Daryl could hardly meet Glenn's gaze before he was having to look away. Despite everything that had happened, despite everything that he knew happened and would happen, he still felt that instinctual need to try to defend Merle somehow, make it seem alright as if it wasn't as bad as it sounded. But the fact was that it was bad. Hell, it was worse, and no amount of sugar coating this shit was going to make it any less fucked up. It pissed Daryl off. He wasn't angry at Glenn; he hadn't done anything to turn his brother into a grade A douchebag. But he knew that his anger was pointless. Not only was there nothing that he could do, this shit had already gone down for him back him. And Merle wasn't even here for him to take his anger out on.
Taking the moment of silence, Daryl hit the neck of his beer bottle against the table, popping off the top in one swift motion. The bottle cap flew off and hit the ground before rolling somewhere under the table. He would have to retrieve that later. He wasn't trying to make a damn mess in Tifa's bar; he just had other shit on his mind at the moment. He copied Glenn's movements to take a drink himself, though his was more of a swig than anything. Drowning the his out with booze wasn't going to make it all better either, no matter how damn tempting it was.
"Somewhere from cuttin' off his own hand and shackin' it up at Woodbury, the Governor saved his life," Daryl explained, though he doubted that was the explanation Glenn was really looking for. He still felt compelled to explain it, try to explain his brother's actions, as if that would make it all better somehow. "You and Maggie were on a run... baby supplies... when he found you. I dunno what the hell happened out there, didn't watch it, but you didn't wanna take him back to the prison. Prolly 'fraid of what he'd d to Rick... Prolly right, too." He sighed, staring down the neck of his bottle. "He took ya to Woodbury, figurin' he could prolly force ya to tell him..."