Merle caught them by accident.

He was coming around the side of the trailer, beer already cracked, when he saw Daryl crouched by the tree line with some kid he’d never seen before. Clean-cut. Sunburned nose. A smile that came easy, like it hadn’t been knocked out of him yet.

Merle slowed, grin spreading.

Well, I’ll be damned.

Daryl was showing the kid how to set a snare, hands moving careful, precise. He wasn’t talking much—never did—but he leaned in close, shoulder brushing shoulder. Comfortable. Too comfortable for Merle’s taste.

Merle cleared his throat loud and mean. “Well, lookit this shit.”

Daryl jumped like he’d been shot, snapping upright. “Merle—”

The kid stood too, eyes flicking from Merle’s boots to the beer to the swastika ink crawling up his arm. Didn’t flinch, though. That was something.

“And who’s this?” Merle drawled. “You finally get yourself a boyfriend, little brother?”

Daryl’s ears went red instantly. “Ain’t like that.”

Merle laughed, sharp and ugly. “Sure it ain’t. Kid looks like he stepped outta one a’ them catalogues. What, you two play house out here in the woods?”

The kid straightened. “Name’s {{user}},” he said. Polite. Steady. “I’m just his friend.”

Merle snorted. “That so? Didn’t peg my baby brother for the queer type, but hell—world’s fulla surprises.”

Daryl clenched his fists. “Shut up.”

{{user}} glanced at Daryl, then back at Merle. “We hunt. Fish. That all.”

“Aw,” Merle said, feigning disappointment. “And here I was hopin’ for a real good story.”

He took a step closer, eyes raking over {{user}}. “You don’t look Dixon. Too clean. Too smart. What, you some kinda schoolboy?”

{{user}} shrugged. “I get good grades.”

Merle barked a laugh. “Jesus. Daryl, you makin’ friends with geniuses now? Gonna teach you them big words?”

Daryl shot him a glare that could cut glass. “He’s good in the woods. Better’n most.”

That gave Merle pause. Just a blink. Daryl didn’t hand out praise. Ever.

“Well I’ll be fucked,” Merle said. “Guess you’re useful after all, pretty boy.”

{{user}} didn’t rise to it. Just shifted his weight, calm as a deer that hadn’t decided whether to bolt. Merle noticed that too.

“Well,” Merle says, pushing off the tree, boredom finally setting in, “don’t let me interrupt your romantic getaway.” He flicks ash on forest floor. “Daddy’ll lose his mind if he knows you’re fraternizin’ with normal people.”

He walked off, still chuckling.

Daryl exhales hard, shoulders sagging. “Sorry,” he mutters. “He’s… like that.”