Title: Long Weekend (1/2)
Author: HigherMagic
Pairings: Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes, mentioned Shane/Lori, Rick/Lori, Glenn/Maggie
Spoilers: Greene Farm
Summary: In a world that has gone to shit, the second biggest threat other than the Walkers nipping at their heels are the Alphas. Under extreme stress Alphas can be triggered into a feral frenzy – but only mated Alphas. Daryl thought that if he refused to let Rick mate with him, he could keep Rick safe. He was wrong. Now, Rick's been triggered and the group need to figure out a way to save him from going completely feral before putting him down becomes the only option.
Notes: I kind of fudged the timeline a little bit and the canon events a bit more. The herd never pushed them off the farm, Rick didn't fight so hard to keep Lori and she's happily with Shane now and just starting to look pregnant, and Glenn and Maggie are together, and Dale is alive.
Daryl lifts his head when the front door opens, letting Lori inside. She has just started to show, her stomach a little more rounded under her loose shirt in a way that only the pregnant or the especially malnourished can have. He kind of hates that it could be either way; he would have needed to guess, except that the scent of her has already started to change, mixing and merging with her new Alpha and the life they'd created growing inside.
She stops when she sees him, her eyes wide and sad. He already knows, but he still has to ask; "How is he?" His voice is lower, rougher than it usually is. He can't even remember the last words he said – maybe it's been days. Since it happened. Who even knew anymore?
She shakes her head, greasy brown hair swishing in waves. It's moved past the point of dirty now, has a sheen that catches sunlight and makes her skin look tanned and vibrant. The glow. Daryl has never seen a woman take so well to it. He hopes she will take a shower after she's done talking to him. She needs to be clean, to prevent infection, needs to take care of herself and her baby.
"No change," she replies, coming over and pulling out a chair. The inside of the Greene house is too pristine, even if there are now marks in the carpet from muddy boots and small spattering patches of blood that washing couldn't get out. "Can't hear him anymore, but I can – I can feel it. He's asking for you."
Daryl knows. He closes his eyes, tilts his head back and breathes out to the ceiling, and wishes more than anything that they'd managed to find cigarettes on the last supply run. He'd smoke them until he felt almost high, the nicotine hitting his body hard because his body is starving for it. It would send his pulse racing and make his breaths slow and deep and even.
"I can't," he says, quietly. She opens her mouth to protest, he knows she wants to, but nothing comes out. "I can't."
He doesn't know what else to say. How can he possibly put into words how he's feeling? The guilt, clawing at his throat, the anger and impotent outrage that something as pure and good and wonderful as Rick could have fallen like this, snatched away from him just as Daryl had started to open himself up, to love the man. How can he possibly describe the need, an ache down between the scars in his stomach, to go to his Alpha and fall to his knees and worship him like their kind demands when it's just an Alpha and Omega bonded together against the world and all its obstacles?
He wants to go to Rick, more than he wants cigarettes. If his body is starving for nicotine then it's ravenous for the Alpha, and his hands shake when he lets himself think of how Rick had sounded, feral and wild, howling for him in the middle of the night.
"I can't," he says again, and this time maybe Lori understands, because she just nods and sits with him in silence.
When the world went to shit, it wasn't just the Walkers that people needed to be afraid of. Before the apocalypse, things like this – things that were happening right now – were stories told quietly, between gossip circles. They were things that happened in war-torn countries, in the sticks, where the people were crazy and the land was crazier.
They were 'Oh, that poor boy' and 'I can't imagine' and 'Place like that, I'm not surprised'. They weren't things that happened to good, decent people.
There are the Walkers now, and then there are the Alphas in Rut. They don't put a name to them because they're still people. They're dangerous, but they're still people. They have to be.
The world is divided. It always has been. There were men and women. Alpha men and Omega men. Now there are the living and the dead, those Alphas that are in Rut and those that are not.
Alphas in Rut are feral. Something in them snaps – they lose it and go into a rage so fierce and consuming that they can and will kill anything in their path that is perceived as a danger to them. Sometimes it's a stranger with a gun to their head. Sometimes it's a wild animal in the woods. Sometimes it's their mate.
Daryl bites the inside of his lip, his fists clenching. Rick shouldn't be Rutting like this. Daryl remembers – remembers how it had felt to have Rick push against him, his hands huge and warm on Daryl's neck, pinching his nape like a collar. Daryl remembers how it had felt to have that Alpha's eyes on him, hands on him, teeth scraping the edge of his throat.
