I wanted to try a song shuffle idea, so here it is. The parings will be different and hopefully the genre's.

Song: All or Nothing- Theory of a Deadman

Pairing: Glenn/Daryl

Rated: T for mentions of suicide, Methamphetamines and curse words

Author Comment: Fictional background for Daryl made.

He never knew why he did it. Joined up with Rick and the rest of the bumbling sons of bitches. They left Merle to die alone up on a roof in Atlanta. Left him to cauterize his own hand to survive. Or what Daryl thought his brother dying. Even if he may still be alive, it wasn't the same.

He didn't know why he sat here, night after night, traveling with them, looking for something, looking for some source of hope. But night after night, he found nothing. No lit up building, no city without Walkers raiding it. Not survivors and definitely not his brother. He was alone utterly alone.

More than once in the dead of the night as he watched the small crackle of the fire with Rick sitting across from him, he inwardly thought of all the lives he'd lives before this. As a child, they were poor, their parents hyped up on methamphetamine. Their father beat them, their mother whored herself around for another hit. The bully in school, beating kids up for money to walk to the corner and trade for some precious clarity in his life. Bartering his soul to the devil.

He's rouse himself from his thoughts, as he always did, before the nightmares came and thrashed over his mind. He knew time and time again, that his worse thoughts he kept locked up. Those nights that he sits silently in his truck, contemplating what he had left, why he was still traveling with them and why they mattered something to him. His bravado would always pipe up with the fact that he didn't want to be a Walker and only killing himself would achieve that. He wanted to fight as long as he could. Go down fighting is what his older brother always taught him in those rough times.

And at times, he believed his philosophy, don't let them get you, or just shoot every fucker in the head that you can. Then there were other times where he just couldn't live with it anymore. Couldn't live with everyone dead. Everyone, save for this little fucking gathering of useless fuckers. He wasn't breaking, he just needed a breather.

Then there were days when he would watch him in all his awkwardness, reverting to his old habits of craving the flesh, craving the dripping mess of another man's skin under his. The euphoria that could fill the hole left when his drugs were thrown away. Craving for just a touch from his plump lips, wondering what that skin tasted like. It would torment him at night when the question of surviving didn't, the incessant need to have what he couldn't drove him mad.

Now, he sat in his truck, touching the skin that he'd craved so long for. Breathing out a heated sigh, fogging the windows with their memories with their hopes. Glenn was finally his, panting under him dripping with sweat and screaming with need. His fingers tight against his back, his lips whispering the words he'd been dying to hear all his life. "It's only you and I. All or nothing." It's a question and a statement all at once.

"You've got all I need."