AN: I don't like the format of this platform that much, but I know many of you guys only come here. This came up on AO3 a few days ago and the next chapter will be following with in a few days. It's planned out as a four chapter story for now, but if I feel like I have it in me I might expand the story to include a few more chapters.

For now, enjoy.

Usual Fangirl Disclaimers Applies.

Warnings for everything you'd see on the show.

Spoilers for all current content, including spoilers for use of content from the Comics.

Life in the Prison hadn't been a picnic, far from it. They'd lost people and lost hope and for a short while Rick even lost himself. There were days where they had to kill the living and nights where Daryl had been sure he'd never see the sunrise and maybe it was the shit days that ended up defining them as a group, but it was the good days that kept them going. Days like the one where Glenn and Maggie brought home the pregnant sow. Days where Carl fell asleep outside with Lil'Asskicker on his chest, hat tipped over his face. Days where Michonne brought home crayons and Beth decorated the courtyard with a floral pattern.

They hadn't chosen each other and most of them would never even have gotten along before the Turn, but somehow they managed to make a home for themselves. For a treacherous moment he'd let himself forget that the world had ended.

He wipes at the bloodstains on his face, but only manages to smear his cheek red from the blood on the back of his hand. He's not even sure if it's friend or foe, but he has a nagging suspicion it's Rick's.

The chilling fear he felt when he saw Rick go down is still lingering in his stomach and he can't shake it, not even as he looks over to see his leader lean against a tree, worse for wear, but alive, which is more than can be said for the guy who had cut Rick. Daryl had stabbed him through the side of his neck with an arrow and yanked it back out to see the blood drain from both sides in heavy spurts and even though it had felt more satisfying than it rightfully should, it wasn't enough to give Daryl a sense of justice. He had given himself a few seconds to search out the cut, his fingers automatically probing to see how deep it was. He hadn't had a chance to get a good look at it since, just enough to convince himself it wasn't deadly as long as they could stop the bleeding, but they don't have anything to bind it with, they'd freeze if they surrendered even the smallest piece of clothing.

Carl is on his back in the snow, knees bent to keep his legs from trembling. The woods around them are quiet and their gasps for air are the only thing to echo between the trees.

"I saw Walkers take down at least two of them." Rick says, crystal clouds forming as he talks. "Can't imagine they'd follow us this deep into the woods, not with the herd this close."

"If we keep driftin' south we should be able ta go 'round and avoid the herd." Daryl says, moving to pull Carl back on his feet. "Yer gonna get sick like that." He finds himself scolding, even if it's Rick he really wants to yell at.

Carl lets himself be pulled from the snow, but it's clear he's absolutely worn.

Still in better shape than his old man, Daryl thinks, eyes falling on Rick again. He's pressing a fist-full of snow against his abdomen in an attempt to stop the blood, but with the cold and the blood loss Rick is skittering dangerously close to hypothermia and shock. He hadn't been in very good shape to start with neither, having resumed his old habit of passing most of his food to the pregnant lady, only this time it was Maggie and Glenn was doing the same thing. As much as Daryl respects Rick and his determination to keep them all alive, he'd wish he could slap the Martyr-complex right out of him, because as it is he's barely useful. If Sasha hadn't twisted her ankle Daryl would have brought her along for this run instead.

"I'm good." Rick lies and they start moving again, even though the pace is much slower this time around. It's getting dark between the trees and while Daryl has no problem leading them in the right direction to avoid the herd Rick and Carl keeps stumbling over branches and roots hidden underneath the snow, making noise and slowing them down. After twenty minutes Rick falls behind and it's clear that he can't go any further with out a break.

"It's getting too cold." Daryl half-lies, coming to halt. "We can't move fast enough in the dark to keep warm."

Carl looks as if he's about to argue, but his eyes follow Daryl's as they flicker to Rick and resigned the kid nods instead.

"I'll build a snow pit for the fire." He volunteers, pulling his sleeves over his hands as he starts digging snow into a pile. It's proof of how far Carl has come that he doesn't blame his father or lose his temper. What ever Rick and Carl had to go through after the prison fell Daryl has the feeling that Rick biting a man's throat out to protect Carl was just the culmination. The little boy who faulted his father for being weak is gone.