But no. He'd pushed Rick back, swallowed hard, said 'We can't mate. You mate, you Rut. I ain't losin' you like that'. Only mated Alphas Rutted, so if they didn't mate, Rick would be safe. It would be Hell, both of them fighting against something as powerful and old as time and ocean tides, but it would mean Rick survived. That's all Daryl could ask for.
Until it hadn't been enough. Until Rick had snapped anyway.
Daryl doesn't know what triggers it, what had triggered Rick. Andrea with her damn rifle, maybe, almost putting Daryl down right in front of Rick and Shane – maybe seeing the scars when they'd hauled him back to Herschel's house. Daryl doesn't know, but he blacked out with everything right with the world – because it would be okay as long as Rick was there – and then he'd woken up to everyone with tight lips and narrowed eyes and tense shoulders, and screams unlike he'd ever heard since childhood breaking through the stillness.
The voice of an Alpha compels obedience, women and Omegas helpless but to obey. Daryl remembers rushing out to the barn where they'd slaughtered all those Walkers, the barn that now held Rick inside. He remembers yelling for Rick before Shane and T-Dog could haul him back, and remembers the red in his mind that had hissed that they weren't his Alphas, they shouldn't be touching him.
Then a growl, like a prowling tiger, stunning them all to stillness. The barn had been barricaded once more, but Daryl could see Rick through the slats, the soft yellowy light of a lamp illuminating his silhouette through the cracks and breaks in the door and the walls.
"Daryl," he'd snarled, the word snapping across the space between Daryl and the barn like a whip, wrapping around Daryl's neck. His knees locked to keep himself falling to them. "Come here, Daryl."
And Daryl had fought. He remembers fighting because T-Dog has a bruise on his face now from when he'd swung too hard, and he knows Shane almost got a knife to the gut for his trouble trying to restrain him.
"It's not him, man!" T-Dog had yelled. "He's Ruttin', that isn't him. He'll kill you!"
The door had buckled. Daryl can imagine Rick – has, so many times – throwing his whole body against the strong wood, bloodying his hands trying to claw his way out. "No! He's mine! Bring him to me!"
And Daryl remembers that order, right down in his soul, he remembers it and still feels the urge to obey, but now they have him on twenty-four hour watch, they have an Alpha guarding Rick at all times. Daryl remembers: even Shane's head had ducked in instinct at the force of the order, before he'd recovered and hauled Daryl back the rest of the way to the house.
They can't lose Rick. They can't.
He's not an Alpha. He's their Alpha, their leader, and already has a strong heir to carry on his line. He is a man meant to survive and strengthen the gene pool, and wild and dark enough to exist in this dog-eat-dog world now. They can't lose him. Daryl can't lose him.
At some point Shane, Dale and T-Dog had gone into the barn, their faces set, with rope and what looked like a thick stick between them. Daryl had watched them go in; his shoulders tight with the urge to run in after them; obey his Alpha and stay by his side, where he should be. After they'd been in there – ten of the longest minutes of Daryl's Goddamn life – they'd come out, stick- and rope-less. Rick's screaming had stopped after that.
"Can't risk him drawin' Walkers," Shane had said.
"Or other Rutters," Glenn added with a nod.
Daryl knows what they were really saying. 'If Rick keeps talking, we're all fucked'. Because even Shane knows that Rick is their Alpha, that Daryl and Lori and Glenn and the Greenes will follow him into Hell if he asks. Shane's a good second Alpha, would do okay if he had his own pack, but this is Rick's pack now and if Rick had kept howling like that, they all would have eventually caved and obeyed him. Such is the way of things.
Rick doesn't howl anymore, doesn't scream, but Lori is right. Daryl can feel his desire, his order, deep in the pit of his heart when he walks out of the house and towards the campsite. He feels Shane's eyes on him from where he is by the barn and carefully doesn't look that way. He knows if he even catches a glimpse of Rick, prowling and waiting for him, he'll run straight through the damn wall if he has to and then they'll have to put both of them down.
He didn't used to be like this. Before Rick, before everything, Daryl had no interest in Alphas or women or really much of anything. He had his scars and he had his crossbow and that's all he'd ever needed. He'll admit he had thought about it before, but never with much effort or detail, and he hadn't even flinched the night when he was eighteen, freshly presented as an Omega, and dug his own knife carefully into his stomach, tense and mindful, until he was sure he'd fucked himself up so badly that he'd never run the risk of getting pregnant and bringing another generation of shitty Dixon existence into the world. He had been sure at the time that Merle would do enough of that for him.
