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Chapter Text

Monsters

Chapter 1

"Look at these towns, shit! You could pick a guy at random and he's bound to have done some fucked up shit, let's just bring 'em all in."

Rick glanced over at his partner and rolled his eyes loudly before turning his concentration back onto the road, "It's not that bad."

"Not that bad?" Shane gasped with the exaggerated enthusiasm that folk might have once used at a carnival sideshow, "Jesus Christ, look at that place." He pointed at a crumbling farmhouse. "It's like one of them horror movies where the fucked up family hunts and eats people."

Rick looked at the property as they drove past it. The paint was peeling off the gables and one of the bannisters had rotted through on the porch steps, but there was fresh washing on the line and a couple of horses in the paddock out back that looked well fed. "You always have to make a big drama out of everythin' don'tcha?" Rick shook his head, "Just people a little down on their luck is all."

"I live a vibrant and interesting existence." Shane grinned, "Lighten up and use your imagination a little."

"I'm tired that's all." Rick said. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, I'm tired too man, but what was I supposed to say?"

He was right of course and he felt guilty for being annoyed about it. Rick and Shane had had one hell of a shift. For a start it was sweltering, even at night the sweat had soaked through their shirts, made all the worse by the body armour they wore beneath their uniform which now stuck uncomfortably in some places but move a certain way and it felt so greased with sweat that it would slide right off. They' started the night with a nasty domestic assault and finished it with an early morning drunk driver ploughing into a bank on Main Street and killing his teenage passenger. In their small sleepy county it didn't get much worse than that. It had been awful, but it was about to be over, when a request for assistance came in from another county. A little girl had gone missing in the National Park and the local sheriffs had asked for assistance from every county north of Atlanta to help.

They'd spent the last few hours fuelled on coffee and Red Vines. They were wired, they were tired and they wanted to go home and get to their days off and try to forget the night had ever happened, but as soon as Shane had heard that a girl's life was at risk he volunteered to be the one to go, leaving Rick no choice but to look like an asshole or agree to go with him. A year or so ago and he wouldn't have thought anything of it. Little girl in trouble? Of course they would drop whatever they were doing and rush to the rescue, taking pride in their job and no amount of blood, sweat or tears would have been too much of a price to pay. But things were different now, he was a father, and he felt like he was spending far too much time at work and not enough with his family.

He knew that made him selfish. He'd kept his reservations to himself though, what else was he to do? They'd driven home just long enough to pack a bag each and for Rick to say goodbye to Lori and little Carl and then loaded up on coffee and left to start the two-hour drive to Jameston.

Lori had been upset too, and had wanted to know why none of the others could go in his stead. It was almost Carl's first birthday, she reminded him and she had invited the neighbours for a
barbecue. Telling her they'd volunteered had not gone down well, not that it mattered all that much, at aged 26, he and Shane were the youngest in their small town department and as a result would have been the ones sent anyway. Rick had tried to explain that as he gulped down coffee in the kitchen while she made Carl his oatmeal with a stony face and an unnecessary slam of the microwave door.

Shane had summoned him to the car with a blow of the horn and Lori had let him go with a frosty peck on the cheek and making him promise to try to come home in time for the party in three days time. Rick had promised he'd try, while thinking to himself that if he was still searching for this girl by then it would be too late for everyone involved.
He got into the car with a heavy heart and telling himself that it was just his lack of sleep that made him feel torn at the seams. Damn Shane and his perpetual enthusiasm though.
Rick forced a smile on his face, "No, you're right, I just need another coffee and I'll snap right out of it."

"We'll find the girl, be back in a few hours, but in the meantime let's enjoy our romantic vacation up in Hicksville." Shane teased.

Rick nodded and turned up the volume on the local radio, thankful they'd been given the one squad car that hadn't had it taken out. It had been left on a local country station, and that suited Rick just fine but Shane was on it immediately, scrolling and scrolling through dead airspace in a vain attempt at finding some classic rock. They were in the middle of Chattahoochee-Oconee National Forest though and the dense tree cover and the Blue Ridge Mountains just to their north blocked most of the signals. Eventually, Shane has to settle back on the country station.

"Damn hillbillies," Shane muttered, his own good mood clearly more frayed than he was trying to let on.

*
Despite his efforts, Rick was feeling far from social and after a few attempts by Shane to drag him into conversation, they slipped into a comfortable quiet and got lost in the scenery. He was jarred back reality when they drove past a diner in Ellijay with the parking lot full of cop cars. The last town before the turn off for the meeting point, every cop for miles around seemed to be fuelling up for a day of traipsing through the wilderness. Shane pulled in and they joined them.

Walking in, it was loud and jarring and Rick could tell Shane loved it, feeding off the energy of others, new people to meet, new faces to talk at. Talk at? Rick conceded he might be being a little unfair to his partner, but once the guy got going it was hard to get him to allow anyone else a word in edgeways. He picked a table with two empty spaces and striking up a conversation with the men already sat there like they were old buddies. It was a cop thing, strangers were never really strangers, because the job they had chosen to do gave them a better understanding of each other than some had with their own families. Shane loved that camaraderie; Rick wasn't quite prepared to buy into it. Moreover, he felt a little too sleep-deprived and wished for the chance to eat his bacon and eggs in peace, but even he was drawn in as the conversation turned to their task.

"Rumour has it, this girl was abducted from her tent in the dead of night, right from under her parent's noses."

"Shit, really? I thought she'd just wandered off."

"Nah, there was blood on her tent, they're sure she's been taken. Only eight years old. Parents let her sleep in her own tent for the first time and this is what happens."

"If it were my kid I'd never let them outta my sight."

"Apparently some asshole who lives out on the Old Federal Road jus' got outta prison. Now wouldn't that be a coincidence?"

They debated the rumours along with the merits (or lack of) of parental freedoms, engaging the next two tables into their heated debate while they drank coffee faster than the waitress could refill it. Time was getting on and Rick realised they'd sit there all day unless someone said something.

"'S about time we get moving don'tcha think?" he stood up, "Briefing is at 1000hrs and those old park trails ain't smooth." There were some grumbles from the others including a muttered comment to Shane about the stick up his partner's ass but they all settled up and headed back out to the cars.

They drove in convoy, up the winding mountain roads until they got to the meeting point. The six cars that had been at the diner all parked up in a row, alongside the local Jameston Sheriffs, who had a map laid out on the hood of their car and were engrossed in the last few details. They were the first ones there, that elicited a few more grumbles about Rick's decision to drag them from the diner, but he didn't much care.

Beyond them, the campsite had been cleared of campers, except for the three tents that belonged to the little girl's family that were surrounded by crime scene tape. Nice tents, well used but good quality. One of the poles had snapped in what looked to be the girl's one, but who knew if that had been as a result of a struggle or if it had been an accident caused by frantic parents. Items strewn across the front of the parent's tent; a sleeping bag pooled at the open entrance, a cook-set kicked to the side, all abandoned in the horror of discovering their child gone. It made Rick feel a little sick, he couldn't imagine how he would cope if anything like that ever happened to Carl.

Getting organised seemed to take forever, increasing everyone's restlessness, over the following thirty minutes more officers drifted in, but not many, not enough. Once there were twenty of them stood around impatiently, the Jameston deputies started handing out search packs; maps of their search grid, plastic strips to use as tree markers and a printed photo of a cute little black girl with a grin from ear to ear. Rick figured they were waiting on the search dogs coming up from Atlanta, maybe a helicopter too, but then the Sheriff stepped up to address the group.
He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with talking to so many people, "Good morning Gentlemen," he started. Shane gave Rick a nudge, drawing attention to a pair of female officers stood in front of them who had visibly bristled at the greeting. "Thank you all for giving up your time, I know a lot of you have given up days off with your wives and families to help us out. The little girl in the picture is Ciara Just. Her family came up from the city to go camping like they do every summer. According to them, she knew the campground and knew better than to wander off, but last night, a week inta their trip, she went to bed around eight. The rest of the family was up until about eleven-thirty and she was still asleep in her tent, but when her daddy got up at six this morning the tent was open and she was gone. Now my deputies have already been out searching but I know these woods better than most and when she weren't found immediately it became clear to me we would need help and I'm happy to say you fine people answered."

The briefing went on a little, reminding them all that in most missing cases the first twenty-four hours were crucial and that the late August heatwave, dehydration and heatstroke made it all the worse. He detailed the search grid, and assigned everyone areas, went over how to mark off the places they'd already searched with their plastic tape. It was past eleven by the time they were dismissed and both Kings County officers were impatient to get going. It was already another sweltering day so Rick and Shane dumped their body armour, doused their already sweaty shirts in liberal amounts of Shane's Axe deodorant, loaded up on water and set off.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

Within an hour they were tired and even more irritable than they had been when they'd set off. They stopped for a couple of sandwiches and a drink, but Rick's mind was too preoccupied with what had happened to the girl that he couldn't sit still. What if she was still out there, desperate to be found and he was sat eating sandwiches and whining about the blister his boot was giving him? Get on with it Rick, he told himself. There's time to sleep when you're dead.

Shane was almost manic in his over-tiredness, he had chugged back a couple of energy drinks found his second wind but every so often he would crash and get snappy about the heat, or the mosquitos or Rick's weary pace. Still, he had somehow become convinced they would find her and was probably envisioning carrying her back on his shoulders to the sound of applause and glory. After the night shift they'd just had, they needed a win. Rick didn't feel the need to be the hero that Shane did, as long as she was found safe, but he was aware that their slim chances were becoming even slimmer with each passing hour.

They kept moving forward, doing their best to ignore the heat and their aches and the passing of time, but at six they were reminded over the radio that there was only an hour of daylight left and that anyone who hadn't already started back needed to do so. Shane wanted to keep going but neither of them were woodsmen and they'd already thought themselves lost a number of times throughout the day.

They trudged back into the campground, feeling defeated, just as the light was dimming and realised most of the other cars were gone already. "Thank you boys for your efforts today," the sheriff greeted grimly. "We've booked you into the motel on the south side of town. There's a diner across the road. Get some shut-eye and we'll see you back here for seven am tomorrow."

Rick and Shane nodded too tired to say anything.
*

Shane drove to the motel and they checked in. It was a nationwide chain, nothing special. Rick could picture the inside before they even got there. Most of the other officers were in the same motel, their cars already parked up. Shane voiced his thoughts about that before Rick had the time to.

"Looks like everyone else was working a half-shift," he said bitterly. "No dogs, no air support and these lazy fucks. Anyone would think finding a scared little girl was too much like hard work."

They entered the small glass-doored reception, and Shane slapped his hand down on the little bell at the empty desk. Eventually, a bored-looking teenage boy appeared from the back office. He looked them up and down and then wordlessly handed them a key with a hand on which he'd scrawled the letters ACAB over the knuckles with a biro. Shane stared at the hand as he took the key, narrowing his eyes in that way he did that meant he was trying hard to control his anger. Rick could see Shane wanted to challenge the boy over it, but he was too tired to mediate a shitty argument over nothing so he grabbed his partner by the shoulders and steered him in the direction of the room.

The room was on the second floor, reached by a concrete staircase that led to an outside walkway. It had a window overlooking the parking lot, a pair of queen-sized beds, was modest but clean. There was a small old tv, the deep-set kind, that was attached to a fixture on the wall and a mediocre painting of a deer in a forest, some sort of white flowers in the foreground. Rick ignored it all and fell straight onto the nearest bed, face stuffed between the pillows and was already dozing by the time he heard the shower start up.

"Hey, come on, I'm starving." Rick was rudely awakened mere minutes later by Shane kicking him in the butt with a sock-clad foot. He was clean and shaved, dressed in boot-cut jeans and a plain black tee shirt that was purposely a little too tight over his chest and biceps.

"Leave me, I'm too tired to go out."

"Whatsa matter with you man? Fatherhood has made you old."

"We've been at work for twenty-four hours!" Rick mumbled into the pillow. He did not have the energy nor the enthusiasm to listen to Shane ramble on about anything anymore.

"Yeah, and I've earned a beer. Come on."

Shane gave him another kick. Rick was determined to stand (or rather lie) his ground, but he realised his throat was dry and tasted of dust, and at the very least he needed a shower. He could smell himself something awful and he was greasing the nice clean bedsheets with sweat and sunscreen.

He dragged himself into the bathroom and let the hot water soak his tired muscles. Scrubbing off the filth of the day refreshed him, if only a little and as his stomach growled fiercely he realised Shane had won the argument. He dressed hurriedly in jeans and a white tee, too hot for his usual button-down shirt and followed his eager partner.
*

The diner was more of a bar than a dining establishment. It had the old family booths but the lights had been turned down low, a neon sign had been lit over a rack of spirits behind the counter and someone had put The Allman Brothers on the jukebox. Shane and Rick ordered beer and burgers and tucked into them greedily, as they watched a group of deputies playing pool at the far end of the room. It seemed most of the patrons in there were cops, all staying at the motel across the way, and whoever normally drank there had decided to steer clear for the night. Rick was relieved to see that Shane had lost some of his need to socialise, no doubt he was still angry about them coming back earlier than they had. It was quite possible that the time difference was negligible, maybe there had only been five minutes in it, but Shane often got the sense that he worked harder than the rest of the world, and in this case, it was hard to see that he might be wrong.

