Hey sorry for the long wait. This chapter took on a mind of its own .

So, after reading some of the reviews for last chapter, I decided to go with a chapter in Daryl's POV. Kinda.

Also, heads up, nothing particularly "new" happens in this chap. :/ It's more of a recap of some key points in the previous chaps of this story but told through Daryl's eyes I hope you still like it though!

Tell me what you think of this chap and if I should continue doing ones like this. It was a bit harder and a bit different from what I usually do so I don't really know how it turned out :/ I'm completely open to suggestions and CONSTRUCTIVE criticisms.

Anyways I hope you enjoy and remember to please review because they make my life so much better! :D

Disclaimer: I own not TWD *sadly x(* but I do own my OC and her plot.

Warnings: Strong language ahead. Sorry if it offends. Don't mean to, just doin it for the sake of the story.

Chapter 7: A Changing Wind

The forest lays silent beneath the baking Georgia sun. The wind barely stirs, barely moans; when it does it is hot and humid, suffocating and sticky, and no matter how far one traveled, there is always the perpetual smell of death in the air, as if the very atmosphere had died and is decaying.

Daryl Dixon yanks a filthy rag out of the back pocket of his equally filthy jeans and swipes angrily at his brow, mopping up the sweat that resided there. Georgia heat has always been unforgiving and today is no different. It's as if someone has stuffed this god-forsaken state in the oven, cranked it to the highest setting, walked away to do something and forgot to fuckin come back. His shoulders sting with sunburn, his mouth is parched from dehydration, and his shirt clings to his back, drenched with sweat. He's been out here for hours, hiking through these woods, up and down these goddamn hills and what did he have to show for it? Blue eyes snap down and glare at the two squirrels and brace of rabbits that hang near his left hip. "Fuckin nothin that's what," he thinks angrily to himself. "Merle better be havin more luck than me." If he isn't…well someone is going hungry tonight and it ain't gonna be him or Merle. Those lazy, good for nothing, sons of bitches can kiss his white ass.

A sour taste awakes in his mouth and Daryl spits harshly to the side. Just thinking of those people, all uppity fuckin city folk who couldn't tell north from south or how to light a goddamn fire in the middle of a volcano, sets Daryl's teeth on edge. He doesn't know why him and Merle had stuck around. They were doin just fine on their own; huntin when they needed to eat, taking turns at night to sleep, killin walkers when they got close enough to pose a threat. The Dixon brothers are made for this shit. These extra people though, they complicate things. Now there are more mouths to feed and chores to do and Daryl didn't know how one of those stupid motherfuckers survived this long because everyone is lost without their precious gadgets and do-dads and god they made Daryl want to just scream in frustration.

Suddenly, a twig snaps and the hunter swings his gaze, and crossbow, to the left, trained blue eyes narrowed as they searched for the source. An endless expanse of trees meets his scrutinizing look, stretching for miles in every direction, and, for all intents and purposes, the forest seems dead, empty and still. But a man like Daryl knows different, a man like Daryl can see the subtleties that are lost to other people. Because Daryl had been raised in a dead end little town in the middle of nowhere, as hick as you could get, and had been taught to track since the day he could damn walk, toddlin around on unsteady legs as Merle, who was barely a teenager at the time, taught him the basics of footprints and impressions on the ground. His brother might be the biggest asshole he knows but Daryl owes him his life because it was Merle who taught him to hunt, taught him to fend for himself since their good for nothin Pa couldn't be bother to get off his ass and do more than beat the crap out of his sons when he finally got drunk and bored. And it is because of all those endless hours and starvin days, all those bruises and aches, that Daryl can now spot the broken twigs and trampled grass scattered on the ground ten feet from him with ease, as if they were flashin road signs and screamin sirens. It is because Daryl has been huntin to eat since Merle's first stint in juvie that he can see the thin branches quiverin and the flutterin of the leaves and, like so many times before, he oh so slowly raises his crossbow to eyelevel and puts his finger on the trigger and-

With the suddenness of a flash of lightning, a streak of brown explodes out of the shrub and attempts to bound across the forest floor, but before it can make it more than a few feet, a twitch of Daryl's finger sends an arrow flying, straight and true, right through its heart. There is a short, breathless squeal, a rustle and a tumble of limbs, and the rabbit lays still and quiet amongst the leaves, gone. Daryl lowers his crossbow and his lips twitch in something akin to triumph as he makes his way over to the deceased animal. An expert yank returns his arrow to him and Daryl wipes the shaft on the hem of his shirt. An errant thought runs through his mind that maybe he should use something cleaner but he dismisses the idea with a snort. He had to clean and cook the damn things anyway; if someone has a problem with it then they can go fuck themselves. Jerking the string of his bow into the firing position, Daryl notches his arrow and then bends to pick up the dead rabbit. However, as he hefts the animal up, his nose wrinkles a bit as he notices something. Bringing the rabbit to eye level, he turns it this way and that, eyes ranking across the small form, before he grunts sharply in derision. The thing barely weighs three pounds and most of that was fur. It would be a miracle if this could manage to feed those damn brats back at the camp let alone the rest of the fuckin ingrates. Shit. With the rate at which this hunt is goin, someone really is gonna go hungry tonight.

Daryl curls his lips at the thought and tells himself that he doesn't give a flyin shit; they aren't his problem. Not at all. That bastard Walsh can fuck off because it isn't Daryl's fault Mother Nature had decided to be a grade A cunt and fuck them all over. That son of a bitch is lucky Daryl and Merle even offer any of the food they catch. The way Daryl sees it, that food is his and his brother's by right. They are the ones huntin and trackin through the damn wild and they are the ones that have to clean the kills afterward because, had Daryl mentioned that the fuckers are useless? But they are entitled useless people and goddamn do they like to run their mouths and complain. Every single last one of them bitch and moan from sun up to sun down, whining how hot it was or how the squirrel was too gamey and flavorless or how the world just isn't fair. Christ on a crutch Daryl doesn't know how he keeps himself from putting an arrow between all their eyes and just ending their, and his, misery.

Especially that damn old man with that stupid hat of his and his never ending nagging. Daryl doesn't remember marrying the man but he can nag like the best of the bitches in the world.

Sharp and shrill, a bird caws in the distance, drawing Daryl from his musings, and he tilts his head back to stare at the sky. A thin and insubstantial canopy partially shields the expansive blue ceiling of the world but Daryl can still track the position of the sun, which is just nearly above him. Daryl tears at the chapped skin of his lip with his teeth, mind turning over itself as he debates his options, thoughts turning back to survival. He had left the camp just shortly after sunrise this morning and it is now right around noon or one o'clock. But, for all that time, all that effort, he has jack shit to show for it, just a handful of critters that will barely even feed him. He's circled the immediate area around the quarry all mornin, combin the hills and the trees, eyes wide open for every animal track and broken twig; there is nothing here. It is too close to the city, too close to where everythin went to shit. Animals aren't stupid. They would have realized the world was endin and high tailed it the hell outta Dodge which means…if he is goin to bring back more food…he needs to expand his huntin ground. A noise of aggravation tears itself from his throat and Daryl closes his eyes, breathing harshly through his nose. This was gonna be a bitch. But Daryl isnt't some pussy bitch; he'd man up and get shit done thank you very much.

Taking a deep breath, Daryl decides to head south. There is more wilderness and open land in that direction and it got him farther away from Atlanta. Less geeks, less potential people, more food. It also takes him farther away from camp, which means he might have to stay out over night, never ideal, but he doesn't have much of a choice. He needs the food and if doesn't come back with enough for everyone, he just knows Walsh is gonna start up again and Daryl can't promise that he can stop himself from shootin the bastard right through that goddamn bitchin mouth of his.

