Walking Dead 1. Chapter 1

_Part One_

AN: I've been working on this one all this week and as it is my first ever song fic, I am pretty excited. I'd planned to write it as a oneshot, but this is possibly barely half way with how it's going, and as I've just read a fic with a similar premise, I thought I should throw it out there so it doesn't look like I copied. The other fic is excellent and I greatly recommend it. It's called All I Want and is by Carol's Warrior Bitches.

Would love to hear what people think!

For the unedited version (lyrics included) please visit the Caryl Exclusive Fan Fiction Archive, Nine Lives: ninelives dot dark-solace dot org / viewstory dot php ? sid=216

Don't forget to take out the spaces…or if this doesn't work, Google Nine Lives A Caryl Fanfiction Archive and you will find my fic and many others for your enjoyment, and even McReedus fanfiction if that is your thing.

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Fuck it all to hell and back, Daryl thought as he pushed his way through a typical Georgia downpour, sky dark as pitch and nothing but instinct to guide his way along the road. He kept off the edge so his boots squelched in the mud but he at least knew he wouldn't immediately be road kill should a car come careening down the road in this downpour. It would take a miracle to see him. He shouldn't even be there. Fuckin' Merle and his batshit crazy ideas. Sending him out in this downpour to pick up booze and cigs while he buried himself balls deep between the diseased thighs of some crack head junkie. He still couldn't believe she'd sucked Merle's dick right in front of Daryl, just for a little chemical favour.

To be truthful, Daryl had been glad to get out. Seeing his brother's dick and smelling his jizz in the air hadn't done shit for his mood and, while he hated to admit it, the 'tag along while Merle got high' game was getting a little old. Especially when it came to life and death situations over fucking cartoons.

He dug his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and blinked as water ran into his eyes. He was drenched, cold to the bone, and his drawers were so filled with water he felt like his balls were taking a bath. He wasn't sure when the shivering started but by the time he caught on there were headlights cutting across the darkness, spotlighting every individual raindrop like they were diamonds toppling out of the sky, and he'd have cheerfully raped a polecat to get out of the rain.

He didn't take a second to think when the car slowed to a stop beside him, yanking the door open and diving in, only then hoping he didn't come up against some burly, barrel-chested lumberjack serial killer all bent out of shape about assholes walking the side of the road in the middle of the night smack bang centre of a rainstorm. Instead, when he brushed his lank hair off his face and blinked away some of the water, he was sure the car had slammed into him and sent him to the Promised Land instead of giving him a ride.

Her eyes were bright and warm, despite being the colour of the deepest pools he'd ever seen. They brought to mind lush holiday destinations, with the clearest waters in the world, oceans that should have been jewellery, the way they sparkled in the sun. Her lips were red and already he could tell they'd be soft, and as crude as the thought was, what he wouldn't do to see those lips wrapped around his dick, not sucking him in for crack, but swallowing him down because he was hard for her and she liked it. He _was_ hard for her, his dick rebelling against the frostbite settling around his sack, and she glanced at his crotch before turning away with a smile that would have scared him if he wasn't already grinning back.

He didn't know what they talked about after that, only that she dragged more shit out of him about his life than he'd spoken in the last twenty years—even stuff that Merle didn't know. She somehow worked him out of his usual shyness so that he was near vibrating with need after being near her just ten minutes. Her teases made him blush, and as the car pushed on through the downpour, he felt the rapid beat of his poor little heart push courage into him he'd never had and somehow slid closer to her in his seat. He noticed how her hands firmly gripped the wheel of the car, not tight like she was afraid, but just enough to keep the car on the road should it skid. She squirmed in the seat and eventually he noticed her skirt riding up, baring what he assumed was delicious milky thigh by the light of day, but right now it was the path to the honey between her legs, and he was a man thirsting for something sweet.

When his hand landed on her knee, they both jumped. Both questioning his bravery. As the miles racked up, their conversation took place in fits and starts. It stumbled to a stop each time his fingers courageously traced a short path along her inner thigh, an inch at a time. He'd move up a little, becoming addicted to the silky glide of skin under his rough fingertips, hear the hitch in her breath as she stopped talking, and then the little wiggle in her seat as she pressed on, asking him questions about himself, most he answered in distraction as he found the courage to move up another exquisite inch.

He felt her heat right before his fingers found her panty line, amazed at how simply she parted her legs a little further, drugged by the reality that he had his hand between a beautiful woman's legs and was about to dip his fingers into her syrup. He was single-minded now, answering her chatter with distracted grunts as he worked around the elastic, breathing heavily as he worked for his prize, not even noticing as the car swung under a lit arch announcing the name of some cheesy motel and she parked, pushing back against her seat as he finally made it through the barrier and found his fingers immersed in the wettest heat he'd ever encountered.

Her sobbing moan should have been a sharp reminder to act a better man, but as he delved further, pushing two fingers up inside her, he was too busy trying to deal with the torture of his clothes sticking to his body when he wanted nothing more than to rip them off and sink his cock into her so deep he'd hear that noise from low in her throat on repeat. He was desperate to suck her tits, wanted to bury his tongue in her pussy while he learned everything there was to know about her clit. He'd never _wanted _to please a woman like that before, but this one had saved him from the Georgia suck ass weather so he figured he owed her, and as he pulled his fingers out of her panties and up to his mouth, sucking off the flavour she'd coated them with so that it clung to his tongue, he knew he was going to love getting more than a taste. He wanted a mouthful of her. He wanted to know what she'd taste like coming in his mouth. He wanted to drown in her pussy until she came so often she passed out.

She dragged him out of the car, he so lust drunk he barely noticed anything around them. He had eyes only for her, the sweet peach of her ass as she led him to the door, the smooth line of her hand as she turned the key in the lock. She had wild curls that felt light as a cloud as he bundled them up so he could attack her throat with his lips, pushing his dick into the cleft of her ass and pressing her body against the door before she'd even got it open. He licked up the length of her throat, groaning as he nipped and sucked his way around to the flesh behind her eat, the curls tickling his nose. Somewhere in his head he was screaming at himself about what was happening, how'd he get so lucky to find her from out in the rain, how she could be letting him run his filthy redneck hands over her body as he waited impatiently for her to get them to a bed to take this to the inevitable conclusion? His dick didn't care if she didn't, and the way she pushed herself back on him, her palm flattened against his thigh, he knew she was as past giving a shit as he was, too lost in the power of their attraction to each other. In an unexpected twinge of awareness, he twisted the knob and they were in the room, the push of momentum turning her around in his arms so that he could finally taste her mouth.