Daryl starts gathering twigs and branches, trying to ignore the way Rick just sags in on himself, another fistful of snow pressed to the cut in his side. It takes everything Daryl has to keep himself from pushing Rick's hands away to examine the cut himself. Which was stupid, really. He knew that. It's just that Daryl never realized how much he's come to depend on the fact that Rick could take care of himself. Rick was a survivor, even before the Turn, and Daryl had been drawn to that like a moth to a flame.

Daryl had always been shit on his own. He'd once told Andrea the story about how he got lost in the woods as a kid, made it sound like he wasn't afraid at all.

Truth is he'd been scared shit-less the whole time. That was why he'd tried so hard to find Sofia, because he knew how terrifying it was for a kid to be alone in the dark, with no one looking for you and only your own nightmares to keep you going even though your legs felt like lead.

It was why he'd stayed all those years with his old man instead of running off like Merle had, because Daryl might know everything he'd need to survive, but he'd never been a survivor. He didn't work on his own. He couldn't even shoot his own dad after he'd been bitten, too damn afraid to be alone in the world, how screwed up is that?

He needed someone to follow, a back to watch, and Rick had more than earned that role by now. They are still setting a hierarchy in the group, clashing together when ever a decision has to be made. If Rick shows any sign of weakness there are more than enough alphas in this group ready to step all over him and take his place, but they could look down their army-noses at Rick and his police-honor from up-the-road-aways, Daryl knows who he'd stand by. He'd left Rick once by choice and it had only made him realize, with no uncertainty, where he belonged.

As if the other man has heard his thoughts Rick pulls himself together and starts stripping dry leaves off some twigs, pulling tufts of dry moss from the trunk of a dead tree for kindling.

"I hope the other group had better luck." Carl says, voice rough from the cold air.

"Worryin' about them won't do anyone any good." Daryl says forcefully, kicking a branch free of the snow.

"I wasn't worrying, I was just saying..."

"Well don't." He snaps, regretting it when he meets Carl's eyes. Damn kid has his father's eyes, hard from things they've seen, but it's all that caring and dedication behind them that makes them painful.

It's easy enough to get the fire going, Daryl's done it more times than he can remember, and they bunch together around the timid flames. It takes Rick hissing as he moves into a crouch before Daryl loses his patience with the other man.

"Move ya hands." Daryl orders as he pushes himself to his knees, facing Rick. "If you bleed out yer son's gonna have ta shoot 'is own dad as well." He adds, making a point to keep his voice soft despite the harsh words. He meets Rick's eyes.

The other man looks furious enough that Daryl would fear for his own health if Rick was in sightly better shape, but at least Rick moves his hand, instead using both of them to support his weight as he leans back, allowing Daryl to unzip his canvas jacket for access.

Daryl can't stop himself from squinting at the soaked shirt underneath and his eyes flicker up to meet Rick's once more. Most of the anger has been replaced by shame and Daryl realizes at least some of that anger had been Rick being pissed with himself for getting in this situation.

The hunter runs his fingers over the edges of the wound with forced clinical detachment, but he's still much more gentle than he would have been with his own wounds.

"You could do it." Rick says and it's so apropos nothing that Daryl can't make a connection until Rick continues, "Shoot me, I mean. So Carl wouldn't have to."

"Could I?" Daryl says, unable to keep the rising anger from tainting his voice hard. Of course he could, in fact he'd never even consider letting Carl do it, but the fact that Rick's right now considering a scenario where it's a possibility that any of them would have to shoot him is pissing Daryl off.

Rick seems to read the cause for Daryl's mood, because he sighs and runs a hand over his face the way he does when he's deciding which is the lesser of two evils.

"I'm fine." he says in the end, opting out of an apology. Maybe he doesn't feel he needs to give one or maybe he feels like Daryl would punch him in the face if he tried.

"That's the only words I wanna hear otta your mouth, Grimes." Daryl growls, even though it isn't really. But right now, on this subject? Yeah. "You don't get ta check out. Ever. Ya hearing me?" Daryl waits until Rick lifts his eyes and nods. It's not a promise, they don't make those, but it's close enough that Daryl can go back to his examination.

