The ground comes rushing toward him. He doesn't know why he's falling or why he can't seem to lift his arms in time to break his fall. He usually has laser quick reflexes, why are they failing him now? He can't afford this. His group can't afford this.

Rick feels himself grunt at the not entirely unexpected pain of crashing into the unforgiving concrete of the prison courtyard. He can hear hurried footsteps and panicked voices echoing off the mostly uninhabited buildings, but he can't seem to make his lips form any of the vague responses rattling around his muddled brain. Even stranger, Rick can't even seem to keep his eyes open for longer than a few seconds at a time.

The harsh, unadulterated Georgia sun is suddenly replaced by darkness as his eyelids slide shut against every one of his wishes. A thick haze had settled over Rick every since Lori's death, but the feeling had increased exponentially in just the last few moments alone. What had caused this?

Calloused hands gripping his biceps roused him from his reflection and he tried to force his eyes open. It took considerable effort, but he was able to blink them open for a mere second. What he saw immediately relaxed and frightened him; it was hard to decipher the ambiguous emotions flitting across his consciousness. Why was everything so difficult? The owner of the hands shook him roughly, again jerking him out of his thoughts. The gruff voice of his accompaniment surprised him with its realism. Although, his hallucinations of Lori had been incredibly realistic, why should he expect different of his hallucinations of his only other love?

"Not real…" Rick managed to choke out, mumbling his words as he twisted in the confining grip that he was envisioning. He had to be imagining it. Daryl had left. He wasn't going to be there to catch him when he falls. Not anymore.

Time flew by in a blur. Was it minutes? Hours? Days? Rick had no way of knowing; all he knew was that his hallucinations had obviously reached a new level of realism. Never before had he hallucinated anyone interacting with the visions, usually they only communicated with him. Now, though, Hershel was speaking with the fake Daryl about him, Rick. Or was Hershel losing it, too? Was insanity contagious?

When he finally gained the strength to blink open his eyes once again, it was to the sight and sound of large, grimy fingers snapping inches from his face. He gasped at the sudden motion, recoiling backward into the still present supportive arms around his. The warmth at his back also surprised him. When Lori had caressed his cheek in the familiar, loving gesture, her hands had been as cold as a walker's. This had frightened him far more than the fact that he was hallucinating.

"Easy, man…" "Daryl" grunted behind him, eliciting another futile attempt at escape from the fallen man. The arms restraining his merely tightened in retaliation.

"We need…inside." Hershel's voice floated through Rick's mind, but the perpetual clouding of his thoughts prevented him from perceiving all of the older man's words.

Suddenly, those steady arms were doing much more than supporting when Rick felt the ground disappear beneath him. Normally, adrenaline would immediately be coursing through his veins, clearing his mind and quickening his muscles and reflexes. Normally, he would at least be fighting back by now, even at a supposed hallucination.

Neither of these things happened, however, because he was too tired. This wasn't a normal fatigue, though. This was bone-deep exhaustion that inhabited his mind, body, and heart. He didn't have the strength or the will to fight back anymore. If his mind wanted to whisk him off his feet and have him float into the sunset, so be it. He didn't deserve or even want this life anymore.

He didn't want to have to constantly watch his back (for walkers and humans alike). He didn't want to have to sleep with one eye open. However, he couldn't quite remember the last time he had slept. It had to have been in the last week…right?

It didn't matter, though. Maybe his mind was giving him an out. Having his lover carry him away. From everything.

The wind blew through his unkempt hair as he was hauled across the desolate courtyard, a few stray leaves brushing past his overhanging legs. Abruptly, a shout from his carrier rang out just beside his ear.

"Walker!"

Daryl bellowed in the direction of the camp, hoping to alert one of the group that actually had their hands free. A walker was limping over towards him and Rick, growling hungrily. It would be a minute or two before it became a real issue, but Daryl couldn't take any risks.

Risks couldn't be afforded in times like these.

Rick's safety was vital both to the group and just to Daryl himself. The group would probably fall apart without Rick. Whether they acknowledged it or not, he was the glue that held them together. Even as he himself fell apart. Rick gave each of them direction and forced them to stay strong even when all they wanted was to fall apart.

And, Daryl, he just wouldn't have the will to go on as he has been. He wouldn't interact with the group. He probably wouldn't even stay with them very long. The only reason he would stay would be for Carol, but he could probably convince her to go with him.

So they needed Rick. For so, so many reasons.

"I got it!" A young voice exclaimed from one of the guard towers. Daryl sighed in relief at the sound of Glenn's voice, stride not even faltering as he trudged past the eager walker and quickly through the fenced gates Hershel had opened for them. Seconds later a single shot rang out followed by a thump. Daryl paid them no mind, however, as he just marched into the prison courtyard.

