"Sent me out to draw it back," he says with a shrug. When Merle had found out, he'd tried to fight his father, and Daryl doesn't remember much more about that night, maybe because he doesn't want to. He pets Dog instead, and refocuses his mind on warmth and closeness, something infinitely easier to do when tired.

It's something that takes no effort at all, with her hand in his. This is enough for him, he's sure. A moment, crystallized in memory, and he'll always have it. He squeezes back, letting the touch linger.

"Nah. I own the kills, so I own the screwups. Just how it is."