She was all silky heat and seductive breaths as she returned as good as he gave. He'd never been kissed like this, like someone actually gave a shit about him, someone actually truly desired him, wanted him, _needed him_. He'd always fucked for the sake of it, because it was expected and because sometimes he got so damn horny it didn't matter who was around to take care of the itch, though he was a bit particular about how many holes might show up in their arms or how many scabs were on their faces. This girl was a stunner, a superstar of chicks, and he was reeling with how much she wanted him. Fuck, with how much he wanted _her. _So much he forgot the condoms that were always stashed in his wallet. The second her clothes came off and he laid eyes on her tits, he was gone, his synapses shutdown for the night as he gave in to the lure of her body.

There was no finesse as he dragged sopping wet leather and flannel from his body, clinging denim down his legs. His boots thudded against the door as he kicked them off, and he stood there, preening as she stared at the jut of his cock and licked her lips. Her fingers twitched and he smirked, taking a step forward, his cock pointing the way as it swelled and pulsed with every glance she took of it. He'd never really preened before, but she made him feel good about his size and when her fingers formed a ring that looked like a pretty generous estimation of his girth, his dick bobbed happily and he decided he might have something to be proud of after all.

He'd seen plenty of tits before—not as many were on display for his eyes only but Merle's sluts were pretty free with who got to watch when they were strung out and desperate for drugs. They might not be the cream of the crop but he'd seen plenty in mags, too. But this chick, hers were perky, creamy globes that made his mouth salivate and along with that, his dick weeped.

She stripped with as much skill as a seductress as he'd ever seen, his blood pressure getting more out of control with each new article of clothing she took off and draped over the lonely chair in the corner. She stood before him in nothing but her panties and he swore he'd never seen anything hotter in his life. He didn't know what to touch first, but those tits were calling to him and he obeyed their lure, fingering first the nubs before becoming mesmerised by the play of sensation over his palm as he rubbed them slowly back and forth. She whimpered, staring at him with shocked, crystal-bright eyes and he struck like a viperous snake, kissing her breathless while crushing her to him, loving the shape of her tits smashed against his chest and the feel of her silken thighs as she jumped and curled them around his hips. He bounced her a little, improving his grip, and he thanked fuck those panties were still between them or the show would be over before he'd got to do half of what he'd already played out in his head.

She made promises with her mouth that he was planning on making her stand by. Promises he wanted to return, and he did so by slowing down, lightening his touch, being gentle when he'd never given a shit about being like that. He pulled her panties from her body, delicate as fuck, let them drop to the floor instead of flinging them to dangle wherever they landed, all so he could prove to her he wasn't some animal she'd brought in out of the cold. Not some redneck asshole that didn't know how to show a woman she's worth something, and often worth more than he could ever hope to be. He made love to her, there on the bed, finding his passion in her pussy, letting his tongue smooth out and glide where it wanted, working her button with the tip of his tongue and then the flat, tasting, drinking her down, loving every second of her writhing desperation, smirking when she came apart against his face.

The first time his dick made contact, he was nearly screaming from sensory overload. He expected he'd blow it, be a two pump chump before he collapsed all sweaty on her and having to wait twenty minutes to be good to go again, but he shocked himself, craving the satin heat of her against his length, loving the slip of her juices against him as he slid inside, pumping back and forth in an exercise of will to hold on. He stared into her eyes, held himself above her and almost lost it every time her soft hands moulded across the bulging muscles in his biceps, across his straining abs, brushing against his lips, sweeping down his flanks and then hanging onto his ass. She tested his restraint to the extreme and he held on as long as he could, locating her soul as he peered deep into eyes he'd never forget as he pumped his seed deep into her womb. He cried out like it hurt, the pressure giving way in jerks and spurts until he was so exhausted he didn't think he could see straight. She curled him up against her and he got to cushion against her breasts, cherishing them with his tongue until he drifted off, and the last thought he had was that he was going to marry this girl, just as soon as he woke up and asked her her name. Except, when he did wake up, she was gone.

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He didn't recognise her. Carol didn't expect how much that would hurt until it hit her and she had to acknowledge that the single most amazing night of her life had been little more than a fling for him. She'd known she was being stupid the second she'd left the hotel in tears. There was no way she could stay, no way she could hope for more, no matter how much her heart or her body had craved it. Ed would be home that morning and there'd be hell to pay if she wasn't there. He'd almost caught her once before and she'd vowed it would never happen again, not wanting to explain the bruises to their friends—especially not when she'd deserved them.

All she'd wanted was a child. Her whole life she'd been working on becoming a mother, but after eight years of marriage to Ed it still hadn't happened. Desperation had taken her out one night to a bar when he'd left on one of his frequent business trips and after one too many drinks, a fellow patron she vaguely knew had looked a whole lot more inviting, especially when she pictured his blue-eyed son. They'd fucked in the back seat of his car, his body barely sober enough to carry through with the deed, and then ashamed but strangely hopeful, she'd made her way home and waited. It hadn't worked, that man she knew from around town was not about to be a father again, and she'd cried all day when Ed was at work. The next day, she'd actually worked out a plan that included more dark bars with men she knew were usually committed family men—less risk to her heart as well as her health—and a standing room key on the nights Ed was away on business.

There'd been three attempts by the time she'd met Daryl, spaced out with months of shame and guilt and then rebuilt with anticipation and hope. She knew his name now, could remember vividly his hands on her skin, trailing scorching fire everywhere he touched. Remembered his last words as he snuggled into her, kissing her to the last before he stole a chunk of her heart and fell asleep.