Rick had never been overweight in the time that Daryl had known him; he'd been rather slim with a light, muscular build. At the beginning of the winter, after a supply run go awry, Daryl had once had to carry Rick after he was knocked unconscious and even then, his weight had been only marginally less than an average man his size and age.

Now, though, Rick was probably twenty or thirty pounds lighter than that. His bones weren't quite protruding, they no doubt would have noticed that already, but they were prominent in his face, shoulders, and back. As Daryl brought Rick into their current sanctum, he felt his stomach turn as his finger gripped the all too sharp blades of Rick's shoulder through his sweat-slick shirt.

Five minutes later, Daryl was gently laying his partner down on the cot of the cell they had dubbed the medical room. Carl, Carol, and Beth crowded the entryway as Daryl fussed around with the sheets and Rick's clothes. First, he removed the extra sheets they had placed on the bed and put them on the bunk above. Then, he made quick work of the moist shirt and dirt-stained pants Rick had been wearing for God knows how long. He held them out towards the peanut gallery and waited until one of them took them, knowing that they would know to wash them.

Once one did, presumably Carol, Daryl began checking Rick's temperature and pulse to the best of his ability. Admittedly, he didn't have much expertise in this area, but he knew enough about sickness and health to differentiate the two. Rick's forehead was a little warm to the touch, but nothing that seemed too abnormal for someone that had been out of the sun for, again, God knows how long.

When Hershel arrived back at Block C he would get him to look at Rick. Daryl needed Rick to be okay.

They all did.

It was two days, sixteen hours, and roughly thirty minutes until Rick regained consciousness. During the entire time, Daryl kept his bedside vigil by Rick's side; only bothering to leave to relieve himself when absolutely necessary. Carol sat with him when she could, and brought him food and water when he refused to move despite her urgings.

When Hershel had first examined Rick he had declared him sleep-deprived, malnourished, and dehydrated. None of this had surprised any of the listeners, but the rest of the veterinarian's words had shocked and frightened all of them. Hershel had told them that while it may seem that Rick had succumbed to a much needed sleep, he had actually fallen into a coma. There was no telling when he would awaken.

In order for him to survive, they had to create a makeshift IV to give him water. They were dubious of its effectiveness, but Carol and Beth held out hope for all of them. Another morsel of information that Hershel had been able to provide Daryl, and Daryl only because he was aware of their "unique" relationship, was of the severity of his malnourishment.

When Daryl had left the group to stay with his brother, Rick had been hurt to say the absolute least. The pain of losing the only person he had allowed himself to love since the final betrayal Lori had dealt him had altered him in a terrible way. Now, this hadn't been the start of his hallucinations, he had already hallucinated the phone call with all his deceased friends as well as Shane in Woodbury, but they had gotten so much worse when Daryl left. Then he wasn't just hearing the voices and seeing his former friend but he was seeing his first love.

His mind was taunting him by showing him the first love he had lost and constantly mocking him with the knowledge of the second love that had actually chosen to leave him.

It was all the pain of knowing that he had caused the loss of not one, but two group members that had caused his malnourishment. Hershel had confided something in Daryl that was far from expected. Not only was Rick sacrificing his food to the rest of the group, that part was the man's habit by now, but every ounce of food that anyone had seen him consume had been expelled from his body almost immediately. Not only was he willingly turning down the food for the benefit of the all, but his body was forcibly rejecting it as well. Hershel had caught him vomiting it out more than once.

Daryl had been furious when he found out, hurling empty curses at the old man as rage filled him. Hershel took the verbal abuse silently, though, knowing the younger man was lashing out because of his worry and emotional anguish.

So when Rick finally opened his eyes after two days, sixteen hours, and thirty minutes, Daryl had felt completely justified when he simply leant in and kissed him.

His hands came up to the sides of his partner's face as he pressed both their mouths and foreheads together. Rick had remained still for a brief second before returning the kiss gently. Rick inhaled sharply after a moment, causing Daryl to shoot backward in his chair, recognizing the change in breathing as a sign of pain. Rick's eyes were screwed shut, legs curling toward his stomach protectively.

Ain't gonna do much good, Daryl thought bitterly. He knew that if Rick were in a fight right now there was little doubt that he'd lose – terribly – if against someone or something even slightly mobile. They had to pray that the Governor didn't choose to retaliate now, when they were down one of, if not the, best shooter they had.

Rick himself didn't have to worry about being attacked now, though. He was safe with Daryl in this piddly-ass little cell on a mattress with God knows how many diseases on it. Daryl would watch his back like a hawk, which started with him making Rick drink something.

