Hey guys. Did you stay at home orders made by the gov suck? I cant speack for everyone else but my area is stangely a lot louder then normal. I'm sorry that this chapter is short but it has been a while since I have written anything. I am hoping I captured the Arron and Daryl I was going for in the past. Give me a second or too to get back into it.

I do NOT own Walking dead, else Merle and Daryl would be true rednecks, but I do own the charater Arron.

~Loner

Merle had no idea how long he had been sitting there, chained to the roof top, waiting for the high to fade. It felt like hours. As smart as he was you would think he would be smart enough to think a little more. In all fairness on his part, though, when he had found the little baggy hidden away in the back corner of the fitting rooms, taped under the seat (obviously waiting for the next customer to pick up the drop when this shit went down), Merle was already feeling the first sign of withdrawals kick in. Panic had flooded his system by the time he had found it. This was neither the time nor the place for withdrawals. Yeah, so he may have taken too much; Merle could admit that, even while high as a fucking kite with an extra-long string. But, to his panic stricken mind, it made since to take more then he really needed. Somehow, and, he was sure now as he was slowly coming down, it was the withdrawals talking to him. Taking more naturally meant it would last longer. Longer was good.

He had forgotten more meant bigger mess to clean up, not longer effects.

Merle woke up with a start. What tha hell, he thought, groaning out loud from the sudden pain. His whole body was on fire and exhausted. "What… happen?" Eyes still closed, Merle went to lift his hand to put over his eyelids, because damn even with his eyes closed it was too bright, only for his whole arm to jerk to a stop mid motion. Accompanied with the jerking motion was the sound of medal on metal. "What the HELL?" Merle's eye sprung open, surprised by the pain of having his arm unsuspectingly jerked in a not to pleasant way.

"Well, shit." Merle said as he stared at the cuff wrapped tightly around his wrist. How did this happen? He couldn't seem to remember. The last couple of hours? … Days? were a blur for him. He vaguely remembers standing on a ledge staring down at the zombie horde that surrounded the building. He sort of remembered thinking, well, shit. Then that was it…

Now, Merle glazed around at his surroundings, taking it all in. He, somehow, got himself hand cuff to what look like the piping to the ventilation system on the roof, and, judging by the nice wounds going halfway up his for arm, where the skin was literally scrapped raw and scabbed over, he wasn't willingly cuffed. "Shit." Merle couldn't help but groan. How was he going to get out of this one? He wondered.

Arron, immediately, followed after Daryl through the door way, pushing Rick, whom already moved to take a step forward, out of his way. Fuckin' shit, Daryl, Arron thought as he followed, ignoring Rick's discontented huff. No one else may have noticed the scratches on the door and its frame, but Arron did. Fuckin' kid is going to get himself killed, just rushing in like the boy was some background character in Harry Potter, Arron secretly steamed. His eyes shifted side to side taking everything in. His eyes landed on the open cuffs hanging from the piping unit, shifting to the mess of tools and blood on the ground, and then slid over the concrete where a few random flesh eaters laid, one leaning over the edge of the building like it was trying to reach out for something on the other side. That's when Arron's eyes noticed the fire escape.

Daryl, on the other hand, took one look at the blood splattered around the swaying hand cuffs and, with a few angry huffs of breath, swung his crossbow around and up. In just a few seconds, Arron found himself staring at a standoff between T-dog, Daryl, and Rick. Daryl with a deadly accurate arrow pointed right at the darker man's forehead, and Rick's, loud ass, gun pressed against Daryl's head. Arron growled lowly at Rick's back. How the fuck did that asshole get so close to his kid? Arron raged internally, suddenly shifting the point of his Katana, taking aim. One forward thrust and Rick would be in need for a new heart, maybe lug, Arron hadn't decided yet if he wanted the death of one Rick Grimes to be fast or slow. All things considering, fast would be the safest bet right now.

"I won't hesitate," Rick said in a stern voice, face dark as he stared at Daryl.

Daryl's eyes stared darkly at T-Dog. Arron could hear his child's panicked breathing from where he stood, and his hands tightened on the hilt of his weapon. Arron wanted to sooth the boy; he really did, but… Arron's eyes darkened as he fought the reflex to put Rick down for good. Despite the serious and dominating air around Rick (That alone made Arron want to punch Rick. How dare he think he could control HIS boy), Arron knew Rick wouldn't really pull the trigger. The man was a cop, not a low born criminal. It didn't matter what happened in the next five seconds. In the end, Rick would pick the peaceful way of settling things.

Eventually, after what seemed like eternity to Arron, who's arm was almost shacking from the resistance (Arron trying to control himself), Daryl decided not to take the chance on Rick's seriousness, threw his arm to the side with a curse, and kicked the pole next to the cuffs. Arron didn't lower his blade until he was sure Rick put the tip of his gun's barrel far away from his baby boy. Arron shoved past Rick to discreetly stand between the two without being too obvious. That was the last time Arron would let Rick get between him and Daryl. Ever. Arron glared at Rick, clearly daring Rick to do it again. Arron will kill the ex-cop. Period.

Daryl took a deep breath, trying to calm his frantic emotions. He almost wanted to reach out to Arron. Just a slight touch and Daryl knew he would be fine. As it was, Daryl settled for the comfort Arron's presence offered him. He could practically feel the disapproval, the anger, the protection, and possessiveness coming of his Pa. It made him feel at ease, like with his Pa around, no one would get away with hurting him. Daryl was confident in his knowledge of Arron, and he knew, if given a chance, Arron would kill Rick Grimes and anyone else who threated Daryl's existence.

Arron reached out, pressed a finger to Daryl's tail bone. Daryl looked up, even as he fought his body's natural reaction to burrow into Arron's side and let the man handle everything for him, only to realize the man wasn't even looking at him. With the smallest pout on his lips, Daryl followed Arron's eye line down to a small, open lock pick kit sitting innocently on the ground a few feet from where they stood. Obviously, his older brother was in a hurry to leave the roof top. Judging by the three, as Glen and the rest call them, geeks laying a few more feet away that may just be the case.

Daryl's heart leapt in excitement. "Le's go," he said, already moving forward. Picking up the Lock picking kit and the little tools scattered around it, Daryl handed the kit to Arron, who was making it a point to stay one step behind him.

Arron reached out, making sure to run his fingers 'accidently' across Daryl's, taking the kit and shoving it into his bag out of habit.

Daryl shivered lightly from the warm touch.