Thirteen years had changed her so she couldn't fault him on not recognising her. He'd grown more rugged and beautiful, though he had a chip on his shoulder so heavy his back was bowed. She hoped she hadn't caused it, hated the tears that sprung to the fore at that possibility. He avoided the children, but seemed especially averse to going anywhere near Sophia and it broke her heart some more to see it. See how shut down he was to his own daughter. She'd never have told him once, still thinking herself in love with her husband, but years of being beaten had killed anything she felt for Ed and being so close to Daryl made her crave that her daughter could have her real father. A man she was convinced would be there for her, despite it all.

Sighing, Carol watched as Daryl left the camp, leaving his brother hissing and swearing about who knew what just outside his tent. She adored watching him move, admiring the way his body switched and swung muscle and flesh around like he owned his own piece of the world, singing its praises to her so highly that the desire she had so rarely felt these days was whipped up into a frenzy, reminding her to the point of pain how tenderly he'd made love to her. He disappeared into the trees, probably for most of the day, and the place in her chest that had felt hollowed out for years started to ache. Her eyes stung as she watched for the very last sight of him, a ball of emotion she could never acknowledge almost choking her and then a peculiar stillness started to seep through her distraction and splinter her fog to sad little pieces.

Lori's eyes were shot wide open, her mouth parting to shout out a warning but she was too late, a punishing hand closing tight around her spindly bicep telling her all she needed to know. A silent language passed between the women, Carol imploring the brunette to care for her child, and before she could take in a calming breath, Ed had yanked her backwards, knocking her off her feet and almost dragging her away from the group and toward the abandoned lake.

His anger was palpable, and seemingly everyone in the whole camp felt it bristling in the air but were rendered immoveable by some force known only to them. Carol didn't even spare a thought to protection, trying desperately to regain her feet so she wasn't as busted up around her legs as she likely would be around her face.

"You think I don't know what the fuck you're doin', whore? You think I don't see them cow-eyes you're aimin' at that dirty redneck?" His rants were so familiar to her that she usually blocked out the words, but when she heard 'redneck' her blood went cold and she thought her heart might have stopped. He threw her to the ground once they made it to the bottom of the hill and before any kind of audience could make it he kicked her hard in the back.

He went to grab her hair, a furious shriek echoing around the rock walls of the quarry when he was reminded what she'd done to prevent that trick from working ever again, and he went for her neck instead. He flipped her over and punched her in the face, pain exploding across her cheek. His fist buried in her shirt, he yanked her back up and slapped her hard, his eyes narrowing as she lost her balance and fell back to the ground.

He pounced, grasping her neck with both hands, his thumbs caressing her throat like a lover while pure evil showed the home it had seized in his soul. "You think I never knew that little bitch weren't mine?"

Panic snapped through her like a whip and she struggled at last under his grip, shaking her head in denial while she tried to push herself up off the ground, digging useless grooves instead with her heels.

"Ed, no," she forced out though his was putting pressure into the grip now and the cutting off of air was even worse than how he had guessed the truth.

"Don't 'Ed, no,' me, whore. I knew right from the start. Told you I never wanted kids. Got myself fixed up good before I ever put that bit of tin on your finger. You done dug your own grave by offering that snatch out to whoever would fuck it. I put up with it, knew you'd screw up sooner or later." His hands grew tighter, grinding into her larynx and Carol gasped repeatedly, desperate to suck in the smallest mouthful of air to keep herself alive, to keep a buffer between Sophia and the man she'd known as her father. "Thought you knew better than to let some filthy redneck put his cock into you. Coulda given me fuckin' diseases, you stupid bitch."

Bright lights were sparking misfired fireworks in a rapidly encroaching darkness as Carol's struggles became less frantic and more like unco-ordinated spasms before she blacked out completely. His spittle as it sprayed from his mouth, his face swollen and purple in rage, a booming noise in the background, snippets of scenes as life struggled to maintain a spark inside her were all that was left and she was ready to let the struggle end, had forgotten her daughter and Daryl, and the walkers as unconsciousness dwelled closer and closer and then the pressure was gone, her body arching violently, compulsively off the ground to suck in gulps of air that didn't seem big enough, or fast enough. Arms held her and as the world started to become clearer, sounds sharper, she could hear the unmistakable crunch of fists on bone, the grunts of pain she was so familiar with, only this time they didn't come from her.

Her vision was blurred, but as the wet gurgling sound of someone trying to breath with a throat full of blood was blocked out with a great splash of a body hitting the water, Carol's mind tried to catch up. Someone was sobbing—they sounded raw and wounded like a cornered animal, and someone was screaming, shouting and the pounding of feet as apparently the whole camp descended on the scene.

"Is she all right?" Lori's voice broke through the awful crying and as another hand settled comfortingly on her shoulders, Carol jumped, her head clearing so suddenly that everything stood out in hellish clarity. It was her making that horrific noise, the damage to her throat altering her voice so she didn't even recognise herself. The men converged onto a struggle in the lake—her eyes drawn to it with barely any passion at all—a powerfully furious Merle dragged one way by Shane and T-Dog while Morales and Glenn fished an unresponsive, dead weight from the water, dragging him with great effort up to the bank and dropping him practically on his face. About the time his body gave an involuntary wriggle in the sand she realised her own face was covered in blood and that her ribs felt like they were on fire.

"I don't know," Andrea said from right beside her, and Carol looked at her and wondered what on earth she was doing there. What any of them were doing there. "How can anyone be all right after something like that?"

"Shane better toss his ass out of camp, that's all I can say," Lori stated clearly and not without a whole bunch of determination.

"What the hell set him off, anyway?" Andrea was helping her to her feet, a woman on either side of her and Carol just shut them out, finding every step kicking off a spectacular symphony of agony and pain not so unlike most of her other experiences of violence with Ed.

"He had a vasectomy before he married me," Carol wheezed out, her throat raw but the pain in her heart more overwhelming. "He knew…all this time…he knew she wasn't his. Oh my God." She was a mess of emotional culpability, confused and half-convinced she'd deserved the abuse all these years if he'd known she cheated on him for a baby.

Back in camp, Lori led the way to her tent, a shaking Carol barely able to stay on her feet. They made it inside and Shane appeared, shaking his head as he looked in, concern for Carol softening his expression somewhat. "How you doing, Carol?"

She sniffled, her throat full of fire and tears as she croaked out her standard, "I'm fine," though anyone around them could see she obviously wasn't.

