A cool wind blew across the prison yard littered with corpses that they'd not yet removed. The air had gradually been chilling over the last few weeks, the trees and grass decaying right alongside the creatures the group constantly fought against. They'd been lucky over the last 6 or so months to have come across vacant houses. It hadn't seemed like it at the time, since their main priority had been food, but the clothing they'd gathered from the houses had been a godsend.

That last winter flashed through Rick's mind as he leaned against the balcony railing during his watch. Images of his late wife growing bigger with child, moving more slowly, becoming more isolated... He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead with one hand, his other grasping the railing tightly. When had things gotten to be so bad? Rick knew. The first night after the farm. His admission of killing Shane had severed any emotional bond he and his wife had still shared, her face twisting into one that conveyed nothing but horror. He hadn't cared at the time, adrenaline still pumping through his veins as he looked on at his retreating wife's figure. She'd done this to them.

So many regrets about the past year snaked their way through Rick's mind, threatening to rip apart the little bit of stability he'd clutched desperately to over the last few days. It had all been too much. He'd worked so relentlessly to keep the group safe after joining them at the quarry and things just never got better. There was never a break from the nightmare they lived each day. In spite of the understanding that there was probably not a shred of hope, they'd persevered in locating a place they'd thought could be a chance for a new life. The prison had been that beacon of hope they'd all been searching for - - their miracle. But it may have been the worst mistake they'd made throughout their entire journey to survive.

Rick breathed in deeply, opening his eyes to scan the prison and its borders. Hours had passed since Michonne had returned, stalking through the high grass with an air of emptiness about her. She'd sliced through several walkers as she walked slowly towards the prison before Rick had come to aid her. He'd questioned her about Merle immediately, demanding to know where they'd gone and where her captor was, but all she responded with was, "He let me go." She'd continued shortly thereafter with how she'd encountered Daryl on her way back, who'd told her to bar anyone from following him. Rick had been bewildered, and had a mind to disregard this relayed command, but remembered that Daryl had told him to get ready; to prepare for an attack, especially if he didn't return.

So now Rick was waiting. Waiting patiently from his lookout to see the silent, cherished member of their group come walking through the grass. Rick was trying to check out of his thoughts concerning Daryl's wellbeing in order to focus on the safety of the group, but had an extremely difficult time. The brusque man whose return he was awaiting had put his trust in Rick to keep the group safe. They were family to him now, Daryl had admitted quickly, and though he hadn't said it before he left, he was relying on Rick to care for them as long as he could while he searched for his brother.

The group had been mostly silent since Michonne's return, only she and Glenn discussing a plan of action for when Daryl returned. The rest of them remained in their respective areas, a suffocating gloom invading the prison with the knowledge of their probable imminent deaths. Rick had made it clear that he was not sure if Daryl and Merle were even going to come back, though he'd hoped since that speech that he was wrong, as Michonne had somehow managed on her own. That was the only source of hope he had; if she could do it, there was no way the two resilient brothers couldn't.

Unless they'd come across the Governor. A knot rose in Rick's throat, his mind conjuring all sorts of images of what would happen to the Dixons were the people of Woodbury to get their hands on the two again. The traitorous saboteur Merle and his deadly assassin brother Daryl, as the citizens had come to identify them. There was no chance of Rick and the others coming to the two brothers' rescue this time. It was a hard truth to swallow, but Rick knew they'd have to be prepared for war regardless of what happened to Daryl.

Stepping back from the railing, Rick turned and took a few steps around the watchtower balcony, another gust chilling him to the bone. Lifting his binoculars to his eyes, he examined the perimeter once more. A sudden figure materialized in Rick's peripheral vision and he quickly turned his attention to a shadowed portion of where the high grass met the forest surrounding them. A walker had fallen to the ground. Rick crouched down quickly, keeping the binoculars focused on the lifeless body. A wave of relief washed over him and he stood back up as his friend finally came into view, leaning over the walker and stepping on its throat to yank a bolt from its head. Daryl reloaded his crossbow and stood slowly, just looking onward at the prison. Rick lowered the binoculars briefly, his eyes searching for the second Dixon. His stomach dropped as he watched Daryl begin his trek up to the gate. Alone.

Merle's failure to return with his younger brother had not gone unnoticed by the other members of the group, the familiar feelings of despair and hopelessness choking them as the youngest Dixon strode quickly past them into one of the dark hallways. Rick had given them his speech only hours earlier; he'd made it clear that there was a distinct possibility that neither of the brothers would make it back. Only a shade of happiness swept over the group when Daryl returned. Merle, the man, was barely a fleeting thought to them - - Merle, the brother, however, left their hearts heavy. They didn't need to know what happened; Daryl's rapid movement through the common area along with his ducked head and furrowed brows let them know more than enough.

Rick had no desire to locate his grieving friend, wishing for Daryl to be able to mourn his brother alone. He knew that this wasn't an option, however, as there was no definite time frame on when they would be attacked. So he began his trek through the halls alone, leaving the group to prepare for evacuation. No matter what he was faced with when he found Daryl, Rick knew he'd have to convince him to put whatever he was feeling on hold to assist them. He'd have to bring him back from the edge, if that's where he was. Like how Glenn had tried to do after finding Rick covered in blood, slumped against a wall in the dark hallways he was now treading.

