His head was pounding, and his eyes felt like they couldn't adjust to the change of lights. One moment he was engulfed in darkness, the next he was in the sun, then he was in a dimmed place, some sort of church, with candles, and a crazy woman… It was a complete attack on his senses, and the dread he felt in his bones was not relenting.

Those people were fucking cannibals, fucking animals, who believed some shit about having been chosen to survive the end of the world. They thought they were meant for greatness, that they had a destiny that went beyond being food for walkers, except they took it several steps past the sane/insane frontier and dove deep into batshit crazy territory.

Of all the things he had seen… But wonders never ceased, even the most horrific kind of wonder. Whenever you thought you had seen it all, you were condemning yourself to a new kind of crazy. You kept on jinxing yourself by daring say out loud that you had seen it all, that things couldn't get worse. Karma, as the bitch it was known to be would always find a new way to make regret uttering those words. Maybe it was not Karma though, maybe it was just life but it was back to the bitch acting part. It was so humane, so profoundly humane the way you always thought you had reached the pit of humanity. It was stupid too, considering people you knew, liked and sometimes even loved died every day, all the time.

They were dragging him through the camp, and he was stuck by the silence around them. When they had seen the signs, before, he had never knew what to think of Terminus, if he could trust it or not, but as they walked in broad daylight in a large compound where no one was making a noise, it was just another testament to how unhealthy and sick the place was. When people got together, there was noise. Back at the quarry…

He didn't get to finish this thought and almost felt grateful it was so, as Carol was on his mind, and he didn't want to jinx her too and get her there, by some kind of extreme level of misfortune.

Gareth had left him with some of his henchmen, and they opened the door to a wagon, threatening to send in a biter or whatever they called the dead if he made noise.

He fell face first to the ground, and heard the door being locked behind him.

Not going down without a fight, he thought, not going down without a fight. I'm a survivor, he told himself, and repeating words that had been bestowed upon him when he hadn't know he was longing to hear them. Even if I die, I will not let them kill me.

He felt as delirious as they were crazy, but he could live with that, or die with that. He was no beast, he was no prey. He was no meal.

He managed to rise up, and realized that they had untied his hands finally, as if they believed him to be too beaten down to still fight them. He would show them.

Hard to believe only some hours ago he had been on Lilah's grave.

He tried to be methodic, and to consider what his next move would be. He knew they wanted to move him, something about a train, a cargo or whatever. This would be an opportunity to take one of them down, he thought. So he waited.

He felt an ache in his throat, among other things, and realized that the air he was breathing was being messed up with. He saw a pipe he couldn't reach and the air it let into the room was clearly poisoned.

For Fuck's sake he thought. He fought against it the best he could, tried to hide his airways with his shirt, staying as close to the ground as possible, but it was a battle he couldn't win. What a sad pathetic death, he thought. He deserved so much better than that, a warrior's death. Something where he got to stand his ground, he thought as he felt himself lose consciousness.

And then, suddenly, the door of the wagon opened and people surged in, grabbing him and carrying him as if he was nothing, which he supposed he was. He wondered if that was the end, hoped he could close his eyes, and only think of Carol, one last time.

They opened a door and tossed him somewhere, he couldn't tell. He felt like he was inhaling clean air again but he supposed that as you lay dying you could be deceived by a thousand things.

As he lay dying, he thought. Dying. Carol.

There were voices, faint voices around him, and he wouldn't fight them, though his instinct told him that he should want to get free, that this could be his last chance.

The air in his lungs was too polluted, he didn't think he would make it out. Whatever they had used to subdue him, as they planned to transfer him somewhere else had done its job. Maybe this was when he died.

"Daryl?" He heard faintly. "What the fuck, stay awake! That's my baby brother, assholes!"

Merle? He thought as he struggled to open an eye, only to see a face that had to belong to a ghost. He heard an explosion. He fainted.

She wasted no time once they heard the first bang then one that followed, somewhere else. This was a concerted move, a plan being put in action, and she didn't trust whoever it was who got the final say in what was happening.

Making sure Judith was safe in Tyreese's arms, they made their way outside, avoiding groups of walkers who were too focused on the sounds to stop and attack them. It was eerie. She had never seen walkers so distracted by something that was not blood.

They walked, and walked, and got back to where she had left Daryl. She hadn't looked at the sun to keep track of but she knew she was late on the lapse of time he had given her to run to the houses. Funny how you could tell how long an hour was when you had been deprived of any watch for some time. The sun, the heat, everything were as many tells of that elusive notion of hour and time. Still, she wondered why he hadn't come to meet her, all the while hoping he had found somewhere safe to wait for her and be safe from the herd of walkers.

