Someone That You Used To Know

I wrote this while I was at work over several days because I don't do shit at my new job, which is incredibly boring and I hate it. But let me know if you find any errors so that I can fix them! Thanks! (Also, I love reviews)

Standing in front of him was a man that Daryl Dixon thought he would never see again.

He really shouldn't have been shocked though.

He knew exactly where he was, but somehow he when they had arrived at the prison, he didn't think he would actually be there. In his mind, the man had been long dead, but in recent years Daryl had lost touch and never had the desire to seek the man out again, so he had no way to truly know.

He always wondered how he would react if he ever ran into the man again. He never pegged the end of the world as the one of the scenarios it would happen in though, but the setting seemed right. He found the man in a cold, dark, damp part of the prison. He was one of the lower levels. A cliche dripping noise was off to the right of him. He always picture himself facing the man alone, but Rick was off somewhere behind him. They had gone on a run together to clear out the prison.

Daryl shined his flashlight on the man, starting on his feet and slowly making his way up. He watched the man begin stumble his way towards him. Most of his right arm was missing, gnawed off to the bone. Both ankles looked broken, he vaguely wondered how he managed to move forward at all. But it was his face that shocked him. His face was mostly intact. There was still the sunken eyes and blacken mouth, but his face wasn't missing any parts.

And that bothered him because he knew exactly who it was. He couldn't try to rationalize that it wasn't him.

What bothered him more, was that he didn't react how he thought he would. He wasn't angry at the man. Daryl was so sure if he had a chance to confront the man again, he would be as mad as a hornet. But as the man stalked towards him, he felt fear rise in him. He felt himself freeze. He felt his stomach drop and his heart stop.

And when the man got close enough so that Daryl could look into his eyes, he felt himself being mentally kicked back. He couldn't help but to remember.

He remember how the belt felt against his back.

He remember how much his throat hurt after screaming to the man to be let out of the basement.

He remembered how hungry he was all the time.

He remembered every fucking time that man laid his hands on him.

He remember the last thing the man every said to him: "Just so you know...I love meth more than anything, including you."

He remembered everything he had tried to repress over the years.

"Daryl!" The sudden intrusion on his thoughts reeled him back into the real world. The man was practically on top of him, jaws already snapping open trying to get at him.

Stepping back, he managed to bring his crossbow up in time to forcefully jab the man in the forehead. He swung it around again to clock him outside his head sending the man falling to the floor.

And then Daryl snapped.

He saw red.

He felt more angry than he could remember

He hardly remembered grabbing Rick's baseball bat and shoving the man away from him. With all his strength, he brought the bat down on the man's head creating a sizable dent. But he couldn't stop. Daryl brought the bat down time and time again against the man's head until it was unrecognizable.

Looking at the bloody pulp did nothing to satisfy his anger. He couldn't stop beating the man. "Fucker! You ruined my life!" He continued to swing the bat. He could feel the remains from the man break away and splatter across him.

"Daryl! Stop!" Daryl felt the bat get jerked out of his hands. Unphased by the loss, he just continue his assault by kicking the bastard. He felt his foot break through the man's decaying body several times before he felt a pair of arms surround him and force him back. "What is wrong with you?"

Daryl shrugged Rick off. He grabbed his crossbow and storm out of the dark room. He could hear Rick's feet clanking after him and as he practically flew up the metal stairs. He shoved the door open at the top of the stairs making it hit the wall with a loud clank. He heard the startled gasps from the rest of the group who were waiting in the room for their return.

"What happened?" He wasn't sure who had asked the question. His ears felt clogged and every noise seemed far away. He pushed past the people and continued forward. His feet were carrying him somewhere, but he wasn't sure where he was going until he found himself staring in the mirror in his own personal prison cell. He could hear his breaths echo across the walls.

The person staring back at him was unrecognizable.

Despite being covered in blood, Daryl looked older than he remembered. He looked gaunt.

He felt anger swell up in him again. He could see his eyes harden in the mirror.

He quickly changed into clothes that were relatively clean and grabbed a bottle of whiskey that he had been saving. What had he been saving it for - he had no idea.

He started chugging as much as he could. The quicker he could get fucked up, the quicker he could forget today ever happened.

And so he sat there, cleaning his crossbow, trying to get black out drunk. He became enthralled with cleaning it. The meticulous task calmed his nerves. Hell, it could have been the alcohol too. By the time the crossbow was cleaned, the bottle was half gone.

Daryl grabbed both and stood to go find something to do. His entire life he could never sit still, which got him in trouble on more than one occasion. He remembered the time when he snuck some chickens on to the roof of the trailer and threw them off. His brother told him that they couldn't fly, but at the time Daryl thought that he knew better. They were fucking birds, that's what birds did, they fly.

Turns out, chickens don't fly.

They do flap their wings in an attempt to soften the landing and while most of them landed fine, there was one hen that fell like a rock. Daryl got whipped that night, but he couldn't regret it much because afterwards he did get to eat the chicken.