The burgers were good, but they were both starting to lose what little energy they had left. About halfway in, Rick lost his appetite and ended up picking at the last of his fries. Even Shane was stifling yawns by the time they were done. They were about to leave when the door banged open and a large tattooed man with a craggy face and a buzz-cut sauntered in. He reeked of booze and he staggered a little as he made it up to the counter. He leaned on it, his broad shoulders hulking beneath a shirt with cut-off sleeves and a leather vest with a grubby pair of angel wings stitched on the back.

"Hey Bill, gimme a bottle o' Jack," he said too loudly.

"Think you've had enough Merle, do you want me to call Sandy?"

"Fuck Sandy!" he growled. It was said with such venom that it caused everyone to look around and stare at him. The whole bar went quiet, even the jukebox had stopped playing. Rick felt his hackles rise expecting trouble.

"Merle," the bartender warned. "You need to calm down." He gave a slight nod in the direction of the group playing darts. Merle turned slowly and surveyed the other occupants of the bar. His eyes were glassy and he shifted with pent up energy. It was more than the drink, if Rick had to guess he'd say meth.

He broke into a sly grin, "Oh yeah, all them cops up here to look for that little ghetto bitch."

"Hey man," Shane stood, "don't be disrespecting a little girl because you had a bad night a'ight!"

Rick stood up with him, wishing his partner had just let it lie, but at the same time needing to show a united front to this asshole.

"You know what? Fuck you too! Comin' inta my town an' telling me what I can call somebody."

Shane bristled, Rick tensed ready for a fight. He reached out to hold his back but Shane tore out of his grip and strode up to the larger man, "You know what? Last night we saved a woman who had been beat to shit by her husband, then had to drag a dead teenage boy from a car and tell his momma about it. We've spent all day looking for that little girl. What have you been doing all day that gives you people the right to treat us like shit?"

"What you want a medal?" the man sneered. "You don't have to do what the career counsellor said."

Rick knew Shane hadn't let go of his anger at the boy with ACAB on his knuckles either, and it was eating at him more than a little. "Come on man," Rick said gently, taking his arm and trying to pull him away. "It's not worth it. Let's go."

"You should listen to your boyfriend lawman," Merle smiled and it was full of malice. "Go home, let him run you a nice bubble bath and maybe you can stop pretending the life of that little spear-chucker means any more to you than it does to me."

Shane moved lightning fast, arm ripping out of Rick's hold as he delivered an uppercut to Merle's chin. The older man's teeth clacked together and he staggered back into the bar, arms flying out and catching a dozen glasses as he hit the counter, sending them crashing to the floor at the bartender's feet.

"What the fuck?" Merle groaned from the floor where he'd landed on his ass, slumped up against the counter. "Freedom of speech is a First Amendment right y'all. I'm gonna fucking have your badge for brutality man."

Shane just stared at him like he'd surprised himself with his actions.

Rick rolled his eyes, of course it would be down to him to clean up his partner's mess. "I'll see you back at the motel brother," he said to Shane, careful not to give the asshole on the floor their names, "I got this." He pulled some money from his wallet and gave it to the bartender. "That's for the check and for the mess we caused. You'll have to forgive my partner, we've had a difficult day."

The bartender looked through the cash and nodded, not exactly satisfied but unwilling to call him on it. Merle stared up at him, his eyes were furious but he flailed an arm to help himself to his feet and failed. Shane chuckled at that and Rick wanted to thump him in case he made it worse.

The tattooed man's jaw was starting to swell already. "You gonna pay me off too?"

"Nope, I think you know you had it coming."

"Come on now," Bill said behind the bar. "Lemme call your brother."

"I don't need no babysitter," Merle growled. The bartender picked up the phone and dialled but hung up disappointed, "It's disconnected."

"Ha, little bitch never pays his phone bill. Antisocial fucker." He spat on the floor and it was tinged with blood.

"Where does he live?" Rick asked.

"What you gonna beat up on him too? He'll shoot you with that crossbow a his before you set foot on the yard."

"I have no intention of stepping in his yard. I was gonna offer you a ride." He offered him a hand up. He could feel Shane's rage burning into his back at his offer of help, he didn't really deserve it, but Shane's act of violence needed papering over at least a little.

Merle swatted the hand away and staggered to his feet. The high he'd had when he'd walked in had come right down, now he was just drained and drunk. He was crashing and if Rick just walked away now the man would probably be sat on the floor for the rest of the night.

"What are you doing this for man?" Shane muttered, "He's an asshole."

"And you ain't?" Rick snapped. "I'll see you back at the motel," he said firmly. Shane nodded and left with a huff.

Rick turned to Merle, "Come on, let's get you outta here."

Rick was fairly sure it wasn't going to work, so he was surprised when Merle took his hand and used it to haul himself to his feet. Merle seemed to be compliant as they walked out of the bar together but shifted as Rick offered him a seat in the back of the cruiser.

"Look man, you can ride in the back or you can walk to your brother's house," Rick said. As it was, taking the volatile man anywhere while alone felt like a risk. He already knew he shouldn't trust the guy and if he decided to get aggressive while Rick was driving, then they could both end up in a ditch or worse. After a minute's staring contest, Merle relented and got in. He started to relax when he realised he really was being taken away from the police station and in the direction of his brother's house. He even got into it, taking great pleasure in telling him all the things the cops did wrong, "Man, your buddy hits like a girl. He takes down real scumbags with that limp fist?"

Rick laughed, the swelling on Merle's face proved he was full of shit.

"We're made from tougher stuff out here than what you got wherever you're from. I bet you runnin' round them woods today like headless chickens."

Rick gritted his teeth, the man wasn't wrong on that account. He and Shane had no idea what they were doing out there.

"You shoulda asked my brother, he's the best tracker I ever seen." He laughed at his own comment, "Heh, don't tell him I said that."

"What happened with Sandy?" Rick asked, hoping he wasn't about to admit to some offense, but not wanting not to ask either. There had been some venom in the way he'd said her name earlier and he needed to know whether he should check on her.

"Heh, stuck up bitch. I's gone t' see her, first time since I been back, took some a that fancy wine she likes and some steaks for the grill an' while we're fuckin' some guy shows up at the house. Turns out it's her fucking boyfriend and they're living together only he lost all his money at the Injun casino and has come home earlier than she expected. Turns out she's been shackin' up with him since I first went inside. Even after I paid for her tattoo 'cause she wanted my name jus' above her ass. Now she gone an' had some dolphin or some shit drawn over it. Looks terrible man!"

Rick worked hard to keep a straight face though the man's tale of woe.

"She says she wants a real man an' this asshole is better than he 'cause he's got a job. I don't know what the fuck she wants 'cause I'm buying her wine and ribeye an' he loosing all his t' them damn redskins. I tell ya, how we supposed t' know what women want when they don't know themselves half the time? Anyway, I'm gonna show her, 'cause I got a business meeting tomorrow. She'll be hangin' off my arm again by the end a the week."

He was so involved in his story that he nearly missed the house. "That's it, up here," he slurred as they reached a small weatherboard bungalow, stabbing his finger at it against the window.

The house looked old and was in clear need of attention, but it had been repaired over and over by someone who knew what they were doing but gave little thought to aesthetic. One of the windows had been smashed recently and though the window had been boarded up, there was an old tv and a scattering of glass in the yard that told exactly what had happened. The yard was overgrown and full of junk and empty bottles. An old mouldy couch with the stuffing coming out of it sat in front old a collection of three metal paint cans that someone had rested a wire mesh on and turned into a grill. There was an ancient rusting truck and Rick balked when he saw the flatbed was stained with blood.

"Hold your horses Hoss!" Merle said when he saw Rick looking. "My brother just bagged himself a buck that's all."

Rick opened the door for Merle and the drunk man stumbled out. A screen door slammed back up at the house and an angry young man a few years older than Rick appeared.

"What the hell did you do now Merle?" he asked striding down to them.

Rick smiled, Merle had led him to believe his brother was going to be a problem but this wiry embodiment of fury only had rage for him. "He's not in trouble, just had a few too many drinks is all."

"Yeah?" The brother narrowed his eyes, "sure looks like he was somebodies trouble."

"Well there was a bit of a disagreement, but it's been resolved."

"Resolved huh?" The young man didn't look convinced. "Merle, who you been running yer mouth to?"

Merle glared daggers at his brother and stormed past him to the house.

The younger brother was left standing awkwardly and Rick suddenly wondered if he was much younger than he'd originally thought. With the anger gone, he was shy and embarrassed. "Well, thanks for bringing him by I guess," he said gruffly, unable to meet Rick's gaze.

"Thanks for taking him off our hands," Rick said, "sure do appreciate it."

The young man gave a little nodding shrug. It looked so much like a flinch that it made Rick uneasy. "Are you gonna be okay with him?"

There was that little nodding shrug again, and a shuffle of his feet, that did nothing to dispel Rick's worry.

"Maybe I should..."

"It's fine!" the young man spat.

"Okay, well goodnight." Rick backed away and got in his car. Time to get back to his bed and rest up for the day ahead. He worried his lip and then turned back to the young man, "Hey, you're a tracker right?"

The young man narrowed his eyes and took a few shuffling steps. Rick wondered if the younger brother was high as well, the nervousness came off him in waves. Rick knew he should have just driven away and leave these two wasters to their dilapidated house, but he was desperate and clinging to hope however he could.

"Why?" he asked, pacing back and forth, like a tiger in a cage.

"You heard about the little girl missing from the Old Fort Rd?"

"Nah." He kept pacing, as though he didn't like where this was going, like he thought he was about to be accused of something. Rick thought about the bloodstained flatbed and wondered if he still had a swab kit in the trunk.

"That's why we're all up here. Looking for her. But your brother said you're a good tracker, I thought you might be able to help."

"Nah, don't help cops."

"Fair enough, but you'd be helping a little girl more."

The man glanced back up at the house. Rick realised he looked scared, scared of what his brother would think.

"Merle said I should help?"

"Merle said you were the best tracker he's ever seen."

The young man huffed, "He don't know no other trackers. Not real ones."

"What's your name?"

"Daryl."

"Well Daryl, a little girl needs your help. Will you help her?"

"Back up at the campground huh?"

"We'll be there at six. Will you join us?"

"I'll think about it," he said, but it sounded like he was just saying whatever he could to get the deputy off his yard.

Rick realised that was probably the best answer he was going to get, "A'ight, hope to see you tomorrow."

He got back into the car and started the engine. He still wanted to swab that truck, just in case, but it wasn't going to happen, not without incensing the man he'd practically just begged for help. He could feel Daryl's eyes boring into him, watching him as he drove away before he headed back into the house with a slam of a door.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

Merle was crashed out in their father's old chair when Daryl came back into the house, but he jerked awake when the screen door slammed. Hunter sat up from where she was curled up on the kitchen counter and hissed her disapproval at the noise, managing to blame Merle for the racket even though she must have known full well it was Daryl. Daryl smiled at her and rubbed her chin, the old tortoiseshell cat had never warmed to his brother.

"Hey girl, I'm sorry," he whispered as she rolled over, feet in the air and submitted to his ministrations.

"What was he saying to you?"

Daryl shrugged, "You know about a little girl got lost up the Fort Mountain?"

"Yeah, one a them Atlanta ghetto bitches, town's full of bastards up here tryin' to find her. You'd know about it too if you ever bothered to see another soul."

Daryl brushed off the comment and headed through to his bedroom, as he passed the end of the counter, he paused and Hunter leapt up, somewhat clumsily in her old age and perched on his shoulder. It wasn't too late, but Merle was wiped out, and he weren't that much fun to be around at the best of times. He'd missed him, while he had been away for three years this last time it had just been him and Hunter in the house all alone. But within a week of his brother being back he wished he was by himself again.

"Hey," Merle called after him. "What did Officer Friendly want?"

"My help." He let the door bang shut and Merle stayed where he was but Daryl could hear him cackling at the notion from their old man's chair.

Daryl tried to ignore him, ignore all of it, but his mind was already working overtime. He huffed, Merle always said that Daryl's mind put in more hours a work than his body ever had. It wasn't true, Daryl worked, when he had a job to do he worked hard at it, it's just the jobs weren't always there, an' he weren't all that good with people. Besides, Merle hisself had cost him more than one job.

He'd spent most of his teenage years stacking shelves at a supermarket until Merle had come back and stolen a crate of booze from the very same shop. Working at the auto shop had been good until they'd been bought out by some chain that wanted qualifications and shit that he couldn't afford to get. It didn't matter, Daryl had become used to rolling with the punches, and he'd made a pretty decent farmhand until Merle thought it was funny to slip enough LSD into his beer to having tripping off his nut for three days before winding up into the hospital.

That had been the punch he couldn't roll from. It had taken him a long time to get right in the head (if he was honest with hisself he still weren't sure he was), and when he did he found he had a black mark by his name from then on as far as the town was concerned. Sure, they were happy to pay him to mow a lawn or clean a pool because he was cheaper than those fancy companies, but no one trusted him or his brother to stick out a job for more than a day.

It had been like that a few years now, living off the odd job and Merle's check from the VA, when he wasn't in prison for some dumb shit he did when he got high. Merle seemed to be happy enough with how things worked out. The check was usually enough for booze, cigarettes and whatever his current drug of choice was and they caught most of the food they ate. Daryl had pointed out they could have regular electric and hot water and maybe a house that weren't falling to pieces if Merle hadn't ruined job prospects for the both of them but Merle reasoned you couldn't miss what you never had, so stop whinging about it.

