Try Me [Daryl Dixon]

Pilot

Sam got off my motorcycle and waited for me to do the same, before starting to make our way through the dark rain-forest that surrounded us, doing our best to remain inconspicuous, as we approached the group with which our father wish to talk .

My brother gave me his typical Dad won't be happy about this look that he had been wearing all the way from the abandoned factory Dad had turned into a sanctuary, to some remote spot in the woods, near a road. "We should have talked to dad before we came." Sam whispered.

"No." I rolled my eyes and snorted. "Where's the fun in that?"

I could see the clearing where my father was with his companions. I could see a RV and the rest of the vehicles belonging to our group parked in a circle, surrounding something, but I still couldn't say what exactly. "Do you think this has anything to do with the last two attacks on our group?" Sam asked.

We approached at a tediously slow pace, not wanting the fallen leaves underneath our feet to crunch and alert anyone or anything nearby, and took cover behind some trees. My eyes adjusted to the bright yellow light from the car headlights and narrowed in confusion. I watched my father walk out of the RV that probably belonged to those people, carrying Lucille on his shoulder as he moved his gaze across the people now kneeling in front of him, who were staring at him in terror and bewilderment. I tried to get closer, but Sam held me back. "Whoa, easy tiger." He told me, pushing me back to my previous position. "Dad sees us here and we're done for."

I frowned and let out a giggle. "You'll be in big trouble. I'll be fine." I said, shrugging. "The benefits of being daddy's little girl. You should try it some time..." I looked down at his shirt and raised an eyebrow in disgust. "Never mind. I see you're already half way there, Samantha."

Sam gave me a dirty look before focusing back on the group. One person in particular caught my attention. The man in the middle of the line, with shoulder-length dark hair and a blanket draped over his shoulders. He seemed hurt. The way he raised his right hand to his left shoulder gave him away. I would almost say he wanted to cover an open wound. His appearance was dirty and tired like the others. Just as broken and confused, maybe a little angrier than the rest. "What is dad doing?" Sam asked. But I had an even more intriguing question, what the hell was Dean doing?

I watched my brother crouch down in front of a boy who couldn't be older than 16, if that. Over his right eye rested an eye patch covering what I could only assume was a serious injury. Dean took something from the boy and got up quickly. His body language radiated anger and a great force of will that prevented him from beating up each and every one of them until the feeling faded. "I guess it's the people who stole from us back at the station up north, and who murdered dad's friends and..." I cut myself off, still reluctant to say his name out loud.

Sam sent me an empathetic look, but didn't probe into the subject, which I appreciated. I watched my father play with his bat wrapped in barbed wire, swinging it back and forth. "I think one of their women is seriously ill." I commented, when my sight fell upon a brunette with short hair and a pale complexion, who was now covered in a thick layer of sweat.

"Do you think that's the reason why dad hasn't let us near section C today?" Sam pointed to the truck behind the injured man, which he occasionally used to shuttle his prisoners around.

"Moe..."

"Catch..."

"A tiger..." Sammy and I shared a confused look after hearing our father's amused tone. "By..."

"The hollers..." I swallowed hard, not understanding what was happening at that moment, as my father continued to walk by the group of strangers, pointing his bat at each one of them.