A pan of the scenery around the prison showed hoards of walkers wandering aimlessly a ways away from the prison. They dribbled through the streets, crashed into parked cars, and stumbled through the open doors of buildings.

The buzz of the dead filled the air.

Rick, Michonne, Glenn, Maggie, and Daryl returned to a silent prison. After the events of the previous night, Daryl was uncharacteristically silent. They hadn't even stayed to see what Merle's fate was, once again, leaving Daryl at a cliffhanger of whether his brother was alive or not.

He blamed Patchy the fucking Pirate.

Carol was up in the guard tower with Axel, pistol shoved into the bum of her crinkled jeans. He'd been flirting with her persistently for the whole previous day; if, "It's not interesting," didn't give him an idea of her feelings, she didn't know what would. After another helpless attempt to bat away his advances, Carol peeped out the window and saw the small group that had left the prison a few days earlier. She couldn't help but light up at the sight of Rick and Daryl.

"They're here!" she beamed, keeping a tight hand on her gun as she made her way down the stairs from the tower. Axel followed like a puppy. "You guys are alive!" Carol was jogging toward them, wary not to catch her feet in any of the holes or bumps in the ground. Her arms opened – more of an, 'Welcome back, nobody died!' hug when she took in Daryl's depressed aroma, the absence of Oscar, and Glenn's bloodied face.

Rick shook his head.

"We need to get inside first." He acknowledged Carol and Axel with a nod of the head, however. Michonne ensued after him, Daryl taking the rear.

Carol's eyebrows furrowed at his distant stare and scrunched up nose all through the short travel to the main entry of the prison. She opened her mouth to ask, but he'd retorted with a, "Don't start." Carol pursed her lips, arms folding crossly against her chest.

"Too late."

She had stopped walking; the rest of the group continued on (with Axel pestering Rick about Oscar's disappearance). Daryl had stopped behind her, feet planted sourly into the ground. "I said I don't wanna talk about it." His voice wasn't as rough, less gravel embedded into his chords. "I ain't gonna—"

Carol kicked into scolding mode, her voice firm when she spoke next. "Talking helps, Daryl, you know that."

"Why do I gotta tell you?"

"Because I'm here to listen."

That shut him up, but not for long. "I ain't one to talk about my 'feelings' or whatever."

Carol rolled her eyes. "Thanks for the tidbit."

But he continued. "I blame the fucking pirate." Carol cringed at the word choice, but continued to listen. Her arms were comfortably folded against her chest, worn sweater warming her up in the brisk night air. "He kidnapped me. I just—I wanted to just see Merle, y'know?" Daryl blew out a puff of air, bobbing his leg up and down.

"He'd wanted us to kill each other. Wouldn't let us go until at least one of us were dead. The goddamn crowd was cheering us on like some sorta circus freaks. The Dixon brother: see how fucked up we are. And that goddamned blonde from Hershel's farm? Andrea? She was there. Didn't do a damn thing. Didn't come back with us."

Daryl's voice had started to rise, his fist clenching so tightly it was white, noticeable in even the dark cover that engulfed them. "Callin' Merle a traitor! A fuckin' traitor—encouraging him to kill me, me to kill him! We'd been through shit, that's a given, but that ain't right! I know Merle can be a dick, but so can I, so—"

Carol continued to listen, nestling herself against the cold concrete of the tower. She'd slid to the ground, clear blue eyes wary and full of pity. "Daryl, you don't have to finish…"

"Yeah I do, Carol. Because you wanna know what Merle did? You wanna know, because you were so goddamned persistent on gettin' me to talk? You wanna know every last detail about lives that don't involve you?

"He took himself out. He got this stupid extension arm thing—cut off his own hand y'know, and now it's a blade. Jabbed himself in the gut."

Daryl's eyes were full of hatred now, voice over the top and eyes full of heat.

"And I ain't got an idea what happened to him! I left—Rick caused a riot, comin' in and scaring the flying shit outta everyone and we escaped." Daryl inhaled; a shaky, anxious breath.

"My brother was left again! Merle was abandoned, again! He could be dead, he could be a walker, he could be gettin' tortured by the Mayor or whatever the hell he called himself but I ain't got no idea because we're here, and he's there."

By this point Daryl was next to Carol on the wall, hands braced behind him as his head flopped down to his chest. Soaked hair flopped into his face, palms butting into the concrete behind him. It tore up his skin.

Carol knew he was terrified. Daryl was in anguish and he blamed himself for Merle getting left behind.

"Daryl, it's not your fault."

He didn't reply.

It took Carol a moment to realize he was crying.

"How ain't it?" He looked up at her, and in that second she saw the little brother trapped inside of him; the scared, heartbroken child hidden under the entire rough and gruff exterior.

"It was Merle's decision—and don't tell me that you could have stopped him because, you know what? Merle can make his own choices. He chose to do what he did. But he's also as tough as nails. He cut off his own hand and survived long enough.

"Daryl, please don't blame yourself."

Daryl rammed his hand into the wall once again before sliding down the wall, grimy fingers rising to cover his face. Carol knew she'd hit his breaking point and sat down with him.

Carol listened to him breathe. At first it was jagged, harsh inhales but as the time went by he calmed down.

They sat in silence for the remainder of the night.