All That Remains

Authors Note: This is my first attempt at a TWD. I have been a fan of this site since I was thirteen and have read so many stories. I feel like I am finally brave enough to post a story of my own. This fic will be sort of AU but will eventually land us in the zombie apocalypse and a Beth/Daryl romance.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead.

Chapter One

"Giddup! Daryl, c'mon!" Merle slapped the sleeping eleven year old on the chest as he yelled.

Daryl woke with a start, eyes instantly alert and his left hand moving to rub the reddening handprint on his chest.

Merle was standing in the doorframe of Daryl's room, craning his neck to see something beyond Daryl's line of sight, a sheen of sweat reflecting off his brow.

"Dad home?" Daryl asked apprehensively, wiping the sleep from his eyes. If it was their dad, he was going to get the hell out and fast, he knew that for sure. The electricity had been cut off yesterday and Will Dixon would have no way to keep his whiskey cold. Of course, Will would not see it as any fault of his own. If Merle hung around, he would take the beating, but not before getting a few blows in himself. They would fight until Will passed out and Merle would be so pissed he would leave. Daryl would then have to tiptoe around the house or stay put to avoid waking the beast and his rage.

"Nah, nah, nah…not him," Merle was at the front door now, peeking out the windows every few seconds like a mad man. "Fuckin' Tony told the cops I was the one who burned down Springer's joint last month. Stupid sumbitch!" He pounded his fist on the window frame in anger.

"Well, ain't ya?" Daryl asked, pulling on a shirt from the foot of his bed.

Merle grinned at this, "Tha's neither here nor there, as they say, baby brother." He took one final look out the window, his breath coming out in a whoosh.

Daryl sighed inwardly. "You on that stuff again," it was more a statement than a question. Daryl knew that meth certainly had not been the cause of Merle's delinquency; it had just made his already fiery temperament that much worse.

Merle shot Daryl a look that would have frightened anyone else, but he was used to them by now. Just as Merle was opening his mouth to send some smart remark back at Daryl, they both stiffened at the sound of crunching gravel outside.

"There they are. I knew 'em pigs'd be here any minute," Merle seemed eerily calm as he spoke, placing his hands on his hips as he looked out the front window at the two police cars that had pulled into the drive.

Peering through the gap in Merle's arm, Daryl watched as two officers exited their vehicles and looked up at the decaying old house. Wincing, Daryl remembered when the police and fire truck had been in the driveway only a few years ago. Approaching the house, the few onlookers who noticed him gave him that look like they knew something he didn't. Watching the flames lick at the windows on the left hand side of the house and the smoke filtering out he knew his mom was gone. Daryl shook his head to stop the memory from flooding his mind. He knew where thinking like that would get him.

"You need ta git ya'self outta here now, Daryl," ordered Merle.

"What'd ya do it for?" Daryl asked angrily. "You just got home six months ago!"

"Don't matter," Merle said shrugging. "It's what I gotta do."

"Is not. That motorcycle club don't want you. I don't know why you keep doing stuff fer 'em," Daryl spat exasperated. Merle was always coming and going. Since Merle was a kid he had been fascinated with the Rebel Angels motorcycle club. He had been trying unsuccessfully to get them to initiate him for years now. Daryl was sure the fire had been another attempt at this.

"Yeah, whadda you know?" Merle glowered at Daryl. "Now git the hell outta here and don't gimme any lip. Go on! Out the back."

"Don't matter if I'm 'ere or not. They don't want me," Daryl cut back at Merle. Truth be told, he'd rather not be in the house at all, but sometimes Daryl just felt like fighting back at Merle.

"Well I don't know if they're gonna wanna poke around here or not an' I don't want 'em asking you no questions. No reason for you ta hafta deal with them. You didn't do nothin'," the last sentence came out roughly as if Merle was trying to hide his true meaning. Daryl had to admit that when Merle was actually around, he did protect him from as much as he could. Daryl nodded and Merle clapped him on the shoulder.