"Well, maybe it'll help to know Ed's damn near dead. Merle Dixon sure gave him a whoopin'."

"Asshole deserved it," Andrea added her scathing assessment, rubbing gentle circles on Carol's back as the two women tried to place her comfortably on Lori's bedding.

"Anyway," Shane continued. "He won't be no trouble for a good long while."

"You ain't kickin' him out of here?" Lori asked, incredulous as she stood up, hands on her hips and staring Shane down as she shone an obvious light of disapproval on his decision.

"Man can't hardly breathe, let alone walk, Lori. Besides, might be better to keep an eye on him while he's under our noses than out there where we can't even see him. Say he hides and ambushes Carol somewhere?"

Lori backed down, conceded his point, and he ducked out of the tent.

The three of them sat quietly together, the only sounds coming from outside in the camp and the raspy rattle of Carol's breathing. Andrea had wiped away the blood and they were resting a cold, wet cloth against the bruising of her face, Carol flinching away with tears in her eyes.

"Is Sophia—"

"She's fine," Lori told her, brushing a soft hand over Carol's and offering up a reassuring smile. Jacqui and Amy are keepin' an eye on the kids for us."

Carol shifted uncomfortably, pain shooting through her body and an involuntary gasp indicating to everyone that she wasn't in good shape either. Andrea and Lori shared a glance filled with worry, but before Carol could tell them to stop, explain that she'd been here too many times before to hardly even care, the imposing force of Merle Dixon thrust his way into the tent and made all three of them jump.

"If you don't mind, ladies, got me somethin' I want to talk to the mouse about." He wasn't asking and they knew it, and after his brutish display earlier they were torn leaving Carol in his clutches and fearful of not doing what he said. They left in an orderly fashion, making the decision that he'd saved Carol's life and was hardly planning to kill her, but they shot warning looks at him that he shrugged off with an unsettling laugh.

Merle crouched down and stared at her and Carol wasn't too proud to admit that despite her discomfort, she was ashamed.

"My brother an' me, we ain't neither of us ever been married," he began and Carol was instantly swept away by the gentle authority in his voice, so unexpected for a man like him—a man that Daryl had told her about so long ago on a stormy night. "Now, me? That was good plannin'. Never seen nothin' good come outta playin' house, an' I know I ain't got it in me to do right by anyone but Daryl. But that boy? He never took the plunge 'cause of one night. One miserable fuckin' night that boy done gone and lost his heart to some bitch that snuck away in the night. Musta been one helluva screw 'cause it turned him off pussy for a good long while. After her—and the dumbass didn't even think to get her name before he stuck his dick in her—he never looked at a girl with forever in his eyes. Reckon that was a good thing—kept his ass outta trouble."

His voice played over all her insecurities, poked at the guilt that festered in her heart. She knew now, knew that what she'd done had hurt Daryl so badly he'd never been able to see past it.

"That little girl o'yours…Sophia? She reminds me a lot of my baby brother. Skittish and afraid, all quiet-like. Those eyes are haunted, seen more than they shoulda for one so young." He stopped and his confident gaze drilled into her with an intensity that caused nausea to swell in her gut. "Is that kid his?"

She froze, her stomach churning and he must have seen her face drain of colour because when she jerked up he had a container there to catch her sick, his hand resting gently against her back as she heaved with all the violence her nerves and shame gave her. All the fear for her daughter, and the lives that were falling apart—not because of walkers but because she'd been so desperate for a child and never knew her selfish, lying bastard of a husband had made her dreams impossible even before he'd placed that ring on her finger. Ed was selfish? God, _she'd _been more selfish than anyone—bringing a child into the life she had as Ed's punching bag whenever he'd needed to feel big and powerful, using oblivious men to get Sophia, no matter what. Using Daryl and breaking her own heart while she was at it, and maybe…maybe she'd broken his, too. The cost of her lies was piling up but she had nothing left in her to give, to pay.

"I'm sorry." She didn't know if she was apologising for being so weak he'd had to stay and hold her face out of her own vomit, or if she was trying to make up for thirteen years of lies and hurt.

He grunted his lack of concern about it and she felt her head spin, desperate to change the trajectory of this runaway train.

"I don't know what you mean…about Sophia."

"I heard your dipshit husband sayin' he got fixed. Kid ain't his. I seen how you been eyein' my brother ever since we got to camp. An' I know the woman he got so cut up about had eyes so blue they reminded him of some romantic ocean shit he weren't never gonna see anywhere else but on her."

She cocked a brow at that description, wondering how much alcohol Daryl must have been drinking to say something as dreamy as that.

"Told you, boy had it bad," he said, amusement evident at her scepticism. "Damn near made me puke."

Her lips twitched in a half-hearted, sad smile. "Doesn't matter. I'm not her." She was never going to be that woman again, the one that Daryl had brought to life. She'd left that woman in the hotel room, sleeping alongside him. She'd walked out with his seed in her womb, wiggling its way into creating a life.

"You keep that girl away from that asshole." His eyes shone with something she couldn't explain, something that suspicion of new family somehow altered in him, and she nodded in deference to it. "You better work out how you're gonna tell Daryl. Boy needs to know he's a daddy."

"He's not—"

"Now, now, wildcat. No bullshiting a bullshitter. Tell 'im or I will."

He left after contemplating her one last time with a hard, determined expression and she slumped in weariness, defeated. Caught. Carol collapsed against the pillow and wept.

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Camp was quiet when he got back. Daryl dumped his catch for the women to deal with in what was loosely considered the kitchen area and went to find his brother. You never had to go far to find anyone in camp and living up other people's asses was beginning to grate on his nerves. Merle was sitting outside their tent, sharpening a stolen knife on a stolen whetstone. Pretty much every damn thing they owned had been taken from somebody else, and sometimes that bothered Daryl. He figured now wasn't one of those times, though, not when pretty much everything was up for grabs with at least half the general population as good as dead and leaving their worldly possessions free for whoever came across it first.

