AN: I started this story ages ago, like years, and since I've been catching up with the newer seasons of TWD, I started missing the OG crew and the earlier seasons, so I came back to this. I've written up into the second season, so I can promise pretty steady updates for awhile :)

Honestly, Daryl Dixon deserves a woman who equals his badass awesomeness, and so I've tried to give him one. Reviews are always appreciated. I gave up on this story last time because it didn't receive a great reception, but I'm really proud of it and, if you stick through, there'll be some good twists and turns. It's a canon-fic, but I've tried to still make it original and not overload you with repetitions of things you already know from watching the show.

Anyways, I hope you enjoy. I'll be posting the first few chapters, so you can get into it, and then will try to post at least once a week. Here goes...

Somewhere, children were laughing. Jo burrowed deeper into her sleeping bag. She felt like an enchilada baking in the oven, but she'd rather be cooked and eaten than hear the children laughing, or whoever was whistling off-key, or the threads of passing conversation. Shut-up, shut-up. All she wanted was to sleep. When she did, though, she dreamt of her mother's corpse, and then she woke, wondering if the walkers had forced their way into the house yet.

"You're going to miss breakfast." Amy poked her head into the tent. "Morales made eggs. They're almost gone."

"Powdered?"

"They aren't so bad with hot sauce," said Amy. She gave the end of Jo's sleeping bag a good shake before exiting the tent. "Better get a move on if you want to go fishing today."

Jo did not want to go fishing. What else was there to do, though, other than bake? She surfaced with her dirty blonde hair in tangles. She'd been wearing the same clothes for two days, but didn't bother changing now. Dale waved down to her from the roof of the RV as she dragged her feet across the scrubby camp to the firepit.

"Morning," said Morales, passing her a plate of eggs. Jo nodded as she took the plate. She plopped down next to Amy on the ground. Really, the eggs weren't so bad. She had eaten much worse. Lately, she just couldn't keep anything down. Her stomach began to churn after a few bites. She set the plate on the grass and stood.

"I'll meet you at the quarry," she said to Amy, before hurrying away. She stopped just outside of camp, doubled over, and wretched into a patch of scraggly bushes.

"Get it all out," said Shane, sneaking up behind her. Jo took a deep breath, straightened up, and faced him.

"Powdered eggs," she muttered, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

Shane combed his fingers through his hair. He did that a lot now. No one said it in so many words, but he was their leader, and the stress was more likely to kill him than the walkers. "I saw Lee down at the quarry yesterday. How's he doing?"

"Ask him yourself," said Jo. She didn't want to talk about her baby brother right then, with the sour aftertaste of vomit on her tongue.

"How're you?" said Shane.

She wanted to talk even less about herself. So she took a cigarette from the crushed pack in her back pocket and lit one instead of answering.

"Thought I might go hunting," said Shane. "Want to come?"

"Got plans," said Jo, blowing smoke from the corner of her mouth. If Shane Walsh was going hunting, then it was official; the apocalypse was upon them.

"Hot date?" he said.

"Yeah." She went with the joke for old time's sake. "The Asian kid is taking me square dancing."

Shane chuckled. He looked to camp. Miranda and Lori were scrubbing the breakfast dishes, while the children played tic-tac-toe in the dirt nearby, and the Asian kid helped Carol hang the wet laundry from a line of fishing wire strung between two pines.

"They're good people," said Shane. "The Asian kid, his name is Glenn. Maybe you could try talking to him."

"And maybe you can start a dating website," said Jo. "Call it Match Made in Hell."

"Don't get smart. Look, all I'm saying is, it's not good to spend so much time on your own."

Jo rolled her eyes. She knew what he was saying. The same thing he'd been saying to her since she was a kid. Don't brick yourself up. Go out and meet people. Live your life. Well, most people sucked, most people she regretted meeting, and it was hard to live your life at the end of the world. "Don't worry," she said. "I'll join y'all tonight for the campfire sing-along. Kumbaya my Lord, all that shit." She stepped over the remains of her breakfast and left Shane standing alone with his good intentions.

Jo set off along the dirt path that led to the quarry. She cursed every time she stumbled over a root. These were not her woods. She didn't know them. Among these trees, she would not find the old pine she'd carved her name into, or the tree she'd fallen from a thousand times before finally learning to climb, or the one outside her bedroom window that she used to sneak down. She stopped at a mockernut hickory, leapt for the lowest branch, and left the ground. She kept going, up and up, until she could go no further. It was a good climbing tree with thick limbs. She sat with her back against the trunk, straddling a crooked limb, and looked down.