"Alright, now. Out the back," he gestured to the backdoor through the dirty kitchen and pushed Daryl slightly in that direction.

The toe of Daryl's right shoe caught a crack in the old wooden floors and he had to reach out for the kitchen counter to catch himself. Righting himself, he chanced a look back at Merle, who had opened the front door and was in the process of walking onto the porch, laughing loudly. You could always count on Merle to laugh in the face of authority.

Daryl jumped down the concrete steps that led from the back door to the yard. He crept around the back side of the house and came to a stop at the edge. Flattening himself against the wooden boards that held the house together, Daryl looked out at the yard and all of the odd and end pieces of junk and scrap that lay there. Sheets of tin roofing, broken pieces of plywood, and his Granddaddy's old farming equipment littered the yard that was in serious need of a mowing. The sound of Merle's raucous laughter brought Daryl back to the gravity of the situation that was unfolding.

Peeking around the corner, he saw that Merle was standing in the driveway now, level with the two policemen. He stretched his empty hands upwards, showing he was unarmed.

"Now, Merle, we don't want no trouble. We've come to take ya in," one mustachioed officer said, obviously experienced in the trouble that this young man could cause.

"I'm doing yer job for ya, officers. See? I ain't armed. I know what yer here for," Merle said in a soft voice, laced with his own brand of poison.

Daryl watched as Merle side stepped the officers and scanned the back yard. Merle was looking for any sign of Daryl while ensuring that they kept their focus on himself.

The sound of an all too familiar vehicle approaching and making the gravel pop made Daryl flinch, eyes darting to Merle, who had finally spotted him. They exchanged a meaningful look. God, this situation was going from bad to worse and Daryl wanted to flee but felt rooted to the ground.

"Goddammit, you Dixon scum just don't know when to quit," the other younger officer scoffed, shaking his head as he jerked Merle's hands behind him to cuff him.

Daryl could feel his body begin to tremble with fear as he watched his father cut the engine of the truck. Hooded hazel eyes with dark circles underneath peered at the situation through the windshield. Pushing the side of the house with his left hand, Daryl had to stop himself from running away as he stood transfixed on Will Dixon's tall muscular frame, not unlike Merle's, exiting the vehicle. His long, dirty blond hair had partially shaken loose from the low ponytail he wore it in. Will took a moment to drain the contents of an unknown canned beverage, most likely beer, in a koozie before tossing it into the truck bed, still sizing up the police.

"The hell's this?" Will slurred, slamming the door to his pickup. "The fuck you doin' here, Officer Benson?" he asked mockingly. Will had no patience for anyone, especially cops and he had a specific hatred of Benson, the mustachioed officer. By no luck of the draw, he was the officer that always got called when there were problems at the Dixon house. He had taken nearly every member of the Dixon family to jail on more than one occasion.

"We've come to collect your son, Will. Seems he burned down Mr. Springer's bar over on Callahan," Benson replied.

"Piece o' shit's what he is. Fuck, I don' care what ya do wit' 'im," Will stood as close as he possibly could to Merle when he said this, swaying slightly.

Coldness and hate was evident in Merle's expression even from where Daryl stood several yards away. Quickly glancing at Daryl, Merle jerked his head to the right, signaling him to leave just before he looked Will directly in the eyes and head-butted him with all his might.

Will staggered backwards before hurling himself towards the handcuffed Merle, who impressively stood his ground. He laughed and Daryl couldn't tell whose blood was on his face.

Daryl took the opportunity to make a run for the woods behind the house. Everyone was surely too preoccupied to notice him now. He stopped just as he reached the tree line and continued to watch the scuffle from behind a tree.

"I oughtta kill you," roared Will as he began to pummel Merle against the back of the police car.

Officer Benson seemed to sigh inwardly before breaking the father and son apart.

"Don't make it worse, Will!" he said, shoving the drunken man back towards the house. "You want us to take you in too?"

