Chapter Text
Go now.
Daryl didn't hesitate, he couldn't. It was his only chance.
He briefly wondered if it was another trap, but he had to risk it. He moved slower this time, listening for any and every noise around him. When he heard people arguing he ducked into one of the rooms. A jar of peanut butter was on the side table. He opened it and scooped out handfuls quickly, knowing some real food would help him get some energy back. He shed the dirty sweats and changed into normal clothes so it would be harder to recognize him.
When he realized it was Dwight’s room — the mini carvings a major giveaway — Daryl wanted to scream. He wanted to trash it. Instead, he finished the peanut butter and waited until the people outside the room went quiet. He couldn’t resist pushing over the table of mini sculptures and left the room—
The next thing Daryl knew was the feeling of walker teeth tearing into his skin, ripping him apart starting at his stomach. He screamed and fought, but he couldn’t move. Hands were holding him down by his shoulders and his hips as they fed him to the dead.
He opened his eyes and saw Rick standing above him, saying something. Pressing down on his shoulders, pinning him as the walkers fed.
“Rick, please—” he begged, but Rick didn’t let go. He let them feed on him. Let them kill him.
Daryl woke up slowly. The first thing he was aware of was pain— agony. It was focused on his abdomen and left hand, but his back, left arm, shoulder, and feet were all pulsing with sharp spikes of pain. There was light behind his heavy eyelids, and he could hear movement around him, footsteps on a tiled floor, and low voices.
He didn’t remember the beating being this bad, something must have happened. He remembered the pain, the tearing.
“Go get him,” Rick’s voice rang out, followed by footsteps moving quickly on the tiled floor and a door opening and closing. A small, cool breeze reached his exposed skin. “Daryl?”
A warm calloused hand gripped his right hand. His first instinct was to relax at his best friend's voice, until he remembered Rick standing over him, holding him down while the dead ate him. It felt too real to be a dream, but he was still alive somehow. He opened his eyes, wincing against the light, and focused on Rick’s face beside him, noticing how weary and worn he looked. His scruff was the same, but there looked to be more gray in it than before.
“Hey,” Rick said softly, running his thumb over the back of Daryl’s hand, comforting him, his breathing came easier this time. “How are you feelin’?”
“Uh.” He cleared his throat; he didn't know how he made it out, but it obviously worked.
Rick let go of his hand to pour water from a pitcher into a glass on the table beside him and put the pitcher down before handing him the glass. Daryl tried to sit up, but one of his arms didn't move. He glanced down to see his left arm in a sling against his chest, hidden within a tight bandage that wrapped from his elbow to his hand.
Rick put the glass down to help him sit up first, then gave the glass back for him to sip at it. Once he finished it, Rick swapped it for another smaller cup, strangely still only using his right hand, his left hanging uselessly by his side. “And take this. Poppy milk, pain killer,” Rick explained at Daryl’s questioning look.
“Thanks.” He took it and sniffed at it, a sweet, flowery smell wafted from it, and he drank it down. He didn't know they had managed to get poppy milk, but he focused on it dulling the pain to a more manageable level.
Rick grunted in answer and adjusted the pillows behind his back to help him stay sitting up as Daryl glanced around the large room. There were curtains on either side of him, but opposite he could see a line of beds with curtains between each one and windows spread evenly across the walls with low light flooding through. He was on a matching bed, wearing a simple hospital gown, with no clothes underneath.
“What— what happened?” Daryl managed to ask, clearing his dry throat. He swapped the small medicine cup for the cup of water from Rick.
“What do you remember?”
“I escaped, then…” he hesitated. “Thought the walkers got me, saw you, then nothin’.”
Rick’s Adam’s apple bobbled as he swallowed. “We thought you woke up. I’m real sorry ‘bout that. You had internal bleeding by your spleen, Izzy had to operate and we had to hold you down with no anesthetic.” He looked away, shaking his head. “You woke up the moment she cut. We had no choice.”
Heart pounding, Daryl remembered the pain of being torn apart, and seeing Rick’s face above him. It made sense now. He clenched his fist, taking a deep breath through his nose. Once he felt he could breathe clearly, he grunted in response.