The ground was gone. Jo couldn't see it through the leaves. There were no walkers, no refugee camp, no world at all. How far had the virus spread? Were there still people across the ocean going about their daily business? Were light bulbs burning, somewhere? Were telephones ringing, calls going to voicemail, planes in the sky?

No. The virus was everywhere. Otherwise, why hadn't they been rescued yet? Shane would remind her that not everything was gone. There was the Asian kid, Amy, and the others. There was her brother, a tent, powdered eggs. Who needed electricity, running water, or mothers?

Jo didn't make it to the quarry. Night was falling by the time she came down from the tree. Her back, legs, and rear were sore, but it was nice. A familiar pain, comforting. She used to hide in the trees from her father. He never once thought to look up.

"Where were you?" said Amy as soon as Jo joined her by the firepit. "I waited all day."

"Jolene's a lone wolf," said Shane. "Don't got time for the likes of us."

"Drop it," said Lori, nudging him in the ribs. "People need their space."

"Well," said Amy, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. "People should tell other people if they're going to bail."

"Fish will be there tomorrow," said Jo. She was distracted by a glimpse of Lee slipping into their tent. He was so thin. Had he eaten today? Then she noticed there was a new tent neighboring the one she shared with her brother. The new tent was shabby and patched, falling in on itself. A man emerged. Keeping his back to camp, he strode to a beat-up blue truck. Jo watched him retrieve a lumpy, black bag from the front seat and sling it over his shoulder.

"Right," said Shane, also watching the man. "New comers, brothers, Merle and Daryl Dixon."

"I don't know how I feel about them," said Lori.

"We need the manpower," said Shane.

Lori's eyes darted to the shabby tent. "All the same, I don't want them around Carl."

When she left, Shane watched her. He looked to Jo after a moment. "I'll move your tent, if you want," he said. "They do seem like a rough sort."

"Met my fair share of those. We'll be fine."

"Well, if you change your mind…" Shane smothered a yawn. "I should hit the sack." He left, but didn't go to his tent. He stood outside of Lori's for awhile, speaking to her through the canvas, until she let him in.

"Is there something going on between them?" said Amy.

Jo shrugged. Whatever was happening between Lori and Shane was none of her business. They were each just trying to fill a void and she had her own abyss to deal with.

"So what's your story?" said Amy. Jo picked up a twig and began breaking it into smaller pieces. She didn't answer. "I mean, I never see you and your brother together. You don't talk to each other.

"Yeah, well..." said Jo, shrugging again. Lee had his reasons for not speaking. Amy wouldn't understand. "Family is complicated." She tossed the bits of twig into the fire and watched them burn quick. "Look, I'm sorry for ditching you. I wasn't good with people before everything went to shit. Guess I'm not much better at it now."

"You'll learn," said Amy. She pressed her shoulder against Jo's, before going over to Andrea and Jim by the RV. Shane was still in Lori's tent. The Asian kid was sitting by himself. He didn't have any friends or family. Maybe she ought to take Shane's advice and go talk to him. But what to say? Hey, I'm Jo. Want to be friends? Given the current state of the world, the introduction seemed absurd.

Jo thought about joining Lee in their tent. She thought about trying to break the silence between them. They could push their sleeping bags together and she'd tell him ghost stories like she used to. Only Mama's corpse would lie between them. She stretched out on the ground instead, folded her arms under her head, and closed her eyes.

She slept. She dreamed of walkers roaming the dark woods of her childhood. Lee was in the treetops, chanting, "Lone wolf, dead wolf."

Jo trailed her hand through the cool, green water. Wispy clouds fell apart against a bright, blue sky and she was reminded of cotton candy, of the county fair she'd taken Lee to forever ago.

"What are you thinking about?" said Amy.

"Nothing."

"You were smiling."

"Do you like cotton candy?" said Jo.

"I'm more of a snow-cone girl," said Amy. She pushed back Dale's floppy fishing hat. It kept falling over her eyes. She reeled in her hook. The bait was gone, but there was no fish. Jo brought in her own line. No bait, no fish. She plucked a fat worm from the tin pail at her feet. The worms themselves didn't bother her any. God made worms, worms don't bite. It was getting the wriggly suckers on the hook that she struggled with. She jabbed at the worm; it curled around her finger. She gave up and flung it overboard.