Even when Rick had shown up – well, Hell. Daryl knows how it really went. He can tell himself whatever he wants, but he knows. One look into the powerful Alpha's eyes and he'd been gone. Straight to Hell and back, he'd follow Rick. He'd stayed by the man while he figured out that his mate had been fucking another Alpha behind his back, he'd watched Rick sort through it, even watched the fight that had broken out between him and Shane, both Alphas snarling and rolling with their teeth bared and their eyes red.
But it hadn't mattered. Rick had let Lori go, because on top of everything else, of course he's a damn decent man and not even the Alpha drive to protect and claim what was his was going to make him stop Lori and Shane. Part of Daryl used to think that it was because Rick had already gotten a child out of her. Alphas want to mix their DNA into the gene pool as much as possible, widen their circle of influence in their pack. It made sense, especially now with the population dwindling down to nothing.
What doesn't make sense, then, is why Rick has chosen Daryl. Why Rick slept near Daryl's tent, why he sat by Daryl around the fire, why he is so concerned when Daryl leaves on his own, why he'd snapped so hard that he'd Rutted. Even Shane, with all his temper and jealousy and fire, had never Rutted like this that Daryl knows of. In fact, none of the pack seems to remember actually facing a Rutter back when the world was civilized.
Daryl is infertile. He can't give Rick an heir, even now when part of him curses his eighteen-year-old self for being so stupid and senseless because part of him wants more than anything to be a perfect mate for Rick. But he can't. It's not the Dixon way, submitting and spreading his legs and rearing pups. Dixons aren't Omegas.
Daryl sighs, finding that he'd gravitated towards Carol's tent without thinking about it. The woman isn't there; he can't hear her rustling around inside, which means she's probably by one of the wells. He follows his nose and the tracks he can see through the grass and finds her scrubbing at -.
He swallows. It's one of Rick's shirts, bloody around the collar and the wrists. He doesn't want to ask but he must make a sound because she looks up. Her cheek is still slightly green from a bruise Ed gave her before he became Walker chow, and it makes her eyes glitter. He hates the discoloration on her face.
She offers him a small, tentative smile. He hasn't been the kindest to her, not since losing Sophia, and there is a hard lump in his throat now because he knows she understands and doesn't even hate him for it and that in itself makes as little sense as Rick does. "Wanna make yourself useful?" she asks, her tone light but firm, meaning 'Come sit down' and Daryl nods, walks over and sits down with his legs crossed comfortably, and busies himself handing her more dirty clothes as she scrubs them against the washboard.
They sit in silence for a while. The silence is companionable – not charged like it is with Rick, or solemn like with Lori and Glenn and all the others. Carol is probably the closest thing Daryl has ever had to a best friend.
His attention is drawn by a change of the guard, Shane swapping out with T-Dog with a firm clap on the man's shoulder. Shane takes one long look around, nods in Carol and Daryl's direction as though confirming that they're far enough away not to make trouble, and then disappears into the house where Daryl left Lori. They're probably going to fuck again. Daryl snorts, shaking his head.
"It ain't right," he says, finally breaking the silence when it feels like the air is being crushed under the weight of the grey clouds above them. It really is a beautiful day, bright blue on the horizon, the clouds warming the air instead of promising rain. It'll be winter soon but autumn is still hanging on tight by the nails and is reluctant to let go, and Daryl likes days like this.
Carol gives a soft hum. "None of this is fair, Pookie."
"Ain't talkin' about fair," Daryl says, spitting the word and handing her another shirt – Shane's this time, he's relatively sure, and thinks it's kind of fucked up that Lori's not the one doing her Alphas' laundry herself. "It ain't right."
He knows he's not making sense, and hates the thought that Rick would know exactly what he means.
She remains silent for another moment, her hands moving slowly in the bucket of water, rinsing out the shirt. "You know," she says quietly, "you're too young, really, but Rutting didn't always used to be a stigma."
Daryl raises his eyebrows, biting the inside of his lip. "That so?"
"It used to be about…passion," she confirms with a nod. "It's the Alpha version of a Heat, really. It's just that sometimes Alphas don't come out of it." She looks down at her knees, sighing. "Ed Rutted with me once. It was actually how we conceived Sophia."