When pushed, Merle would deflect responsibility, say he had a doctors note and a regular check from the VA that said he had PTSD, which he tried to use as a get-out-of-jail-free card for every bad decision. Daryl wouldn't say nothing, but he called bullshit. He knew his brother had barely spent a month in a war zone and he couldn't see that he was any different when he'd come back. If Merle had PTSD it sure as hell weren't from the Army.

He kicked off his boots and got into bed fully clothed. Hunter settled down into the gap between his shoulder and head and was asleep almost instantly. She slept more and more these days, and it worried him. He'd found her a few weeks after his dad had died, she'd been missing an eye and had been left in the woods to fend for herself. He had no idea how old she was, but in the last few years, time had seemed to catch up with her and she walked slower and reacted less. He figured she had to be at least sixteen by now, it was hard to remember life without her.

He lay in the dark running a thumb over her forehead and wishing he found sleep as easily. The single mattress of his childhood bed smelt of mould and the thin sheet could do with a wash, but then so did he. With the electric out again, he'd been taking himself and his clothes down to the creek and washing them there but he never could get all the dirt out. He'd been summoning the energy to go to the laundrette all week. That didn't make no sense to him, handwashing in the creek was a lot of effort, and he could hunt all day, sling a fully grown buck on his back and hike miles home with no issue, but taking his laundry to town and putting it in a machine just took too much out of him. Merle had given up teasing him about it, but he also refused to go for him as though somehow making him go to the laundrette was good for him. Daryl knew it sounded ridiculous, but it was just the way it was. He sighed, maybe tomorrow he'd go.

Maybe tomorrow, how many times had he laid in this exact bed and thought those exact words over the years? The moonlight filtered through the tatty curtains at the window beside his bed and he stared at the four wood-panel walls of his narrow room. They were discoloured by sunlight but with dark rectangles that shown where he'd once pinned posters to the walls. They'd been of girls mostly, torn out of one of Merle's titty mags, Merle still had some in his room. Daryl knew Merle still beat off to his like some kid, but Daryl's had served their purpose a long time ago, proving to their dad that he weren't gay after all, even though he'd cried when his mom had died, even though he didn't have a girlfriend, even though the hooker that his dad had bought him for his thirteenth birthday had made him run for the woods and stay there for three days as soon as she'd tried to take his shirt off. Daryl had been done with girls on his wall the day his old man had died. He'd been fifteen and had thought he was free then, but here he was another fifteen years later still in the same old house, Merle now snoring in that chair in place of his dad with not a damn thing having changed.

He could help tomorrow, he thought to himself. That deputy had even said that Merle thought he could help. But why should he? No one had ever helped him none and do-gooders were saps who only got burned. The whole world already took advantage, why invite more to do the same? His mother had been a sap, his father had always said, expended all her energy on it and wound up with none left for herself. That must have been before Daryl was born, because he didn't remember his mother doing much more than drinking, smoking and watching TV. He guessed her energy was already pretty spent by then, the oft voiced implication was that his neediness had been the final blow.

Nah, he decided, no one had helped him none at all! He weren't gonna help no cop. He was sure that he wouldn't, turning over and smushing his head into his tobacco-stained pillow, careful not to disturb his girl, who the stretched a leg out and plonked a paw down on his cheek. He closed his eyes tightly and willed himself to sleep, but it never worked. The room darkened as the moon dipped down behind the trees but still he couldn't quieten his thoughts. He'd been trying to cut back on the drinking, but at least three times he wondered if he should search Merle's room for a bottle of bourbon, but unless he drank at least half a bottle, he knew that wouldn't help either.

He spent the night tossing and turning, his dreams filled of visions of searching frantically for a trail while his hands and ass itched with the lingering memory of poison ivy, an old memory, and one that he'd thought no longer haunted him. He woke for the last time in the predawn light and knew he wasn't getting back to sleep. He slipped his feet into his boots, pulled on a fresh faded shirt, planted a firm kiss on Hunter's head and slipped out the door.
*

There was not enough coffee in the world to keep Rick from yawning the following morning. He'd had to kick and cajole Shane to get him out of bed and into the shower and resented the five minutes extra sleep that he had as a result.

They were early, but Rick wanted to get a head start on the day. He'd not been able to sleep knowing the little girl was out there anyway and he felt more than a little guilty about his feet-dragging the day before. They drove up to the campground just as it was getting light. As they made their way up the road the local sheriff's truck fell into line behind them and they parked up together. At first they seemed to be the only ones there, but then Rick noticed a familiar battered blue truck tucked away at the far end of the parking lot.

"Morning," Sheriff Jackson greeted as he got out and strode over to them, "ain't you two eager beavers! The rest a them ain't gonna be here fer another thirty minutes or so..."

"Told'ya we coulda had more sleep," Shane smacked his hand against Rick's arm. But the sheriff was no longer paying attention to them, he'd spotted the truck and was not happy.

"Fuckin' shit!" He raced off towards the camp. "Who the fuck is meant to be on scene guard?"

Realising he may have fucked up, Rick scrambled to get out of the car and after him.

"What the fuck are you doing here Dixon?"

As they approached the tents and ducked under the crime scene tape, Daryl looked up from where he was crouched by the tent. Daryl barely had time to get to his feet much less respond before the sheriff was on him, grabbing his arms and roughly forcing them behind his back. Bewildered, Daryl only found his voice once the metal handcuffs cinched shut around his wrist.

"Hey! What're you doing asshole?"

"You're asking me that? What are you doing in my crime scene?" One hand on the link between the cuffs, the other on his shoulder, the sheriff started propelling Daryl towards the sheriff's truck. "Your brother put you up to this? Or maybe you're the sick fuck who likes little girls."

"What? No!"

"Sheriff," Rick tried to interject but the older man wasn't listening.

"I ain't inta no girls, I was tryin' 'a help!" Daryl protested, trying to wrestle free from the sheriff's grip.

"A likely story! I think you was tryin' ta sabotage a crime scene."

"You sabotaged it yerself, ye asshole. How many folks you had traipse through there, messin' up all the tracks?"

His eyes fell on Rick like he'd only just noticed he was there. "Ask him!" He jutted his chin in the young deputy's direction. "He asked me to help."

Jackson turned and stared at Rick, face like thunder. He roughly manhandled Daryl into the backseat of the truck and slammed the door. "And what the fuck were you thinking?"

Rick shrank back against his gaze, "I was thinking we needed a tracker. I heard he was a good one."

"Yeah, well that may be but he's a Dixon. No Dixon ain't worth the shit on my shoes. You know his brother Merle is a violent sumbitch and just got out of prison fer robbery. Until right now, he was my number one suspect, and Daryl is so fucking loyal to him that he'd jump at the chance to cover up a crime scene. Of course, now that I think on it, these things are always done by loner weirdos so maybe he did it hisself."
*

The windows on the truck were rolled up, but that didn't stop Daryl from hearing every word said about him. His eyes prickled hot with rage and he tested the cuffs, wondering if he could break a thumb to get out and run for it. It was a dumbass move that would only get him shot, but then apparently so was coming to help in the first place. He smacked his head back against the plastic-lined seat in defeat.

Outside, the young deputy who'd asked for his help was pacing back and forth, flinging his arms around in frustration as he defended his decision. "We spent all day yesterday wandering around in the heat and getting nowhere. I thought a more targeted search might be useful and I'm told he's a good tracker."

"Come on man," the other deputy said, the one with the dark fluffy hair and mean scowl. "I'm sorry about my partner, he's just tryin' to do what's right by that kid, but he has a tendency to want to see the best in people."

"Ha!" the sheriff barked a laugh, "there ain't been a scrap a good in any Dixon. If you were from around here you would know that."

"Let him come with us today. We'll keep an eye on him. If he looks like he's gonna mess anything up then we'll arrest him ourselves. As it stands you have nothing to hold him on anyway." He said that last bit in a whisper, but Daryl had good hearing.

"Are all you Kings County boys this fucking insubordinate?" the sheriff grumbled but he opened the door. He grabbed Daryl and none too gently hauled him out, spinning him around so he could get to the cuffs. "These boys have vouched for you, but you put a foot outta line and I'm coming for you and your brother."

Daryl nodded, wrenching his hands away from the man as soon as they were free and rubbing his wrists where the cold metal had bit down a little too tight. He gave a short nod and then stalked off back to his truck.

"Hey, where are you going?" the dark scowly one asked.

"What?" Daryl spun round, furious. "You think I'm gonna help you after this?"

The taller one strode after him and grabbed his arm to stop him, Daryl panicked and wrenched his arm out of the man's grip, only just stopping himself from taking a swing.

The deputy held his hands up in surrender, accepting he'd made a mistake. Daryl could feel his eyes burning him and he judged his movements, psycho-analysing him or some shit. It made Daryl's skin crawl.

"Listen," the deputy said in a low voice so the others couldn't hear. Daryl realised he did know how to talk quietly after all, so the line about them not being able to hold him had been said for Daryl's benefit too. It should have made Daryl trust him a little more, but he didn't. "We fucked up, I'm sorry. There ain't no reason for you to want to help us. But it weren't never about us. It's about a little girl, lost out there. It's about a family worried sick about what might've happened to her."

"Why should I care what happens to her?" Daryl snarled, hating that he sounded like a spoilt child as he said it. He paced back and forth in front of his truck. This officer was too close, he felt caged in by him and he could feel that familiar old fight or flight response flooding his veins with adrenaline. He should just get back into his truck and drive off, but he didn't.

"Because you're a good person. And you're in a position to help."

"Don't pretend to know shit about me," he spat.

"I know you came here in the first place." the deputy said calmly, "You didn't have to, it wasn't your responsibility, but you came anyway. That makes you a good man in my book, or at least you're trying to be."

Daryl didn't know what to say to that so he just grunted. He stopped and stared at him out of the corner of his eye. He never could quite bring himself to make eye contact, and besides he wanted to keep an eye on that shifty one and the sheriff.

"Come on, please."

Daryl stared at the young officer, he had a pleading face, like a stray pup that had just been kicked. Fucking manipulative is what that was. He bit his lip before talking, "You know she ain't jus' run away don'tcha?"

"What makes you say that?"

"Saw the tracks before that bastard started his brutality shit. She was took."

"Show me."

And so against his will, Daryl found himself crouched by the little girl's tent peering at the dirt while three police officers stood over him and tried to see what he was pointing out to them. "Look, this is her getting out of the tent, that's a knee and that's a handprint." He pointed out his findings as he went, sure that those dumb cops could only see dusty ground. "Probably crawled out in the night to take a piss. Now the rest of it is all fucked up because all a y'all come traipsing through here in your big boots, but here," he pointed, "she went back down on her knees again and those are drag marks. Ain't no way she coulda made those marks herself."

"Shit," the sheriff muttered.

"You think you can follow the trail?" the dark-haired deputy asked.

Daryl didn't say nothing but stayed low as he tried to follow a track. The rest of the camp was a mess but he searched along the treeline and eventually found a broken branch and a heavy footprint. "None a yous had sneakers on yesterday?" he asked.

"Nope," the sheriff confirmed.

"And the dad?"

"Walking boots I think."

Daryl nodded, "There's a pair a men's Chucks headin' off that way. No girl's tracks but he's got a heavy an' uneven gait, prob'ly carried her."

The dark-haired one narrowed his eyes, "Hold on, a pair a Chucks like the ones you're wearing? How do we know you didn't plant a trail before we got there?"

Daryl growled, was it gonna be like that all day? Second-guessing ev'rythin' and actin' like he the one done spirited her away. "Nah, you can see the pattern a the sole, see? These are new. Mine ain't." He picked up a foot and showed them the sole. His knock-off Goodwill pair were so worn down there was barely any grip left on them and he had a hole at the ball of his foot that he'd covered over with duct tape.

"You're planning on hiking through the forest all day in them?" the dark-haired deputy said.

"Oh yeah, damn I forgot my expensive-ass boots," he snarled. They guys were really trying his patience, and he almost went back to the truck.

"Can you follow him?" Officer Friendly asked. Daryl bobbed his head, "think so."

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

Rick was fascinated by the way Daryl worked. They'd set off in an awkward silence and his attempts at conversation hadn't made it any better, so they'd settled into it, only talking when Daryl had something to tell them, which wasn't often. Sometimes he would point out a snapped branch or a scrape in the dirt, but most of the time he seemed to be seeing things that weren't there. Shane had seemed convinced that he was making it up, but then he'd point out something visible to even them and prove they were still on the right track.

As the sun started filtering through the trees it got hot and by mid-morning they were all sweltering. Rick and Shane were drinking gallons of water but Daryl just had a small army canteen strapped to his belt and so far he'd barely touched it. They'd bought a stash of trail mix and candy bars to keep them going and when Shane offered Daryl one he stared at it like it might bite him. He took it but tentatively, but once he had it in his hand he ripped off the wrapper ate it quickly like he thought Shane might change his mind and take it away from him again. He mumbled a thank you as he licked melted chocolate off less-than-clean fingers and Shane just nodded, clearly not sure what to think of the strange man's behaviour.

The day before, they had driven themselves near crazy, looking for clues they couldn't see, debating whether this mark was a footprint or that trampled sapling had been done by a human. They'd strayed out of their search grid more than once and had more than a few squabbles about it. With Daryl with them, they had become little more than his shadows. All the decisions were out of their hands, which was a good thing as it turned out the trail was nowhere near where they had been searching the day before, where at one point they had been sure they'd found trace of her. With the stress of tracking off their shoulders, Rick almost started to enjoy the hike.