Merle was glaring across the camp at the Peletier tent. Wasn't the first time Daryl had caught his brother checking out the state of affairs across the way, and he could sort of understand it, if it weren't for the fact that the woman was married and had a kid. Merle didn't get mixed up with no women with husbands, especially no woman with a kid tagging alongside, but for some reason that particular woman had captured Merle's interest like God's own forbidden fruit and he was dumbass enough to try and take a taste. Daryl just hoped that when he made his move it didn't get his ass thrown out of their little Garden of Eden. As annoying as their multitude of new neighbours were, he wasn't quite ready to take his chances out there on his own—at least, not before he had to. They had a plan, and Merle wasn't the type to leave off on a plan just for a bit of pussy, even one as challenging and stuffy as that one.

Daryl threw another look over at the tent, wondering what was so damn interesting about a spot where you couldn't even see nobody, so important that you ignored the appearance of your own brother and the dinner he brought with him. He was just about to call Merle on it when the cop in charge of the place dropped to a crouch in front of a seemingly non-responsive Merle. He tipped his head at Daryl, including him in the conversation that was about to be pretty one-sided if Merle didn't drag his head out of his own ass soon.

"A group is heading into the city in the mornin' with Glenn, see if we can't start haulin' in some supplies. Need to stock up in case we ever have to move on in a hurry. Can we count on you to go?" Shane glanced between the two brothers but Daryl thought he was mostly talking to Merle, and he figured Merle would jump at the chance to get out of there for a day, checking things out so he could flesh out his plan better. It was something Merle did, take off, leaving Daryl behind to either wait for him to show up again like a bad penny or disappear completely, forcing Daryl to up digs and go look for him.

"Nope. Think it best if I stay my ass right here in camp," Merle drawled, still staring across the way at that damn tent and Daryl was starting to get pissed about it.

"The hell? You been bustin' your gums about gettin' outta here all week." The accusation was deadly precise yet Merle silenced him with a look, promising retribution if Daryl didn't get a grip and stop broadcasting their plans to the local law enforcment.

"Nah, I get it. You wanna keep an eye on Ed. I'm gonna be here, though. We only got T-Dog an' Morales goin' with Glenn at this point, and a couple of the women. Might be good for one more?" Shane stopped as soon as Merle shook his head, his mouth a hard line of annoyance as he dropped the whetstone and inspected the job he'd done on his knife by testing the blade against his finger. He didn't break skin and frowned.

"You got the rest of camp to keep an eye on," Merle said, using his knife to do a sweeping arc over the entire camp, indicating at least fifty displaced people wandering around, trying to eke out an existence someplace without established community or safety, though Shane was doing the best that he could. "I'm gonna keep an eye on that prick an' make sure he ain't fixin' to do somethin' else stupid. Someone's gotta look out for that kid and her momma's in no state to do it."

Daryl felt the bulge of his eyeballs at that, finally working out that something big must have gone down while he was off hunting down their dinner and that Merle, predictably, had been part of it.

"The hell ya'll yammerin' about? What's goin' on?" He stood there fully expecting to get the abbreviated version from his brother, but Merle was being surprisingly tight-lipped, and it was a hell of a time to start that kind of bullshit.

"Ed Peletier attacked his wife this mornin'," Shane told him, switching his gaze back and forth between the camp, Dale's RV and then back to Merle, frowning over the whole thing like domestic violence was beyond his comprehension. "Tried to choke her to death down near the water. Your brother taught him a few basic rules on respectin' our women." He eyed Merle's knife as Merle set back into a rhythm of sharpening it up some more, flinching with a new concern. "Now you ain't plannin' on usin' that knife on Ed, are you, Merle?"

"Only if he shows his ass where he shouldn't," Merle growled under his breath but loud enough for the two of them to hear if they took it to mind to strain a little closer.

"We can't go around lookin' for civilian justice. This set up is hard enough to keep control of as it is. If people are gonna start lookin' for their own vengeance, shit's gonna get real, real fast. Can I count on you?"

The sly, calculating Merle that Daryl had known his whole life was the one that replied to Shane, his smile all fake-sincerity but Daryl didn't think Shane would mind so much at all if Merle walked across camp in broad daylight and slit that asshole's throat, despite all his words about keeping the peace.

"Of course you can."

And that's when Daryl knew without a doubt that something was up. Merle never acted complacent with anyone, especially some cop trying to be leader in a crisis. Merle had more ego than any other sonovabitch he'd ever met. He sure as hell wasn't gonna to sit back, sharpen his knives and play lip service to no cop, even if he was being dishonest about it. His brother was a straight-shooter, and had no fear about landing himself in the shit. Hell, Merle liked a good tussle better than anyone, liked to see who could trump the other and come out the bigger asshole. Merle never lost, at least, not anytime Daryl had been there to see. This new switch in behaviour put him on high alert and made his nerves itch.

Shane left them alone and Daryl threw his catch at Merle's feet. Merle's expression was surly when he side-eyed Daryl, picking up the squirrel and started to use his razor sharp knife to prepare the thing for cooking.

"What's got into you?" He sat his ass down and risked a look at his brother, not liking the hard line of his mouth.

"Nothin'." Short. Sharp. Now he knew something was up, something big.

"You got eyes for that woman?" He wasn't sure why asking outright made him feel weird, why he wanted the answer to be no. Maybe he just wanted to avoid the fight that would be inevitable with trying to fuck another man's wife when he was only a few tents away. There was something about her, though, that set his nerves on edge and he acknowledged to himself that he didn't want Merle anywhere near her. Didn't want one filthy finger resting on her pale skin.

Merle threw him a sharp look, snorting and looking lively for the first time since Daryl had found him with the knife. "Fuck no, little brother. That one's taken, or as good as. Don't want me no kid flippin' around my ankles, neither." A smarmy, know-it-all grin shaped his lips, tongue clamped between his teeth as Merle cut the squirrel up, looking over at Daryl sitting there, one knee bent and his forearm resting on it. "Think she's more your kinda pussy, Daryl. That one's a hot little wildcat, you mark my words."

Daryl cringed, checking quickly to make sure no one heard his brother's crass words. Not that he gave two shits what these assholes thought of them, but they were stuck there for the moment and the last thing he felt like putting up with were expressions aimed at them that were more disgusted than they already were.

"Shut the fuck up, Merle. She ain't my type. 'Sides, she got a husband and a kid."

