Daryl couldn't take a sip of water with out it being noted into Dale's black book. Merle made a scene of it of course, waving and loudly announcing every time he went to take a dump, but that was Merle for ya.
Daryl was used to the looks; Been dealing with them his whole life. If people look at you like you're dirt for long enough you learn to toughen the fuck up or crumble. Daryl's been close enough to the latter to be happy about reaching the first option.
Only one in camp who didn't look at him like one of the usual suspects was Carl, a scrawny boy with dark hair and blue eyes that he didn't get from his mother.
"My mom says you're dangerous." Carl had said, eyes squinting against the hard afternoon sun.
"Maybe ah am." Daryl answered without looking up from the map he was studying, willing the kid to go away. That didn't happen.
"My dad killed a man once." Carl had pressed on, unfazed by Daryl's lack of participation.
"Yer dad sounds more dangerous than me." Daryl found himself saying. "I couldn't even kill my old man after he'd been bit, even though I knew he'd turn into one of them."
"So what did you do?"
"My uncle killed him."
Carl had been quiet for a while, picking at the bark of one of the posts set up for drying clothes. "My dad only shoots bad guys." He'd confessed in the end. "He's a cop like Shane." And he'd looked so damn proud that Daryl couldn't bring himself to tell him that Shane was a fucking idiot and his dad was probably dead in a ditch somewhere.
Carl's not that little kid any more. When no one was looking he grew into a young man, almost as deadly as his dad.
But Carl isn't Rick. Carl is fragile and insecure about who he is, who he's supposed to be. He looks to his father for ideals, to Michonne for guidance and to Daryl for boundaries. He's lost too much and been too lost and Daryl knows better than most what that feels like.
"You told me yer Dad killed a man, but you were proud of him. You didn't think he was the bad guy." Daryl kneels in front of Carl so Carl is the one looking down at Daryl. "Your dad was your hero. And it's true, even your dad..." Daryl isn't sure if he's crossing a line. "Even yer dad had te toughen up, remember?" He puts a hand on Carl's shoulder, thumb digging into the soft flesh there. "Don't mean he ain't a good man."
"I know." Carl says and there's a tightness in his features that isn't the usual defiance, a twitch of something Daryl guesses might be bad memories. And there's enough to choose from, but Daryl doesn't have a sliver of doubt which one that's haunting Carl the most. Considering what he's been through the kid's come out of it alright, just a little tougher for it. He still flinches when someone touches him, though, still fears the living more than he fears the dead, but he'll heal in time.
Daryl knows from experience.
Two days later Daryl finishes the bow, a primitive maple recurve.
They've all taken to gathering in Rick's room for dinner, having dragged in the couches and armchairs from the waiting room downstairs. Tyreese and Carol comes through the door, wind filling the room with a flurry of heavy tufts of snow. They've got plates of food, pheasant and rabbit and a bowl of canned sweet corn and Sasha calls them all to silence, thanking Carol and Tyreese for the cooking and Carl and Daryl for the hunting, but Daryl shrugs off the praise, because it really isn't a big deal. He hunts because he loves it, because the crazy fades from the world when he aims his bow and holds his breath before the arrow finds it's target. Feeding his group is a bonus, not a chore.
They're not saints, every single one of them have killed another human being, including Judith who's still teething. They've put their group first when pushed against the wall and all of them would do it again, because they're family now.
Maggie's resting her head against Rick's shoulder while Glenn rubs her feet and Sasha and Bob are in a loveseat, cautious distance between them like they aren't sure if they are allowed to touch or not, like they don't trust that love can really bloom in this broken world.
Beth is on the floor, entertaining Lil'Asskicker and Daryl isn't surprised to see that Tara is seated next to her, taking large amounts of Beth's attention every time she says anything.
Carl takes the bow hesitantly, eyes widening comically before a smile splits his face. "This is seriously awesome ." He says, putting pressure on every word. "When did you make this? I haven't even seen you work on it."
"You sleep a lot." Daryl deadpans, earning giggles from around the room and a tongue from Carl. He gets to his feet and tries the bow out, pulling the string and letting it sing as he releases. His hold on the bow is sloppy and his stance nonexistent, but those are things that can easily be taught.
"When the snow melts I'll take ya out an' teach ya how to shoot proper." Daryl says. "We need ta work on yer tracking anyway, the snow's made ya lazy."
"Thanks Daryl." Carl says and the shy smile he sends Daryl reminds him of a younger Carl who still believed in heroes and happy endings.
For a while the prison had seemed like their happy ending. People had settled, Rick had made his little farm, hell, even Daryl had found peace there, even if he didn't understand why. But how could he? Daryl Dixon had never been anyone before, he'd never had people look to him and see someone worth believing in, worth following.
It wasn't until it all came crumpling down that Daryl realized they'd been building something.
Losing them had damn near destroyed him and it took him a few painful days to regress back to a state where he was content as long as he wasn't alone. Beth wasn't much in terms of a leader or even as support, but she was something. She was a voice and a smile and someone who needed him and Daryl could work with that.