"I better fuckin find somethin," Daryl grumps to himself as he ties the rabbit to the string of game on his hip. "Or I swear to whoever is listenin, I won't be goddamn responsible for what, or who, I fuckin shoot next." Pissed and tired but never going to admit it, Daryl turns his body south and shoulders his crossbow, striding deeper into the forest, sun on his back and the familiar crunch of Earth beneath his boot.

It is nearly three hours later, from Daryl's reckoning, and he is just about ready to fuckin shoot the next thing that twitches. Three hours, miles upon miles, sweat and blood he has spent and he has caught nothing. Not a deer, not a bird, not even another damn squirrel. A few miles back, he had shot a small fox, not much but it had at least been something, but when he had drawn closer he had seen the crust of white foam along the edges of its mouth and the sickly almost decaying smell that radiated off its fur like it had been dead for hours and not just mere seconds. Daryl had spat and cursed and kicked the damn thing a few feet for good measure because he was just so pissed off and of course the fox had rabies and goddamn it he was about ready to just head back to the quarry, Walsh and the rest of them be damned. However, when the initial fury had ebbed and he could see past the familiar red haze, Daryl had jerked the bolt from the fox's body and wrapped his filthy rag around it before sticking it back into the crossbow's built in quiver. He couldn't use it again, not till he cleaned it thoroughly, but he wasn't just gonna leave it. The tainted bolt tucked away, Daryl had spared the disease-ridden fox one last good kick before he spun and stalked off back into the forest, in search of more game.

A search that is proving rather futile given the fact he hasn't caught sight of any livin thing other than birds for the past twenty minutes. He would have tried to catch the feathered rats but the smart bastards stay up near the treetops, hidden by trees and branches and height. They still mock him though, singing from their unseen perches, and Daryl does his best to not just shoot randomly into the trees to shut them the hell up.

Time ticks by, slow and eventless, and God, he can just hear Merle now. "Come on now Darlina," the bastard would sneer, face twisted and eyes bright with mocking. "Didn't I teach ya anything? Man the hell up and fuckin catch something instead of cryin like a damn pussy." Daryl grits his teeth and shakes a bead of sweat from his eye, anger and resolve curling in his veins.

There is no way in hell he is goin back to camp empty handed, a failure. He'd stay out here all night if he had to and would bring back somethin for Merle and all those assholes to talk about, just wait. The the hunter skirts around a fallen log, swinging his gaze across the forest floor, looking for the slightest sign of life, a bent blade of grass, a twisted twig, a faint footprint, anything that would give away some wayward critter. For a while, it's useless, there is nothing to see, nothing to find, and then…he sees it. It is faint, just a thin trail in the dirt and the remnants of some kind of nut but it is there and that means, by the size and shape of the tracks, there is a squirrel near by with Daryl's name on it. And where there are squirrels, other animals usually are nearby, bigger animals, predators. Lips twitching into a smirk, Daryl lifts his crossbow up and picks lightly through the trees, feet barely making a noise as they connected with Mother Nature. It takes a few minutes, silent moments of studying and searching, but soon enough Daryl spots a familiar brown tuft of fur as it flickers across the ground, quiet and quick. Unsuspecting, the squirrel sprints its way across the dirt, launching itself at the base of a tree and scampering as fast as it can up the trunk.

It doesn't make it halfway before Daryl's arrow pins its skull to the rough bark, spattering red across the brown expanse. Daryl lets the crossbow fall to his side as he strides over to the tree, grabbing the squirrel's lower body as he yanks his bolt from its head. Much like the rabbit, the squirrel isn't very heavy but it's something. After he has bound the squirrel to him, Daryl drags his forearm against his brow and takes a drag from his canteen. The container is closer to empty than he would have liked but Daryl had heard the gurgle of a stream a few minutes ago and it is easy enough to backtrack. Besides, he'd probably have better luck near the water anyways. Animals have to drink too after all.

Moments later and the hunter finds himself sliding down a slight incline towards the creek, minding his feet so as not to go tumbling head first into the ground cuz wouldn't that just be a bitch? The ground gradually levels out and, out of habit, Daryl casts his eyes about for game as he walks more surely. Nothing immediately catches his eye but he shrugs it off. There will probably be something closer to the water. An idea suddenly occurs to him and Daryl absentmindedly reaches for his canteen as he considers the possibility of catching some fish from the stream with his crossbow.

It is because he is so preoccupied with his thoughts that he doesn't see it until he is nearly stepping out of the riverside brush and unto the elevated bank, oblivious and vulnerable. At the last second though, he finally lifts his eyes and what he sees freezes him mid-step, body suddenly going taunt as a wire.

Weeks have past since he had last seen one, since he and Merle had left Atlanta and "civilization" behind and trekked back into the country where they came from. He must have traveled closer to the city than he had intended. Shit. Daryl holds his breath as he stares at the walker across the stream, the figure facing away from him with its head bowed. Above the gurgle of the stream, a faint murmur can be heard, not very clear but it sets Daryl's teeth on edge nonetheless. The thing is moanin, that goddamn hellish noise that makes his skin crawl. No wonder he couldn't find any game; this bastard had chased them all off. Cursin himself for bein a dumbass, Daryl tucks his canteen away and hefts up his crossbow, silently pushing a few branches out of the way as he levels the creature's head in his sights, the movement smooth and practiced. As he stands there, adjusting his aim, Daryl can't help but look the thing over; it has been weeks after all, he wonders if they have changed.

They haven't.

Before it had died, Daryl sees that this walker had been a female, about 5'4, with short brunette hair. Dirty and torn jeans hang off slender hips and a thin white t-shirt wraps around its torso, streaked in dirt and blood. Daryl can't help the errant thought of who had this chick been before she'd been bit, where'd she been, why she'd been stupid enough to let one of them damn things sink its teeth in her. But suddenly, the thing is movin, shiftin, turnin round, and Daryl pushes the thought aside because it doesn't matter who this bitch had been before. Right now, she, it, is a walker and it needed to be put the hell down, before it caught sight of him and draws others with its moans. Taking a deep breath, Daryl places the crosshairs right smack dab in the middle of the thing's forehead and goes to squeeze the trigger.

However, as his finger twitches to send a bolt flying, the thing glances up, just for a fraction of an instant and Daryl freezes, muscles seizing, lungs stilling, and nerves short-circuiting because its eyes are green, so green that he can see them from here and tell that they are clear and unclouded, not obscured by the milky film of decay. They look bright, they look alive, they look…human, but Daryl is already pulling the trigger, the bolt screaming out of the crossbow and flying straight toward the walker's head. Daryl, however, had jerked the crossbow a bit too far to the left in his surprise, altering the bolts course, and instead of going straight through its forehead like he had intended, the bolt only grazes the walker's face before flying off into the trees. The thing makes a suddenly, almost startled noise that sounds like…like a yelp? The fuck? Swearing, Daryl shakes his head and is quick to notch another arrow but as he chances a brief look up to make sure the walker isn't bearing down on him, the thing makes him freeze again.

The walker is sitting on its ass but instead of just slumping there mindlessly, brainlessly moaning like it should have, it's…it's lifting a hand up and brushing the spot where Daryl's arrow had grazed its skull, fingers coming away red. A sliver of ice carves its way down Daryl's spine. Walkers bleed black and brown, colors of death and decay. They don't bleed bright red.