Daryl ran his hand along the prison walls and he walked down the corridor. He was using it to steady himself as his tolerance for alcohol had dropped significantly. Not that he was bothered by this fact, a high tolerance just means you have to pay for more booze to get wasted.

He found himself at the watch tower. Rick and Glenn were standing by the window. He watched them for a while, they were oblivious of his presence, which sent a wave of irritation through him. They really should pay more attention to their surroundings. Daryl moved forward to say something as he cut a corner short and walked straight into a table.

"Ouch! Fuck!" He looked up to see Glenn and Rick lowering their weapons with bemused looks on their faces. "There's a fucking table there..."

"Are you drunk?"

"What the fuck do you care, Charlie?"

Glenn rolled his eyes and turned back to the window. Rick continue to stare at him, so Daryl stared back. He was never good at backing down from a confrontation, especially when inebriated.

"Are we going to talk about what happened earlier?"

"Ain't nothing to talk about."

"You lost it back there."

"Just killed a walker." Daryl didn't want to talk about it. That was the whole point of getting drunk, to forget. But regardless of what his mind thought, his body started moving towards Rick. He ended up plopping down on a chair by the window. Rick sat beside him and continued to stare. It had such a cop feel to it, it made Daryl uncomfortable. He started picking at this clothes.

"Who was he?"

Daryl answered him with silence. He was good at being silent. Silence couldn't get you in trouble.

"Everyone's worried about you." The absurdity of that statement made him scoff. Glenn took a seat on the other side of him.

"I remember the first walker I killed. I didn't actually know her name. She lived in the same apartment complex as me, I called her 3-B. She was really cute. She'd ordered pizzas from us sometimes and when I delivered, she'd tip me really well and let me have a slice, which was awesome because I couldn't afford a lot of food. I just got off work and she ran up to me saying that some drunk homeless guy bit her and was still chasing her. She went to my bedroom to sleep and ironically, I passed the time playing Left 4 Dead."

Daryl stared at Glenn as he told his story. It was absurd that he would be so upset over some chick that he didn't even know. "You're a damn fool."

Rick shifted in his chair and cleared his throat. "I'm...still surprised that I'm alive. And that I found my family. I've managed to be quite lucky, but every once in a while, it seems like you run into a walker that just looks so familiar. Like someone that you used to know..."

He looked right at Daryl when he said that. Like the man already knew. He took a long pull from the whiskey. "It was my coworker."

"The man you beat into a pulp?"

Daryl threw a glare at Glenn. "No, the first walker I killed. I was at work and he just came stumbling in. He said he was feeling sick and he was going to the back room to sleep. He was a drunk, so I just thought he was still fucked up. When he came after me, I had to beat his head in with a wrench."

"What did you do before all this?"

"It don't matter no more..."

They sat in silence after that. Each of them in their own worlds. Daryl noticed how light the sky was. It looked like it was going to snow. What terrible luck that would be. Snow in fucking Georgia, Daryl couldn't remember the last time it snowed. He took another bottle shot of whiskey. He saw Rick's disapproving look out of the corner of his eye, but his give-a-fuck meter was turned off. The liquid calmed his nerves and gave him a warm cozy feeling.

"It was my ol' man."

Rick and Glenn both looked at him with concerned looks. Rick fully turned towards him and gave him his full attention. "Who?"

"That...walker..."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not. The only thing I'm sorry about is that fucker wasn't actually alive when I beat him to death."

"Why was he here?"

"Not real sure...I hadn't talked to him in years before he was locked up for good. He was in and out of lock up all my life, usually for drugs or fights and shit like that. Story was that he choked out some stripper in a meth house. Merle was there, but he ain't never told me what happened."

"I never got along with my parents either. I pretty much didn't even talk to them before all this. I was a step away from being homeless and they wouldn't even give me ramen to eat. They were cold parents, but I miss them."

Daryl stared at the Asian. Regardless of how crappy Glenn thought his childhood was, he would trade anything to have that instead of the shit storm that he grew up in. And as bitter as he wanted to be about the ordeal, his life has given him the skills to survive in this new harsh world. His father had "toughen him up" enough so that he was made for this. And while he wasn't the most well adapted person before, none of that mattered now. As twisted as it sounded, maybe life could be better now. He felt a weight being lifted off his shoulders when he pummeled the man who was his dad. Like he was finally able to do what he always dreamed of doing, what the man actually deserved. He knew his ol' man suffered before he became a walker and that made him feel a little vindicated.

He took another pull from his drink and glanced around him. Rick and Glenn had gone back to staring out the window looking excited. With a quick glance he saw that is was actually snowing. That was going to cause some major problems, but they both looked too happy for him to point it out. And for some reason that made me smile inside. He felt a peace wash over him. Fuck, if he knew he would be this happy about it, he would have killed that bastard years ago.