Carl watches the interaction with something that could qualify as a smile, hands his father a cup of melted snow and goes back to staring into the flames and listening for approaching walkers.

Daryl puts his hands where they don't need to go, but Rick doesn't call him on it. They've all accepted this kind of grooming as part of being a proxy-family. Even Daryl, although he admits it came with liberal amounts of protests the first time anyone but Hershel dared touch him in a way that wasn't strictly acute first aid.

"She just wanted to see for herself." Rick had told him after Daryl had been forced to take the back-seat of the Hyundai after a backwards plunge from a staircase to avoid a walker. Hershel's verdict had been a severe concussion.

"I ain't a freakin' petting zoo." Daryl had shouted, much louder than he needed, just to make sure Carol could hear from where she was fidgeting just out of sight, Lori calming her down.

"She wanted to see for herself that you were okay, Daryl. She was worried about you." Rick had spelled out, hand squeezing Daryl's knee.

It wasn't until sometime after they found the prison that Daryl had forced himself to accept when people reached for him after a close call, when Maggie or Rick or even Glenn would sometimes feel the need to make sure for themselves that the hunter was unharmed. He had never stopped complaining about it though.

Daryl moves his fingers from Rick's abdomen to the bruise on his ribs, noticing how Rick goes stiff with the anticipation of pain. Daryl doesn't have to prod the rib to know it's broken, he saw the kick land and can almost imagine the sound it made when it cracked. He knows he's imagining it, though. He had been too far away, his own voice too loud to hear anything, but he's heard a rib break before, felt it too.

He rests one hand against Rick's hip to keep him steady as he presses as gently as he can, rolling the skin over the curve of the rib to determine the shatter-point. Even prepared for the pain the intensity of it takes Rick by surprise and he shuts his eyes against it. Something between a moan and a hiss melts into whimper in Rick's throat and Rick doesn't even try to hold it back, because right now he doesn't have to and Daryl needs to know exactly what he's dealing with if he's to get them all safely home. Rick knows as much by now.

He gives Rick a chance to brace himself properly before he continues. He's sure the rib is not in jeopardy of puncturing a lung, prays Rick would never have taken that risk.

Rick's looking at him, waiting for Daryl to give some kind of verdict and he's suddenly intensely aware that his left hand is still grabbing Rick's hipbone.

"Bob should be able to fix ya up when we get back." Daryl mumbles, starting to cover Rick back up, but only gets to pulling the blood-soaked shirt down before it gets too awkward for him and he leaves it to Rick to zip the jacket closed. "You should get some rest. I'm surprised ya haven't passed out."

"I'm alright." Rick says as Carl glances over, arms wrapped around himself to combat the cold. Rick holds out an arm to invite Carl to press against his uninjured side. Carl makes a face, but scoots over anyway, resting his head against his father's shoulder. "It was a close call, but we're alright now."

Daryl slides in by Rick's other side, careful to avoid the bruised ribs.

"Too close." He mumbles, not sure if Rick hears.

When the sun breaks through the lowest branches of the pines Daryl untangles himself from Rick's back and Carl's octopus limbs and pulls Rick to his feet. He hasn't slept, knew he couldn't risk it, so instead he kept awake, listening to Rick's breathing, telling himself that he was doing it because Rick would haunt him through eternity if Daryl had dozed off and Rick had died, turned and bitten Carl.

Carl kicks the sides of the snow pit in to cover the hissing embers and while he looks as sulky as Daryl's ever seen him, he's smart enough to keep his mouth shut. Out of all of them Carl is probably the one who fares worst without decent sleep and Daryl realizes that Carl's probably been awake most of the night as well, worrying about his old man.

Rick actually is pale enough to be worrying, but at least he keeps steady on his feet after Daryl lets go. There's a slight winch when Rick reaches to check the state of his wound, but Daryl guesses it's caused as much by cold fingers as actual pain and in any case his fingers come out free of fresh blood.

