The sound of his bottle hitting the table sounded much heavier to his ears than necessary. There was a sort of finality to what Daryl told him that twisted his stomach up in knots. The last thing he would ever do about this was blame Daryl, but he didn't like where this was going. It didn't matter to him that Merle had hurt him, Glenn's focus was on the underlying issue: Merle had taken them both to Woodbury, which meant he was responsible for whatever had become of Maggie.
A fate that he knew he needed to leave sealed until he got to talk to her again.
Though he didn't know it, that would keep him from losing it over Merle completely. Silently, Glenn stared a hole into the table. Half of his senses dulled while the others sharply heightened. It was awful, feeling like he had to cut his reaction in half. On the one hand, he had been brutally roughed up and his girlfriend likely a similar fate; on the other, Daryl had just lost the maniac. He had a lot of respect for Daryl--hell, he thought of him as his own brother--but he wasn't so sure he could bite his tongue for long.
That made him apprehensive enough to finally acknowledge the cool condensation wetting the pads of his fingers. Glenn took another drink of his beer, this one much longer than the last. His bottle sounded even louder as it thudded on the table again. Despite his lack of confidence in himself, Glenn knew with a burning certainty that he would have died before giving up everyone in the prison to someone like Merle, let alone the Governor.
"That all you wanted to tell me?" He asked tentatively, barely able to swallow the lump in his throat along with the excess liquor.