Merle nodded thoughtfully, finishing up his carving job and flipping the meat into the pan they planned to cook it in. "Maybe, little brother, but after this mornin' that little lady might be gettin' herself a de-vorce. We don't know how many women are left out there now, Darylina. Beggars cain't be choosers."

Daryl rolled his eyes and sat back, watching Merle get their fire going. He contemplated fighting back, pushing Merle to admit whatever fascination he held for that woman was more than just concern about her husband, but he just didn't feel like taking on the verbal games his brother would feel it necessary to instigate. He was tired. He'd been out all day tracking a deer, but for some reason he'd never come close to finding it. There was too much noise in the woods, too many animals afraid of the strange things wandering about, looking to kill them if they made so much as a squeak. It didn't sit right with him, though, that the woman had almost died. That her piece of shit husband thought it was fine to lay his hands on her, and with the whole group within hearing distance, too. He could never work out what the fuck was wrong with some people, but men who hit on their women were a special brand of prick that he wouldn't mind flexing his fists on. Shane didn't let on how bad Ed ended up, but knowing Merle, that fucker hadn't come out of it walking. And the wife…his stomach hurt thinking about that woman covered in bruises, with her eye all blacked up, lips split, an uncomfortable looking limp to go along with a hesitant hand bracing against pained ribs. Just thinking about it made his blood boil and he wanted to go kick Ed Peletier in the balls. He'd not looked too close at her yet, finding her direct stare far too terrifying to encounter on his own, but there was something…something about her that nudged at a long lost memory that he didn't want to touch again. Something painful that he'd taken time to let go of once before and he sure as hell wasn't letting it back to wiggle and crawl beneath his skin again.

"Ain't you at least gonna ask how she is?" Merle asked, and Daryl jolted upright in surprise, having not realised he'd laid himself out in the pad of grass in front of their tent.

"The hell do I care?" he spluttered, wondering if there was something more he was missing.

"You care, dumbass, because that girl o' hers is gonna need some guardian angel lookin' out for her, 'an I choose you." Merle whistled as their meat started spitting in the pan across his makeshift oven and Daryl watched him with growing incredulity.

"When the fuck did we become babysitters?" he hissed, sweeping a wary eye around them before leaning in, voice lowered so only the dick that was his brother could hear him. "Did you fall on your fuckin' head? Are you high? I ain't lookin' out for no one that ain't you or me. You wanna fuck her, have at it, but leave me the hell out." He threw himself to his feet, feeling the soles of his feet itch to get his ass out of there before Merle said or did some other shocking level of shit he didn't have a clue how to deal with.

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	2. Chapter 2

AN: I want to thank each and every one of you for supporting this fic. Your encouragement means the world!

Part Two

He dreamed of her that night—dreamed of running his hands across her skin, moulding his touch to the curves of her body, burying himself in her heat and slipping back and forth until she cried out in ecstasy and he spilled himself inside her. He'd fallen asleep more than halfway in love and he'd made plans and formulated dreams in the seconds before he was out, and when he woke up, every single one of them had been shattered.

He woke up tired, angry enough to cut a bitch, and as his brother's knowing laugh greeted him around the morning campfire, he was mostly certain Merle was going to be that bitch for the day. He growled as he kicked his way past, heading to the woods to take a piss and get away from people, try to push those bitter memories out of his head before that familiar hollow returned to his chest.

He put the full blame on Merle—his brother's mouth had many a time caused him shit he didn't want to deal with, but this time he'd dredged up the memories Daryl had buried so deep he'd half convinced himself that night had never existed. That he'd never left the shack they were calling home that night, had got high instead and let one of Merle's bitches suck him off or something, creating a drug-induced yearning he'd been unfamiliar with to that point. A yearning for a different existence—for love, life, maybe even a family of his own that didn't jump between crack houses and junkie whores. A life that got him away from Merle's crappy lifestyle and helped him form something else that was all his own. He'd let those thoughts go long ago, had instead surrendered to the continual shit Merle dragged him into, and he'd tried too hard to not be disappointed that that was all there ever was.

In one day Merle had smashed his mild discontent with life to smithereens. And while Daryl couldn't wipe the dour frown off his face, all he saw was Merle's pearly whites shining bright in the sunshine, proving that his asshole brother knew without a doubt what was up with Daryl and he was going to draw every last bit of enjoyment out of making him sweat.

He could have dealt with that—until he looked away at the rustle of another tent flap and he saw her slowly—_carefully—_make her way out of that Lori Grimes's tent. She'd spent the night with the woman, by the looks, and Daryl wondered briefly if she might have copped a break and her prick of a husband up and died in his sleep.

He dropped his gaze to the ground the second she scanned her surroundings and encountered him. Last thing he ever wanted to do was look in another woman's eyes—never wanted to chance seeing eyes like hers, tricking him into thinking he'd found her. He never wanted to lose himself like he had with _her_, baring his soul and making love with his whole heart as well as his body. Finding hope where there was no hope to be had. He'd never looked another woman in the eye since, and if they thought he was shy then good luck to 'em, but he wasn't being taken for a ride again.

He dropped down next to Merle, shocked when he was handed a steaming cup of coffee. The aroma twisted into his nose, prickling along every synapse of pleasure until he actually groaned out loud.

"Where the hell you get coffee from?" He took a sip and held back the girly whimper wanting to escape his throat as thick, rich and bitter ambrosia ran along his tongue, hitting the back of his throat before he swallowed with the most enormous sense of pleasure he'd known in a while.

"Them women thought I might like some," Merle admitted with a touch of humour. "Seems like they appreciated me bustin' up Ed's ugly face."

The second mouthful stalled in Daryl's mouth. It figured that his first real indulgence in weeks would come at the hands of that woman, the one Merle had decided was the perfect way to needle Daryl until he blew a fuse and tried to kick his brother in the dick.

"Don't seem right they rewardin' you for somethin' you'd a done for free."

Right or not, Daryl gulped that coffee down fast, afraid someone would work out Merle was nothing but a good con man and come and demand he return their java.

"Hey, Carol," Merle shouted across the camp and Daryl jumped, thankful he'd already drunk most of what was in his mug before his brother had drawn the attention of the woman Daryl was now dead set on avoiding like the plague. "Come on over. Gotcha some good old-fashioned java beans right here." Merle's eyes narrowed as he watched her uncertainty. "An' bring you're little girl, too."