Daryl blinks at her. "And he came out of it?" he asks, because if an asshole like Ed could…
Carol lifts one shoulder, her lips curving into a small, sad smile. "Not completely," she admits. "I mean, he was always…like he was, but I think the Rut damaged him even more." She takes a deep breath. "I'm not making excuses for him. I know he was a bad man and I'm thankful that he's gone, but I wanted you to know that…that Alphas can come out of it. That it doesn't have to be a death sentence."
Daryl gives a small huff, turning his head away again and lifting his thumb to bite at the cuticle.
"And, just between us," Carol continues, her tone playful and teasing now, "Alphas are sexy as Hell when they're Rutting. I imagine for Omegas it feels even better."
At that, Daryl can feel his cheeks flushing a bright red. "Stop it," he bites out, keeping the smile from his face but unable to hide it from his voice. Carol smiles at him and reaches out for another shirt to wash.
Oh, Daryl has thought about it. Rick is the first person, Alpha or woman, to make him feel that deep-seated, aching need that he has come to equate with sexual desire. And that one time when Rick had pushed him against a tree and Daryl had pushed right back, saying No but screaming Yes in his mind so loudly it was a wonder he could think, he remembers how it had felt, remembers his body lighting up from the inside, sparks flying between their skin, Rick's eyes dark and hooded and promising all sorts of things if Daryl would accept.
And how he wanted to – wants to. He wants to know what it's like to lay under Rick, palms and knees to the ground and feel his Alpha mounting him. Bites are dangerous now, but when he thinks about it he can't imagine anything but heat. Carol had called it passion. It is passion. It's the desperate 'I need you' and the relieved 'I thought you weren't coming back'. Try as Daryl might, he can't ignore the fact that any of them could die at any moment. The quarry had taught them that the hard way.
But Alphas can come out of it. They can. They have to.
"How'd it end?" Daryl asks when the laundry basket is empty and Carol is putting the full one inside of it to walk over and start hanging up the clothes. "The Rut. How'd you get it to end?"
Carol blinks, her eyes taking on a faraway look, her brows coming down. Daryl doesn't want to make her think of times with her husband, but damn it, this could save Rick.
"It was such a long time ago," she says slowly, putting a finger to her mouth and tapping on her upper lip. Daryl just barely manages not to make a sound of frustration. Then, she shakes her head. "I'm sorry, Pookie. I honestly don't remember anything specific. I just…one day his eyes weren't red anymore, and he seemed very…satisfied." She shrugs one shoulder. "Ruts used to be because an Omega had gone into Heat, so maybe it was because I'd gotten pregnant and some part of him could sense that. I'm not sure."
Daryl swallows, lowering his head. He doesn't acknowledge Carol as she leaves him with a soft, reassuring pat on his shoulder. The sun is just starting to set, and it's the magic hour now where everything is hazy and yellow and the day just starts to become dangerous. Daryl should go back to the camp where there's safety in the pack and he can pay attention to everyone's breathing and keep watch.
He reaches down between his crossed legs, pulling at some grass and shredding it between his fingers before letting the light breeze take the shards away. Ruts were for conception – well, that made sense, he supposes. He's only been through one Heat in his life, the one that had basically fucked him, but he remembers the insatiable need, the desperate drive to find an Alpha to mate with and conceive with. An Alpha would need something to keep up with that frenzy.
Daryl doesn't remember his Daddy Rutting, and Merle never has. Only mated Alphas did, though, so he supposes he never would have seen it. Maybe it's not real Rut, then, in this world, but something else – the feral Alphas they come across don't seem to have much interest in anything other than killing, and definitely not sex. Maybe Rick isn't really feral like they are. Maybe he can be saved.
But not by Daryl. Daryl can't get pregnant because he fucked himself up and he doesn't even go into Heat anymore. He can't keep up with that kind of frenzy. He barely even gets wet – not even Rick, with all his heat and that low, rumbling voice that could make mountains shake had made his body react the way it was supposed to.
But the only alternatives are…God. Daryl immediately discounts Herschel, T-Dog, Shane and Dale. Too old or too Alpha. Lori is already pregnant and like Hell will Daryl risk putting her in harm's way, on the small chance that it is Rick's child. He will not be responsible for the death of his Alpha's children – and maybe in this state, Rick would know if the child was his or not, and the outcome could be disastrous. Beth is too young, too soft – she'd be ripped to shreds. Maggie and Glenn are mated now and that just seems unfair to ask. Patricia still stinks with loss and wouldn't make a particularly good option.