Rick breathed heavily, his flashlight moving delicately around the space in front of him, but he hadn't come across anything yet. He thought back to the first time he'd torn through these halls. Something inside him had snapped, halting the racing thoughts of his wife, Carl's mother, Carl… It was like his body was shutting down - - his heart ripped out, his brain shutting off, his body stilling. His newborn's piercing cries had cut through his body's attempts to follow his wife into another life and that… that had set off a rage in him that he'd never known before. Everything that had never been said, never been done, never been changed came flashing through his mind as the others surrounded him, trying to rouse him from his near catatonic state. After that he'd been on a mission, abandoning his extremely fractured group to streak through the halls in a blind fury to find his wife.

Rick shook his head slightly, trying to shake the memories and the melancholy that was settling over him as he searched for Daryl. His head shot up, hearing a loud banging coming from the path ahead of him. Flashlight and gun steadied in front of his slightly ducked face, he moved towards the end of the hallway, following scraping and clinking noises to the left. Staying silent, he came across the large open doorway to the prison workroom, light filtering into the much darker hall. He heard what sounded like a choked cough and glanced over his shoulder quickly before moving into the room. He'd been right about his assumption, the noise had come from Daryl who stood a few feet ahead, facing away from Rick.

"Daryl?" Rick's eyes scanned the room they'd both been in earlier that day. There wasn't much of a visible difference, but Rick picked up on the various objects lying on the ground; it looked like they'd been hurled across the room. He returned his focus to Daryl who still wasn't facing him. "Daryl." The man, whose focus appeared to be on the shelving in front of him, slowly turned to face Rick. His head stayed dropped towards the ground as he leaned back against the counter behind him, bringing his hands to rest on the edge of the tabletop.

They didn't say anything for a quite a while. Daryl never lifted his head and Rick never moved towards him, not wanting to invade his space or break the thick silence in the room. The question was at the tip of his tongue, just waiting to spring from his mouth, what happened? Him delaying asking the question only caused more inquiries to intermingle and swirl through his mind.

What happened? Where had Merle gone? Why had he released Michonne? Had he run into the Governor? Had Daryl seen the Governor?

But none of these questions ever arose from Rick. Though he was curious as to what had happened to the ill-tempered older Dixon, none of it mattered. What mattered was that he was gone and that fact had corrupted Daryl's world. The hunter had suffered what so many of them had already endured; it was inevitable in this world. Death came to everyone, one way or another.

"My brother was a real bastard, y'know."

Rick had been watching the floor so intently, his thoughts so loud that he barely registered what had been spoken. He didn't know how to respond to the blunt statement. It was true. No one had liked Merle, even before everything that had happened over the last few weeks. Atlanta… it was Merle's fault that they'd become trapped in the store, his apathy and amusement at attracting walkers evident as he callously fired his gun into the gnashing, snapping crowd. Rick had known the moment he saw Merle that he was a self-absorbed, smug bastard. He couldn't argue with Daryl's words. How could he?

Despite his feelings on the older Dixon, Rick was aware that he needed to say something, anything. He knew things had been tense in the prison with Merle present, but it had been Daryl that was so willing to make everything peaceful again, to re-stitch the group that had been torn by the same man he was defending. Daryl must have been wholly shattered in that moment, knowing that there could've still been a chance for Merle to be alive had he not returned to the prison to be with the group. Rick recognized the emotion that was splashed across Daryl's still-lowered face.

Regret.

"A bastard… maybe," Rick started slowly, nodding his head as he watched Daryl glance up at him. "But he would've done anything for you."

Daryl sniffed, his mouth upturning sheepishly for a half second.

Rick didn't know how long the silence would last, so he continued, "Merle wasn't… the best man I've ever met. Punched me in the face first time I met him." Rick's stomach turned, thinking about the rooftop of that store in Atlanta. He'd basically sentenced Merle to death when he handcuffed him to the roof, but he'd come out of it somehow. "But he was a tough son of a bitch who loved his brother."

"Loved," Daryl huffed, his eyes fixed on Rick's. "Merle ain't ever loved anyone but himself."

"I think you're wrong." Rick stepped closer to Daryl whose eyes seemed so empty, his face void of any expression. Daryl shrugged a shoulder, looking up at Rick. He didn't know why, but Rick was determined to convince the ruined man in front of him that his brother cared for him. "He came back with you. Why would he do that when he knew what - - when he knew who was here waiting for him? He wasn't here for anyone but you."

Daryl was silent for a moment, his eyes back on the ground, before speaking. "Y'know, there was this one time when we were kids. We'd been runnin' 'round the woods, back when Merle was still cool with havin' a little brother to play with." Daryl snorted, thinking about the memory. "It was gettin' dark but we always stayed out of the house as long as possible. We'd climbed up what seemed like a mountain at the time, just lookin' for trouble to get into in the woods. On the way back down we started racin' and I tripped on a rock like some dumbass. Probably the fastest I've ever gone down a hill. Smacked face first into a tree near the bottom and all I could hear was Merle yellin' for me, tellin' me to get up, that I better suck it up an' stop cryin' like a baby. He grabbed me up off the ground and just looked at me. For all his big talk he was the one who looked scared." He sighed, returning his gaze to Rick who was absorbing the story. "Brushed me off, wiped the blood off my scraped up face and knees then took me in the house. Didn't wanna give our old man no reason to start screamin' at me, I guess."

Sensing the hunter wasn't going to continue speaking, Rick stepped forward and placed his hand on Daryl's shoulder briefly. "I'm truly sorry," he said softly, his voice full of sincerity.

Daryl regarded the honesty of the sheriff's deputy for a moment after he'd removed his hand, then nodded, his mouth turning up slightly. He breathed in deeply, closing his eyes, then slung his crossbow over a shoulder. "C'mon. Let's head back."