They had fallen into a brisk pace, only stopped for the time it took for Daryl to crouch down and check something. It was manageable at first, although as the day wore on, Rick could feel himself starting to wane. He thought about asking for a break, but didn't want to be the first one to admit to needing one. He looked at Shane, the man had a grim expression, which suggested that he was more weary than he would like to admit, but he knew the man would refuse to break until Daryl did and that didn't look like it would be happening any time soon.

They were walking along quietly and then suddenly Daryl peered into the trees and took off, running through the undergrowth. Rick and Shane exchanged concerned looks before giving chase until all three of them stumbled out onto an old gravel road. They didn't need to be trackers to see the tyre tracks that had been embedded into the dust as the wheels had spun and accelerated away.

"Shit!" Shane cursed, as Rick felt a lump rise in his throat but it was Daryl that looked the most devastated. He suddenly looked overcome with exhaustion and stumbled, his legs struggling to keep him upright.

"Sheriff," Rick called up on the radio. "We've followed the trail to an unpaved road. Looks like she was taken away in a vehicle."

"Hold on," Daryl growled, collecting himself, having noticed something in the verge that neither Rick nor Shane could see. "She escaped, look!"

They did look and saw a scrape of a small shoe and a smear of delicate fingers where she had scrambled down the slope and into the woods on the other side. They were almost obscured by a bigger smear, her abductor had gone after her and slid on his ass, the heels of his sneakers digging it to slow his descent. He was clearly a large man, Rick struggled to imagine how terrifying it must have been to be chased by someone like that. She must have been so scared. How would he have been at that age in those circumstances? How would have coped if he had been one of that girl's parents? Once the thought had entered his mind, he couldn't get away from imagining it was his own child. It had been the same with the drunk drive case the day before. Was that going to be the way it was now? Every incident involving a kid he'd think of Carl until it drove him insane? Chances were Carl would grow up to have a perfectly safe and normal life just like he did, so why could he not stop thinking about it?

The sound of scattered dirt brought him out of his worry, Daryl was barrelling down the slope after the tracks, careful not to cross his own marks with theirs as he followed the trail of destruction that two people running through the forest had caused.

Rick and Shane moved more cautiously, making sure they got down the steep bank in one piece, Daryl was already quite far ahead of them but as they hurried to catch up they watched him sink to his knees.

"Fuck!" Shane muttered, the two of them rushed forward but Rick could feel his legs turning to lead as he approached, not sure he wanted to see what Daryl had found.

The hunter was sat on his heels staring into a bush, sprawled beneath it was the young girl face down in the dirt, her arms flailed out to break her fall, there were two bullet wounds in her back and a third, close range had exploded the back of her head. Rick felt sick and turned away.

Shane stumbled back and tore at his hair. "Fuck! Fuck, fuck!"

"Sheriff," Rick said on the radio, "we've found her. She ran away so he gunned her down. She's dead." He couldn't keep the emotion from his voice, his throat felt thick with it.

"Alright, we're coming to you, can you give us your coordinates?"

Alright? It all sounded so indifferent, and Rick felt hot with anger at it.

"Standby," Rick said, pulling a map from his pocket. "Daryl?" He tried to get the man's attention but he just kept staring at the girl, head hung low. "Daryl, do you know where we are?"

When the hunter didn't respond, Rick put a gentle hand on his shoulder and Daryl flinched so violently, he spun around and scrambled backwards so quickly that he almost collided with the girl's body in his panic. He scooted back a few feet and sat there staring at Rick, chest heaving with fear and tears threatening to fall. At least someone wasn't indifferent, Rick thought, even though the man had spent all day trying to convince them otherwise.

"I'm sorry," Rick tried, "I'm sorry, can you just look at the map and tell us where we are? I think we're here, but I'm not sure."

Daryl wiped a hand over his face to hide the evidence of his tears but it backfired and streaked lines of moisture across his face. "Erm, nah," he got up and stumbled to his feet. "You've got the wrong road, we're over here."

"First dead body huh?" Shane said, trying awkwardly to make conversation while Rick updated the sheriff with the coordinates.

"First one that didn't deserve it," Daryl said bitterly. He'd gone back to angry and pacing, wiping his face again as the tears refused to let up.

For once, Shane seemed to find a glimmer of insight, "Look man, it's okay to be upset. I'm upset, Rick's upset. Fuck, it's just a kid. It's not fair."

"Life ain't ever fair!" Daryl snarled. "Life ain't fair, people are bastards, didn't expect no different." He said it like a mantra, like something that had been drilled into him over and over. "I ain't upset!" he insisted, but he was a terrible liar.

"Okay," Rick got off the radio. "They're on their way to put up a crime scene. ME and Techs are being called in from Atlanta. Once the others get here, I'll run you back to your truck Daryl."

Daryl looked ready to march back there himself but he relented with a little nod of his head hung low.

"I'm gonna go wait out on the road for them," Shane said, "make sure they don't destroy those tyre tracks. Daryl, you should come with me." he offered. He gestured for him to come with him but made sure to stay out of Daryl's personal space. Daryl looked at Rick as though he was trying to see what Rick thought he should do. When Rick gave him a little nod, he nodded back and followed Shane out to the trail. Rick was left wondering why a grown man had felt the need to ask permission for anything, let alone to escape the scene of horror that was before him.

Rick watched them go before staring back at the girl at his feet. He'd seen dead bodies before, car accidents mostly, accidental overdoses, couple of suicides, especially when the crops failed in that first year he and Shane were at the department and so many farmers lost their livelihoods. He'd never been to a murder before. Her hair was splayed out covering her face, Rick was thankful for that. He didn't think he could bear to see it. Her shirt had ridden up where she'd fallen, exposing an expanse of back. He resisted the urge to meddle and pull it down for her, they'd want to photograph her first, it was best not to touch anything at all.

Behind him he heard a dull thud and Shane say, "Hey! What did that tree ever do to you?" but he could bring his eyes away from the poor girl in front of him.

He stood lost in thought until he heard a truck roll up on the highway. For a crazy moment he panicked thinking it could be her parents. What if they came down here and found her like this? How would he be able to hold them back? What could he say to offer comfort? He knew the answer to that one, nothing could.

It was a relief when one of Jameston's deputies came down to him with a roll of scene tape. He'd tied it to a tree up by the road and was rolling it down and round the trees to encompass her entire desperate flight from car to where she fell. "Thanks for your help with this. Go up and see Sheriff Jackson, he'll let you know if we need anything else from you."

Rick nodded, suddenly feeling too exhausted to talk and trudged back up to the road. He found the sheriff up there barking into the radio and Shane and Daryl leaning against the sheriff's truck smoking cigarettes. Daryl's cigarette bounced nervously in his mouth and when he drew his hand up to steady it, his knuckles were scraped and raw and his hand trembled just a little. Shane had quit smoking after High School so Rick knew that despite his bravado he must have been feeling it too.

"I gotta hand it to yah," the Sheriff said gruffly, "it was the right call."

Rick nodded, Daryl glared, proving that although that was a lame excuse for an apology, it was more than Daryl had gotten. "We'll need statements from all three a you. Deputy Wishaw will take you back to your vehicles and then you can head down to the office to get them done."

"Nah, I ain't wanna do no statement." Daryl said, pushing himself away from the car and starting up his caged tiger routine again.

The sheriff looked ready to get angry, so Rick stepped in, "That's fine. You don't gotta, but if we ever catch this guy and get him to court a statement from you would be really useful. You noticed the sneakers, you knew she was being carried and when she escaped. Hell, I bet you could guess how much the guy weighs just by looking at his prints."

Daryl frowned, calculating, "About two hun'urd pounds, tall too, he had long strides and there was a high up spider's web we passed that was broken. Guessing at least six-two."

"See, and then when we find the bastard and he's six-two, two hundred pounds and wearing a nice new pair of Converses but says he didn't do it, your statement will be important."

"I don't wanna go to court or nuthin.'" He sounded small, worried, he chewed his lip and Rick was concerned he might draw blood.

"We ain't making those decisions yet. Let's just get pen to paper for now and you can tell us what you saw."

He didn't agree, but he didn't protest any longer either. That was good enough for Rick, it had been good enough to get him there, he just needed another gentle push.

They all sat in silence as Wishaw drove them back. They had to go back into town and round to get back onto the campground road. Shane took the front seat while Rick sat in the back with Daryl who stared out the window while chewing on a thumbnail the entire time. When they got into town though, he sat right down into his seat so no one could see him.

"Man, I could really do with some ribs," Shane said as they drove past the diner with a big sign outside offering a whole rack for the price of a half. "Let's bang out those statements and then we go get some before we drive back. Whaddaya say Daryl? It's on me."

"Nah, I ain't hungry," Daryl mumbled from the back.

Rick glared at his partner. He was hungry too, and there was very little that could turn either officer off their food anymore, but Lori had reminded him on more than one occasion that it wasn't normal and looked down right callous to non-cops.

Rick jumped into the front when they dropped Shane off at the police station to get started on his report, while Wishaw took Rick and Daryl back to get their vehicles. Wishaw pulled into the parking lot, where the cars were parked. A lot more officers had attended to assist and were out in the woods making their way back. Up at the crime scene tape talking to the deputy posted there, were a stressed looking black couple. Their body language was tense, arms wrapped around themselves, as though they could hold in their grief somehow. They were stood apart too, seeking comfort in themselves but not each other. If Rick had to guess they were blaming each other for allowing their child to sleep in a separate tent. He'd heard one of the deputies say the same damn thing, but how were they to know. Rick and his sisters had been not much older when they'd been allowed to walk a mile to school alone. She had been not three feet from them, until she wasn't. Daryl noticed them too and hunkered down in his seat even further.

They saw the truck pull in, saw Daryl in the back and sprinted for the vehicle. "Shit! Is that him!"

"Where is my baby? What have you done with her!"

Chapter Text

Chapter 5

Daryl clocked the couple as soon as they pulled in and he knew just how it was going to go, sat in the damn cage in the back like some kind of criminal. He scrabbled at the door for the handle prepared to jump out of the moving car and make a run for it but of course there wasn't one.

"Shit! Is that him?" The man shouted and started to run towards them.

The woman followed, still hugging herself like she was desperate to cling to something. Her scream, "Where is my baby? What have you done with her?" cut Daryl to the bone.

Rick leapt out of the car and cut them off before they reached it. "It's not him," he insisted. "He's a tracker who has been helping us. We're giving him a ride back to his truck is all."

Daryl was expecting anger or disappointment but instead he watched the moment that the father's heart broke. "So if you're bringing him back. Does that mean it's over? You've found her?" There was no hope to his words. Of course not, he knew if there had been they had they would have brought the girl to her parents, before the redneck to his truck.

"You've found her? Where is she?" the woman asked, peering into the back of the police car like her daughter might spring out of it at any moment. It was stupid, Daryl thought angrily. She had to know she was dead, and yet he supposed as he controlled his knee-jerk nastiness for more rational thoughts, that was what mamas were supposed to do, hold onto hope for their kids until the very end.

Rick shook his head, "I'm sorry," he started, his throat sounding raw. "We found her, but..."

The woman didn't even let him finish before letting out a wail and launching herself at him pounding her fist against his chest. Daryl thought for sure she'd end up in handcuffs, hitting an officer like that, but Rick wrapped his arms around her to prevent her from hitting him again and then held her as she collapsed into his arms and sobbed on his shoulder.

"She was a brave girl, she fought him off and she ran, but he shot her," he said, his voice cracking.

"Did he touch her?" the dad asked.

Daryl felt sick, of course it was what they had all been worried about but no one had had the balls to say it.

Rick sighed, "No, I don't think so. The Medical Examiner will be able to tell for sure but there was nothing I could see to suggest he had."

The dad released a breath, the mum sobbed all the harder, whether with relief or because the possibility of her child being raped had only just occurred to her, Daryl couldn't tell. He couldn't bear to know either way. "Lemme out," he growled to the deputy who was frozen in place, his knuckles turning white on the steering wheel.

"Erm, yeah, of course," he replied. He got out and hurried to the door, looking like he wanted to bolt from the situation as much as Daryl himself did.

"Thanks," Daryl muttered as he hurried to his truck and jumped in, only feeling safe once he was secure inside the sweltering truck, windows locked up tight against the wailing of the distraught woman.

He started the engine and pulled away a little too fast, only able to breathe once he was out of the parking lot and back among the trees.

*

Rick felt wrung out as he drove back to town. He hated being the bearer of bad news and that was about the worst he'd ever had to deliver. He was exhausted, all he wanted to do was call Lori and drive straight home to her, but he'd checked and his cell phone had no signal. He pulled up outside the sheriff's office and hurried inside to the nearest empty desk, not even bothering to ask the woman at the adjoining desk if he could use the phone.

It rang and rang but there was no answer, Lori wasn't home. He tried her cell but that just rang too, before he hung up a little too violently. His wife had been the one to insist they get these cell phones, what the hell was the point if she wasn't going to pick it up when he called?

While he sat staring at the phone, wondering if it was worth trying again in a minute, anything to put off starting his report, voices drifted across the bullpen to penetrate his morose thoughts, "There are two r's in erratic, dumbass! Only one in eradicating."