Will was red in the face and breathing hard, but seemed to understand that he was on dangerous ground with the law. He huffed loudly, running his bloodied hand through the stubble on his chin and walked up the wooden steps that led to the porch.

"Don't I have someplace ta be, officer?" Merle asked, the fight in him never diminished. "We done wastin' time here?"

"Yeah, Merle," Benson said tiredly as he put Merle in the back of his car.

The front screen door popped as it swung shut and Daryl heard his father yelling for him.

"Boy! Where you get to?"

Daryl took that as his cue to leave. He would put as much distance between himself and the house as he possibly could. Daryl did not want to be the one who took the punishment for wounding his dad's pride, not today.

Too many times to count, Daryl had taken this path through the woods to escape his father. What was once a very faint trail was now a well-worn path darting in and out of the trees. The woods provided Daryl with something that was otherwise absent in his life: peace. He felt that here, among the trees and the occasional deer or squirrel, he could relax.

When he was younger, school had been a place of escape and peace as well. However, Daryl had quickly learned that abuse could and would more than likely follow you anywhere as he was teased relentlessly. He was teased because of his clothes, because he was poor, and because the other students' parents evidently told them who he was and not to associate themselves with redneck trash like Daryl Dixon. A few students had even gone so far as to tease him about his mother's death and the circumstances that surrounded it. True, she would have won no awards for best mother, but it still stung. Cruelty was something that Daryl had experienced from almost everyone he had ever known.

Merle was the only one who ever really cared for Daryl. Sure, Daryl thought, Merle could be cruel in his own way at times, but he was also the only one to step up and protect him from anything. Well, almost anything. Daryl knew without a doubt that Merle had taken the beatings from their father well before Daryl was even thought of. What he wasn't sure of was if Merle knew he wasn't the only one to receive them. Whenever Merle wasn't around to be a punching bag of relief for Will Dixon's problems, Daryl was the substitute.

Daryl felt the sting of tears in his eyes. Angry, he bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to give himself a new pain to focus on. There was no time to feel sorry for himself. This was life and the way it would always be, he just had to grow up and accept that. He guessed that that was the kind of attitude that Merle had always tried to instill in him. That and other beliefs that Daryl wasn't so sure were the best, but what choice did he have? The situation usually went, "Merle's way or no way at all."

"Ain't nobody ever gonna care 'bout you but me, baby brother," Merle's words resonated within him always. He was right. As messed up as that sentence was, Daryl knew that he was right.

So he had done what Merle had told him to and escaped the house before he could be found by either the cops or their father. And what was he supposed to do now? Go back? No way.

Looking around at his surroundings, Daryl realized he had strayed from the familiar path he usually took through the woods. He had been so caught up in his thoughts that he had walked himself very deep into the forest, much farther than he normally would venture. The path he had so often frequented led in a sort of semi-circle through the trees, with only a few small hills and dips in the land. Wherever he was now seemed different. The air smelled damp and he could swear he heard the sound of running water.

Following the sound of water, Daryl was soon standing before a small creek complete with its own tiny waterfall. He quickly thought to himself that it was a pretty sight before another internal voice told him that he was a pussy for even thinking that.

Hands on his hips, Daryl took in the scene. He was lost, he knew that for sure. But finding his way back to the house was not something he was ready to do. At least here in the woods he was alone and relatively safe. Digging in his pants pocket, he dug out his bone handled pocket knife that Merle had bet him to steal from the bait and tackle shop in town. Merle was always pushing him like that, claiming that it would make a man out of him. At least he knew how to defend himself with his knife in the event someone came across him out here.

Another plus, Daryl thought as he settled himself on a large rock beside the creek, was that now he had access to fresh water. Looked like he had found a new home, at least for a little while.

Hope you enjoyed it! A big thank you to my beta Carrot Top! I plan on making this a pretty long story with lots of character devolopment. I can't wait to get to the Bethyl bits but it may be a while. Bear with me, it'll be worth it I swear!