Irritation was humming beneath Daryl's skin as he noticed her take her first hesitant step toward them.

"She don't wanna be here, Merle. Just let up already, for fuck's sake," Daryl hissed and he felt his anxiety build the closer she and her kid got. Closer, like she didn't mind that Merle had called her over—that she didn't mind sitting down with them at all.

"Good morning, Merle. Daryl." She stood by her daughter, the girl cowering away behind her mother, eyeing them warily and for a minute Daryl relaxed, knowing that look that she tried to hide in her eyes. It reeked of fear, shone as plain as day and fear was something child-Daryl had known in spades. He didn't waste his time being scared anymore. He was big now, strong, a mean asshole if half the people they encountered could be believed, and even though this kid had suffered, didn't mean he was going to do anything to make her feel more comfortable in their presence. Fuck no. He didn't want them around anyway.

He stood up without answering her, figuring no one could get a word in edgewise with Merle talking her up, trying to draw the kid out. Daryl didn't even look at neither of them as he grabbed up his crossbow and slung it across his back and checked his knife was sheathed safely on his belt. He threw Merle a surly, impatient look, a warning and a threat simmering there though it dulled with Merle's own fierce warning, something Daryl had never been able to defy, as strong as he might ever think himself to be.

"I'mma gonna go hunt down that deer. You gonna go on that city trip with the others?"

Merle contemplated him from where he crouched by their fire, still trying to convince Carol to settle her and her girl down to share the breakfast Merle was scrounging together. The sight on its own was surprising, but Daryl was too annoyed now to try and work it all out. Even though Daryl stood over him, it was that edge that never seemed to leave Merle completely that had the upper hand, and it was Daryl that was left intimidated, left questioning if he was being an asshole for any good reason or just because he couldn't control his own temper.

"I done told ya'll I ain't," he said, annoyance thick in the air. "Got other things 'round here need doin'. If you're goin' huntin', don't go stayin' out all night. Make sure your ass is back before sundown."

Daryl snorted incredulously. "Sure thing, momma. Anything else while I'm out? Coke? Cigarettes? Jack and Jim?"

"You watch your mouth, boy," Merle snarled, his patience tipping quickly to an edge Daryl was too exhausted to test any further. "We got ladies and kids present."

Daryl shook his head and headed out, ignoring his brother and the strange, new configuration he was experimenting with back at camp. He just hoped to hell he didn't come back and find Merle had moved them into his tent, because then he might have a whole hell of a lot to say about it. Saving the woman from her deadbeat husband was one thing. Taking her on like family? That was something he wasn't going to stand for. He cared about only two people in this world and that was how it was going to stay. Him and Merle. The rest were on their own.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

She'd slept so lightly that Carol didn't think she'd even lost consciousness enough to forget where she was. The inside of Lori's tent had seemed all too familiar when she opened her eyes, or at least, one of them. The other wasn't entirely swelled shut, but it was struggling in the process and it ached something awful. Tears of failure had sprung up almost without thought, and before she was quite aware of it, Lori was already there, holding her gently against her chest, her hand braced more lovingly against the back of Carol's head than anyone had held her in years. She sobbed then, felt the hopelessness and hatred twisting together like poisonous snakes inside her and the only choice she had was to feel every glancing edge its agony as she struggled to release it, and when she finally quieted, she was grateful that Lori had been there. She'd found a friend she'd never known she could have had, and there wasn't a damn thing Ed could do to stop it. Not anymore.

When she at last had the strength to raise her head, Sophia was staring straight at her, eyes wide, tears streaming down her face and she hugged her too thin body within her spindly arms, shaking and trying not to follow her mother into a storm of grief.

"Momma?" The child's voice cracked and Lori jerked her head up, alarmed that the child had been inside and witnessing Carol's meltdown. "Daddy said for me to go to Hell where all… He called me a bad word and said he wasn't my daddy anymore." Her face shone with new tears and soon the snot was flowing as she ran at her mother and collapsed in her arms, jarring Carol's tender ribs in the process. Carol did what she did best, ignored her own pain, shelved it for when the bigger crisis was averted as she held her daughter, offering her comfort against the cruelty of a man she'd know her whole life as her father.

"Oh, Sophia." Her heart broke for her child, but what could she do? Ed wasn't lying. Ed might have been a bastard but he'd provided for them and given them a home, and now that their previously storybook family was shattered, he did what he'd always wanted to do and hurt her as deeply as he was able. "Your daddy's just angry." Carol couldn't help that her voice was small, tripping and cracking over the lie. Ed wasn't angry so much as she suspected he was gleeful. He'd finally caught her out on a lie she'd thought she'd succeeded at concealing over thirteen years before. He'd caught her, exposed her, and now he'd taken everything he could so she was left bereft and alone, running for her life with her child her full responsibility. And the one person she could ask for help didn't want to know her. She couldn't blame him, not really. She'd made one great big awful mess of her own life and his, and now her daughter was going to suffer for it. _Their_ daughter—a child he didn't even know he had.

"He threw all our things outside the tent," Sophia revealed in a whisper, as if saying it quieter might eradicate some of the sting of it. Lori clucked her tongue before bouncing to her feet, obviously angry.

"Don't you worry about a thing, honey. We'll get your things. Your daddy can sit in that tent and fester in his own hateful presence." The brunette flounced out of the tent in high temper and Carol shared an amused look with her daughter, relieved when it put a watery smile on Sophia's face.

"Lori's right. You don't need to worry about this. Maybe…maybe this is for the best." She didn't know how to talk to her daughter about this, that it was time to break up the family she knew her whole life, even if all it had been was a shitty one that barely balanced on eggshells most of the time. They'd lost their home, their friends and family, their possessions and stability, they'd lost the security of knowing what to expect day after day, despite none of it never making them happy, but Carol couldn't help but wonder that if, amongst all this uncertainty, the surprise of the people they were stuck with, that this might be the time where things started to finally turn out all right. If this was the time when they could shirk off that darkness Ed had thrown over them years ago and finally the light could shine for them, too.