"Well excuse me Mr Professor, I didn't know I was talking to a fancy college educated snob!"

"Ha, I ain't even finished high school, but I did learn to read. You not need to read to be a cop?"

Rick looked up and could have laughed. Daryl was sat beside Shane at a desk at the far end of the room. He had his dust-coated taped-up shoes up on the desk, arms crossed over his chest and was peering over Shane's shoulder as he wrote Daryl's dictated statement. Shane looked pissed, but he'd clearly chosen not to say anything, perhaps concerned that if he did then Daryl would storm out and they'd lose their evidence. Rick was surprised to see him there at all, after he'd run away from the campground so quick, after being accused for the second time that day of a crime that had clearly upset him.

He ignored the two men and their bickering and called Lori again. This time she picked up on the third ring, "Hello?"

"Lori it's me."

"Rick, so good to hear from you. You didn't call me yesterday like you said you would."

"Yeah, I'm sorry, it was a long day and I just got back and crashed." He could practically hear her suspicious frown on the other end of the phone. He had never done anything to make her distrust him and it stung more than a little but he didn't say anything.

"Do you know if you'll be back for Carl's birthday yet? It's tomorrow remember."

That stung too, what if they hadn't found her, was he supposed to drop the hunt for a little girl to go to a birthday party for his son that would be too young to remember it anyway? He was starting to forget why he had been so eager to call.

"Actually, yeah. Gimme a few hours to write up my reports and we'll be coming home. Be back by tonight."

"Oh that's good," but then she paused as though she realised that perhaps it wasn't good news for everybody. "Did you find her?"

"Yeah."

"Alive?"

Rick left out a little huff of breath.

"Oh Rick I'm so sorry."

"That's okay, it's what we expected," Rick said grimly.

"Doesn't make it easier though does it?" Lori said sadly. "Hey, someone wants to say hello. Carl, say hello to dada!"

"Dada?" Carl's voice came through the receiver loud and clear.

"Hey Carl, my little man," Rick smiled and wiped the moisture that had gathered at the edge of his vision. "I'll be home real soon. Miss you!"

"Dada!" Carl said enthusiastically.

"He misses you too," Lori said. "We both do."

"I'll be home soon," he promised again. "I better go, sooner I get this done the sooner I can get back."

"Okay, see you soon. Keep Shane out of trouble."

Rick looked up at him, he was trying not to screw up the statement and throw it at the tracker. "I will. I love you."

"Love you too."

He hung up, took a big sigh and then started the hunt for a pen and some statement paper.
*

Daryl drove his dad's rattlely old truck back home, exhausted and relieved to be done with the day. He hoped Merle had patched up things with Sandy because he just wanted a nap and to forget the whole day had happened. No such luck though, he could hear Merle's laugh before the house ever came into view. As he rounded the corner he saw Merle and a couple of his buddies were sat on the couch outside the house. Merle had the barbecue going and was currently crouched beside it, trying to flip venison steaks with his fingers while ash from the joint in his mouth drifted down onto the meat. Daryl was so not in the mood to put up with his brother's shit.

"There's tongs in the house man!" Daryl said as he pulled into the yard and Merle hissed and pulled back his singed fingers. Daryl was a little pissed, he'd hunted the deer, smoked the steaks himself since the fridge weren't working and had been saving them for a special occasion. Now it looked like he wouldn't even get one.

"Hey baby brother," Merle smiled, too stoned to notice his foul mood, or maybe too used to it to care. "Come join us, grab a beer." He took a drag of the joint that wobbled between his lips and passed it over to Daryl.

Daryl took it and toked it, drawing the smoke in and holding it in his mouth, enjoying the light-headed feeling it gave him before letting all the smoke escape his lips. The two guys who were sat either end of the mouldy couch were giving him the heebie-jeebies. Merle often had friends over, usually they were the local tweakers and red necks, the occasional army buddy, though lord knows he hadn't made many friends there. These guys were different, dressed like they was normal folk in cargo shorts and polo shirts but normal folk didn't barbecue with white trash on heroin-stained couches. Daryl knew how to deal with addicts, they were predictably unpredictable, but these two gave off an even more dangerous vibe than even that friend of Merle's from prison with the bullet scar on his neck.

He wouldn't have been able to say what it was until one of them reached up and scratched his chin and Daryl saw a tiny tattooed '88' in the webbing between his finger and thumb. Right, fucking Nazis! Daryl rolled his eyes. Merle always came back from prison on a bit of a White Power kick, it usually died down after a few days though.

"Nah, I'm good," he said and handed the joint back.

"What did I tell ya?" Merle said addressing his buddies. "Antisocial little bitch. Where ya been all day anyway?"

"None a your business," Daryl growled. He stormed to the house, "and clean your shit up out here when you're done, it's fuckin' embarrassin.'" He should've kept his mouth shut among Merle's friends, but it was embarrassing and he didn't want people thinking he was the slob, even if he shouldn't've cared what these people thought of him.

"Now hold up!" Merle laughed. "You been out in the woods but you didn't take your crossbow with you. "Fucking pussy, you went and helped them cops didn't ya?"

"No!" Daryl said indignantly, but he was a terrible liar and his brother always saw right through it.

"Yeah, you did," Merle laughed, "What the fuck for man? You think they ever gonna give a shit about you if you needed them?"

Daryl knew they didn't, if they had that Sheriff Jackson wouldn't have left when his mama answered the door with a split lip and said she'd slipped in the kitchen, or bought that bullshit about him falling out of a tree and breaking his arm when he was ten. He had fallen out of a tree, but unlike the story, he'd been told to suck it up and live with the consequences of his mistake until Merle had come back three days later and taken him to the hospital. The cop the doctors had called had known Merle's story about it having just happened was bullshit, but he wrote it down anyway and told Daryl to be more careful. It had been his experience that the cops were damn near useless, and that's why he'd gone to help, someone had to know what they were doing.

"What cops?" one of the guys on the couch asked. He was trying to sound casual and inquisitive but Daryl picked up on the nervousness in his voice. Probably just one of Merle's prison buddies he thought, but then he looked down and oh shit! Brand new pair of Converse. Half the Western world had a pair, it was true, but Daryl just knew. What kind of assholes was Merle getting involved with now?

Daryl glared at Merle and tried to make him stop talking, but his older brother was already running his mouth.

"Whole loada cops came in a few days ago, looking for some girl got lost up on the trail. Looks like my idiot brother went to help."

"D'you find anythin'?" the guy asked, he stood up, he was six three and towered over Daryl and Merle. Well-built too, Daryl was sure he was looking at the little girl's killer now.

"I toldya I didn't find nothin'. Been out with the day labourers buildin' fences."

It should have been enough to let it go, but once Merle was onto something he was like a dog with a bone, especially if he could find a way to humiliate his little brother. "Bullshit! Daryl just don't wanna admit he's soft. Likes helping folk even when they're not our kind."

"Merle!" Daryl hissed, trying to get him to shut it, but the older Dixon was so high he was oblivious to the threat, until the man drew a 9mm from the back of his waistband and fired.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6

Daryl ducked but not fast enough. The bullet caught him in the shoulder and spun him around. He fell on hands and knees, a piece of glass dug deep into his hand, but he was up and scrambling away in an instant, sprinting for the house.

Merle had been laughing, that old stoned cackle, but it faded as his brain started to catch up with what was happening. "Woah, hey man, that's my brother!"

Daryl ignored him, he'd either help or he wouldn't, but Daryl knew better than to rely on him. He banged through the screen door and raced to his room, where his crossbow was sat on the top of his dresser. There were more shots fired, he hoped it was Merle doing the shooting but he was always a bad shot when stoned, maybe he'd scare that supremacist bastard into giving up the chase but he was unlikely to hit him.

Daryl got to his room and grabbed his crossbow. It knocked into a large piece of glass still in his hand. He took it in his teeth and tore it free, spitting it onto the floor before turning his attention back the crossbow. He kicked his foot into the stirrup and pulled back the string to load it, but his shoulder screamed with the effort it took and he couldn't tension it enough to latch it. And then his door slammed open and his pursuer barrelled through.

The asshole swung a fierce backhand with the gun in his hand. The butt of the handgun cracked into Daryl's face and sent him sprawling. His foot was still caught in the stirrup of his crossbow and the unwieldy weapon tripped him up. He fell to his ass, his back smacking against the bed frame. His attacker kicked him sharply in the ribs and then knelt over him, gripped his shirt and smacked his head back into the bedpost before punching him again and again with the gun still in his hand.

"What did you find out?" the man shouted at him as his knuckles cracked against his face.

"I said I didn't find nothin', ya shit! But it's pretty fucking obvious you did it now you sick fuck!" Daryl snarled. He dug his nails into the guy's face and drew deep scratches down his cheek. He'd seen that new show CSI, he knew if he got the guy's skin beneath his nails they'd find it. It wouldn't matter what happened to him then, whether he managed to fight the guy off or not, as long as they got his body they'd have the bastard too.

Daryl reached up with both hands and tried to twist the gun from him, but he was just slammed back against the bedpost until he saw stars. Blood was in his eyes and the pain in his cheek and jaw stabbed right through to his brain, making each move agony. He could hear Merle shouting in the distance, why the fuck wasn't he helping? But then why would he start now? How many times had he ended up in this very spot in a pool of his own blood, and Merle had never been there to stop any of it.

He got in a strong punch but it wasn't enough. He tried to draw his crossbow up to where he could get a bolt free but his fingers had gone numb from the gunshot and he couldn't make them work. The sounds of sirens punctuated the air and drowned out the sounds of yelling in the front yard. Daryl's attacker froze, staring at him a moment as though he was trying to work out how Daryl had had time to call the cops, but then he released his grip and stood, leaping onto the bed and kicking the bug screen off the open window before launching himself through it and running into the woods.

Fuck! Daryl groaned and he pulled himself to his feet, nocked an arrow into his bow with a herculean effort and then gave chase.
*

Shane was adamant about getting ribs before the drive home and if Rick was honest with himself, the day still felt a little too raw to take back to his young family. They sat down in the same booth as the day before and had just ordered coffee while they look at the menu.

"You found that little girl, didn't you?" asked the waitress as she came round with the jug of coffee.

"Yeah," Rick drawled as she poured into his mug. He resented the coffee, felt the need to get shit-faced drunk instead but they were on duty at least until they got back home. He hoped she didn't ask them any more questions. Thankfully his tone was more than enough to scare her away.

"Anything you want," she said, "it's on the house," as she skittered back behind the bar.

Rick remembered his manners a little too late, "Thank you," he called after her. "'m sorry, it's just…"

She smiled then, sadly. "That's okay. I heard what he did to her. That can't have been easy."

"News travels fast," Shane muttered as he unclipped his radio and was about to change it back to the Kings Country frequency to announce their imminent return, when it crackled to life.

"Shots fired at the old Dixon place, requesting backup."

"Shit!" Shane muttered.

"Anyone to back me up?" The voice asked, kinda shaky. The sheriff came on, his transmission crackly with interference, "I'm sending Wishaw to you but he's coming from the crime scene. He's about twenty minutes out."

"Fuck!" Shane cursed again, before clicking transmit, "You've got Walsh and Grimes two minutes out." They both launched themselves to their feet and ran to the car, past the startled waitress who was on her way to another customer, shattering the plates she had stacked up on her arms.

Rick drove while Shane sat beside him bouncing the shotgun he'd pulled from the trunk on his leg. Rick could feel his heart thudding in his chest.

"You think he was alright when we left him?"

"What do you mean?" Rick asked concentrating on the roads, trying to remember the directions he'd been given the night before.

"I mean the guy clearly had his issues already, then we got him accused of a brutal murder-kidnap twice and spent all day looking for a girl who wound up brutally murdered."

Rick baulked. He was so worried that they were about to be fired upon, it was a scenario he hadn't even thought of, "You think he shot himself?"

"I dunno man, just asking if you think we did enough to stop him from shooting himself."

Rick didn't want to think about it. There was no time anyway as they pulled into the street and heard more shots. Heart racing, Rick put his foot to the floor. Shouts of "What the fuck happened?" punctuated the air as they rounded the corner and found Merle and some other guy waving guns at each other in the front yard of the broken old house.

Shane leapt out of the car before Rick had put the handbrake on, shotgun raised and waving it between the two as he tried to work out who the aggressor was. "Drop your weapons!"

Rick joined him, drawing his Python and behind them, the local unit pulled in and a middle-aged officer got out too. The guy in a polo shirt dropped his gun and raised his hands, but Merle was too enraged. Shane switched his focus to him, while the local stepped in and snapped on the handcuffs to the disarmed man.

"The bastard shot my brother!" Merle snarled. "His buddy here is gonna pay for it!"

"Daryl? Where is he?" Rick snapped.

"Inside, they're inside!"

Rick took off at a sprint towards the house, noticing a smear of blood on the porch. Inside was a mess, and it took Rick a second to adjust to the dim light, he cleared the kitchen and living room quickly then moved in the hall, where a door had been smashed off its hinges. Footsteps behind him made him jump and swing his weapon up, but it was just Shane, shotgun at the ready.

"You good?" Rick mouthed silently, to which Shane nodded. He cocked his head at the broken door. Rick pushes it open while Shane swung into the room. There was no one there. Rick checked the near-empty closet while Shane got down on his knees to check under the bed. There was a sharp hiss, making Shane leap back with a gasp like he'd been burned.