"Yer good?" Daryl asks, knowing they really have no other choice than to keep going, but he needs to hear the words from Rick, lie or not.

"Lead on." Is Rick's only reply and Daryl does.

He's never been outside Georgia before, but woods are woods and they all have the same markers. They cross a deer trail veering east, fresh marks in the snow telling him it's worth the slight change in their course. Rick's holding up, much better than Daryl could have hoped for, and when they cross trails with a lone Walker sniffing it's way towards the same deer they are following it's Rick that kicks it down and stabs it.

It turns out to be a young buck that would have grown it's first antlers come spring, but Daryl's happy about the modest size when he passes the crossbow to Carl and hauls the gutted deer over his own shoulders with Rick's cautious help.

"Got it." Daryl says, bouncing the buck on his shoulders to get it into position. There's a warm trail of blood running under his collar and down his back and fat drops of blood slip from his fingertips into the white snow.

Daryl has never thought too deeply about blood. When you mostly live off of what you can shoot you learn to distance yourself pretty quickly. Guts, blood, meat, it's all just a part of staying alive. Some nights you can't risk a fire so you eat it raw, even the most squeamish people in their group have learned that by now.

Human blood is different. Still, even though Daryl's killed his share of people by now, it still feels different on his skin.

It's not that Daryl regrets killing any of the people he's killed. For the most part he's managed to keep pretty cold headed about it, because it's always been an us or them scenario, but even when he'd killed the man who cut Rick in cold rage it was Rick's blood on his hands that had made Daryl's stomach squirm.

"You're fine carrying that?" Rick asks and Daryl notes the slight color in his cheeks, likely due to the cold, but still there.

"Would 'ave been fine carryin' you." He says, testing if there's enough strength there for a smile. It's barely there, but it's enough to bring some life into Rick's eyes and Daryl counts that as a victory.

With Daryl's instructions Carl takes the lead with the crossbow, although the weapon is still too big for the little man, and in the end Daryl only has to corrects their direction slightly before they finally reach the road.

Unsurprisingly the other Raid Party had better luck than them and not just because no one got injured. Tara, Glenn and Michonne had managed to scavenge blankets, fuel and preserved food from an abandoned nursing home. Glenn even found several bottles of painkillers and prescription antibiotics as well as a box filled with bottles of over-the-counter antiseptic gel.

"Wasn't expecting we'd have to use it quite so soon." Carol says, but her smile is soft as she pads the dining room table.

Rick hesitates, his jaw clenching the way it does when he's under pressure. There's a tightness around Rick's mouth as he unbuttons his shirt and tremors in his muscles as he hoists himself up on the table, but Daryl's pretty sure he's the only one who's looking close enough to notice, knows he probably only sees it because he knows exactly how much pain Rick is in, knows how fucking much a broken rib hurts. It's not until Rick's eyes flicker to the Sargent and Rosita, who's hovering by the door, that he understands why Rick is acting so restrained and stoic. They may not be the enemy, but they're not family either and Rick knows that you don't expose yourself to anyone but your closest, not in the old world and certainly not in this one.

"This looks better than I expected." Bob says, rubbing his hands in antiseptic gel before touching the dirty wound. The irony is not lost on Daryl. "I'll have to clean it and stitch you up, but it doesn't look that deep. Lie down and let me get a look."

Rick leans back on the table and allows himself to be examined again, this time with the same strained resignation Daryl himself offers when people fusses over his injuries. He doesn't flinch while Bob examines the wound and just grids his teeth against the pain when the medic turns his attention to the cracked rib.

"Good news is Glenn found plenty of antibiotics," Bob says lightheartedly. "Bad news is you won't be picking your daughter up anytime soon."

Rick nods and Daryl isn't too surprised to see guilt on their leader's face. They've got Judith back, but Rick barely ever holds her. Maybe it's because there's always blood and dirt caked on his hands these days. Maybe it's because Rick can't bare to hold Judith with the same hands that kill people. Maybe Rick feels the same way about human blood that Daryl does, that it sticks to your hands long after you've washed it off.

"We'll have to bind this, but luckily we're also fully stocked up on fresh bandages." Bob continues unfazed. "But if you expect this to heal then a bumpy backseat is definitely out of the question."