But then, seeing the back lights of that car as it drove away with Beth, Daryl had never been that scared in his life. He knew that if he lost Beth it would mean that the prison, his family and everything he'd come to care about would stop being real. It would mean that any evidence of who he'd become would be gone. He wouldn't be anyone anymore.
For a while, sitting by the train crossing, Daryl had stopped existing, so when he found Michonne, Carl and Rick, well if Daryl was poetic he would have said it felt like finding himself again and Rick had been right -it meant everything . And sure, Terminus had been a shitstorm, but Daryl didn't even flinch when Rick had lain out his plan. He wasn't afraid of dying, hell, he would have followed Rick down in a blaze of glory any day, as long as it didn't mean getting left behind as another piece of redneck trash.
Terminus is something they'd all prefer to forget and move past, just like all the other dark patches they've been through. Like when the farm was overrun and when Lori died and Rick lost himself. Like when Hershel was killed. Like when Daryl died for a little while, alone on that road after his legs gave in from running.
Like when Rosita got taken and the group almost split up, torn between getting her back and going on with their mission to get Eugene to Washington. It's something Daryl still struggles with, because he hadn't wanted to risk his neck for her, a stranger he barely knew, but they did end up going back, ended up finding her and Beth and two other girls in the hands of a man who claimed he was a priest, but turned out to be a devil.
The Reverend had walkers spread out around his house, pinned to the ground with wooden crosses, the smell of death keeping him hidden. So when Daryl and Carl found the five Walkers pinned to the ground Daryl doesn't think he can be blamed for the fact that the sight had gotten his blood pumping the wrong way
Because three months later and Beth still has nightmares, can barely stand to be alone. Daryl has nightmares too, but the kind that haunts him when he's awake, because losing Beth was on Daryl. Beth being taken by that psycho was on Daryl. So it might be something they'd all rather forget, but Daryl just can't.
But he can't tell Rick either, because Carl had been right, it can't be him. Even though the Reverend is still alive out there with those two brainwashed girls at his side there is no way in hell he would have been able to follow them here, kill those people and plant those crosses. There is no way in hell. So Daryl tries to forget, tries to shake it off and be happy about the rabbit leg Carol hands him, because he doesn't want to put anything on Rick that doesn't need to be there.
Carl is still examining his new bow, fingers finding the carved CG under the handle with a smile. Daryl looks up to catch Rick's eyes across the dimly lit motel room and finds their leader looking at him, smile reaching his eyes.
When Daryl later slips out of the door to get the bag of unprocessed rabbit furs in the trunk of the car he's not surprised to hear the door open and close, followed by the crunch of Rick's boots in the snow moving in behind him.
"Thank you." Rick says, not waiting for Daryl to turn around, but when he does Rick's face is so sincere that Daryl feels rumpled by it.
Daryl shoulders the bag and shrugs. "A kid his age should have a hobby."
Rick huffs in surprise at the dry joke and Daryl puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes, lets his hand linger until Rick's hand comes up to cover his despite the awkward angle. It sends a jolt of fire through him, but he does his best to control it, to school the smile off his face and if Rick sees it he doesn't comment on Daryl's indiscretion.
"You think I'm crazy?"
"No. No I don't think you're crazy." There's no lie in the blue of Rick's eyes, but there's no yield there either.
"Then what do you want from me?" Daryl asks, fighting to keep his temper out of his voice.
"I want you to stop ignoring the position you're putting me in." Rick says and it's so low and so close to begging that Daryl can't form a response. Instead Rick just keeps talking. "We've got a pregnant woman who's ready to pop any day and two people - with the very convincing agenda of saving the world - ready to tear this group apart. Beth's still waking the group every other night with her screaming. And you want to leave, to chase after shadows."
It isn't shadows, though, not anymore. He and Glenn had been on a run earlier that day and the moment Glenn saw the group of walkers he had known, known the same way Daryl had. There had been blood in the snow, which could only mean that the people had been killed that same morning after the snowstorm had stopped, had even been spiked while they were still alive.
No one man could have done this, which meant that the Reverend had found new followers for his cult.
"I gotta know, Rick."
"And I get that." Rick swallows, hand reaching for Daryl's shirt, but never quite making it before Rick pulls it back and steps away, just one step, out of Daryl's space. "I get that, I do."
There's no "but" there, none of the emotional blackmail that Rick usually pulls on him, because he knows that Daryl can't turn Rick down when he begs. Instead Rick just nods, eyes on the floor and hands resting on his hips.
"Tara stayed up all night last night, holding Beth's hand and she still wouldn't stop sobbing. I see the way she pulls away from people, even Maggie. Maggie needs her sister. Beth needs closure. We all need this, you need this." Rick's voice is broken when he finishes and Daryl wants to reach out to him, but he doesn't. He just nods, forcing himself to meet Rick's eyes through strains of hair.
Most of their fighters volunteers to go, even Rosita, although the Sargent isn't too happy to let her leave.