…Andrea or Carol, then.
The thought of either of those women in there with Rick makes his skin crawl with discomfort. Not just for their sakes, either – the thought of their hands on his Alpha, of touching him and kissing him and hearing him come, having his seed in them, carrying his child, makes Daryl so violently, angrily nauseous that he has to take a deep breath to calm the rolling possessiveness in his gut.
The echo of mine wraps itself up in all the rest and Daryl exhales, forming his mouth in an 'O' like he's blowing out cigarette smoke. He has to try. Even if it kills him, even if they have to put Rick down – it'll be okay because Daryl will have tried, and if Rick is dead that means Rick killed him and he won't have to face the failure and the loss of losing his Alpha.
We can't mate. If we mate, I'll lose you.
God, he's such a selfish idiot. He'd thought he was doing the right thing, even when every part of him wanted to pull Rick in, learn the shape of Rick's mouth with his tongue, memorize the taste of him and the feeling of Rick's nails in his back, the way his belt buckle caught on Daryl's stomach. He had wanted that with a gluttonous need that reminded him of starving wolves carving their way through a deer's stomach, of lions fighting for their right to mate.
He had wanted to see the thin streaks of red that appeared in an Alpha's eyes when they were aroused, wanted more than anything to feel his own eyes burn and itch when the gold of an Omega fights its way through in answer.
He wants it. Wants the red in Rick's eyes and Rick's teeth in his neck and Rick's hands on his hips, nails down his spine. And after that, he wants the softness – the gentle blue of morning skies and kisses pressed to his nape and his hair and hands squeezing his shoulders, that rumbling voice calling his name.
Daryl closes his eyes and shifts so that his knees are up and he can brace his elbows against them. He runs his hands through his hair, wincing when his fingers catch on knots at the ends, and breathes out another smoke-less breath. He doesn't say anything, and although he can hear it he doesn't lift his head to watch Dale take over from T-Dog guarding the barn. He feels the pulse of Rick's desire, silent but strong, echo through the camp as the Alpha is roused by the noise, feels it deaden into a dark anger at being denied.
Rick can come out of it. He just has to be given what he wants. For whatever reason, he's decided that what he wants is Daryl.
And if there is even a sliver of a chance save him, Daryl has to try.
It wouldn't be hard to sneak into the barn, but Daryl knows that's not the smart way to play this out. Even if he did get in and managed to figure out what he needed to do, the noises would undoubtedly draw someone and he does not want to be caught halfway in the middle of…whatever.
He has to play this carefully, suggest it to the group in a way that means they'll have to accept it. He knows that he's not really one of them, not yet anyway, and they only value him because he's a damn good hunter and keeps them fed and has killed just as many Walkers as the rest of them, but he's not family. He needs to offer this in a way that makes him clear that there's a chance to save Rick. They don't need him, but they need Rick.
Herschel allows them all inside for dinner that night, even taking Dale off guard duty for a while so they can eat. Dale assures them that he hasn't heard anything. Rick must be asleep, and when Glenn climbed to the top window of the barn in the hayloft he'd confirmed Rick had still been inside, and Daryl guesses that as long as he's within someone's sight they're safe.
It's kind of bullshit that they think they need to watch him, but he can't fight the glaring facts of biology – Omegas are built to bond with and obey their Alpha. No one knows that he and Rick aren't mated, haven't fucked – it doesn't matter. Rick is asking for him, Rick is Rutting. He's sure they've all made their own assumptions.
They talk about other things, stupid things, and it makes him want to scream. They talk about building another well that's not gross with bloated Walker, they talk about how delicious the chicken is, and they talk about whether Lori needs more prenatal vitamins and if Beth had ever taken singing lessons.
Daryl clenches his fist so tightly around his water glass, eventually the poor thing just shatters. "Fuck," he mutters, but doesn't do anything except wipe his hand on his jeans, uncaring for the shards of glass he's rubbing in or the blood he's getting on them. Carol jumps up to get him something to wrap his hand in and he growls at her. "Stop."
"Daryl, what's wrong?" Maggie asks, her voice soft with sympathy for the answer she already knows is coming.
And Daryl tries to stay silent on a lot of things. He's sure if he said everything he thought they'd all have left him on the rooftop along with Merle, because his brother's a fucking loudmouth and doesn't keep it shut when he should. He bullshits and he's loud, but Daryl doesn't. He says what's true, what needs saying, and if they heard it all the time they wouldn't want him around.