"Hey, man," Daryl prodded gently, nudging the older man's arm with his knuckles. Rick's eyes fluttered open, bright blue orbs a stark contrast to the almost deathly pallor of his skin. "Eyes open," Daryl commanded half-heartedly, not able to make himself sound stern over all the concern in his voice.

Rick complied readily, somehow finding the strength to keep his eyelids raised. His mouth opened as if to speak, but only a hoarse croak slipped through. His throat was beyond dry, and it made its discomfort known to Rick painfully. Daryl immediately leapt from his seat, stopping in the cell doorway and yelling into the cell block.

"Need water; he woke up!" The whole group minus Glenn, who was on watch, was inside and each jumped into action simultaneously. Carol and Beth were the first to come to Daryl, bringing the requested drink, and Maggie and Carl were close behind, each with an easy (per Hershel's advice) food for Rick to eat.

Daryl took each of the items and rushed back over to his bedridden lover. Rick's eyes had slipped shut at some point during the few minutes he had left his side, so Daryl nudged him again.

"What I say 'bout eyes open?" Daryl glared at him playfully, smirk twisting the corner of his mouth upward. Rick's eyes seemed glazed as he stared in Daryl's direction. But Daryl was left with the distinct impression that he wasn't quite actually seeing him. "Hey, ya with me?"

Daryl's stomach dropped when Rick replied by turning his head away from him and shutting his eyes defiantly. He felt his lips part in surprise as he tried to figure out why Rick was ignoring him. It was then that he heard the almost inaudible mutterings of his partner.

"You're not real….No, he's not real." Rick corrected himself, stubbornly refusing to face his assumed hallucination, completely unaware of the sharp pain this was causing Daryl.

Daryl had been in a lot of tense, confusing situations in his life, some of the worst before the whole zombie apocalypse. But he had always made it through them, even with the worst of odds. Now, though, as his eyes bore into the back of Rick's head he felt a sense of dread wash over him. He may have stood up to his father, alcohol still fresh on the older man's breath; he may have fought a dozen walkers on his own; but he couldn't figure out how to convince his partner that he existed.

"Hey," His voice was gruffer than usual, overcompensating for the emotion that was currently blindsiding him, "who ya callin' 'not real'?" He tried for levity, not wanting to be somber when their entire world was already. Maybe Rick needed to be reminded of days passed; maybe that would help.

Rick just kept muttering to himself, steadfastly turned away from him as Daryl made his feeble attempt at conversation. Daryl sighed, exasperated at getting nowhere despite only trying once or twice. He brusquely stood from his seat and left the cell, short-lived relief at Rick's awakening having been quickly changed into disappointment and fear. As he was preparing to leave the prison walls, feeling his skin crawl at the confinement, he ran into Hershel.

"How is he?" Hershel inquired, both knowing that pleasantries were no longer required in their world. They didn't take the time to say 'please' or 'thank you' most of the time anymore. They usually just forgot.

"Think Carol's getting him to drink somethin'. The others brought food. But, uh, he's callin' me fake?" He had meant for the last sentence to be more of a statement, but his inflection caused it to come out as more of a question. Hershel had told him that Rick had hallucinated Lori, but he hadn't really believed it so he was unsure of whether that was how he was being perceived as well.

"He thinks he's hallucinating you?" The older man clarified, equally confused by the development. At first he couldn't see why this was but then his brain made the same tenuous connection that Rick's obviously had. "He loves you."

Daryl's eyebrows knit together in confusion and he shifted his weight awkwardly as he tried to make sense of the seemingly random statement. "Um," He began, glancing around for any possible witnesses. "what?" He finished rather ineloquently.

"The reason that he thinks that he's seeing you is because he saw Lori, his wife, who he obviously loved and probably still does on some level. Now, he's thinking that he's seeing the other person that left him that he loves. It doesn't make much sense, but I doubt anything going through his mind does right now."

"Oh," Daryl replied, feeling slightly overwhelmed by the strong emotions that Rick obviously held for him. He knew he felt the same way as Rick did, but hearing it aloud…A warm feeling replaced the terrible dread and lifted his spirits briefly.

Lifting his spirits…that sounded like Rick.

All Rick did was for their benefit, and not only physical benefit but emotional as well. While he may have become distant after Lori's betrayal, he had stayed strong for the group even when lesser men would have crumbled. He had been forced to kill his best friend, watch his son kill his best friend as a walker, been attacked by a herd of walkers, and had his wife be repulsed by him all in the same twenty-four hours. It was a wonder that he hadn't broken then.