"I'm gonna cut off his head, tie it to a pole and dance around it." She says spitefully, shouldering her rifle. "And then I'm gonna watch his head turn and then I'm gonna stab it's eyes out."
She's not messing about either. Daryl knows she'd do exactly that if she got the chance. She's crazy and dedicated and smart as hell, but if there's one thing Rosita isn't it's a victim. She walked out of that church like none of it had mattered, but Daryl knows denial when he sees it.
Glenn leans over the hood of the car and points at the map, showing Rick the exact route they had taken that morning.
"We saw trails of people in the town we passed." He says. "Here, Meybeth. There were signs up."
"The town just off the interstate?" Rick frowns and looks to Daryl for confirmation. "I thought you said that looked dead."
"It did when we drove past two days ago." Daryl confirms. "But there were definite tracks of activity this morning."
Rick nods, looking around at everyone who's gathered around the cars. "It's a start. If he's recruiting that's a good place to go looking."
"Probably just a bunch of scared people huddled together." The Sargent says. He's staying back to look after Eugene, but he hadn't hesitated for a second to volunteer his military expertise.
"Glenn, you can take Bob, Sasha and Rosita there. Look around, but don't engage anyone unless you absolutely have to." Rick says, looking at Glenn who nods. "Daryl and I will go back to the bodies you found, see if we can track them from there."
"Can I come?" Carl asks, looking hopeful, but Rick shakes his head.
"Not this time, Carl."
"But dad."
"Not this time", Rick repeats and clutches the back of Carl's head as he wait for Carl's eyes to meet his in surrender. "I need you, Tyreese and Michonne here in case anything happens. It's been a while since we've dealt with other people, but if Glenn's group runs into trouble at Meybeth we need to make sure the rest of you are safe."
Carl's smart enough to know he's getting benched, but it makes him happier to know that Michonne is staying behind as well. And Rick hadn't just said those things to calm Carl down. They've had too many bad run-ins with survivors by now to risk the safety of their most vulnerable, which is why Michonne is staying behind this time. With Rick and Daryl both gone, she's Rick's next choice to protect the lives of his children.
The place he and Glenn had found the bodies is less than half an hour's drive away and it's easy to follow their tracks back in the snow. Rick doesn't say a word the whole way and it's clear he's worried. Daryl can't blame him. The other group is strong and smart and even if they do run into trouble they have all the tools to either fight or negotiate, but that doesn't mean they're safe. None of them are, that's not how the world works anymore, and this is the first time since they geared up to take down the Governor and Woodsbury that the group have initiated anything like this. Even when they went to get Rosita back it hadn't been anything as large-scale as this.
They park the car by the road and Daryl zips his jacket, preparing to go outside when Rick begins to speak
"I once helped take down a man who'd kept his daughters captive on his farm, had impregnated them and twisted their heads until they thought it was all God's will." Rick says, not looking at Daryl. "When we shot him his daughters came at us with weapons, screaming at us. We had to take down two of them. The man survived and I watched the Sheriff interview him after in the hospital." Rick squints and looks out over the landscape around them, a field to one side and thick forest to the other. Daryl waits silently until Rick in the end turns his eyes to meet his.
"It made no sense to me, any of it. I just didn't understand him. He was a pleasant man, clean, smiling, charming. But somehow this man, this seemingly ordinary man had managed to turn the heads of everyone around him and made them in to people who were willing to kill."
"Yer not supposed to understand." Daryl says, because he's met men like that, men who prays on the weak and spins their heads until they forget they have a choice, so he knows what Rick's saying. "If you begin ta understand that's when you know yer really screwed."
Rick nods, face still drawn in fear and worry and Daryl reaches over to pad Rick's knee once before he opens the car door and slips out into the cold.
The bodies are still there, but Daryl and Glenn had bashed their heads in, sickened by the way the people had been left to turn like a twisted joke. There are tracks all around the bodies, tracks that were here this morning and new tracks that's been left after.
"Whoever was 'ere didn't care about the bodies." Daryl says, focusing on the new tracks. "They seem ta'ave been more interested in Glenn and me, even followed our car tracks for a while."
There are foot prints on the road, more than five sets and some are light, but a few belongs to big men, the kind who are usually not so easy to play mind tricks on, unless you come under the cover of being a priest, of course. "They had cars here, two from the looks of the tracks."
They don't hear the cars in time, but Daryl doubts they could have made it back to their own car either way. Two big men and a woman get out, carrying heavy weapons and they don't seem at all impressed with Daryl's crossbow or Rick's gun, for that matter.
But it's not until a third man steps out of the car that Daryl's mind reals, adrenalin flooding his system and blood pounding so loudly in his ears that he hardly hears Rick's voice, swearing beside him. The man isn't armed, but he doesn't have to be, because his companions are.
"And so we meet again on the door step of Hell." The Reverend says, smile twisting into his dark eyes as the largest of the two men pushes the mouth of the rifle against Daryl's chest. "Don't do anything. Nothing at all, Daryl." He continues. "I have a very low tolerance for your existence and Marcus has a twitchy finger."
Next to him Rick lowers the Colt.