Rick took his free hand again, his tone full of regret. “We tried to get to you sooner, but we only managed to find you after you escaped, while you were runnin’.” Rick squeezed his hand. “You were unconscious on Peach, and have been in and out. Do you remember waking up?”
Daryl shook his head.
“That was… nearly three days ago. Your arm was broken in two places and you cracked a few ribs. A bad wound on the back of your head. And more bruises and cuts. Just another few scars to add to the list.” Rick looked away as though trying to gather himself and forced himself to look Daryl in the eye. “I— I had to cut off your finger on the way back. Didn’t have a choice. With the swelling, it was black already and you barely flinched. I’m so sorry. Your ring finger, left hand.”
He lifted his arm, gritting his teeth against the pain, seeing it in a cast up to his hand. He turned it to see the other side of his hand where both his pinky and ring finger were gone, with a small bandage taped over the space.
He itched to inspect his own body, to look at every injury and examine them. He could feel so many it was as though he had been hit by a bus while on his motorcycle, every muscle, bone, every inch of skin was tight and pulsing.
“What about—”
“Don't worry, Negan has the ring. He knows you’re here. I just sent RJ to tell him you were waking up.”
The words were like a punch to the gut, leaving him as breathless as the strike would have, making him forget about his fingers. He broke out in a cold sweat and his mouth went dry, his words stuck in his throat. It took a moment before he could stutter, “Wh— what? Why?”
“He’s not left your side, until a few hours ago. He needed to sleep.”
“Why would you—”
The curtain flung open, and Negan stood there, his tall body taking up the space, breathing heavily like he had been running. His leather jacket and red scarf were discarded for a blue t-shirt that was on inside out, and blue jeans. His usually slicked-back hair was wild, and his beard, which had been short three days ago, was longer and scruffy.
He rushed to Daryl’s side and leaned down, pressing a kiss against his lips.
Daryl froze.
When he was a child, he would freeze against his dad’s anger.
As he got used to what would set his dad off, he would run, flee, into the woods, and stay as long as he could until his dad’s anger dissipated or he was too drunk to remember he was angry.
Then, as he got older and bigger, he could fight back, which became his response to everything: fight.
But as Negan kissed him, with no hesitation, like it was normal. Daryl reverted back to the shocked scared child he once was and simply froze.
“Christ, I need to put you on a leash,” Negan murmured, the words sending a shiver down Daryl's still-frozen back. He perched on the edge of Daryl’s bed, their hips pressed together, his heat scorching Daryl’s side. He glanced at Rick who had flattened his lips at Negan’s words, his eyes narrowed. “Prick. I told you I should stay.”
“I sent RJ after ya the second he started showin’ signs of wakin’ up just as I promised,” Rick defended quickly. Daryl stared at him, searching for shock or confusion at Negan kissing him. But Rick just smiled at them both. “I’ll get the doctor.” Rick turned away, leaving him alone with Negan. Daryl could hardly pull in a breath, he wanted to run.
“How are you feeling, Darlin’?” Negan asked with a strangely gentle smile, running his hand along Daryl’s thigh; goosebumps followed his touch. “What the fuck happened out there?”
His mind was spinning a mile a minute, his eyes were too heavy, desperate to go back to sleep, but how could he with Negan sitting beside him? He wanted to shout for Rick to come back, to explain everything, why he betrayed him like this? A quiet part of his mind told him it was Rick, he had to have a good reason.
Negan’s smile faded. “Daryl?”
Daryl studied him, his graying beard and intense eyes locked on Daryl like he was the only thing Negan could see. Daryl didn’t know what he could say, even if he did his throat was too tight. If he admitted he didn’t know what was happening that would put him at a disadvantage. Negan would use that to torment him further. He could tell him anything, and who knew what was true?
“Okay, you’re worrying me now.” If Daryl didn’t know any better, he would say the words sounded genuine, but he knew it had to be an act for reasons he couldn’t understand. He looked in the direction Rick had gone, wanting to shout for him to come back and ask him what the hell was going on.
“M’fine,” Daryl managed to say instead, his words crackling through a dry throat.
Negan brushed his hand down Daryl's arm again and took his hand. “I’ll get you out of here. We spent enough time here, but you have to stay in bed still, okay?” Daryl stared, with no idea what to say to him. Negan’s eyes narrowed, studying him. “What happened out there? Did it bring back some bad memories?”