But now it's time.
"What's wrong?" he repeats incredulously, wiping his hand again on his jeans. Carol has started picking up glass pieces next to him, wrapping them in the cloth since Daryl won't let her clean up his hand. "Y'all are sittin' here actin' like everything's fine and Rick is -."
He stops, choking on the name, and drops his eyes away. Too Omega for your own good, little brother. Merle's voice haunts him, taunting and high, and Daryl shakes his head and lifts his eyes again. "We gotta do somethin' about Rick. We gotta do something."
Maggie frowns, her eyes flashing to Shane briefly. "But…we are?"
Daryl snarls at her. "Lockin' him in a fuckin' barn and keepin' me away from him isn't doing shit."
"We're waiting for you," Lori interrupts, "to go into Heat, Daryl."
Daryl blinks at Lori, his eyes wide. And suddenly it all makes sense. They weren't guarding him to keep him away from Rick – well, they were, but not just because of that. They'd been watching him, waiting for him to show the first signs of a Heat. So that he could go to Rick.
Daryl suddenly feels like he's been let in on a huge group secret, and the back of his throat burns with anger. He clenches his fingers again, and doesn't react when Carol finally manages to wrangle his hand towards her and starts dabbing at the pinpricks of blood with a napkin. "You were waitin'…" He breathes out, breathes in, and tries to force himself not to explode on all of them. "Fuck."
"We just assumed," Maggie says, shifting her weight uncomfortably in her seat. "Since, y'know, Rick's Ruttin', and you're an Omega, and you and him are -."
"What?" Daryl spits, "Rick and I are what, exactly?"
"Mated?" Maggie hazards, her eyes darting to Shane again. Shane, for his part, has a hand over his mouth and gives a small, short shake of his head. His expression is one of understanding, like he's just realized how much they'd all misjudged that situation and how well and truly fucked that makes them.
"Well we're not," Daryl replies. "I –. We wanted –. But I wasn't gonna risk him doin' that." And suddenly all the fight feels like it has been leached right out of him, trickling down through the cuts in his hand and into a napkin to be wiped away. "I wasn't gonna risk it, and it happened anyway." He lets out a hoarse, choked laugh, reaching up with his free hand to wipe over his face. "Fuck."
There's silence at the table again, and it is crushing and oppressive and makes Daryl want to crawl out of his own skin.
"I was gonna come here, tryin'a convince everyone to let me go in, try and help him." He swallows hard, glares down at his plate. "And here you all were just waitin' for it."
"You can't go in outside a Heat," Lori says, shaking her head. "He'll rip you apart. We have to wait."
"Well you're gonna be waiting a long fuckin' time, then," Daryl snaps back, the thumb on his free hand migrating to his mouth so he can bite at the cuticles again. "I can't…I don't go into Heat. So."
Another silence rolls across the room, tense and uncertain. Herschel breaks it, startling the rest of them; "Are you taking medications?" he asks, his gentle voice flat and business-like, and Daryl feels a brief, wishful thought that he should be, because at least that's easy to fix, but his eighteen-year-old-self had known that pills were unreliable, and worse than that; they were expensive and ran the risk of running out.
He shakes his head. "Just kinda…" He makes a vague gesture to his stomach and shakes his head again. "Took care of that part. Wasn't gonna ever be that kinda guy."
He knows some of them must have seen his scars. He wonders how many of them assumed they'd all been ones he'd earned from other people. Looking at Shane, he sees the man's eyes widen in understanding, flick involuntarily down to his abdomen where Daryl knows there are two sharp scars on either side of the little trail of hair below his belly button, angled down and inward to where a baby would grow.
"So…no Heat," Maggie finally says, her voice hoarse. Carol moves away from Daryl's side, shoving a wad of napkin in his hand and closing his fingers around it. Daryl is just starting to notice the pain, and looks away from Maggie's pretty, sad eyes down to his clenched fist. He shakes his head.
"Way I see it," he says with more breath in his lungs than he needs, "is I gotta try. And if I can't save him, you gotta put him down. I'm – I'm your only option. 've thought about it. I gotta be the one to go. I'm the one he wants."
"Man," Shane says, finally breaking his silence, "I can't send you in there like this in good conscience." Lori reaches over, takes Shane's hand away from his mouth and squeezes it. "Look, I – I know Rick. He's my best friend, my brother, and I know what he'd want. He'd kill me if I let him hurt you."