"Fucking cat!" he cursed, as he tried to control his thudding heart rate. There were deep scratches in the back of his hand.

"Merle and the other guy?" Rick asked.

"Both cuffed and in separate cars. They ain't going anywhere."

"Good."

Unlike the chaos of the kitchen and living area, this room was spartan, though less than clean. Aside from a single bed, an old chest of drawers and a jacket that had fallen off the back of the door, there was nothing in it. No books, no photos, nothing to suggest that anyone used it except the slight mustiness of unclean bedsheets and a shirt that had been kicked under the bed that Rick recognised as Daryl's from the night before. There was blood on the floor though and on the bed frame, and the window screen was missing. Rick jumped up onto the bed to peer out of the window and noticed more give than he should have, a couple of the slats beneath the mattress had broken. Outside went directly out into the woods, in a straight line from the window the ferns were trampled and someone had spat a glob of blood to the ground.

"They've gone that way!" Rick said, clambering out of the window to follow.
*

Rage propelled him forward, but becoming the hunter instead of the hunted gave Daryl a sense of control that he only ever really felt when he was out in the woods. The trail was not hard to follow, but there was so much blood running into his eyes that he could barely see. He wiped it off his face with his hand and then touched the nearest tree and then another and another. If Merle was gonna come look for him after all, he wanted his path to be so obvious that even his stoned dumbass brother could follow it.

The Nazi asshole was up ahead, crashing through the trees in a bid to outrun him. He might've, Daryl was moving too slow, his head killing him and all sense of balance gone, but then he saw a flash of khaki shorts up ahead, raised his crossbow and fired. The arrow thunked into its target and the man howled and crashed to the floor.

He rolled over with a roar and fired off three quick shots and one of them got awful close to Daryl's head, but the hunter ducked behind a tree. The thick trunk took the impact but Daryl had thrown himself out of the line of fire with such force that he'd knocked the air right out of his lungs. His legs trembled and then gave out and he slid down the trunk until he was sat on his ass, his ribs on fire and trying desperately to suck enough air into his lungs. He'd winded himself a thousand times before, but this was different, this was a sharp stabbing pain and it wasn't letting up.

It didn't matter what damage had been done, if he stayed where he was, he was dead. He tried to push himself forward off the tree but another bullet flew right beside him and he had to stay down. The guy knew exactly where he was, if he moved he was just as fucked as if he waited around for him to come finish him off. He took a couple of deep breaths and squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to control his spinning head. He felt his head nod forward and that brought him sharply back to consciousness.

His vision focussed up and he realised that Rick and Shane were creeping through the undergrowth towards him. They were gonna get themselves fucking killed. Merle had learned hand signals in the army, and when he'd been home on leave he'd taught them to Daryl on their hunting trips. An eager child, Daryl had learned them all and they'd stalked through the woods pretending they were hunting the Viet Cong until the signals were just as natural as every other bit of hunting. He didn't know whether cops used the same signals but they had to learn something right? He held up his hand and they halted, good start. A few more quick flicks of his hand and they separated, Shane going left, Rick right. It looked like it might work after all.

Daryl tried to load his bow again with a grunt of effort but his right arm was now completely useless and the bowstring was under too much tension to do it one-handed. He held onto it at arms-length, then kicked both feet into the stirrup and used his legs to force it away from him until he felt the click of the bowstring in the latch. With a sigh of relief, he drew it up to his chest, nestled the stock into his left shoulder instead of his usual right and fired. Whether it was because he was shooting left-handed, his vision was swaying or he was just too damn tired to keep the heavy weapon steady, the shot went wild. Another two shots were fired at him, closer range this time. A quick glance beyond the tree gave him a glimpse of the man, red-faced and knuckles bloody, limping heavily. Daryl's arrow had skewered through his calf and bobbed in the wound with every jarring step.

Daryl ducked back behind the tree, envisioning the path the man would take so he could predict just where he would be as he loaded his crossbow again and fired again. He couldn't hit shit anymore, that was clear. That last one ended up in the ground barely six feet from where Daryl was sat. The stupid weapon was just too damn heavy.

He wished the two cops would hurry up, he was running out of arrows and the bastard was nearly on him. There was more blood in his eye and even using his feet to draw back the bowstring pulled at his arm and his ribs until his vision started greying out with pain. He got it latched once more and fumbled in the quiver for the last arrow, his numb fingers slick with blood. He took a deep breath, he was almost there, but it was too late, Merle's asshole friend rounded the tree and pointed his gun an inch from Daryl's face.

"You're a fucking traitor, you know that right?" he growled. "I'll be doing your brother a favour." His finger moved to the trigger.

Daryl dropped the crossbow and grabbed for the arrow already in the guy's leg, yanking it upwards and causing the guy to howl just as shots fired all around them.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7

Daryl twisted the arrow in his assailant's leg and made him scream just as Rick and Shane fired their weapons. The handgun aimed at Daryl's head still went off though, even as the guy collapsed on top of him with four bullets in his back.

"Shit! Daryl!" Rick gasped as he ran towards the two men. The hunter was slumped against the tree with his attacker sprawled across him, blood pouring down his face and his eyes rolled back, pale as the dead guy against his chest. Rick rolled the body off of Daryl and the hunter drew in a sharp breath, flailing his arms in panic as he came back to consciousness before he started coughing painfully and couldn't stop, not until he'd spat a considerable amount of blood on the floor.

"Did he shoot you? Where?" Rick started to tug at the hunter's shirt, searching for the wound but Daryl batted him away.

"Get off me you pervert!" he shouted with venom, his eyes glassy and unfocussed.

"I'm sorry, it's just me. I'm only trying to help." Rick soothed, horrified at where the hunter's addled mind had gone, "but you need help. I need to find the wound."

Daryl gazed at him and the anger dissipated as he seemed to realise what was happening. He coughed again and spat more blood. "Nah, he grazed my shoulder earlier but the shot just now missed. He busted my ribs up pretty good though." He slipped his shirt off his shoulder to show him the 'graze.'

"Daryl, that's not a graze, that's a through and through," Rick gasped.

"Huh," Daryl huffed, but didn't seem all that concerned.

"Hey Daryl," Shane crouched beside them, "there's an ambulance on the way. You're gonna be alright man. You wanna tell us what all that was about?"

"It's him," Daryl said, sounding a little wheezy.

Rick and Shane looked down at the man, he had the height, the build, the shoes, exactly how Daryl had said he'd be.

"He tell you that?" Shane asked.

"Merle was teasing me 'bout helpin' ya and he jumped up and tried to kill me, so I's readin' between the lines." He struggled to get the words out between laboured breaths, the blood on his lips was pink and foamy, a sure sign of a punctured lung. Not from the gunshot, that was too high. Rick guessed if the man had allowed him to check under his shirt, he would have found black bruising and crooked ribs to match the rapidly blackening swelling around his eye. He wished the ambulance would hurry up, but even once they got to the house they'd have to trek through the woods to find them. Luckily, or unluckily, the trail of blood they'd followed to get there was painfully obvious.

"You know him?" Shane continued. Rick thought they should wait for the ambulance before they questioned him any further, but the man was in a really bad way, what if waiting made them too late.

Daryl glared at the dead man and shook his head, "Nah, never seen him before. You'll hav'ta ask Merle."

"Okay, we will, just save your breath now, help is on the way."

"You're the one keeps asking me all these fucking questions," Daryl muttered.

Shane gave him a conceding half-laugh and got back on the radio, "You got an ETA on that bus?"

"Help me up," Daryl wheezed. "I ain't bein' carried to no ambulance like a pussy." He flung his hand against the tree to push himself to his feet but he couldn't even get his ass off the ground.

"Oh no you don't," Rick placed a firm but gentle hand on his good shoulder. His legs shifted, feet scrabbling lamely in the dirt but he wasn't going anywhere.

"Cain't," he muttered under his breath, "Damn expensive." He coughed again and couldn't stop. Rick became convinced they were watching him drown, but at last the coughing subsided and he was still drawing pained breaths. In the distance, sirens could be heard, flooding Rick's veins with relief.

"Let us worry about the expense," Rick soothed. He couldn't tell whether the hunter hadn't realised how badly he was hurt, or whether he just didn't care.

"My brother," he wheezed, "he's an asshole but he's not involved in this. He wouldn'tna hurt no girl."

"Okay," Rick said, although he didn't have the same faith in the older Dixon that the younger had. "We'll sort it okay."

Daryl nodded, and then his chin sank to his chest and his eyes slid closed.

"Daryl? Daryl?" Rick started to panic, he placed the back of his hand in front of his mouth but couldn't feel a breath, drove a pair of fingers under his jaw but found no pulse. "Shit!"

Shane was beside him in a second, grabbing Daryl's feet and dragging him away from the tree so that he was laid down flat, Rick pinched his nose and tilted his airway open, forcing two large breaths into him and watching for the rise in his chest. Shane laced his fingers together and found his sternum, the buttons of his shirt were in the way, so he tore them open, revealing a scarred chest that was marred with deep black bruising as well as the ragged would at his shoulder. Ignoring the horror of his injuries, both new and old, Shane started chest compressions, the sound of shattered ribs grinding against each other with every movement setting both officer's teeth on edge.

Shane counted off his compressions, each one a huff of effort and when he got to thirty Rick muttered a prayer and willed life into the man with his next two breaths.
*

Lori had spent all day trying not to get upset. Last night she'd spent hours slaving over a lasagne only for it to sit uneaten in the fridge. She'd resisted the urge to call him, used to him being caught up with work. Paperwork always took him longer than he expected and there were any number of things that could keep him delayed. When it was nearing eleven however, she gave in and called his cell. He'd picked up on the fourth ring, sounding surprised, guilty and strained all at once, "Lori, I meant to call you. I'm sorry. Something happened and I've had to stay on. I'll be back for the barbecue, I promise."

She was disappointed but tried her best not to show it. He sounded stressed and she knew she shouldn't be adding to it. She wished him well and left him to his work, finishing her wine with an air of defeat and trudging up to bed, taking her phone with her in case he called in the night. He'd only been very brief about what he'd been dealing with, but the case had hit the local evening news and the image of that child's smiling face wouldn't leave her alone. The girl was the same age as the kids she'd used to teach before the career-break she'd taken when Carl was born. Now she wanted to go back and hug every one of her old class. She couldn't imagine what those poor parents were going through.

She slept badly but Carl woke her early demanding food. He always seemed to pick up on her low moods and was grouchy as a result, making even getting breakfast hard work. She sat at the kitchen island, feeding Carl with a spoon with her right hand while she tried to shovel cereal into her own mouth with her left. He'd been grumpy the day before too and as a result she had neglected a whole load of jobs that she should have done, telling herself that if she waited for Rick to be back then she could get it done while he watched Carl. She should have known it wasn't going to happen. It was fine, she told herself, she'd been doing this a year now, what was one more morning? But she really wished she had someone to help.

There was no use in getting upset over it now. Her guests were arriving at one, with or without him, so she strapped Carl into a papoose on her hip and began her frantic chores. She marinated the meat, scrubbed the whole house, top to bottom, found the garden chairs in the shed and cleared them of cobwebs, made three different salads and put of an array of chips and dip and little smoked salmon tartlets. Ice coolers were laid out full of beer and wine and soda and there was more in the fridge. By the time she'd done all that she was exhausted and her hip and back were aching from carrying Carl around all the time. He really was too big for this now. She was about to sit down with a coffee and try to have a few minutes off her feet when the doorbell rang and the first of her guests arrived. She checked her watch; it was one already and she hadn't even lit the grill. With a big sigh, she hauled herself and Carl to her feet and went to answer the door with a smile on her face that she didn't really feel.

It was the Athertons from across the street, carrying a big tray of pasta salad and a case of beer. "Hi," she greeted, accepting the gifts and guiding them in, only then realising she looked a mess, in an old pair of cut-off jeans and one of Rick's old tee shirts. "I lost track of the time I guess. Come on through to the garden. Do you mind watching Carl for a minute while I get changed?"

"Sure, no problem," Marissa grinned, eagerly accepting Carl into her arms. "Is Rick out by the grill?"

"Actually, Rick isn't here," she admitted. "He had to work last night and he's still not back."

"Oh," Marissa said. "Well it looks like you've done a great job on your own, like always."

Lori just shrugged, what was she supposed to say to that, thank you? She should, but there was more than a little pity in her tone and that irked her. "Yes, well, he'd got an important job," she replied defensively.

The look Marissa gave her just made it worse, luckily her husband Brad was the one to save the day, "So you have a vacancy for a Grill Man today then?"

"That's okay, I can do it," Lori said.

"Don't be silly. It's your party, you be the hostess and I'll do the food. I don't mind at all!"

Lori smiled gratefully and wondered why she'd ever let Marissa get to her, "Oh God! What would I do without the pair of you? Make yourselves at home and I'll be right down."

As more people arrived and the afternoon wore on, Lori found she was able to enjoy herself and stop looking at the clock every five minutes. They really did have a great group of friends, she realised, and after the initial awkwardness it didn't matter so much that she was alone, even if she was the only one of her friends without her partner there, even if it their son's birthday and she'd been planning it a month and worked her ass off and spent a small fortune to make it happen.

She'd had a couple of glasses of wine and was deeply absorbed in teacher gossip when everyone fell silent. She looked up from where she had been fussing with Carl on her lap to see Rick and Shane stood in the doorway to the garden, looking haggard. There was something brown staining their uniform shirts and as she stood up she realised it was blood.

