A sniper. A fucking sniper. Just like Merle. Only this kid hadn't come back with a taste for any drug he could get his hands on to manage whatever shit he'd seen. He'd just come back completely messed up.

"Easy, kid," Daryl murmured, tone soft like he was talking to a spooked animal. He hadn't let go of the knife, but he had it held loosely, where it could easily be seen. Both hands were up and he was crouching a little as he approached. He knew closing in on him was dangerous, but he didn't need someone like him running and making things worse for himself.

He attempted to put his empty hand on the shoulder that wasn't metal, "You should sit down. Get your head between your knees. Deep breaths."