A/N: Here's that oneshot I promised on tumblr! And just a day before 4x03... I hope every turns out okay in that, though I doubt it.. I was really hoping Karen would live.

I just want everything to alright for them...

Disclaimer: The Walking Dead (c) AMC; Robert Kirkman

Karen coughed as she was led away by Tyreese, Sasha falling shortly behind. The danger of the situation, this ominous sickness, was personified in her completely in that moment. Infecting her. It wasn't a walker he could kill with a blow to the head, or a person where the same would do. This was not a tangible enemy. It felt like he was about to be fist fighting empty air. And it scared him more than he'd like to admit.

So, with almost unconscious thought, Daryl backed his way into the doorway of the library. His fingers reaching up to cover his nose, cutting off his intake of breath as Karen passed by them. Her mess of curls disturbing the air, leaving their clean scent in her wake.

This mysterious disease lasted a day. Karen was innocently coughing right then, but she could be bleeding from her eyes by the end of the day. And there'd be one more grave to dig. One more person to mourn.

Daryl glanced at Carol from across the hall. Her eyes followed Karen and her group as they passed. She ducked her face, then watched after them as they passed.

Hershel stepped up to him as the rest cleared out, save Carol, "Have to call another meeting later."

"Alright," Daryl dipped his head, pulling his crossbow over his shoulder as he clutched the strap

in his fist. "I'll get to buryin' the dead ones."

Leaning towards him, Hershel face grew grave, "You wear gloves and a mask."

"Uh huh," He muttered with a nod.

Being the kind of father he'd never really had, Daryl intended on obeying the old man.

He noticed Carol again, standing silent and unmoving from where she'd been when Karen had left. Her gaze was fixed forward through the doorway into the library. Daryl went to lock her eyes, intending on giving her a reassuring nod. But she didn't even acknowledge him. Didn't even see him.

Carol always saw him, she was the first one who really did.

His feet stopped as Daryl turned himself around towards her. At last, Carol drew herself out of her stupor and looked up at him with her blue eyes. Expectancy and understanding and pain were etched into her expression.

"You alright?" Daryl asked, his voice tender and full of more worry than he'd meant for.

Her brows creased as she answered, "Worried about Lizzie and Mika."

Carol glanced down for a moment, the found his eyes again, "They were around Patrick."

Daryl nodded. Patrick. That dumb kid who treated him like he was some kind of rock star for bringing back a kill. Honestly, he had been grateful to him. It was good to see Carl acting like a kid again, having a friend. He was a good kid.

Still, Daryl kept looking to his hand like his skin was about peel off.

"We all were."

Carol looked away from him again, unfocused. Probably thinking about those little girls. Daryl resisted the urge to wince as he thought of their names. Lizzie and Mika. The little girls whose dad had died in D. Their dad who'd asked Carol to take them in. Daryl couldn't help but see the name those little girls name's were being compared with. Carol was a mom again and she was gonna push herself hard, punish herself the way Rick was doing now. And Daryl felt helpless with both of them.

"Karen and David need to be separated," Daryl said, changing the subject in his mind as he stepped in closer.

"Till they get better."

Carol spread her mouth, midway between smiling and frowning. Daryl wasn't sure if she was with him in believing that they could get better. It was just a sickness. People are strong. They heal.

"You're right. You okay?"

The sentence changed directions from the others to him so fast, it caught him off guard. She'd caught him in a steely, caring stare that he couldn't hold for a moment. He would've felt like he was under a microscope if it weren't Carol on the other end.

Daryl almost felt guilty. There she was being mostly truthful when he asked if she was alright. When she asked him, he just couldn't. There wasn't any way it would help anything, spilling his guts right then. It was better to just go about doing his job, clean up the mess this world left.

So he nodded, biting his lip the entire time, "Mmhmm."

Daryl felt his body become fidgety as he stood before Carol. Swaying back and forth. She probably saw right through him.

"Gotta be," With that little truth, he sauntered off, leaving Carol alone in the corridor.

All his life it had never mattered if he was feeling alright or not. Hell, nobody had ever bothered to look, much less ask. It was always either suck it up and move on, or don't. And Daryl wasn't a quitter. He fought for his own life every damned day he was breathing.

So when he suddenly wasn't just fighting for himself, or even the few others Daryl called family. When all these brand new folks came into their lives. When he saved them, one by one out in the woods. He was fighting for all of them, not just himself. For Carol. And she was asking him if he was okay while he was doing it. It was different. Warmer somehow. He'd shouldered the responsibility of protector, defender, provider, and he didn't even mind.

Then in a single night, so many of them were just gone. All because of a cold.

Daryl shook his head to himself as he shoved the garden gloves over his hands, his fingers into a fist inside their rough leather. Pulling the scrap from a shelf, it fell out of it's fold in his hand. The blue bandana wasn't much of a sterile mask and probably gave little protection against airborne viruses, but it was something. And something was better than the nothing he'd had before. Dayl folded it along the side and placed it over his nose and mouth. Ignoring the pulls at his hair, he tied the corners into high knot at the back of his head.

Gloved and masked just as Hershel asked, Daryl strode back into the infected block D. His shoulders slumped as he watched his people cleaning up the mess, crying over the dead.

Bowing his head, Daryl made his way over to a woman named Sarah. Her body shook as she knelt in front of a smaller, sheet wrapped body. Her younger brother, Blake. Daryl had found them together wandering, barely surviving on their own. Now she'd lost her brother.

Daryl ignored the chill that ran down his spine as he crouched beside her.

"I'm gettin' ready to bury the… You want me to…?" Daryl trailed off, voice muffled through the bandana.

Sarah nodded, her hair bobbing as she did. Leaning forward, she laid her head against the side of Blake's head. Her lips pressed to the unstained part of the sheet.

"He was a good kid," Daryl stammered out.

"Thanks, Daryl," Sarah's lips trembled as her voice hitched.

With that, she stood and nearly ran out of the cellblock. Away from the gore and carnage.

Daryl's throat felt dry as he mutely nodded at her retreating back. Then lifted the boy into his arms, cradling his gently. If it weren't for the coolness seeping into him through the sheet, Blake could've just been a sleeping kid Daryl was carrying to bed.

Nodding to no one in particular, Daryl trudged out of the cellblock.

He felt the gazes of sad eyes on his back as he left. They bore down into his back, making him want to squirm. He could remember a time when he'd just turn around a give those prying eyes a glare of his own, tell them to mind their own damn business. Now, he just looked ahead. Mind to the task. But that was way easier said than done, since he was carrying the corpse of a kid.

Yeah, damned easy.

The sunlight hit him full on him the face, contrasting the shadows which filled the interior of the prison. Daryl grunted into the bandana.

As he stepped across the yard, he watched as his people avoided him as his load. It was a heavy burden to bear. Burying the dead. More sad eyes and tears. Daryl picked up his pace.

The wooden crosses tied together with string came into view before the rest of the graveyard did. Their mounds of dirt seemed to stack up to the cackling sun. They'd lost so many. T-Dog, Lori, and Andrea filled Carol's empty grave. Now, they were losing even more. Daryl hated it more than anything else in the world.

Daryl gently laid the kid in the grass, letting his covered face fall to the side. Sighing, he grasped the handle of the shovel which sat in the dirt. He dragged the gloves against the coarse, grainy wood as he pressed his forehead to it.

Snarling, Daryl drove the blade of the shovel into the derisive earth.

A/N: Since there are many red shirts running around without names, I named that girl Sarah for Sarah Wayne Callies because I still miss Lori very much.

Anyway, reviews are brilliant and bring you imaginary cookies.