"What the fuck?"

And they definitely don't fucking talk.

Disbelief burning through his veins, Daryl is moving before he knows it, slipping out of the bushes and out into the open, a need burning in him to see if what he is seeing is real, that this walker isn't a walker but a…but a…

At the sound of his movements, the thing across the stream snaps its head up and those bright green eyes stare up at him, wide and shocked and holy fuck she's fucking human. The shock of the fact unhinges Daryl's jaw and he's speaking before he can stop himself.

"Sumbitch," Daryl hears himself say as he shoulders his crossbow, incredulity painting his voice cuzthis can't be real. "You ain't no walker."

The girl, because it is a girl, all young and wide eyed and shit, stares at him in utter silence, mouth open and gaping. Daryl gazes back at her, sweat dripping down his face as blood oozes from the girl's temple, slow and thick, like molasses. They are both frozen, just standing, or in her case sitting, there, looking at each other with mirroring expressions of confusion, surprise, and disbelief. Daryl wonders for a brief instant if he has accidently given her brain damage. Or maybe he's the one with brain damage, the Georgia sun havin cooked his head, cuz what the hell is going on? But then, a bird calls out in the distance and several things happen at once, like the shot at the beginning of a race, the flash of a green light. First, the girl gives a start, like she is being pulled from a dream and then pain and anger awakes in her eyes, like she has just realized Daryl had shot her and lastly…something suddenly overtakes her face, an expression the hunter had only seen in spooked horses and livestock, a scared but utterly resolved look.

"Fuck," Daryl thinks, realization crashing into him. "She's gonna bolt."

He doesn't know why, can't even begin to explain it, but for some reason…something in Daryl doesn't want her to leave. It's not like he particularly wants her to stay it's just…he doesn't want her to go, like if she did…it was something bad, something wrong. Hell if that makes any sense but it's what he feels. But it doesn't look like she gives a fuck what he wants because Daryl can see the girl's muscles bunching, coiling to run. He lifts a hand to stop her, not knowin what to say but hopin the gesture will be enough.

It isn't.

Because the instant after Daryl lifts his arm, the girl is scrambling and diving to the side, rolling behind a thick tree that grew on the creek bed. "H…hey," he yells out, his voice suddenly too loud and too coarse in the previous silence. "Hey wait!" No response is forthcoming. "Sonvabitch!"

Cursing up and down, Daryl pulls himself fully out of the tangled bushes and staggers forward, jumping off the elevated bank and down into the creek nearly five feet below. The water is cool and fresh as he splashes through it, not even knee deep, and Daryl distantly remembers he had needed to refill his canteen. Moving quickly, he reaches the other side of the stream, a few yards to the left of the tree the girl had dove behind, and he latches his hands on the soft bank, fingers digging deep into the soil as he hauls himself up with a grunt. When he is on his feet, he stutters forward, a twig snapping beneath his unbalanced and clumsy steps. God, he feels like a drunken moron, the way he is staggerin round, but soon, he reaches the tree where the girl is hiding and he rounds the wide trunk just in time to see her lean forward, ready to make a break for it.

Daryl reacts without thinking and everything happens too fast for him to grasp.

Not functioning on all levels, he lunges out, grasping and grabbing, hands slipping around the girl's head and around her waist, rooting her in place, just keeping her here so he can say something, anything. The girl goes rigid the instant their skin connects and Daryl has just enough time to ask himself what the fuck he's doin before the girl goes completely and utterly limp, like a dead fish. He hadn't been expecting that. Hell, he doesn't know what he had been expectin but it wasn't the bitch passin out. "Fuck!" The grunt is wrenched out of him as the girl becomes a dead weight in his arms, bumping back into his chest harshly, almost knocking the breath out of him. His vision becomes obscured with dark brown hair, his nose invaded by the smells of sweat and dirt and the sharp tang of fear. Daryl tries to twist his head away but only gets far enough as a few inches back before the girl is snapping her skull into the bridge of his nose.

Pain explodes throughout his face as cartilage shatters with a sickening crunch, blood splattering everywhere, warm and wet and the bitch just broke his nose and fuck his head is swimming. Distantly, he hears himself cuss and feels the girl wrench herself from his hands, his fingers tugging at skin and clothes before she is completely gone. When his eyes stop watering, Daryl slits them open as much as he can, watching the girl jump over a few wooden crosses before sprinting through clearing beyond.

"Goddamn…wait a sec," Daryl screams out, wrapping a hand around his nose to try and stem the bleeding. The girl doesn't even look back.

"Fuckin hell." He should just let her go, she is no one to him and the less people he deals with the better cuz everyone he meets nowadays is a damn moron, but before he knows it, he's runnin after her, sprintin through the trees.

His head is throbbin and his nose is still gushin and now his lungs are fire cuz damn this bitch can run but he doesn't stop and he doesn't know why. They run for God knows how long, her out in front and him behind, a wild game of cat and mouse, but then he loses sight of her, her body slipping behind the trees and out of his line of sight. But he can still hear her, hear as she tramples through the underbrush, loud as a bull in a china shop. He continues to follow, relying on the sounds of her frantic escape, but all of the sudden, her movements slow, her footsteps not so fast, not so wild. "She's slowin down," Daryl realizes, like a buck that has outrun its endurance.

Mind running faster than his feet, Daryl darts quickly to the right, pumping his legs faster to try and come out in front of the fleeing girl. It doesn't take that much effort given the girl has come to a stop in a small clearing and is laughing.

"I don't see…nothin funny…'bout this shit," Daryl snarls out abruptly around his panting, his anger catching up with him now that he isn't sprinting like a bat outta hell. The girl gasps like the breath is literally ripped from her lungs, choking and breathless, those green eyes of hers nearly fallin out of her head as they catch sight of him. A handful of emotions flash across her face in that one instant, going from shock, to fear, to anger, to resolve, and then suddenly Daryl knows what she is going to do before she can even twitch.

"Hey! Don' ya go fuckin runnin off again. I'm not chasin yer ass down this time." He means it too. He might have chased her the first time, he still doesn't fuckin know why, but he isn't doin it again. He's tired and he damn hurts and-

"Wh…who said I wanted you to chase me asshole?"

The words draw Daryl up short and he finds himself staring at the girl in puzzled bewilderment. What…what the hell had she just said? Daryl feels confusion and…something akin to admiration suddenly spark in him because she's got to have some balls to say that shit to him. If it was anyone else, Daryl would have already been flying across the small space between them, fists flyin, mouth runnin, but nothing but a mild irritation flares through him because frankly, he's kinda amused. This bitch has some southern gumption to her. But that barbed tongue didn't exactly run did cuz her eyes had gone wide as the moon the second she had uttered the words, like she hadn't meant to say them and she wanted to take them back. Maybe she has less balls than he thought.

The girl continues to stare at him in a dazed silence, seconds ticking by, and Daryl finds himself checkin her out. Not like that just…seein who the hell he had nearly killed, still not believin that he is actually here, that this is really real cuz really, this can't be happenin.