"Guess we're stuck here for a few more days." Rosita says, sharing a look with the Sargent and Daryl's not sure how to tell them to fuck off with their judgmental attitudes with out sounding too rude about it.

Luckily Carol beats him to it.

"The area seems safe enough." Carol says as she sets a bowl of hot soap water on the table next to Rick. "And I don't want to paint the walls darker than they need be, but Maggie's looking worse every day and Sasha's ankle's still swollen. Maybe we should take this as a chance to rest up. All of us." She wrings a piece of linen in the water and hands it to Bob who nods thoughtfully.

"I can't say I know much about pregnant women." Bob says as he starts to clean the edges of Rick's wound. "But tough as Sasha is she could use a few more days to get right."

"We'll give it three days." Rick decides, knowing full well that he'll hardly even have scabs in three days. "Carol is right, we could all use it." He looks to Daryl for support and Daryl can only just manage the faintest nod.

He wants to tell Rick to slow down and hold his damn daughter, to wash Walker guts and human guts and mud and sweat and responsibility off his damn hands, but he ain't about to do that. Because this is how Rick gets them though the tough times, by being a tough sonuvabitch. By being the first one through the door to clear a house and take the watch when everyone, including himself, is exhausted.

If Daryl can take just a bit of that weight of Rick's shoulders he'll happily do it, even if it means agreeing now and finding a way to persuade Rick to rethink it later.

It's cold enough that Daryl decides it's worth the risk to leave the dear hanging from a thick branch outside the door. The smell will be minimal and the risk of attracting walkers practically nonexistent. Tyreese helps him hoist it up by the hind legs and Carl stands by like Daryl's shadow and Daryl finds that he doesn't mind it in the slightest.

Michonne slides down off the roof when dusk settles, relieved from her watch by Tara who loudly complains that Michonne ate the last M&M's during her watch.

"Sweaty men working makes me hungry." Michonne shouts back, her voice lighter than Daryl has heard it for a long time.

"You sound happy." He comments, giving her a crooked smile when she playfully bumps his shoulder. "Must have been some good M&M's."

"Who doesn't love stale chocolate?" She jokes, ruffling Carl's hair as he joins them.

It had taken Daryl a while to accept the dark-skinned samurai who stuck around the prison like an unsociable cat. At first he blamed it on her tense relationship with Merle, but truth be told Daryl had never meat anyone who didn't have a strained relationship with Merle, including himself. It took Carl accepting her as part of the group for Daryl to realize that his problem with Michonne was that she wasn't, in Daryl's eyes, actually part of the group. She was always leaving, always walking the edge of the camp and keeping everyone at arms-length.

To say he didn't understand her would be an outright lie. Hell, he'd been there himself when the rest of them were trying to find their lives again on the farm. Daryl had been the one always leaving, bag always packed. It had been Rick who made Daryl change his mind, although Daryl isn't sure the other man even knows it. It took Rick far too long to realize that Daryl was loyal to the group far beyond having nowhere better to be, but it had taken Daryl even longer to accept that same fact.

Realizing that Michonne was going through the same struggle didn't make Daryl any more inclined to go easy on her, though. This was Daryl's family and if she was going to stay she was going to understand that it wasn't for lack of better options and he had made sure to tell her as much during a supply run, told her, if you come back now you're staying. These people already lost too much, Carl especially. Rick.

She'd brought back a frilly pillow from that run. For my cell, she'd said and Daryl had told her it was the ugliest god damn thing he'd ever seen.

"I heard you ran into trouble." She says, voice softer and eyes searching his face.

Daryl meets her eyes and nods once. "Rick."

"Yeah." She pauses and shakes her head. "I haven't had a chance to stop by, I know he hates people fussing. He's getting worse than you in that department." She says and Daryl huffs out his indignation.

"Maybe he'd be more pliable if you'd bring him some stale chocolate." Carl chips in with a face that's much too serious for the words he's saying. Michonne bends her face down, smile playing in her eyes as she unfolds her hand to reveal ten smudgy balls lying in colored stains in her palm.