"Just gimme three days," Daryl replies, shifting his tone from quiet to pleading, just a little – just enough of a lilt to his voice that he knows Alphas respond to. Merle used to say he could charm the honey from a beehive if he put his mind to it. Daryl hasn't needed to for a long time, but the memory comes easily: lowered shoulders, downcast eyes, soft voice. Alphas melt for that kind of shit. It feels wrong to expose his throat to Shane and so he doesn't, but he does tilt his head just enough to show that he knows his place and he knows Shane's and he's not demanding, he's asking. "Enough food for him'n'me, and if I don't walk outta that barn then you come in after me. Either I'll be dead or I won't be and either way we'll know if I can save him."
Shane is already shaking his head, but it's not a refusal. Daryl remembers how Shane was before Rick showed up – angry and guilty with whites all around the edges of his eyes. Now he's calmer, has settled back into his place as the beta male, submissive only to Rick's lead, and with Lori at his side he's more relaxed. He trusts Rick because he has always trusted Rick and he needs Rick because Rick is their leader and their pack Alpha and they need to know he can be saved.
They don't need Rick like Daryl does, but if it gets them to agree then he'll take it.
Finally, he nods. "Not tonight," he says, holding his hand out in warning. "Sleep, we'll get you more rope and enough food to last. We'll make sure the barn's secured just…just in case." Daryl nods, biting the inside of his lip since one hand is bloodied up and the other is holding onto his own thigh so tightly it hurts. "You get three days."
He nods again. "Okay."
Daryl doesn't sleep. In truth he's surprised anyone expected him to, but he doesn't sleep. Instead he sprawls outside of Rick's tent, his face pressed to Rick's rucksack and breathing in what little scent he can still get of the man, and goes over in his head what's about to happen.
Rick will probably be weak. He doesn't think anyone has been risking feeding him, since in this world being in Rut might as well mean you're a dead man walking. The human body can survive without food for a while but the weakness will set in around hour nine. Dehydration is the bigger concern and Daryl makes a note to try and get Rick some water before anything else.
He thinks back to the night with the rope and the stick. How do they have him tied? Is he trussed up like a pig, wrapped in knots so tight and strong that he can't even move? Is the stick a backboard against his spine, propping him up and forcing him against a wall?
Daryl closes his eyes and takes a deep, shuddering breath, his fingers clenching in Rick's sleeping bag. He hasn't prayed since he was a pup, but he finds his thoughts turning Heavenward now, whispering 'Please, just let him be okay'.
Just let him live.
The morning dawns bright and early and Daryl is awake before everyone except Andrea, who had taken watch on top of the RV, and Dale and Shane, who greet Daryl when he walks up to the barn.
"Too early for this shit," Shane says in way of greeting, handing him a full bag. There is a coil of rope wrapped up on the side of the bag and Daryl shoulders it with a grunt. He has his knife strapped to his thigh and his crossbow slung over his shoulder. Shane eyes it with a raised eyebrow. "You think you're gonna need that?"
Daryl shrugs. "If I gotta use it, I don't want Carl to hear," he replies, and Shane's expression flattens out into something angry and solemn and he nods. Daryl hates that he's thought about it – thought about how he'd kill Rick if it came down to it. To this minute he doesn't know whether he'll actually be able to pull the trigger or not. He likes to think he would, that Rick would want him to if he could see himself, but Daryl hasn't even seen Rick in days and his heart is itching up in his throat and he just wants to go.
"See you in a couple days," Dale says, his farewell oddly light as Daryl nods and goes around the back of the barn to climb through the hayloft. The front doors have extra barricades in front and thick black sheets to lock the light, so the only light that will be in the barn is what comes through the hayloft.
When Daryl climbs up, they take the ladder away and leave him up there. Daryl figures Rick must be tied up in a way that prevented him from climbing up the inside, or his Rutter brain was like Walkers' and he hadn't figured that part out.
Either way, as soon as Daryl drops down he knows he's going to be on his own.
He leaves the food up in the hayloft with his crossbow and his knife. He can hear Rick's breathing down below, steady and slow. He's not asleep. He's waiting; a jungle cat hiding in the shadows and waiting for their prey to crawl just a little closer.
"Rick," Daryl whispers, and hears the answering rumble from the predator below him. "I'm here."