Whoever was causing this ruckus had to have one hell of a plan.

Judith was a little princess of course, never whimpered, never let out a noise that could put them in danger.

Yet, there was a tension, even more than usual. She hoped for a second that the baby would get a chance to experience a life when you didn't have to look over your shoulder every second of every minute, wondering if this was when you died.

She led Tyreese back to where she had left Daryl, and the big man started crying when he spotted the two corpses of the girls who had been with him a short time before. Carol shushed him, though she felt his pain, as she took in their surroundings. So many things looked wrong, and she was no hunter. There were traces in the mud, footprints, and it looked like they didn't belong all to the same person. Daryl had taught her how to really hide her own traces, though she had always been pretty good at it when on her own, and she could tell that the people who had left those behind had not cared about the paths they were showing.

She saw broken twigs, even broken branches, and she saw a space where something had had to have happened, as it looked like someone had laid there, in fetal position probably, trying to escape … blows? She wondered how much of what she was seeing she was analyzing right, hoping her post Ed disorder was not tainting what she was seeing. Daryl was not here, and everything she knew to be true and good seemed to have left with him.

Daryl never would have left. Hell, upon seeing she was not back in time, he would have found his way back to her. She trusted in this truth more than in anything else.

If he wasn't here, then something had happened, and she begged whatever deity there was left that the lack of a body meant he was not dead.

They heard another bang, and more walkers trotting by, as if summoned somewhere.

She didn't want to leave Mika and Lizzie there, but they had no choice. She helped Tyreese off the floor and they started travelling toward the sound. There was a pattern, she was certain of it. Every few minutes or so, the sound would pop up from place to place, following a trail, and just like the walkers, they found themselves listening, in hope of divining and anticipating the next move.

That was how they managed to get to a small house, where a car was parked, and a guy was setting up fireworks. He was totally oblivious to their presence, speaking into a talkie and making jokes.

"So the prophet was no prophet after all?" He said and someone said something on the other end. "Color me shocked. Poor Mary must be desperate. He had the scars and everything…"

More talk Carol couldn't decipher.

"I saw them, was with Gareth when he got caught. Then this shitstorm happened. Don't let it be said that two days look alike in Terminus…"

He chuckled.

"Come on, after the guy and the kid in a hat, and that chick with a sword? She was a weapon with a weapon!" He said, as if terribly proud of his humor.

Carol's blood was pumping in her temple, as her worlds collided. Daryl was gone, and the guy mentioned a prophet who was not a prophet with scars on his back? A chick with a sword had been seen somewhere near, maybe even captured with a kid with a hat, and she was supposed to believe this was a coincidence?

There was no such things as coincidences anymore, only rotten luck having its go at you.

"At least we're not gonna starve…" The guy said, and that was when Carol snapped, unable to deal with all the images in her head.

She pointed her gun to his temple and made sure he heard the trigger.

He said things, but she barely listened, too focused on what mattered. Rick's family was in danger. Daryl had been taken to Terminus. Some prophecy-shit had been alluded too but she would wait to hear what that was about.

Tyreese looked at her, like he had never seen her before or maybe like he was finally seeing her for the first time. They didn't speak, didn't need to.

She would get her man back, and if in the process she got some of Ty's family too, then she would call it a good day. She survived. She only hoped Daryl would get to survive too.

He came to violently, after someone had slapped his face.

He coughed, his head on the side, expelling the dirty air that had been slowly killing him. He felt hands on his face, calloused, and strong, but familiar.

"Merle?" He asked again.

The guy let out a deep breathe, and Daryl realized he had his head on his big brother's lap. There were people around, but he didn't care about them, only cared about the guy who couldn't be there, yet was.

"The herd… Lost you…"

"Like a couple of walkers could really end me," Merle said jokingly, but there was something in his voice, and Daryl knew better.

They would never have a bittersweet reunion where words were exchanged and people were assured of their value in the eyes of the other, this was not who they were. They were the Dixon brothers. They fought like cats and dogs, until another jackal came around and it was all about fighting together and getting rid of him.

It was not much, but knowing he could rely on Merle when in danger had always been something Daryl valued. Merle was not a sentimental guy, and Lord knew he was not a family guy either. If he came back for Daryl, then it had to mean he saw something in him at least, something he could make do with.

"Poison…" He whispered.

"Yeah. According to Abe here, you're not the first victim. They taze you and more to make sure you won't jump them when you open the door."