He notices she's older than he had originally thought, not the wide-eyed kid he'd first assumed. He guesses she is a teenager though, eighteen, maybe nineteen years old, handful of years younger than him at the least. She's also bone rail thin, maybe had been slim at one point but now she's leanin towards emaciated and Daryl wonders at how she had outran him like she had without passin out. His keen eyes drift up her thin figure, over the sharp hipbones and what he guesses must be the beginnins of protrudin ribs, and finally land on her face. She's white, he belatedly notices, pale and fair, not like those spics and niggers that were loungin round back at camp, lazy and worthless, as Merle would say. She's pretty too: has high cheekbones and a soft chin with a tiny cleft and a small, full mouth just resting above it; her nose is slightly crooked though, like it had been broken once before but its not too bad cuz right above it are those goddamn eyes of hers, clear and sharp as fuckin emeralds. Not that Daryl's ever really seen an emerald but he guesses this is what they must look like cuz they're the brightest things he has ever seen.

Except…there's a shadow behind them, transparent and fine, like a layer of diluted smoke givin her a…haunted look. He's curious about the sight before he remembers the world had ended and for her to be standin her before him, she had to live through some tough shit. But why does he care? They all had their nightmares; this bitch is no different.

Licking his lips, Daryl finds himself opening his mouth to say something, to break the silence because its grating on his goddamn nerves, unconsciously shifting forward as he does so, and suddenly, the girl is snapping into action, her right hand flying over her left shoulder and Jesus Christ is that a fuckin sword?

In response to seeing the blade, silver and glinting deadly in the sunlight, Daryl jerks his crossbow up, leveling it at girl once again, mouth spitting out words he hasn't even stopped to process. "Whoa! Hey calm the fuck down will ya? I'm not gonna hurt ya!"

He mentally blinks at the words but after quick consideration finds that they are true. He doesn't want to hurt this girl, she's just a kid…but if she comes at him with that overgrown knife, all bets are off. Daryl watches as the girl sneers at him, lips twisting up and baring straight, white teeth.

"Coming from the man who has an arrow leveled at me, you'll forgive me if I don't take your word for it," is her biting reply and maybe she has more balls than Daryl gave her credit for.

But…wait a goddamn second! She's blamin him. Oh hell no.

"Ya drawed yer weapon first," he counters, defensive.

The look she shoots him is down right affronted. "You fucking shot me, in the head, not ten minutes ago!" She had screamed those words and now she's jabbing a finger at her head, gesturing to the blood gushing out of the gash Daryl's bolt had left on her scalp. But he feels far from remorseful at the moment, aggravation and rage spiraling through his blood like some perverse kind of drug, a well-known, familiar, Dixon drug.

"I thought ya was a walker! And ya fuckin broke my nose for it," he snarls right back and then the girl falls silent and Daryl smirks in triumph because now she can't say shit. The girl remains silent for a few beats more and, when Daryl sees she isn't going to attack him, he purses his lips and drops his bow, showing his hands to calm her cuz if she freaks out on him again he might just shoot her. The girl narrows her eyes at him, suspicion and distrust dark in her eyes and expression, but she too lowers her weapon, the blade falling to her side. Daryl finds his eyes drawn to the gleaming silver and the question rolls off his tongue the second it enters his head.

"Where'd the hell ya get that thing," he grunts, jerking his chin towards it. "Never seen no one with a goddamn sword." What the hell is this, a fuckin chink kung fu movie? Christ.

The girl blinks at him in confusion but clears her throat to answer anyway. "I could say the same about your crossbow," she replies cryptically, that challenge and acid still laced in her words. Daryl makes a noncommittal noise, cuz two can play that game, and keeps silent. Which seems to bother the girl because she is talking again before he realizes it.

"Um…what…what are you doing out here anyway? Well, besides shooting unsuspecting people in the head." The question is timid and quiet, just slightly bitter, unlike her previous words and Daryl narrows his eyes at her but only finds genuine curiosity. And a bit of discomfort. Ok a lot of discomfort.

Yeah, well he can damn relate.

Daryl doesn't really know what to do in a situation like this. He doesn't talk to people. He talks to Merle, which didn't really count, and that is it. He curses at the others, grunts at them when he needs to, but doesn't say more than "fuck off" or "screw you." Since everyone back at the quarry hates him, a mutual feeling, he hasn't had need to say more than that. But the girl is looking at him now, waiting for a true answer, like they hadn't just screamed and threatened each other, like he hadn't shot her in the head and she hadn't broken his nose, and it was broken, of this he had no doubt. This girl confuses Daryl by her open expressions and weird mood swings, and he doesn't like to be confused. It makes him feel stupid and he isn't stupid. Just cuz he doesn't have some hoity-toity degree like those other fuckers doesn't make him an idiot but right now he feels like one cuz he can't get this girl's number and it pisses him the hell off.

Still, he answers truthfully, mind still turning around the enigma this girl presents, too tired and indifferent to think up a lie. He mutters, "Huntin," at her, cool as can be, before he swings his string of game around as proof, in case she doesn't believe him.

He isn't really expectin her reaction. He thought she might hum or some shit but instead she gasps outright and the down right starvation in her gaze surprises him. She looks as if she has never seen food before or like she hasn't eaten since the world went to shit and then Daryl remembes the racket she made crashin through the brush and realizes maybe she hasn't. Her response is weak and murmured, her eyes still transfixed to the line of dead animals lying against his chest.

"O…oh. Uh…it seems you were successful?" Daryl feels a prick of anger race through him, is she mocking him, but he taps it down, settling for a shrug and a two-word reply. The girl is down right incredulous as she stutters out her response, calling the measly display of meat on his back a "whole buffet." A mocking snort explodes out of Daryl and his eyes find hers, a sardonic light glinting in them.

"Six critters ain't gonna feed no one except maybe me," he informs her, feeling the twinge of annoyance roil through him at the reality, but before he can dwell more on the fact the girl gasps, that chocking, breathless noise again, and then she is talking a mile a minute, actually staggering towards him.

"You mean there are more? More people," she exclaims out, eyes wide and winded, but before Daryl can respond, holy crap let him talk, she's sputtering again. "Wait! Wait! You're…you're from Atlanta aren't you?"

And now Daryl's really lost because what the hell is this bitch talkin about? Atlanta? Why the hell would he be from that death trap? But she's suddenly fuckin bouncin in joy at something, like she's won the goddamn lottery and Daryl is tired of being confused.

"Atlanta? What the hell ya talking bout? I ain't settin foot near that geek filled city," he growls out her, wanting, needing, demanding an answer. The girl's smile slips at his words, dimming ever so slightly in confusion as she askes what a geek was. Daryl's jaw almost drops to the ground at her words, his anger subsiding slightly because damn this chick must be the biggest dumbass he's ever met. And that's saying something.

"Geeks," he drawls out, speaking slowly and surely, wondering how stupid she really is. "Ya know…geeks. Walkers. Bunch of motherless fuckin piles a shit that try to take a goddamn bite outta ya when ya ain't lookin. Christ, ya stupid or something?"

It's a legitimate question to him but the girl doesn't seem to think so because she bares her teeth in anger at him, eyes bright with indignation, that damn sword of hers twirling in her grasp as she rambles about some refugee center.

…wait...back up. What the fuck did she say? Daryl repeats her words back to her, unbelieving and cynical, and his words are harsh and his tone is harsher but not enough so to cause the look the girl is wearing now: a devastated, sucker punched expression, like Daryl has just informed her for the first time that the world had ended. Daryl's mind spins in circles and he can't fathom how they had gone from runnin, to yellin, to talkin, to this; to her gapin and stutterin at him and lookin so lost that Daryl suddenly feels pity for this girl and he never feels sorry for anyone so he can't place the emotion at first. But her eyes are so wide and scared lookin, really like a damn kid, that he finds himselfspeakin more softly as he informs her that Atlanta is overrun and where had she heard otherwise? The girl swallows sharply, her throat constricting as she rasps out something about broadcasts and how she had walked from Dalton, a little town he knows is near Tennessee, and fuckin hell how long has this bitch been walkin?

