Disclaimer: ...I do not own The Walking Dead.

a/n: I would like to thank everyone that has taken the time out to read/review, follow and favourite this little fanfic-your kind words are so very much appreciated! And I'd also like to say a special thank you to wildcow258.

...

It felt like just another cruel twist of fate, and Daryl hated the sudden sting of irony that pricked at him. Just as he'd finally figured that he had let Merle go, plucked up the courage to say that final damn goodbye in his heart-Merle had come back again like the stubborn motherfucker that he was, clawing open those old shitty wounds. And Daryl found that he couldn't just let him go again, not now, not this time. He'd felt blinding rage and guilt at finding him gone on that rooftop that seemed so long ago, the only thing marking his presence was that damned cut off hand, and Daryl had raged at him in his heart, despising him for making him feel weak and useless, hating him and loving him purely because he was his brother. And then Woodbury, and he'd had to go through all those damned fuckin' emotions all over again.

And now this...

Loss gnawed and itched at him like a picked over scab. "I gotta go back Rick," Daryl stated, hearing a sudden whine in his voice and hating it. "I ain't gonna lose him again. I can't. 'S my brother."

"We are doing what we can Daryl. We have done what we can. I wish things were different," Rick grimaced, taking his eyes off the road to briefly look at him. "Your brother, he's strong, a survivor. If anyone can get through this-he will. I'm sure Carol will be safe with him looking out for her."

Daryl sighed, looking out of the car's window as Rick drove. He almost heard the lie hiding inside the other man's voice. It was what he felt himself. The scenery sped before them, a molten mix of heady greens, browns, and grays. If you only knew my brother. "Yeah, he's a stubborn son of a bitch, he always was."

Rick nodded, his eyes back on the road. "Daryl, they'll make it."

He wondered why the shit Rick cared, why he would say that. It was no secret that Rick hated Merle, didn't really want him back at the prison. And, if he was honest with himself-he didn't know if he wanted him back either. Merle was a fuckin' asshole, had left him more times than he cared to remember. He knew. He had the scars to prove it.

The walkers were miles behind them, too stupid and slow to comprehend that their prey had in fact tricked them. After just over mile, Rick had slowly increased the speed of the car, not even needing to blare the horn anymore to attract their attention. They had milled about in a mindless stupor, and as the car had speed away they had just fallen raggedly apart, shambling broken and aimlessly. In a way, it had been relatively easy-the road ahead luckily had been pretty much walker free-just a few that had staggered out of the tree line at the sound of the approaching vehicle, but the car now too fast and their reactions too slow to go in pursuit.

They were making good time, and Daryl was at least thankful for that. As soon as they got back to the prison, it was his every intention to go straight back out and pick up the search. Wasn't no way he was gonna just go and abandon them. And as much as Rick had some sort of weird assed faith that Merle would look after Carol, Daryl worried. Carol-although she could look after herself a whole lot better than she could before when they'd been on that highway and back at the Greene farm-she still wasn't strong enough, despite everything that she had gone through and suffered. He wished that he'd had more time to teach her. He wished that he could have at least grown the balls to let his guard down around her. He wished he'd been there instead of his brother...Daryl clenched his teeth angrily. Wishes are for fuckin' pansy ass fools he heard Merle's voice harsh and unbidden in his head. Ain't none ever gonna help us baby brother. It's always jus' you an' me. Never forget that. Ain't no damned wish gonna make anythin' alright for us.

"Are we good, Daryl?" Rick asked, his voice low and breezing abruptly into his thoughts.

Daryl frowned, "Huh?"

Ricks voice was quiet, almost a soft murmur, and Daryl felt a sudden rising panic engulf him. He had a feeling what was going to be asked, and be fucked if this was the time or place. He squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, wishing that Rick would just shut the hell up.

"At that store. I know you saw..." Rick's voice trailed off, and Daryl vainly hoped that he would just drop it. His heart dropped when Rick resumed speaking. "I trust you Daryl...and hell, I'm sorry..."

"Ain't no problem man, I dunno what you're talking 'bout. I didn't see any damn thing," he replied quickly.

Rick laughed quietly, glancing at him, and Daryl risked a small peek back at him through the hair dangling thickly over his brow. Be damned that Rick wasn't happy at all what with the way his eyes had that sad semi-vacant glaze. He thought it strangely ironic that he'd always thought that the fucked up ones were him and his brother and their whole goddamned dysfunctional family, but shit if the eventual undead turn hadn't changed his mind. Seemed people were fucked up everywhere, no matter their upbringing, their individual situations. Made it feel all the more reason that it just felt safer just to be out hunting in the woods alone. People had always made his skin itch, made him feel uncomfortable.

They fell into an awkward silence. Daryl didn't feel like talking, partly in fear that Rick might just go banging on about what had happened. He chewed at his thumbnail, gazing out of the window, avoiding the curious glances that Rick shot at him every now and again. Eventually Rick had stopped peering at him and just drove the damned car. At least he'd finally taken the hint and dropped it, Daryl thought.

He felt a surge of relief as they approached the prison gates, although he was dully aware of just how dark it had gotten. He didn't care-he was going to unload the meager supplies they'd gathered, repack, then he was going to pick the search back up. He'd already mentally thought that he'd take the car and not the bike. If...when he found them both, he'd obviously need the damned car.

Glenn was at the gate, and Daryl frowned when he saw that the young Korean was dressed in the black riot gear that they'd pilfered from a supply room. Glenn looked odd being out there on his own with no Maggie in tow. Merle, he thought sourly, the jackass wasn't even there and he was still causing problems. Seemed nothing had changed between Glenn and Maggie. It was all Merle's goddamned fault...the Asian kid's face still roughly and markedly bore the aftermath of his brothers fury.

The car hadn't even stopped before Daryl was throwing the door open. He grabbed his crossbow and backpack and rushed out, his boots smacking the concrete with a thud. He was losing time, every single minute increasing the anxiety that was blossoming in his chest. He had this weird assed feeling that if he didn't act soon...if he didn't go out and start the search that Rick would just order him to stay back, and he knew that he would hang back. Rick would always make him see reason even if he didn't necessarily feel it himself. But Merle and Carol were out there without any sort of back up, and he couldn't just leave them. He didn't want to question himself too much, didn't really wish to think how they were coping...what they were doing. He just needed to go and find them, and once he'd gotten them back safely-he'd just have to deal with whatever the repercussions that Merle being back yet again would undoubtedly bring.

He raced through the prison to his perch, having to stop himself from almost throwing the accumulated crap out of his backpack, his hands racing and fumbling in their haste to repack with immediate supplies. His heart convulsed tightly in his chest...and then he was done, throwing the reloaded bag over his shoulder, darting down to pick his crossbow back off the floor where he'd dropped it. He sped down the steps, his boots clattering loudly over every metal rung.

Daryl knew it was going to happen, that he was too late, and it was just too fuckin' dark, when he saw Rick and old man Hershel stood there solemnly regarding him. He knew then that he didn't have a hope- even if he'd managed to find their trail, the non-existent light would be against him. Rick held his hand up, placing it against his chest, firmly stopping him, the sheriffs blue eyes watching him cautiously. Angrily he smacked the hand away, leaning close to the other man, his words a jumble in his head that stubbornly refused to come out. Glowering, he jabbed at him with one finger, his eyes narrowed. Hershel hobbled closer, his hand coming out to try to placate.

Daryl looked at them both with disgust. "This ain't over, man," he hissed shaking his head, before spitting at the ground next to them. He turned on his heel and lurched back up to his perch, the furious growl of frustration bitten back down, locked tightly in his throat.

...