"Oh my God!" she gasped, getting up and carrying Carl on her hip over to him. "Are you okay?"

"Erm," Rick nodded, exhaustedly, "Yeah, it's not ours. We're fine."

He stared at everyone in the garden and gave them a little wave, but was immediately distracted by Carl who shouted out, "Dada!" and reached for him.

"Hey buddy," Rick said and took him out of Lori's arms, leaning in and planting a kiss on her cheek as he did. He arranged the small boy so he was out of the way of the bloodstains but Lori noticed that despite the obvious scrubbing he'd attempted, there was still some of it beneath his nails and streaking the back of his arm. "I'll wash up in a minute, I just need…" he trailed off as he realised he had a small audience.

Lori smiled as him, she knew what he needed, and now that he was back she wasn't upset about him being late at all, just relieved that he had made it home safe. "Go on," she gave him a kiss back. "Take you're time."

Rick smiled and went back into the house, clutching Carl to his chest and playing with his chubby little hand. "So what have you been up to while I've been away buddy? I missed you so much."

It left Shane looking awkward in the doorway, "Well, I should get going, I just wanted to apologise for not being here, but I really need a shower and…"

"You must be starving, and we have so much food. Have a shower here, you can borrow something of Rick's if you need it," she offered.

He looked like he was about to decline but then that grin shone through the weariness, "Well darlin' I am starving," he agreed.

Shane came down freshly washed and barefoot and she grabbed him a beer and a plate full of food. He tucked into it gratefully as though he hadn't eaten in a week but within five minutes the empty plate was on the grass by his feet and he had fallen asleep still clutching his bottle of beer to his chest.

She realised after a while though that Rick still hadn't come down so she excused herself to go find him. His boots had been kicked off in the hall and his overnight bag dumped beside them. After all the effort she had put in to make the house immaculate, it was infinitely better to have evidence of his clutter around. She went upstairs expecting to find him in their bedroom or in Carl's room but he clearly hadn't made it that far. Back downstairs and she poked her head into the living room. Rick was sprawled on the couch, long leg hanging off it at an uncomfortable angle, the other slung over the arm, as he snored softly and clutched Carl tightly to his chest like he had when he had just been born. Carl, who had been restless almost constantly for the last few days was fast asleep too, a tiny had fisted into Rick's filthy shirt.

It looked like she wouldn't get her husband at the barbecue after all, or even the child whose party it was. She couldn't even count on Shane to be the life and soul of the party that he usually was. Finally though, it didn't upset to her. Having all her boys back under one roof was the only thing that mattered to her after all. She went back to her friends, a deep sense of pride warming through her, and the sense that no matter what was happening in the world, as long as they were together, they would be fine.

Chapter Text

Chapter 8

When Daryl awoke it was to bright sunlight filtering through a large clean window, a steady and irritating beeping sound and an ache throughout his entire body. His throat was dry and scratchy like he'd swallowed sandpaper and his eyes burned with the bright light. As his eyes adjusted to his surroundings, he realised he was propped up in a hospital bed, clean sheets, fluffed pillows and all. He needed to piss something awful and then realised in a panic that his body was going ahead and doing it without his say so! He was mortified to think he was about to piss this nice clean bed, threw the sheet back to reveal that he was only dressed in a backless hospital gown and then was horrified again when he saw the thin plastic tube snaking out from underneath it. Someone had touched his junk while he was asleep, what else had they done to him? Still, the realisation that he didn't need to move to relieve himself was some small consolation. He pulled the sheet back up over himself hurriedly but then peered under the gown to inspect himself. His shoulder and the side of his chest were covered in bandages, a further tube was protruding from between his ribs and he had an IV in at the elbow attached to three different bags of fluid.

He'd expected a ward, not that he'd really expected to wake up at all. The local medical centre only had wards, at least as far as he remembered, two rooms of eight, a men's one and a women's. When he'd broken his arm they hadn't had a children's ward so he'd had to stay in with the men until he got his surgery in the morning. He shuddered at the memory, most of them had been old, and in his young mind he had been certain they were all there because they were dying. They musta taken him all the way down to Atlanta for him to get his own room, and one with a window too. He couldn't see much out of it, nothing but sky, but that was okay. It was nice. Better than looking out over the parking lot like the ward had when he was a kid, better than the lumpy bed with the unwashed sheets that was awaiting him at home. He was about to be bored as all hell, he was sure, but until then he'd appreciate small mercies like this.

The novelty, it turned out, only lasted as long as the morphine did. He drifted back to sleep again and woke up in agony, each breath felt like he had shards of glass in his lungs, the rise and fall of his chest sparked pain with every minute movement. Something was not right, he hadn't felt like that before. In a panic he called out hoping someone would hear him. "Nurse! Nurse!"

His voice was rough and unused but someone heard him anyway. A young African-American nurse entered a room and gave him a big smile. "It's good to see you awake Mr Dixon."

"Somethin's wrong," he said. "Hurt's so much."

She nodded and patted his arm. He was in so much pain he was too disoriented to flinch. "Here," she said, picking up a little button on a line and placing it in his bandaged hand. "This controls the morphine, if you need it just click this here You can't overdose so click away." She gave it a couple of clicks for him and after a few seconds he could start to feel the pain subside slightly. "And this one," she found him a big button with a little outline of a nurse in an old-fashioned apron and cap on it. "You need anything you can call us on that." She hung it over the bed railing and he realised that it had been there all along. He nodded, cheeks glowing hot with embarrassment, not only was he a pussy, he was an idiot too!

The nurse, whose name badge read Irma, seemed to sense what he was thinking, because she gave him another one of those smiles. "It's okay, a lot of people are out of it when they first wake up, and you've been through a hell of a week." She offered him a cup and he drank greedily, only now realising how thirsty he was.

"A week?" he muttered.

"Mm hm, you were brought in on Saturday, it's Thursday now."

"Shit!" he cursed and then remembered he was in polite company, "'m sorry."

"You're lucky to be here Mr Dixon. Your fractured ribs punctured a lung. If those officers hadn't given you CPR you might've drowned in your own blood. Surgeons have repaired your lung and your ribs and replaced the damage to your scapula…"

"Scap-u-what?"

"Your shoulder blade. The bullet shattered it so they've had to replace it. I'm sure they'll tell you all about it when they do their rounds tomorrow."

"Replace it? I don' remember havin' a spare."

She laughed, but he didn't find it very amusing. "They've made you one, out of titanium. There's more than a few pins in your ribs too, holding you all together while you heal. They'll probably come out eventually, but you won't get through an airport scanner without beeping again."

Daryl frowned, he wasn't sure what that meant, but he didn't think airport anythings were something he would ever have to be concerned about.

"Fuck, so I'm like the Terminator?"

She laughed again, it took him a moment to realise she wasn't mocking him but genuinely found him funny, "You're getting that way, yes."

"Huh," Daryl snorted, "you know I cain't pay fer any a this, right?"

She nodded, and then she reached over to pick up a newspaper that was laying on the chair by the window.

Daryl stared at is as she opened it up and deposited it in his lap. The front page had a large picture of the girl he'd been looking for, wide-eyed and grinning, whole life ahead of her. Beside her though was a photo of him. It was his driving licence, prob'ly the only photo that'd ever been taken of him in his life. In it he looked young and angry, the way he'd always been when it was taken, hell, the way he still was most a the time. 'Local Hero Tracks Child Killer,' it read.

'When Jameston native Daryl Dixon heard about the tragic events last Friday night, he knew he had to help…' Well that were far from right, he grunted.

"It's a work a fiction," he said, wishing it weren't.

The nurse gave him that smile again, like she believed every word that was written, and then she tapped the side bar in the corner. 'The family of Ciara Just and The Atlanta Sun are spearheading a campaign to thank Mr Dixon for his selfless act by funding his medical bills for injuries sustained in the course of apprehending her murderer. If you would like to donate, please call…"

"Serious?" he said, looking up at her, looking for signs this was all some elaborate joke.

"Fiction or not, this is happening," she assured.

Daryl chewed at his thumbnail to hide his lip when it started to quiver. His eyes prickled and he cursed himself for bein' so pathetic. Some fucking hero you are! a voice said in his head and it sounded like Merle.

"Hey, has my brother been here?" he asked, getting his emotions under control.

The face the nurse pulled, he knew he had. "He was here on the Sunday, for a while. He made an impression, but he's not been back since."

"I'm sorry," he found himself apologisin', "I know he's an asshole."

"We don't pick our family," she said. "I'll call him now, let him know you're awake."

"Thank you," he said, and offered a weak attempt at a smile back.
*

The hospital had rung the number Merle had given but the line was still disconnected. Daryl had given them Bill's number at the bar and he'd promised to pass the message on and he was fairly sure he would have, but after a few days he stopped asking if Merle had called.

Daryl spent almost a week drifting in and out of sleep, completely alone. After a day or two a few books appeared on his bedside, left over by previous patients and delivered by well-meaning nurses. He started a Stephen King novel but was too tired and medicated to be able to concentrate. The staff were friendly enough but their visits brief. Randy, one of the nurses on the night shift had found out he liked bikes and spent an hour chatting with him about them, but Daryl felt like it was more out of pity than genuine interest and though he tried hard not to, he was fairly sure he came off as resentful and surly. What made matters worse, was that he was desperate to get out of there, he hated the lack of independence and only being able to view the outdoors from his window made him feel all caged in, but at the same time, the doctors and nurses, some of them at least, seemed to genuinely care about him. He wasn't sure how to feel about that.

And then one day Irma was back and changing the dressings on his chest when they were interrupted by a familiar bellowing in the corridor. "Hey, where's my little brother? Darlena, which one of these rooms you in? Darlena!"

They could hear the Head Nurse Petra outside, "Sir, if you don't quieten down, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. You can't be disturbing the other patients."

"Where's my brother?" Merle never had learned to moderate his voice.

"Merle, I'm in here." Daryl called, before his brother caused a further scene. "I'm sorry," he muttered to Irma.

The door to his room swung open and Merle staggered through. He stopped and stared at him and Irma for a moment before letting the door swing shut behind him and he dropped himself into a chair by the bed. Daryl could smell the cheap bourbon coming off him in waves.

Irma gave Merle a disapproving look and then finished taping the dressing down. Daryl pulled the sheets around himself as soon as she was done. "I'm going to leave you boys to it, but if you need anything just buzz." She placed the call buzzer beside his bed. He hadn't used it after the first day with the pain relief, determined to shuffle to the bathroom by himself and not cause a bother, there was only one reason she thought he'd need it now.

He just nodded in response, them both knowing full well he wouldn't use it.

Daryl waited for the door to close behind her before he spoke. "Nice of you to come visit. You'd better be feedin' Hunter okay."

"Fucking look at you," Merle said, ignoring Daryl's bitter sarcasm. If Daryl hadn't known any better, he would have said his brother looked guilty.

"I hope you didn't drive here like that," he responded.

"Nah, got here this morning. Been Downtown a little while."

"Why?"

He just shrugged at that.

"Well you rolled in here eventually, I guess I should be grateful you found the time." Daryl could've kicked himself, he'd meant to keep the peace but he was rapidly losing patience. Why'd he have to turn up drunk and embarrass him like that?

"I'm here ain't I? Baby brother, they said they'd done a number of you but shiiiiit."

"Shattered shoulder blade, five broken ribs, punctured lung and a cracked eye socket. Nice friends you have these days."

"Look brother, I didn't know he would do that to you! I barely knew the guy."

"No, you thought you'd just bring over a trigger-happy child molester and have a cook-out."

"If I'd a known he'd hurt little kids I wouldn't'a."

"You didn't think it strange that man like that were happy to sit on our piece a shit couch in front'a our piece a shit house. Where'd you meet them anyway?"

"I owe someone a favour. They had my back in prison and when I got out I told them I'd pay 'em back. It was gonna pay too. These friends a his wanted to meet me, make sure I was a good fit…"

"So it was some sort a interview? You auditioning ta be a muscle fer the Klan or summat? Fucking hell Merle, you shoulda stayed in prison!" Daryl turned away to face the window so Merle couldn't see how angry he was.

He expected Merle to get angry, slam his chair and storm out but he didn't. Instead he just sat there, slumped in the chair. Daryl could see his reflection in the window, he'd never seen him look so lost. It was hard to remember him being anything but angry or obnoxious.

"So when can we bust you outta here?" Merle asked when the silence had gone on for so long it had become uncomfortable.

"Dunno, soon I guess. Took the chest drain out this mornin'. They ain't gonna wanna be keeping me here any longer than they have'ta. It ain't like I'm claimin' it on some fancy insurance."

"Yeah, I read about that, my brother the hometown hero. You know you should make them pay out for emotional distress or some shit too."

Daryl turned then to glare at him.

"A'ight princess. I was only joking."

"Yeah well it ain't funny."

Merle nodded, like he was going to agree with him, but then a smirk came over him, "Mmm, saw that mama's picture in the paper. Wonder if she'd be interested in showin' her appreciation in another way? I did kinda help you find that girl's killer myself."

"Get the fuck outta here!" Daryl snapped.

"A'ight," he held his hands up in mock surrender, "I'd'a thought you'd be all for me tryin' ta broaden my horizons, especially as you seem all pally with The Help out here."