"Shit…where've ya been," he can't help but ask even though he can't quite meet her gaze, can't quite face that betrayed look in those goddamn green eyes of hers. "Those broadcasts stopped long time ago. Ain't no one left."

The girl stares at him, uncomprehending, blinking, once, twice…and Daryl's about to ask if she had heard him but then she's gasping, sucking in lungfuls of air like she is drowning, chest heaving, face blanching, feet stumbling like the Earth's spin has become too much for her. Concern and confusion flare in him, if she passes out he is leavin her ass, and he calls out to her, brow furrowed as she staggers into a tree behind her, clingin to it like it's her only anchor to the planet. She doesn't seem to have heard him because she is mutterin to herself, eyes wide and wet and glued to the ground.

"It can't be possible," he hears her say and the denial is so sharp in her voice that he realizes in that second…she had truly believed there was some kind of center in Atlanta. Daryl suddenly feels like the worlds biggest bastard for informin her otherwise even though he knows there was nothin for it.

Suddenly, the girl snaps her eyes up, those green orbs starin right at him and their begging, pleading, for him to tell her different, to tell her he's lying, but Daryl can do nothing more than stare back at her in blatant honesty. He can't gonna sugar coat it; doesn't want to. The world sucked and sucked some more; him lyin to her wouldn't solve anythin, just make it worse. At his unflinching gaze, the girl's face crumples, just falls and caves, those eyes of hers goin out like a damn light and Daryl waits for the tears to spill over.

He isn't prepared for her to start fuckin screamin.

"GOD DAMN IT!"

Daryl nearly jumps out of his skin at the piercing cry and he gawks as the girl throws back her head and howls at the sky, the noise unchecked, unbalanced, and wild. For a moment, he is frozen in his spot, not believing that this girl is actually shrieking like a damn banshee, but then the reality crashes into him and he suddenly realizes that if there were any true walkers in the next fifty miles, they were undoubtedly hearin this ringin of the goddamn dinner bell. This bitch was literally gonna kill them! He's moved before he realizes it and suddenly, he's right in front of the bellowing girl, hand once more finding its way across her chapped and split lips. The noise blessedly cuts off, only the echoes remaining, and Daryl almost sighs in relief before the girl shoves him back, surprisingly strong, and he is sent staggering back. Biting back a curse, Daryl jerks his head up to see the girl look frantically for what he assumes is her sword that's lying a few feet from her in the grass and he'll be damned if he is gonna let her get a hold of that thing. He lunges back towards her and their bodies collide with a muffled thud before he shoves her back into the tree, hands pinning her wrists, holy shit they are fuckin thin, as he slaps his hand across her snarling lips. Daryl hisses at her to shut up, reminding her that the world has ended and her screamin is bringin every geek for miles around down on them. But the girl only glares at him, hatred in her eyes, as she continues to struggle and thrash, like a buckin bronco. He tries again to get her to calm down but his words only proved to piss her off more because she's suddenly throwing off his hand and baring her teeth at him in this crazed, feral, grief filled expression.

"So what," she snarls up at him, bitin and snappin like a rabid dog. "There's nothing for me anyway! Atlanta's gone and every city from here to Dalton is over run! There's nothing left alright? Everyone's dead and my numbers up and coming! Who give's a hell if I die today, tomorrow, or a week from now?" Tears brim in her eyes and Daryl suddenly finds himself pissed beyond measure, her words makin his blood boil.

"So what? Yer just gonna give up? How pathetic. I thought ya wanted to live. Ya ran from me like ya did, fuckin sprintin through the woods like a goddamn deer," he growls back at her, his own teeth bared, voice disdainful.

But the girl isn't listening, she just spits some words back at him and bucks all the harder, demanding to be let go and Daryl sees in her eyes that she really has given up. A welter of emotions tumbled through him at the knowledge but then, he's even more pissed off than he had been before. He's down right infuriated because this bitch has survived this long, walked all the way across the goddamn state almost, and she is gonna throw in the towel cuz things hadn't turned out the way she wanted? At first Daryl had thought that maybe this girl wasn't as bad as the dumbasses he dealt with back at camp, she had to have some strength and smarts to get this far, she obviously had a mouth on her, but now he realizes…she's just as bad. Just as weak. Just as pathetic. It makes him think there are only walkers, him, and idiots left in this godforsaken world and he can't keep the disgust out of his words as he spits them in her face.

"Look, I don' give a fuck if ya want to kill yerself alright. Ya ain't my problem. But if yer gonna do it, at least go into the goddamn city. I don' need no walkers wanderin close to camp cuz ya decided to lose yer damn mind nearby."

And then, he's done. Done with talkin, done with helpin, or at least tryin to, and he is done with her. He steps back from the girl, givin her one last glare of contempt, and then he spins around, stalkin away from her, not looking back. He had been tellin the truth. She isn't his problem. He doesn't know her, she was just some idiot girl he had just met in the woods and this is the apocalypse; it's every man for himself. Daryl still has a hunt to complete and the trek back to camp to endure and this chick has wasted precious daylight hours and fuck why the hell was he actually feelin a bit guilty for walkin away? She isn't his problem. She isn't his goddamn problem and he doesn't give a shit if she dies out here or not! It's her fault for bein so stupid, so weak! Not his. It was no skin off Daryl's back.

Then the bitch goes and calls out to him and Daryl is stoppin before he could stop himself. He doesn't turn around, cuz really he doesn't care, he just stopped cuz…cuz…well it doesn't matter cuz the girl continued talkin anyway. "You…you said camp. But you…there's nothing in Atlanta. What…what were you talking about?" she asks and her voice is so soft and so timid and scared and goddamn it.

Daryl turns his head and glances over his shoulder, eyes taking in the girl's slumped posture and fathomless, lost eyes. "There's a handful of dumb fucks few miles in. Got some supplies, few weapons, not much," he tells her truthfully and when something akin to hope sparks in the girl's face Daryl finds himself wondering what he should do now.

How the hell has it come to this anyway? He was just huntin a few moments ago and then this bitch bowls him over with the force of a freakin freight train and now he's telling her bout camp? The hell had come over him? Why had he stopped? Why had he run after her? Shit, why was he still here? He can't answer any of those questions and it pisses him off. Daryl bites the inside of his cheek harshly and considers his options. Should he take her back? Or just leave her here? His eyes absentmindedly drift over her desolate figure again and he asks himself what Merle would do. But then Merle's smirking, leering face, enters Daryl's thoughts and he already knows what his older brother would do. He'd more than likely bring her back…but he'd ask for compensation. Finder's fee and shit. Daryl considers the idea for a moment, just a split second cuz the bitch was stupid and crazy but she was pretty, but then his very being rebelled against it so hard, he nearly chocked. He can't do that, not with those fuckin eyes lookin at him like that, just beggin for him to save her. Daryl's no knight in shinnin armor, he wasn't goin to coddle the bitch but he decides that…he'll give her a chance. This one chance because the world wasn't offerin up very many nowadays but if she gives him trouble he'd just kill her like he's playin to kill all those other fuckers back at camp. He really will.