“M’fine,” Daryl snapped. What did that mean?
Negan’s eyes flashed. “I need more words, gorgeous.” Speak when you’re spoken to.
“What do ya want me to say?” I am Negan.
Negan laughed, his features softening. “That'll do.” He leaned in again, kissing Daryl's frozen lips softly. Daryl’s heart pounded, remembering seeing Negan kissing Sherry, forcing her into it. Negan pulled back, frowning again. Before he could say anything, Rick came back with a middle-aged, tall, blonde woman wearing a white coat.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” the woman greeted him. “Move that pretty ass of yours, Negan, I need room here.”
Daryl’s eyes flicked between them, waiting for Negan to snap at her, but he laughed brightly and climbed off the bed. He still moved to stand by Daryl’s legs, Rick thankfully stayed and stood on his right side.
The doctor approached Daryl from his left and shone a penlight into his eyes. “Please remember the word banana. And follow my pen please.” She moved it around in front of his eyes. “Perfect. Do you remember how you hit your head?”
With Negan watching him, he wanted to lie and say yes, but any additional questions would catch him out on the lie and Rick already knew he had lost the last few hours— days? “No.”
“What’s the last thing you do remember?”
He glanced between Negan and Rick, stopping on his leader to silently ask him what to say. Rick might have betrayed him, but he had to have a good reason. Confusion flashed in Rick’s eyes and then he gave him a small nod.
Daryl bit the inside of his lip before he answered, “I escaped, then woke up here,” Daryl glanced at Negan for his reaction. His eyes shuttered, but his hands were surprisingly gentle when he squeezed Daryl’s leg lightly.
“During your escape, any dizziness? Bleeding from the nose or ears?”
Daryl resisted the urge to touch his ears. “No.”
“Vomiting?”
“No.”
“Any loss of sensation or pain in your limbs that doesn’t correlate to a known injury?” She paused then added, “Have you been told of your current injuries?”
Daryl’s eyes darted to Rick again and grunted a yes.
“And more pain?”
“No.” Every part of his body was sparking with pain, some beginning to fade with the poppy milk Rick gave him, but he knew it wouldn’t be enough to dull all of it. Even so, he couldn’t say it, that would be admitting weakness to Negan's face, so he shook his head causing it to swim.
“That’s… surprising, but good. Do you know what day of the week comes after Wednesday?” At Daryl’s look, she chuckled. “I know. Just answer it.”
“Thursday.”
“Great. Thank you. Do you remember the word I told you?”
“Banana.”
“Perfect. Mind if I check your surgical wound?”
“Uh, a’right.” He pushed the blanket off his chest with his unwrapped hand, and left it pooling in his lap, the doctor shifted his gown aside, the opening in the front giving her easy access. He glanced at Rick and Negan again, but neither man moved away, watching intently as she removed the bandage.
The cool hands against his stomach had the feeling of walker fingers tearing into his skin again and he couldn't stop the twitch. “Sorry, my hands are cold,” the doctor murmured.
Daryl glanced down, seeing bruising across most of his stomach, and in the middle of it all, a well-stitched cut on his left side. There was more bruising on his chest.
She gently pressed around the area and inspected it closely. As she did she said, “Since you've been unconscious for days with no explanation other than a minor head injury and exhaustion, I’d love to send you for a CT, but we don’t have that option. So, you need to tell me if you have any other symptoms over the next few weeks, headaches or dizziness. Any more memory loss outside of the known. And you’ll need to take some antibiotics for a week.”
Daryl bit back a scoff. Of course they had antibiotics. Fucking Saviors hoarding everything. He wondered how many points they were and if he was expected to pay it back.
“Can I take him home?” Negan asked. Daryl's eyes darted to him. What the hell did that mean? Back where?
“He's been unconscious for days and had surgery. He needs to stay here.”
“And now he's awake. He’ll just try to make a break for it the moment he can, you know that as well as I do,” Negan said it like it was funny even with a wink aimed at Daryl, but Daryl's heart was pounding too fast and hard. He couldn’t think. “The only reason he’s not already trying to run is because we drugged him up.” What? His eyes darted between them, he felt groggy and confused, but he was also tired and hurting. Was he drugged? Was that what Rick had given him?