"Good thing I saved him some, then." She pretend-whispers and sets off in a sprint towards the door with Carl at her heals, the kid complaining about injustice and chocolate anarchy.

Daryl isn't sure you can actually call it walking, the way Judith moves her chubby legs in a wobbly stumble, fat hands practically cramping around Beth's fingers just to stay upright, but that's Beth's words for it anyway.

Daryl is lying on his back on a sleeping mat watching Beth and Judith play. He's not entirely sure which of the two are having more fun, but as Beth bounces the laughing toddler onto Daryl's stomach he begins to suspect it's Beth.

"Ya gonna step all over yer uncle Daryl?" He growls, reaching to tickle Judith's sides until the toddler's squealing with joy. The sound is loud and not entirely pleasant, but it's so rare that Daryl can't find it in himself to care. Usually they have to hide and hope they won't be heard and more often than not their lives depends on Judith being quiet.

She's good at it too. Never did scream much, not even when she was a baby. Now she's old enough to understand when to be quiet, like a natural instinct. Daryl figures that isn't too far fetched.

He bends up off the floor, scooping Judith with him as he gets to his feet. Judith's laughing so loudly she's begins to hiccup and Daryl swings her through the air making plane noises, both hands carefully locked under the toddler's 's getting better at the silly things, things he wouldn't have dreamed of doing before the turn. Hell, even in the prison when Judith was a baby and they were building a home with flowers in the yard and toys on the concrete floor of the cell block.

"Time for feeding the monster." Beth says, slapping her thighs as she moves to get up from the floor. Daryl looks up to find Rick leaned against the door frame, arms crossed and a bottle in one hand.

"I've got it." Rick says quickly and Daryl realizes that Rick haven't been in a room alone with his daughter since the prison, probably haven't fed her more than a few times since they got her back.

"I know. I was talking about Maggie." Beth says with a shrug and squeezes Rick's arm with a shy smile before she vanishes out of the room with one of Judith's stuffed toys in her back pocket. As far as Daryl can tell it's always there, like he has the bandanna.

Judith is making noises now, sloppy wet sounds that tells Daryl she's clearly ready for dinner. He looks up to see Rick staring at them, eyes soft in a way that hurts where it shouldn't.

"You probably shouldn't." He says, keeping his eyes on Judith because it's easier, because he really doesn't want to deny Rick the right to feed his own daughter "Ya shouldn't even be up."

"I thought Michonne was my mother." Rick says and hands the bottle to Daryl, just like that. Daryl takes the bottle with hesitation, but Rick just keeps smiling that same soft smile.

"Guess both you and Judith takes a Village." Daryl deadpans and bounces the toddler on his arm as he presents the bottle to her as an option, waits for the girl to make grabby hands before he surrenders it. Judith makes up for her lack of sound by eating like a starved dog. Daryl isn't sure if all babies eat this much, he doesn't have much experience to make comparisons, but she doesn't seem overweight as far as he can tell.

Rick is moving in behind Daryl, close enough that Daryl can feel the other man's breath ghosting over his neck when he exhales and Daryl doesn't even register that he's leaning back into Rick. Back in the prison it used to be the other way around. Rick would be feeding Judith and Daryl would lean in over Ricks shoulder too see the kid suck down a bottle faster than a barfly downed a beer at 9 am.

Rick isn't touching him, isn't even looking at him, but for some reason Daryl still feels a weight on him. Maybe it's nothing but Daryl's own damn imagination, but for no reason he suddenly becomes self-conscious. "What?"

"You're good with her." Rick says so quickly that Daryl wonders if he'd been waiting for Daryl to ask.

"S'nothing." Daryl says, feeling awkward about the compliment, but oddly happy at the same time. "She just needs a bit of love is all. Truth be told ah never knew kids could be this easy."

"Pretty sure we got lucky with this one." Rick says, smile stretching to his eyes.

Daryl huffs because it's so absurd to have a baby in the damn apocalypse, running for your life and living off what ever they can find and still have the nerve to claim you're lucky. Only someone like Rick would see it like that. Only Rick's mind sees freeway instead of roadblocks.

Hell, that's why Daryl follows him.