"Look…if ya want, kid, I'll take ya," he suddenly grunts. "But ya can't be losin yer shit and screamin or fightin every couple'a minutes. I don' have time for that crap. Ya start up again and I'll leave ya in the middle of the fuckin forest and don' think I won'." The girl winces a bit at his words but, after a moment, she nods slowly in acceptance, face red in embarrassment and eyes slightly downcast. Daryl sighs harshly, cuz great now he just found another mouth to feed, he's as big an idiot as the rest of them, before he gestures for the girl to follow him and turns to stride into the trees. He doesn't turn around again but he hears the girl crash into the tree line behind him, footsteps fast and uneven as she suddenly draws abreast to him. He ignores her, she isn't important right now, and instead tries to return his mind to the hunt he was supposed to be on, before this girl had come and completely screwed him over. It isn't that hard; Daryl is a survivalist and nothin means more to him than keepin Daryl Dixon alive and fuckin kickin. Questions kick start in his head, quick and spontaneous but all relavent and necessary. Where were they and how far had they run anyways? He still needs to return to that damn creek to fill up his canteen and how many hours do they have left till dark cuz-

"My name's Audrey," the girl suddenly says, making Daryl's eyes dart over to look at her, surprised. She doesn't meet his gaze. "Audrey Bennett." He blinks as the words process, oh it's her name, and Daryl purses his lips at the girl, Audrey, and grunts, shaking off his surprise as he reaches back to grab his crossbow.

"Daryl Dixon," he mutters in response, now not meeting her gaze. "Now be quiet. Yer gonna scare off the game." For once, she seems to listen to him because she doesn't say another word. Daryl finds himself mostly thankful for the silence cuz now he can hear the chittering of woodchucks in a tree a few yards in front of them, but a small part of him, very small, miniscule really cuz he shuts it up fast enough, feels sorry for the absence of the girl Audrey's voice cuz, when she wasn't screamin, cursin, or cryin, she actually has a nice voice, soft and liltin with a southern drawl, though not as thick as his ow-.

Daryl suddenly cuts himself off mid thought because he is not thinking about this right now. He needs to hunt, he had jack shit remember, and it's going to get dark real soon…eventually…sometime today…whatever. He shoots a glare at the figure beside him, her own eyes trained on her ratty Converse, oblivious to her companion's inner ranting.

"The fuck did I just goddamn do," Daryl mentally snarls. He's just fucked himself over that's what. Shit, he can't believe he's really here right now, some random bitch in tow. He had just been mindin his own business a few minutes ago and now…here he is. It is so surreal…and so jacked up. All he had wanted this mornin was some goddamn game to feed himself and the other sorry pricks back at the quarry and the universe decides to give him another mouth to feed.

He would think this a dream but not even Daryl's nightmares are this fucked up.

Fuckin A. He suddenly wishes that Merle hadn't drank the last of their whiskey a week ago cuz damn he needs a drink.

Three Days Later

The haul is better this time, easier to find, but not by much. Daryl rubs his brow with the back of his hand; skin sliding along skin, eased by a film of sweat. The squirrel in his hand is plump and fat, a good catch, but for reason, the hunter can't find it in himself to skin it. He scowls at the dead creature, irritation prickling under his skin like ants, before dropping it, and the buck knife in his hand, unto the unstable fold out table he's been using to clean his kills. Growling under his breath, Daryl sits back in Merle's piece of shit camping chair and tips back his head, eyes slipping closed.

Damn is he tired. In the last three days, he's gone on two fuckin hunting trips, successful ones thank you fuckin kindly, cleaned almost every single thing he's caught, Merle's been hittin his stash again and Daryl doesn't trust him to clean the crittters correctly, and hell, he's had to do some other shit round the camp too since the rest of 'em are about as useful as shit! Not to mention that shit that old man had started yesterday; that's a whole other exhausting cluster fuck in itself. He really though Merle was gonna shoot the dumbass.

Now, Dixons don't complain; they don't bitch or whine, a lesson he had learned the hard way early on, but…goddamn. He's really wishing he and Merle had stayed on their own. Make shit a whole lot easier. But, life isn't fuckin easy and so, here Daryl is, cleanin and skinnin his most recent haul while Merle is God knows where and the Christ did he mention he was tired as hell?

Daryl exhales harshly and lets his head fall back further. His eyelids flicker red and black with the shifting of the tree's leaves above him and he can feel the sun shinning directly on his face, hot and bright. It's nearly noon, nearly time for lunch but right now, every one can fuck off. There should be enough food left over from his first huntin trip so there's no rush on this haul. A few calm moments pass and Daryl contemplates findin Merle, high or not, and makin his ugly ass work while he goes down to the quarry and bathes. It's been a few days-a week?-and Merle says he's gonna be dirty enough soon to be black as them niggers. Daryl's lip curls as he remembers his brother's hate filled words. Fuckin asshole his brother was.

Before Daryl can get up though, or even summon the strength to actually think about doing so, a loud exclamation of joy catches his attention. It was such a weird noise, so disjointed and incongruent with the apocalypse he lives in, that, before he knows it, Daryl finds himself opening his eyes and turning to locate the source of the sound.

It's the little boy, the white one, he can't remember his name, that had made the noise, practically dancin in his place as he talks excitedly to the blonde little girl whats-her-name by his side. The kid's eyes are nearly fallin out his head and he looks excited enough to burst. Daryl snorts and shakes his head, stupid damn brat, and makes to close his eyes again but a sudden movement beside the kids makes him do a double take.

He hasn't seen her since she walked into camp. Well, he has, out of the corner of his eye, just a glimpse of the back of her head, an arm here, a leg there, but he hasn't seen her fully since she shook Walsh's hand. She, she's a she cuz her name doesn't matter, not to him, annoying bitch, looks…different somehow Daryl absentmindedly notices and it makes him unconsciously turn towards her, though he doesn't need to, doesn't want to, doesn't know why. She's…smiling now, bright and open as she talks to the kid, and the gesture changes her face, makes her seem younger than she does when angry but older than she does when sad and lost…holy shit. Even the bitch's expressions confuse the crap out of him. Daryl watches as she bends to pick up that goddamn sword of hers, slipping it back into the sheath like she's done it a million times. Her movements are fluid and sure but then she drops something, a gray blur tumbling from her fingers, and she fumbles after it, awkward, graceless, and Daryl sneers as he abruptly remembers she's a fuckin kid; barely older than the brat that's bouncing at her side, annoyin and loud.

Annoyin and loud. Christ. That's her in two words.

"That bitch is the mouthiest cunt in the goddamn south. Why the hell ya bring her back lil brother? Shoulda just left her ass ta rot in the woods."

Merle's heated words from their hunt yesterday suddenly ring loud in Daryl's head and he can't help but ask himself the same question. Why did he bring her back? To be nice? Give her a second chance? The hell? Dixon's aren't nice. They don't give a shit about other people. The world never gave a fuck about him so he's just returnin the favor. It's just him and Merle in the world; kin, family, that's all that matters. All these useless fuckers don't mean shit to him; he could leave right now, him and Merle, not look back and not loose one wink of goddamn sleep.

So why had he brought this girl back? It's three days later and he still doesn't know why. Not like he's been thinkin bout it though; he hasn't. Bu Daryl's content to go with momentary insanity caused by heatstroke, just to get the question to leave him the fuck alone, but Merle's words, once again, crop up in his head, all leerin drawl and lidded eyes. "She does got a sweet ass though. And nice tits. Maybe I do know why ya brought her back Darlina. Gonna bump some uglies with the bitch?"