"I'll stick to foraging," she declared.

Amy cast her line. "Suit yourself."

Done with the fish, Jo was still in no hurry to row back. The shore was hazy in the distance. She tried to determine which little, black dot was her brother.

"What happened to you guys?" said Amy. "To your brother?"

Jo scooped up a handful of water and let it trickle through her fingers. "Why do you want to know?"

"On the road, after we found you passed out, you said some things while you were unconscious," said Amy. "You kept asking who would bury your mother."

"She's dead," muttered Jo. "Told you that."

"You can talk to me, if you need to," said Amy.

"Nothing to talk about. It doesn't matter what happened. Look around. The world was shit before and now...What's the point? What are we even doing here?"

"We're making do."

Jo sighed. She looked back to shore. There was one black dot standing apart from the rest. If she had anything to bargain, she'd bet it was her brother. "What if I don't want to make do? What if I don't deserve to be here?"

Do what you have to do, that's what she had said to Shane the night all hell broke loose. Do what you have to do. She hadn't even tried to save her mother. She could have refused to leave without her, but the awful truth was that she'd wanted to leave for so long. A worm crawled across the toe of her boot. She shook it off and squashed it.

"Whether you deserve to be here or not," said Amy, "you are." Her hook snared against the side of the boat. She wrenched it free of the wood and brought it in. No fish. "Some days they just don't bite."

"Wish the same was true of walkers," said Jo. She spotted one stumbling along the top of the quarry wall and watched as it lost its footing. The walker's clothes billowed as it fell.

"Think they can swim?" said Amy, after the walker hit the water.

"I'd rather not find out," said Jo. "C'mon."

They rowed to shore in silence. Andrea, with her canvas pants rolled to the knees, waded out to meet them. "Any luck?" she said, taking hold of the prow to keep the boat steady while Amy and Jo leapt overboard.

"Nope," said Amy.

"We're running out of food," said Andrea. After they pushed the boat ashore, Jo stopped listening to the conversation. She looked for Lee. There he was and, for once, he wasn't alone. He was talking to a man she didn't recognize. "Who is that?"

Andrea glanced over her shoulder at Lee and the man. "Merle Dixon," she said, scowling.

"One of the new guys?" said Amy, looking now too. "What's he doing with your brother?"

"I'd watch out," said Andrea. "Dixon has been a pain in the ass all day. He's the worst sort of racist, junkie redneck."

Jo kept watching her brother and Merle Dixon as the sisters resumed their discussion of the group's dwindling food supply. She thought she saw Merle take something from his pocket and slip it into Lee's hand. Then again, maybe it was a trick of the light bouncing off of the water.

Mama was kneeling by a river. When Jo called out to her, she turned around, wringing blood from a t-shirt, and smiled.

"What are you doing?" shouted Jo from the opposite bank.

"Washing your clothes, silly," said Mama, squeezing out more blood.

Jo woke to blinding light. "Shine that damn thing somewhere else," she grumbled.

"Sorry," said Glenn, lowering the flashlight. His eyes darted nervously, back and forth, beneath the tattered brim of a red baseball cap.

"Well, what do you want?"

"T-Dog sent me," he said. "You're supposed to take watch."

"Shit, am I late?"

Glenn nodded.

"Shit." Jo scrambled out of her sleeping bag. Glenn's mouth popped open as she bent to retrieve her jeans, tangled and discarded on the ground.

"Catching flies over there?" said Jo. He shut his mouth and looked away.

"I'll leave the light," he said, setting the flashlight down, before fleeing. Jo pulled her belt tight and glanced to Lee's corner of the tent. His sleeping bag was zipped and empty. If she was late for her watch, then it must be after midnight. Where the hell was he?

T-Dog was pacing the moonlit roof of the RV with a rifle across his back. Jo retreated back into the tent and reached under Lee's pillow to check if he'd taken the knife with him. Sure enough, the knife wasn't there, but something crinkled at her touch. She took a makeshift baggie out from under the pillow. It had been made by melting the ends together of the cellophane wrapping from a pack of cigarettes. A dozen or so multi-colored pills rattled around inside.