With some measure of difficulty, trying to avoid exacerbating the pain by not moving too fast, Carol stood, and with her daughter at her side, she slowly made her way out of the tent. The sun was already hot despite barely having been in its usual place for long, and combined with the ache in her back and her face, Carol couldn't escape the sick feeling that was rising up to flood her senses completely. She'd barely got her bearings when Merle had called out to her, inviting her to his fire and offering her the coffee she knew had belonged to Dale. No one else had thought to pack it in their headlong rush to escape the growing numbers of dead that were after them, but he'd had a few jars stowed away in his RV, leftovers from when his wife travelled and her coffee addiction could not be thwarted.

She could tell immediately that Sophia didn't want to go over there, and one look at Daryl told her she wasn't welcome either, as far as he was concerned. She had no idea what Merle was playing at, but Carol was afraid of how this could all turn out if she ignored him. Afraid of the confrontation with Daryl when Merle made good on his threat of telling his brother the truth if she didn't take care of it first.

He left soon after she arrived, her fingers almost touching the mug Merle held out to her. She tried not to let it hurt; she knew she had no right to expect anything from Daryl. She wasn't who she'd been before, when he'd spent one miraculous night giving her the most incredible pleasure she'd ever known. She watched after him as he gathered his weapons and stalked away from them, not even speaking to her when she'd said 'good morning'. Not looking at her at all, and hardly a glance at Sophia. He'd tried shocking her, shaming his brother in front of her, but she remembered everything he'd told her that night and he didn't scare her one bit. Merle didn't even scare her, and she knew that he should. It was almost exciting, if she willed her heart to stop its beats of fear and only concentrate on the ones when she watched Daryl and felt her blood heating in her veins.

He hadn't changed much in thirteen years. He was more beautiful, if it were possible, the way life had worn his edges away in some places and sharpened them in others. His skin taunted her with its allure—she wanted so desperately to just put her hand against his arm, feel the heat of his skin to see if it matched the fire running beneath hers. Wanted to know if his lips would still be soft or if she'd caused them to be hard and unresponsive forever. She had no right to any of it.

They sat around the Dixon fire in uncomfortable silence, Sophia unsure and probably a little afraid, Carol nervous that Merle would broach the topic she didn't want to reach air while her daughter sat beside her, and Merle…hell, she had no idea what Merle was thinking. His face was entirely unreadable—she thought he looked fearsome, tired, too smart for her own good and the way he narrowed his eyes at her, she knew that he wasn't going to let her hide. In fact, she got the terrifying vibe he planned to throw her in at the deep end, both arms waving frantically, trying to keep her head above water. Apprehension settled heavily in her gut, and she felt nauseous, afraid more of what was to come than what she was leaving behind. Ed may have spent the last years terrorising her, making her hurt, breaking her life into small pieces that no longer interconnected, but the pain she could see in her future could blast bigger holes in her heart than any she'd ever experienced before.

The rest of camp seemed more focused that usual. Breakfast ended for those that were leaving on the run into the city, and as Carol sat awkwardly, not knowing whether to stay or get up and start earning her keep in the group, Lori came over and dropped down beside her, smiling hesitantly at Merle before reaching across Carol to grasp Sophia's hand, smiling reassuringly at her.

"I put your things in my tent. The two of you can stay with me and Carl for now, until we know how things settle."

Carol was torn between gratitude and overwhelming guilt. "But Lori, you don't really have the room—"

"Oh hush. We'll be fine. The main thing is that you two are safe," she said with a sincerity that left Carol speechless, and through the ache that was her face, she tried to show how grateful she was by smiling, though tears came along with it.

"They'd be safer here with us," Merle informed them casually, suggesting Carol and Sophia just move in with two redneck bachelors they'd not known to even look at a week ago as if it was as easy as changing his shirt.

"I'm not sure that's entirely appropriate, Merle." Lori blinked up at him, her smile tight, disapproving and yet deferential enough to him for what he'd been able to do the previous day in saving Carol's life.

"Fact of the matter is, that asshole she's married to wants to sneak in and slit her throat while ya'll are sleepin', ain't a whole lot stoppin' him till after he's done. If they're here, Daryl an' I can take turns keepin' watch against him. That sumbitch ain't gonna get near neither of 'em. Got us two tents, so they can even have one all to 'emselves."

"I still don't think Carol should—"

Merle actually growled and any further argument from either women came to an immediate halt.

"You really willin' to put your boy in the line of fire?" He glared at Lori, pinned her with accusative force that had the usually strong woman buckling. She threw an uncertain glance at Carol, her mouth opening to offer a denial but Carol could see that the very real threat of Ed being around Carl was too sudden, too real for a woman like Lori Grimes to really grasp.

"He's right, Lori." Carol stared into the fire, shuddering against an unbidden image of Ed hurting whoever stood in his way of getting to her. He'd been stopped the day before, but his need to make her pay would be far more powerful, fuelling his bitterness and rage and quite possibly obscuring his ability toward rational behaviour—toward self-preservation. She almost welcomed it, especially with Merle in her corner. Once and for all his looming threat over hers and Sophia's lives could be eradicated, and while the method was a terrifying thing to contemplate, she chose to just accept that somehow she'd encountered a guardian angel—two of them—and she knew she was the very last person on earth who deserved them. "Ed's not going to stop until…" Her daughter's terrified form, almost vibrating against her side, reminded her she needed to be careful, and to try and be less blatant with the imagery she could never blank from her own mind. "He's never going to stop."

"It's settled then," Merle declared, as if they'd just entered into some kind of pact. "You go get all your shit and I'll pitch the other tent right alongside this one."

Before anyone else could think of another reason why a seemingly weak woman and her terrified daughter shouldn't take up residence next door to the Dixon's, Merle had stormed off toward Daryl's truck, fishing around in the tray for the promised tent, and set to putting the thing up. An amused glance shared between them, Lori rolled her eyes before standing, helping Carol up before leading the Peletier's to her tent to gather the belongings Ed had thrown from theirs. Every step physically hurt for Carol, but as she remembered Daryl's refusal to look at her, his avoidance every chance he got, she decided she wasn't looking forward to his reaction when he returned. No, being in his space was a test that Carol wasn't sure was a good plan at all.


End file.