Daryl flushes at the memory, jerking back to the abandoned squirrel and buck knife as a heat flares across the back of his neck, sudden and quick. Damn it. His brother was the biggest motherfucker he knew. Like he'd want to do something stupid like that. Or with somethin like her. The bitch is scrawny, big mouthed, and barely even legal. If that. Merle was the one who always thought with his dick. It's what always got him in trouble, juvie, prison; though his fists also had somethin to do with that. Daryl had more important things to worry about though. Like workin, before the world went to shit, and huntin, survivin now. He ain't lookin to get laid and he definitely ain't lookin to get laid by-

Suddenly, Daryl becomes aware that someone is standing right next to him, like feet from him and no one comes over so who the fuck is it? He blinks down at his hands, and since when did this squirrel get half fuckin skinned, and lifts his head to see who is stupid enough to bother him cuz he's busy. He swears, if it's that goddamn old man or fuckin Walsh, demandin where their food is and shit, he might just stab them.

He's equally surprised and not surprised to see her standing there, all green eyes and awkward smile, fidgeting as she stands in the heat of the sun. Of course it would be her; no one else was that stupid…or ballsy. But what the hell does she want anyway? Daryl doesn't know, and he doesn't fuckin care, so he turns back to the squirrel and lets the steel of his knife bite into skin and flesh and blood. "Um hi," she quietly says and he should have known she wasn't going to leave just like that. She's too stubborn, even he knows that and he was only with her for a handful of hours. Daryl's gonna ignore her though. He brought her here and that's where their interaction ended. He wasn't here to talk to her, be her fucking fri-

"Look, I just wanted to say thank you."

The words bring him to a halt and he's lookin up at her before he can blink, wonderin what the fuck she's talking about because he hasn't done anything she can thank him for. Hell, he's completely avoided her for the last three days. She's twitchin again but her eyes, green and deep, stay locked on his as she opens her mouth and says, "For bringing me here. I…I would have probably died out there if you hadn't so…thank you."

Ahh. That.

Daryl's got to say…he wasn't expectin her to say thanks. He thought she'd just ignore what he had done; just like how everyone else ignores that fact he's the one goddamn feedin them. It's not like wanted her gratitude; he was just surprised that a spoiled brat like her even the word. Daryl realizes he's been silent for a beat too long because the girl is flushing red and shifting her weight from foot to foot, awkward and restless. Like she hates bein here, near him, and can't wait to get away from the redneck hick before her. Irritation and something unnamable burns through the hunter and he feels his lip curl in disgust or something very similar. Who's he to prolong her suffering? He turns back to his squirrel with a snort.

"Yeah, whatever," he grunts and then he tries to tune her out, erase her, ignore her. It doesn't work for a moment; he can still hear her breathing, hear the chocked noise she makes out of anger; but then he hears her huff, pissed but he doesn't care, and she's spinning away, dirt and leaves crunching beneath her weight and Daryl finds himself lifting his head and watching as she begins to walk away, eyes taking in her rigid spine and almost stomping feet and well…maybe she does have a nice ass-

"Fuck!"

The curse is wrenched out of Daryl as pain lances through his arm, throbbing and sharp, and he's grabbing at his left hand, skin slick with blood as it pulses out of the gash that is now carved into his flesh, a new torrent for each one of his heart beats. Reacting on instinct, Daryl tosses down the knife that caused this, he refuses to think of anything else to blame, glances quickly at the wound and, finding it's not very deep, just painful as shit, hethrusts his hand down beside him, yanking up one of his cleaner rags, wrapping his hand with sure and deft movements, and cinches the knot tight enough that the pressure slows the blood flow but not so much that he can't use his limb. He flexes his hand experimentally and findin its moveable, reaches for his buck knife again because now he actually has to get this cleanin and shit done fast so he can go raid Merle's shit and see if there's any alcohol or disinfectant left. He ain't gonna die from some stupid infection durin the zombie apocalypse. Ain't no fuckin way.

He's working faster than usual but he's getting the job done, the movements so familiar it's like goddamn breathing. He keeps his mind on his task, eyes trained down, and slowly, the squirrel before him is skinned, inch by inch and then suddenly she's fuckin there again and he nearly cuts his thumb off. Not believin what he think he just heard, Daryl snaps his head up, eyes pinnin the girl to where she's standin.

"Whatcha say," he grunts out, wantin her to repeat her words because this bitch didn't just say what he thought she did.

"The hell's she doin here anyway? I thought she left," Daryl thinks but she's talkin again and he forces himself to listen.

"I said do you need any help with that? Like with the skinning?"

Now his confusion is down right disbelief and he lets his eyes drag over this city girl's figure, this city girl whose parents paid for whatever she's wanted and who's probably never worked a day in her goddamn life. "Ya know how to clean and skin," he demands and he'll wear a tu-tu and kiss Walsh on his fuckin mouth if she says yes. But nervousness and embarrassment radiates off her, in her eyes and the way she touches her hair and bites her lip and she's shifting in her shoes.

"Well…no," she tells him and Daryl can already feel his lip curling, the mocking dismissive words on his tongue, when she continues. "But I'm a quick learn. If you show me once or twice I'm pretty sure I can pick it up." Her words bring Daryl up short but then his mind turns her words over and suspicion burns through him, hot and dark, because why the hell is this bitch offerin her help? He suspects she's lost some kind of bet with those other assholes or something like that and is now forced to spend time with the hick. Well, he doesn't want her pity or any of that shit but he wants to see what lie she'll try to feed him. He demands to know why, voice harsh as he barks why does she wanna help?

Those goddamn green eyes of hers are wide and clear, confusion, then irritation, then…resigned honesty, shinning through them as if they are glass. Daryl waits for her to admit to a bet or something of the like but he isn't expectin her next words. "Cuz you look like you could use a few extra hands," she tells him, pointing to the haul of game near his feet. "Besides, you catch the things. The least someone could do is help clean them."

And Daryl's speechless, a new experience for him, and he's staring at her hard because she's got to be lying. He looks for the flicker of her eyes to the left, the jump of a facial muscle, something, anything, to give away her lie because Daryl knows when someone is lying to him; people have done it enough for him to become proficient. But the girl doesn't look away, doesn't flinch as she meets him eye to eye, chin tilted up, eyes and expression laid bare and open to his scrutiny.

And holy fuck…she's…telling the truth. Daryl doesn't know what to say that. She…she really just wants to…help. This just confuses the hunter more but…but maybe…

Before he can even finish his thought, a voice calls out, loud and shrill, and the girl is turning away from him, looking back over her shoulder to where that kid is waving at her, jumping up and down as he grins. He calls out something about Walsh, who's standing next to him looking at Daryl like he's waiting for the hunter to bury the knife in his hand into the girl's back, like he's nothing better than a feral, rabid dog and the younger Dixon scowls at the bastard, rage coiling through him, quick to start as a goddamn forest fire. And then he hears the girl in front of him respond, she'll be there in a minute, and Daryl feels the rage burn all the hotter. He's pissed at that goddamn condescending look Walsh is sending him, like Daryl is the shit on his show, pissed at the bitch in front of him for pretendin to goddamn be nice, and he's pissed at himself for believing her. The bitch is turning back to him now and the acidic words roll of his tongue, tasting of blood and fury.

"Yer boyfriend's callin. I guess time for slummin's over. Don' wanna keep his highness waitin so why don' ya just run along," he sneers at her and is about to turn back to his task, fuck the bitch and anythin she has to say he's not listenin anymore, but she doesn't give him the opportunity.