Jo crushed the makeshift baggie, pills included, in her fist. She had forgotten that T-Dog was waiting. Her only coherent thought, amidst a rush of red hot fury, was to choke the life out of Merle Dixon. His brother was sitting cross-legged outside of their tent. As Jo marched towards him, he looked up from sharpening his knife and narrowed his eyes at her. "What you want?"

Jo brushed past him as if he weren't there. "Bitch, you can't go in there," said Daryl, leaping to his feet. Too late. She was already inside and there was Merle, passed out on his back, snoring like an avalanche. The sight of him disgusted her. She flung the flashlight at his head. Merle reared up, swinging his fists.

"You motherfucking asshole," cried Jo, flinging the baggie of pills at him.

"Good morning to you, too, sweetheart," said Merle. Jo drew back her foot and plunged it between his ribs. She went to kick him again. This time Merle caught her ankle. Her chin broke her fall. Soon Dixon had her pinned.

"Easy now," he said.

Jo spat in his face.

"What the hell?" said Daryl, towering over them both. Merle glanced back when his brother spoke. Jo took the opportunity to wriggle her hands free and whip her fist across the side of his head. Merle toppled off of her.

"What the fuck do you think you're up to?" she said, staggering to her feet. "Giving my brother your shit?"

"I didn't give no one nothing," said Merle. "We made a fair trade. No refunds, so if he ain't happy with-"

"He's fifteen, you son of a bitch!"

"So?" said Merle. "Kid's having a rough time. Thought he needed to get away for a bit."

"You don't know anything." Jo took a step towards him. Daryl, knife in hand, blocked her path.

"Wouldn't do that if I were you," he said. Jo glared at the both of them. She was an inch away from bashing their redneck heads in with a rock, only she was out-numbered and weaponless.

"Stay away from my brother," she warned them. She stepped over Merle, shouldered past Daryl, and was ducking out of the tent when Merle spoke again.

"Don't know where you get off acting all high and mighty. Ain't like I done something you never have."

Jo froze mid-step.

"Oh yeah, sugar tits," Merle went on. "Your bro and I had a real nice heart-to-heart. It true you killed your own mama?"

Jo fell into an all-consuming rage. She flung herself at Merle Dixon. She punched every part of him she could reach, and it felt so good, letting go, like she was punching the whole damn world. No one knew the first thing about all she'd done, the sacrifices and choices she had made, for her brother.

Soon enough Daryl caught her around the waist and hefted her into the air. Merle stayed on the ground, blood gushing freely from his nose, laughing like a madman as Daryl dragged her outside. "Crazy bitch," he said, dumping her onto the ground. "Go on, get outta here."

Jo stood. She was prepared to fight him, to fight all of them, but right then Shane emerged from the woods. "What's going on?" he said, coming up to them, his eyes darting between them.

"Nothing," muttered Jo. She spun on her heels and stomped off. Shane trailed after her. As soon as they were inside her and Lee's tent, he repeated his question, "Better tell me now what that was."

"Nothing," she said again.

"Girl, it ain't nothing if you're picking fights with the Dixons when you're supposed to be on watch."

Shit. Jo remembered T-Dog was waiting for her. As the anger began to subside, the pain made itself known.

"Did he hit you?" said Shane.

"Merle," she hissed. Immediately, Shane went for the gun at his belt. "I went after him first, alright, so don't go shooting anybody."

"Why'd you do a stupid thing like that?" demanded Shane. Jo was spared having to answer by Lee's arrival. He stopped in the entryway like a deer caught in the headlights.

"I need to speak to my brother," said Jo, keeping her eyes on Lee.

Shane looked from one sibling to the other. "Alright," he finally said. "But I'm not done with you." As soon as he was gone, a heavy silence descended. Jo kept on glaring at her brother.

Finally, Lee spoke. "You found the pills."

"Yeah," said Jo. "I found them." She wanted to scream at him, for all the good it would do. "I don't want you hanging around the Dixons."

"You ain't my mother," said Lee. The words hit like he'd dropped a house on her. She was so sick of his silent treatment, of the accusations he flung at her with his eyes, of him. She was too sick to speak, so she slapped him. His head snapped to the side.

"If I see you with them again, we're leaving," she said. T-Dog was still waiting. She left Lee to nurse his wound. Hitting him was wrong. She never had before, not really, not to hurt him. The anger was gone by the time she reached the RV and the guilt was so much harder to bear.