"She ain't The Help! She's doin' a goddamn important job, which is more than can be said fer either a us."

Despite all the nastiness already said, somehow that was the trigger, "A'ight, no need to get your panties in a bunch jus' 'cause I interrupted yer sponge-bath. Drove all the way t' Atlanta t' come an' see ya, ya ungrateful bitch, but I know when I'm not wanted. Don't expect me t' do it again!" Now he slammed his chair as he stood up, slammed the door on his way out of it, snarled at a nurse who got in his way as he marched down the corridor.

Daryl huffed and looked up at the ceiling, after a moment he saw Irma stick her head back round the door, "Everything okay?"

"Motherfucker had better be feeding my goddamn cat!"
*

Thankfully Merle's anger often blew over like a bad storm and so when Daryl was released from hospital two days later, not only did he pick up the phone, proving he had paid both the electric and the phone bill, he drove Daryl's rusty truck all the way back down to Atlanta to pick him up. They sat in silence most of the way back, with Daryl resting his sore and still swollen head against the window, his arm wrapped tightly in a sling against his healing ribs.

He drifted in and out of sleep a little, although the truck rattled too much for him to get truly comfortable and Merle's terrible attempts to sing along to Metallica were not conducive to rest.

They pulled up to the house and Daryl noted that the couch had been moved up to the porch and the yard had been cleared of trash and glass. There was a new pane in the window too. But the front of the house was marred with black smudged graffiti, sprayed across the front door and the wall. There was a bucket of black water and a sponge by the door, Merle had made an attempt to get rid of it, but Daryl could still read the words, 'Snitchin N er Lover.' No prizes for guessing the word that Merle had scrubbed hardest at.

"I was tryin' t' get it off but then you called and I came t' get you," Merle said. "I might just paint over it, do the whole house, what d'ya think?"

"When did it happen?"

"Las' night. I woke up with it like this. I asked around but no one saw anythin'."

Daryl nodded, too weary and disappointed to speak. He trudged up the steps and entered the house. The rest of it was still a bit of a mess, but there were no dishes in the sink and there was food on the kitchen shelves. Hunter was waiting for him on the counter by the door and meowed at his arrival. "Hey girl," Daryl greeted, "Merle been lookin' after ya?"

She meowed again. She looked healthy enough, Daryl had to guess that was a yes.

"Thanks for this," he gestured lamely.

Merle shrugged, "I'll get it finished little brother, you just concentrate on healin' up. You wanna beer?" he asked, going to the fridge which was humming gently. The electric had been off so long that Daryl had almost forgotten it did that.

"Nah, I'll jus' gonna go t' bed. The drive home fuckin' hurt."

"Yeah okay," Merle seemed disappointed. "Oh, before I forget, a letter came for you yesterday, it's on the counter unless that mean little cat of yours has moved it."

Daryl found the letter, it was thick with lots of sheets of paper, the name and address was handwritten in slightly skewed capitals. He waved it in thanks and headed to bed. Hunter meowed at him, upset because he hadn't waited for her to hop onto his shoulder. "Sorry girl, you're gonna have to walk for a few weeks."

His room had been cleaned and the sheets were fresh, the bed made with army precision. There was a dark stain on the floor where his blood had worked its way into the cracks in the wood, but it was easily ignorable unless you were looking for it. He stripped off his sneakers and his jeans and crawled into bed. The slats were broken and gave under his back but he didn't care, it was good to be home. A minute later Hunter entered the room and hopped up to join him, snuggling into his neck on his good side, careful to avoid the bandages and sling.

He opened the envelope and read the top page, written in the same bold hand. 'Hey Daryl,' it started off, 'We hope you're recovering okay. It was a brave thing you did, going after that guy, and we appreciate the help. I have no idea if we would have caught him without you. Hope you don't think of this as prying, but Shane an I didn't notice a computer at your house and felt you should see this. It's the website they used to collect the donations and well, you'll see… Good luck with everything, and thanks again, Rick and Shane.'

Daryl looked through the rest of the sheets, they were print out of the website, the goal number was at the top of the first one and it was staggering. It was more money than he'd be able to make in a lifetime, and yet it was over half-achieved. He couldn't believe that people would actually want to spend their money to help him. The rest of the sheets were full of names of people who'd donated and the comments they'd left. Shane and Rick were at the top but they'd a brief message, 'Good luck in your recovery, and thank you' and had hidden their donation amount, but there were others from people he'd never met, 'Thank you for your selfless act, Brenda and Bob Higgens,' with a total beside, fifty dollars. 'Hoping you make a full recovery, Philippa,' a hundred dollars. "I'm sorry it's not much, but every little helps. Thank you for doing right by that little girl, and may God bless you, Carol and Sophia,' twenty dollars.

Daryl put the papers down, it was too much. He didn't deserve it, he hadn't been there in time to save her and nothing he could do would bring her back. He threw the papers aside, unable to read any more. It had to just be some big joke, there was no way strangers were giving him money, just because of a stupid newspaper article where they used an awful photo of him that made him look about twelve. One day another letter would come and it would be even fatter than this one and it would detail just how much money he owed the hospital and he would have to spend the rest of his life working it off and still never get out of debt.

He closed his eyes and tried to rest, but he could feel the letter on the bed beside him and he found himself picking it back up again and flicking through and, good Lord some crazy lady had paid his entire ambulance fee!
*

He read the comments until the light from the window started to dim and he fell asleep. He awoke to the sound of crashing glass at the front of the house, his first thought was that Merle had gotten drunk again and smashed something, but when he padded into the living room, he saw flames licking at the porch beneath the newly fixed window.

"Shit! Merle! The house is on fire!"

Merle stumbled out of his room in just his boxers, his face contorted in sleepy confusion. "What the fuck!" he exclaimed as he woke up fully. "Shit, little brother, we have'ta go!"

"Hold on," Daryl ducked back into his room to look for Hunter. She wasn't on the bed, and come to think of it, she hadn't been snuggled in her usual spot when he'd woken up. He got down to his knees but she wasn't under the bed either.

"Daryl," Merle appeared in the doorway.

"I can't find Hunter."

"She's probably out already. Now come on!"

Daryl nodded, he was probably right. The old cat was no good at catching anything anymore, but she still liked to try and often slipped out of his bedroom window to prowl around in the dark. Ignoring the feeling of dread, he followed his brother out of the front door.

He froze when in his rush to escape he ran headlong into something dangling over the porch. His blood ran cold when he realised what it was. Hunter had been stung up by her neck, her little head held tightly in a noose that had been looped through one of the porch rafters so that she hung limply right in front of the door. And just in case there had been any doubt about who had done it, an arrow had been driven through her leg.

"Noo!" he yelled and grabbed her, lifting her up and releasing the pressure on her neck. She was still warm, it had only just happened, maybe he wasn't too late. "Merle! Get me a knife! I need to cut her down."

Merle appeared in the doorway behind him but he was hefting a bucket of water. He flung it at the roaring flames, they hissed as the cold water hit but it didn't seem to have much of an impact.

"Merle, a knife, now!"

"We need to put out the fire!" Merle protested. "The house is about to burn down!"

"Fuck the house, get me a knife!"

Merle dashed back inside, but this time when he returned with a full bucket, he had a kitchen knife too which he handed to Daryl. Daryl rested Hunter's little body over his shoulder and sawed through the rope. As soon as she was free, he sank to the top step and cradled her little body in his lap. Behind him Merle sloshed another bucket of water at the fire and cursed when it didn't go out. Daryl had no idea what to do, he tried rubbing her belly, forcing breaths into her little mouth but nothing worked. Her neck was rubbed raw by the rope and her head lolled at an awkward angle. He'd seen the same thing with rabbits caught in snares, the rope had snapped her neck. He buried his face in her soft fur and soaked it with silent tears.

Eventually, he no longer felt the intense heat burning at his back and then the step creaked and Merle sat down beside him. He was covered in soot, no doubt they both were, but Daryl didn't care. He wouldn't have cared if the whole house had gone up in smoke and taken him with it. He expected Merle to lay inta him, tell him what an idiot he was for just sitting there while the flames licked at his backside but he didn't. They sat in silence, too wrung out to talk, while smoke rose from the charred end of the porch.

"I told'ya," Merle said long after their asses had gone numb from the hardwood, "ain't no use in helpin' folk, there'll always be someone t' take more than you're prepared t' give."

Daryl swallowed thickly, the smoke in his battered lungs making him want to cough, "Doesn't matter now, I ain't got nothin' left."

"You got me, little brother," Merle patted him on the shoulder, "You'll always have me."

Chapter Text

Epilogue

When Rick met Merle again on that rooftop, he didn't recognise him at first. The man had aged a lot in ten years, some of that hard muscle he'd had had softened and spread, and in all truthfulness those first few days had been a blur of fear and bewilderment and barely holding it together. The others had mentioned Daryl on the ride back, and it had triggered something in his memory but then they'd got back to camp and he'd been reunited with Carl and Lori and Shane, and everything else was forgotten about until the younger Dixon had stalked back into camp all coiled muscles and simmering fury.

After that, things had become relentless, the hunt for Merle, the attack on the camp, the CDC and everything after. It felt like they were in a constant fight for their lives, and in those moments that they weren't, Daryl would stalk off alone and shut down any attempt at a conversation with a snarl. He'd known the man for a single, horrible day, yet Daryl seemed to have become harder than before, angrier. If he didn't want to talk about it, then that was down to him, and Rick was prepared to respect that, until another little girl went missing and the weight of what happened ten years ago could no longer be avoided.

Rick knocked on the bedroom door before he entered. Daryl was laid on his side with his back to the door, but twisted sharply to see who had disturbed him.

"Cain't people let a man sleep in peace around here?" he muttered and turned back to stare out the window. As he twisted, the sheet slipped off his shoulder, he pulled it tightly around him to cover himself back up, but it was too late, Rick had seen more than he'd meant to.

"I'm worried about you. We're all worried about you." He walked round to the far side of the room and sat in the chair there.

"Doubt that," Daryl scoffed. "Anyways it's that little girl you should be worried about."

"Yeah," Rick sighed. "I'm worried about her too."

"Funny way a showin' it."

"I am. It's just…" he looked for his word carefully, "it's not like before. I have to be responsible for the whole group, I have to protect the whole group, and…"

"And you think she's already gone," Daryl accused.

"I don't know if she's gone, but I know you nearly died today. And I know you, I know you'll put yourself in harms way again to look for her. I can't have that."

"Shut up man, you don't know shit about me," Daryl snarled. He was trying to look dangerous, and Rick had seen enough to know that he was, but with his head swathed in bandages and clutching the sheet around him he just looked small and vulnerable.

Rick thought about what he'd glimpsed before the sheet had been pulled up. There had been the faded bullet wound to his shoulder, and the long neat scar from his surgery, but there had been other's too, older but not so well healed. He wished it had come as a surprise, but it hadn't, because even if Rick hadn't known for sure, he had known.

"What happened after that day?"

"What do you mean?" he growled.

"Shane and I, we came by the house to check in on you but it was empty."

Daryl gave him a one-shouldered shrug, "Guess that guy's buddies weren't too happy at him being caught. Tried to burn the house down, strung up my cat, killed her." He spoke with a coldness which was the opposite of what Rick had come to know from him, like all the anger and upset had already been burned out of him, long ago. "We lived in the woods fer a bit, so's they couldn't find us. The debt company took the house fer ma hospital bills anyways. The donations helped but they weren't enough. So we prob'ly woulda ended up in the woods either way. I built a cabin once I's healed up enough, it weren't so bad. Merle hated it," he laughed bitterly. "He left eventually, would crawl right back when he broke up with a girl or couldn't find anywhere else to crash."

"I'm sorry," Rick said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I should never have put you in that position."

"Nah," Daryl said. "that ain't on you. I wanted to help. But shit, I need t' find Sophia, man. I jus' have'ta."

"Daryl, you know that…"

"She's alive goddamn it!" he barked. He sat up painfully, still holding the sheet tightly around him while he searched for his clothes. They weren't there, Carol had taken them to be washed. "I'm gonna find her. Where are my fucking clothes?"

"Daryl," Rick said in his most soothing voice, "Daryl, it's almost dark now, you need to rest or you'll be no good to anyone." He winced as he said it, the words stopping Daryl short. "Daryl, that's not what I meant."

"Nah, it's what you think. I can bring you a few squirrels but I know the limits of my usefulness. 'S alright." He climbed out of bed with a wince, dragging the sheet like a cape, and started routing through the dresser for clothes.

"Whoever told you that was talking bullshit," Rick said, angry at a man who he'd never met, at Merle too for reinforcing it. "Hell, you might be the most useful person left in this world. But if you think that's the only reason we keep you around, well that's bullshit too."

Daryl froze and looked at him, lip trembling. Rick watched as the emotions played over his face before settling on the only one he deemed acceptable, anger. "I ain't failing another little girl Rick."

"You didn't fail Ciara."

"I ain't havin' her mama go through that. She has to be out there, I found her doll, I know she is!"

He looked like a lost child himself, hair sticking up out of that bandage, clutching at the sheet like a security blanket. How could anyone hurt a child so badly, Rick would never understand, but he felt the need to repair the damage done. Rick felt a lump grow in his throat, he resisted the urge to hug the man, knowing he wouldn't accept it, so he gave the one thing he had been taught never to give, false hope. "I believe you Daryl. We'll find her. I promise we will."