Merle was there. Merle was fucking there. But where was Carol? Was this another trick fate was playing on him? He finally made peace with the fact that he had lost his brother, only to gain him back and lose the one person who had given him more in a few days of companionship than he would probably ever get from any other relationship?

And even if it was, was he supposed to take a stand, agree to that bargain and lose Carol, or refuse it and lose Merle?

Cruelty, like wonder, never ceased.

And fate was the ficklest bitch of them all.

He managed to prop himself up, taking a few deep breathes. His vision was blurry but he needed to get back in shape. He wondered if his brother knew what kind of people had captured them, as they were obviously all prisoners, unless the people from Terminus were known for their accommodations in wagons. He needed to tell him. They needed to come up with a plan. He needed to get back to where Carol would be waiting, if she was waiting. He hoped she didn't come after him, she deserved so much more than this. His brother did too, but he was caught already, Daryl found himself thinking. It didn't matter how much he hated it or what was about to happen to them, it was about saving those who could still be saved.

Merle helped him to his feet, and there was a softness in his brother Daryl didn't recognize. He looked less tortured, more at ease in his own skin, though he sweated danger as much as the next guy.

"Guys, tis' my baby brother, Daryl Dixon."

This was so incongruous, and out of place.

"This ain't some tea party," Daryl spat out. "If you make me bow I'll knee you in the balls."

Merle had a laugh, a burst of joy as he patted his brother on the back violently enough to make him tumble.

"This is the Darylina who I've been telling you about! Such a little shit, always thought he was bigger and stronger than he really was, always got himself in trouble… Baby brother, such a charmer. Thank God I'm part of this family, or the Dixons would have a bad name."

There may have been a couple of chuckles, but the atmosphere was stressed, and Daryl wondered just how much people knew about this place they were in.

"Watcha doing here?" Merle asked as Daryl steadied himself.

"You know me, saw a light, came in, decided to skip dinner," the younger brother said annoyed.

Merle laughed some more.

His ability to make such a noise and mean it was a wonder to Daryl, who couldn't shake the dread in his bones. He was certain he would be happy to know his brother was still alive, once they got out of this shitstorm, but that second then, he could only focus on what was to happen to them.

"I'll show you around, some you know," Merle said as he spun him around.

"There's Michonne, don't call her sugartits, she'll cut your balls off."

Daryl felt almost awestruck. Part of him on a rational level knew that this was Merle, the epitome of Merle, acting twelve different weird ways before he finally came up with the right attitude, but the circumstances were so dire… And Carol was not here.

"Do you remember the quarry, with the guys and gals?"

Daryl's head spun to watch his brother, as something finally made sense in this whole mess, in the most unexpected fashion.

"This is Carl, you should remember him and this is…"

One look at the kid had told Daryl all he needed to know. He remembered those eyes, though the kid had lost most of his baby fat and had hardened a lot for someone who was just a brat. He was standing next to a guy, whose features were similar to his.

"Lazarus…" Daryl whispered.

And with strength he should have saved for the possible great escape he hoped they'd get to have, Daryl threw himself at the guy's face, punching him in the face, the eye more especially. The guy ended up on the floor, and Merle tried to restrain his brother though it was no use.

This was the last of his strength, but it was a great use of that strength. Fucking Lazarus in the flesh.

The woman Merle had introduced as Michonne made her way to the guy, asking Rick how he was, and the others were in shock.

Of all the things happening that day, it seemed Daryl sucker punching the almighty Rick Lazarus Grimes was the most surprising turn of events. He would have laughed.

But as they took care of their leader, and threw him looks, Daryl felt something new in his bones.

Fate was a bitch, sure, but only to him. There was no way in hell fate would have put that guy near Carol's path if she was dead already. Guys like him didn't get to have the last word, even if they were to say it before being slaughtered like pigs.

It was stupid and silly and just fucking dumb, but Daryl pinpointed that feeling in his bones, and found the right label for it: hope. He closed his eyes, and let instinct take over, for a moment. Carol was alive, he was sure of it. They had grown so attuned to one another, he was sure he would have dropped dead if something had happened to her. Carol came back for the people she cared about. She had cared for this group, very much so, though Merle had to have joined after she had departed. Hell, Carol cared for him, Daryl Dixon, baby brother to Merle Dixon and son to two fuckers who had not done right by them.

There was a bang in the distance, and he realized it was not the first he had heard, though he only became aware of the repetition that time.

She would come.

And he would make sure they were ready to help her when she did. No way he was dying here, after being prodded and beaten and more. Besides, he owed his gal a kiss. Or two. Or three.

Daryl Dixon would not be dying today, he thought to himself as if he was broadcasting the news, and he smiled.