"There's no need to be a dickhead Daryl," she says and he literally sees red, who the fuck does she think she is, she doesn't know him, but once again she presses forward. "My offer still stands, I'll still help you; I just need a few minutes cuz I promised Carl to show him sword moves."

Daryl's barely processing these words before she's blurting out something else and now he's just struck dumb. "You know, why don't you come watch too? I'm fighting Shane. Might even break his nose," she jokes and when Daryl can only make a vague noise, confused and thrown for such a loop his anger is momentarily displaced, eyes skittering to the people behind her and he can't believe she's…talking to him like this, Audrey smiles at him, small but honest and bright, and says,

"Relax a bit Dixon. Come watch me kick Shane's ass and I'll come back with you to make some mean squirrel stew."

And now Daryl's just completely lost, turned around and knocked over the head, because he's never dealt with something like this before. Daryl knows drinking buddies, loud and drunk men that don't care that he's just as loud and drunk after a day at the shop, who share rowdy comments and talk about nothing of importance and he knows family who he doesn't always want, most of the time wants to get away from but never can. He doesn't know…friends though, the word is foreign to him, a different fuckin language, but the way Audrey is lookin at him reminds him of the way kids used to look at each other when he was younger and in school, all smiles and laughs and a…want to be near each other, something he never knew, bein and havin a friend. It's not like he's some pathetic loser he just doesn't like people and prefers to stay away from them. That they prefer to stay away from him too works just as well. But now he's lookin at Audrey and he doesn't understand because maybe she's not as idiotic as the rest of them, she certainly knew how to survive unlike the other stupid fucks, and maybe she's tolerable cuz no one's ever asked to help, just nagged and demanded and commanded like their his boss, and maybe watchin her kick Walsh's ass, which he thinks, is pretty sure as his nose throbs in memory, she can do, could be pretty entertainin, even if he has to stand near those niggers and spics and that goddamn old man.

He's moving before he realizes it, slowly setting down his knife and opening his mouth to tell Audrey, who's smiling like an idiot now, that he doesn't have fuckin time to waste but maybe Walsh's face grindin in the dirt will be worth it before, suddenly, a heavy hand falls on his shoulder and, even as he whips around, he can smell the mixture of sweat and booze that has always been Merle.

"What do we got here lil brother? This bitch givin ya trouble," his brother drawls, eyes locked on Audrey, dark and angry. Merle's words, and his mere presence, are like a douse of cold water and Daryl finds himself stutterin, the last few minutes fadin from his mind.

"M…Merle," he stammers out, scowling to cover up his stumbling words. "Wh…where the fuck ya been?" The older Dixon doesn't look at him as he replies he's been checkin the traps though Daryl can see the dilation of his pupils from here, the sweat beadin on his upper lip, and he wonders how much of which drug his brother has just taken.

Before he can decide though, Audrey's talking again and Daryl turns to face her. "So," she asks, ignoring his brother as she raises a slim eyebrow at him, thumb stuffed into the pockets of her jeans, defensive and uncomfortable now that Merle's standing behind him. He knows that she's not just talkin bout the fight, bout him comin to watch her kick Walsh's ass; she's askin about the skinning, about her helpin, and maybe…maybe somethin more, somethin deeper, somethin between the lines, but Daryl remembers how Merle hasn't shut up about her since she stood up to him yesterday and how all he's done is spew hate and anger about 'that spoilt cunt that needs ta be taught a lesson.' And Daryl knows that if…if he says yes to Audrey…no…no he can't he realizes because Merle would give him so much shit, not to mention be so pissed off at Daryl he might even start a goddamn fight. And no damn bitch was worth that shit. Even if she's lookin as hopeful as she is now, green eyes round and transparent and Daryl sneers, ugly and hateful, before he can reconsider.

"So fuckin what," he spits and watches as Audrey's eyes and face fall. "I ain't got shit to say to ya."

It's silent for a moment and Daryl can feel Merle's grip tighten on his shoulder in approval. He doesn't know why the gesture makes his stomach clench. But Daryl's watchin Audrey now and sees the hurt in her glass like eyes transform into anger, smooth and fluid as water. The hate in her eyes, and in her tone, matches his own and Daryl thinks her face looks ugly all twisted up like that.

"Yeah I can see that," she jeers back at him and the smile that she used to wear is knotted up and twisted and she's almost baring her teeth. Daryl matches the expression but it falters as she sucker punches him with her parting words. "That's probably because between the two of you redneck fucks, you couldn't string a coherent, intelligent, sentence together to save your life. Too much inbreeding I guess." He's taken back by her words but then she's spinnin away from him, from them, and marches away without looking back, striding over to where that kid and Walsh are waitin for her and, even from this distance, Daryl can hear her laugh at something.

Merle growls next to him and lifts his hand only to slap it back down on Daryl's back, jarring him. "Fuckin bitch," Merle grumbles. "I'm gonna fuckin teach her a goddamn lesson soon 'nough. Just ya fuckin wait."

Comin back to himself, Daryl only grunts at his brother's words and turns back to his cleanin, because he doesn't know what to say, what to do, because he has this small little feelin in him like he's lost something but he hasn't. That's stupid. Merle is his family, his kin, and nothin comes before that, nothin is more important. Especially not some dumb broad here at the end of the goddamn world. So, he just picks up a rabbit from beside his feet and tosses it to Merle who's standin beside him takin a drag off one of his precious last cigarettes and grunts at him to get his ugly ass to work. The older Dixon snorts and tells him to fuck off but he sits down next to him anyway, on a worn out stump, and pulls out his own knife. Only a few seconds pass in merciful silence before Merle is off and shootin his mouth again, somethin Daryl is familiar with cuz his brother never shuts the fuck up, spewin shit about how one them niggers had come up to him today and how…well Daryl stopped listenin at that point. He's heard it all before, all his life basically, and Merle doesn't need more than a nod and a grunt here and a complimentin racial slur there to be happy so Daryl just gives him what he wants.

As he works though, he can't help his mind from driftin back to Audrey and her words and her facial expressions and then he gets that irritated and unnamable feeling again and it pisses him off more because it kind of reminds him of disappointment. He's got nothin to be disappointed about. He's got food in front of him, they weren't no walkers around, haven't been for weeks, and he's still alive and he still had kin alive, unlike half of the other fuckers here. He's perfectly fine. But then, goddamn it, he remembers Audrey's smile and her genuine offer to help and fuck why is he even thinkin bout this shit? Dixon men didn't need anybody fuckin else and Daryl is no goddamn exception. He's never needed friends, never wanted something as stupid as that shit, he's always had to stand on his own too feet, and he especially doesn't want some wide eyed kid followin him around all the time. He hated everyone and everyone hated him; that's how it was before and that's how he likes it.

Fuck Audrey. Merle's right. She's just an uptight, spoilt, prissy, fuckin bitch who needs to shut her mouth before either of the Dixon brothers shut it for her. Daryl bares his teeth slightly, unconsciously, as he thinks he never should have brought back Audrey into camp.

But then, a part of his mind, a small part of a dark corner, asks Daryl, "When did the girl become Audrey?" and the hunter shoves the thought away, concentrating on the feel of fur and flesh and steel beneath his fingers as the sun bears down upon him and the broken, ended world keeps spinning round and round.

Alright. That turned out way longer than I intended. O.o Like this is the longest thing I've ever written. But, I hope it wasn't too bad :)

I want to thank everyone who reviewed/alerted/favorited so far You guys have made this story so much enjoyable to write! Keep it up guys and leave me some of your thoughts.

Till next time!

~Shadows