The doctor sighed. “Tomorrow morning.”
“I can monitor him. I have before.” She gently spread some creamy goo on the wound and then covered it again with a fresh bandage. Before? Daryl bit his lip to keep from making a noise as she pressed the tape into the bruising on his skin.
“Negan—”
“Doctor.” Negan stood straighter as he spoke the title. Daryl could almost see him holding that bat over his shoulder, his hips tilted, his eyes narrowed. An order.
Daryl choked on the air, his throat too tight all of a sudden. His ears were ringing, Negan was taking him back. Away from Rick again, while hurt and confused. Negan was chuckling and saying something. And Rick was stepping back and leaving him again.
Rick looked down to say something to him, but his eyebrows pulled together, a hand pressed gently on his injured shoulder, steadying him. “Hey, you alright?” Rick mouthed, probably said aloud, but Daryl couldn’t hear through the ringing in his ears. Another hand was on his other shoulder, the heavy weight pinning him down. Negan was leaning close to him, saying something else but he couldn’t hear him.
He had to get a hold of himself. You don’t scare easy. He could do it again, he would be strong and pretend until he understood what the hell had happened. He could be around Negan and pretend to know what the hell was going on. Rick was leaving him. He trusted Rick.
Daryl bit the inside of his lip hard enough he tasted blood and said, “Yeah, m’fine.”
But Negan was staring at him, with what looked like concern in his dark eyes that felt like they were peering into his soul.
Rick squeezed his shoulder. “I’ll go, but I’ll spread the word that you’re okay.”
Stay, tell me what's happening. The words were on the tip of his tongue, but Rick didn't even hesitate. He didn't seem to care Negan kissed him, and there was something else. Something his mind recoiled from. A hint that there was more than kissing. He could only watch as Rick walked away, his thoughts tripping over themselves as adrenaline failed him and the poppy milk took hold.
“Hold up,” Negan called after Rick, who paused by the curtain. “I’ll come with you and get Daryl some clothes,” Negan offered, pausing to frown at him. He leaned down and kissed him softly on the forehead before leaving.
“While he’s gone,” the doctor said with an apologetic smile, “let’s take your catheter out.”
Negan walked outside with Rick, clenching his fists. Without Daryl, his ghosts appeared in an instant, too many of them talking at once, yelling insults at him, reminding him how useless he was, he should have gotten to Daryl sooner.
A hand grabbed his arm, stopping him in the streets and pulling him around to face Rick.
“What?” Negan snapped but softened at the sight of Rick.
They spent nearly two months on the road alone together looking for Daryl. They fought, they talked, and although a friendship had been blooming before, it was more now. Family. He knew what Rick would do for him and he would do the same for Rick.
“I said your name five times. Are there–” Rick's eyes darted around.
Negan shook his tumbling mind and dug his nails into his palms, trying to ignore his ghosts. But not willing to banish them completely, because without them all he could see was the fear in Daryl’s eyes and feel his frozen still lips when they kissed. He was home and the last two months of not sleeping, just searching and praying was worth it.
“You’ve not been this tight-lipped since I first threw you in the cell,” Rick continued, sensing Negan's need for him not to mention the ghosts. The knowledge was still fresh for him, an accidental revelation while Negan was struggling on the road.
Negan shot him a glare, knowing the mention of the cell was done on purpose to throw him off and distract him.
Rick waited patiently, eyebrow raised and head tilted, while Negan found the right words.
“I asked what happened, and he didn’t want to answer. Did he tell you?”
“I didn’t ask. He’s just woken up from a semi-coma and probably had a shitty few weeks. He’s alive, he’s safe. That’s what matters.”
Negan thought back to after the hotel, Daryl didn’t want to talk then, either. He put that down to hating each other, but it did fit Daryl in general. Pain and hurt just led to hiding. Like a hurt animal. Not that Daryl would appreciate being compared to an animal.
“You’re right to get him home,” Rick said after a few beats. “See how he is once he's home and healed. Let me know if you two need anythin’, anythin’ at all. And your shirt is inside out, by the way.” Rick patted his shoulder and turned the corner toward his house.
Negan sighed and glanced back at the infirmary, he hadn’t seen Daryl pull away from him like that since before.