Instead, Rick had glued himself together and pressed onward for them. He had put away all his own pain and taken on theirs. He gave everyone a job and made sure they were all involved to keep their minds off of everything. It had worked, too, considering they were all still relatively sane despite friends and family having died only a few months ago. They all had each other for support and Rick for leadership and so together they had made it through all this shit.

They just needed to return the favor now.

For the next few days Daryl stayed away from Rick's temporary cell and let the others begin to nurse him back to health. It went against every feeling, impulse, and belief of his, but he stayed away. For Rick's sake. His mind was shot already, battling crippling conditions; he didn't need to add on to his pain by making him interact with a supposed hallucination. So he stayed on watch and let the others help HIS lover.

He took over Rick's position.

This one fact made the betrayal of letting Rick believe he was still gone astronomically worse. Not only was he essentially lying to the man, but now he was replacing him as well. It hadn't been intentional, though, it had just sort of happened. It started with something small (Carol asked him where she should go on watch), but it escalated as all bad things seem to do (the others began asking him for instructions as well) until the point where he was basically doing everything Rick had been doing before he had collapsed.

He remembered not too long ago Carol told him that he should be leader; that he'd be a good one. The paranoid side of him briefly wondered if she had planned this somehow. She usually looked over everyone, so why hadn't she insisted Rick sleep or eat or drink? He quickly dismissed the idea, however, knowing that the woman was far too kind to ever intentionally harm another member of their family without just cause.

Days went by, each day that passed with Rick drifting in and out of consciousness without Daryl being able to see him he marked with a dead walker's index finger on a necklace around his neck. He saw the distaste on some of the others' faces but it's not like he could cross off days on a fucking calendar.

Five days of no communication and Daryl had had it.

"Fuck this." He muttered, abruptly leaving the table at which he had been cleaning his crossbow. He strode up to the tier that held the cells, footsteps echoing loudly throughout the quiet prison walls. He stopped in the doorway of Rick's cell, taking in all that lay before him.

He memorized the sweat-soaked curls diverging from the larger mass of slicked back hair. He memorized the heavy stubble that was significantly thicker than the other man usually let it grow to. He memorized the dozens of translucent drops of sweat beaded on his forehead and trickling down his face or into his hair. He memorized the lines of pain clear around Rick's eyes as he squeezed them shut.

"Shit…" He breathed out, uncharacteristically overwhelmed by the drastic change in his partner's appearance. Hershel, the lone observer in the room, immediately looked up at him at the sound of his mumbled curse. Rick, curled up on the cot, took longer to open and direct his eyes, but when he did it knocked Daryl's breath away.

Daryl's shocked eyes met Rick's fatigued, spark-less orbs in a prolonged stare. No words passed between the two, and the entire prison seemed to be waiting on bated breath for one of the two men to do something, anything. Instead, they simply stayed where they were, eyes locked together. It was some time before more than just the dull drone of moaning walkers was heard.

It was Hershel that broke their trance.

"I see him, too." His voice was scarcely more than a whisper as he attempted to convince their fallen leader once and for all of Daryl's existence. Again, silence fell over the room as Rick processed Hershel's words and Daryl hoped against all his recent experience that Rick would finally come to the correct conclusion.

"You're…" Daryl's heart fluttered with hope as he impatiently awaited the end of Rick's statement.

"Real."

Nothing could compare to the rush of relief that flooded Daryl's mind at the conclusion of his friend's simple two-word statement. Not only was Rick finally convinced that he was indeed real and not a figment of his addled brain, but the modicum of happiness that had managed to breach the strain and exhaustion coating most of Rick's words ensured him that he, while maybe not yet, would be forgiven; hopefully soon.

Hershel left the cell briefly following Rick's declaration, leaving the two men alone for the first time in days. The first words that Rick spoke surprised Daryl, and caused a bit of anger to spark against his own will. He wasn't angry at Rick, though; he was angry at everything else.

"I'm sorry, Daryl."

He was angry at Rick feeling the need to apologize for anything when Daryl was the one who left HIM. He was angry at himself for leaving in the first place. He was angry at Merle for convincing him that he was obligated to leave the group because of family. He was angry that Rick even got himself to this state in the first place.

"Don' say that; got nothin' to apologize for. I'm the one who's sorry." He needed Rick to understand. Now, he wasn't a man of many words (talking about feelings made him uncomfortable) so he could only hope that his partner understood the extent of his sentiment without him needing to spell it out.

"Merle's family," Rick said it like it explained everything. Daryl didn't understand how the other man could be so forgiving. He should be irate, he should be angry at Daryl for abandoning him when he was obviously struggling. But instead, Rick was just readily handing over his forgiveness. It didn't make sense.

But that was part of what Daryl loved about Rick.

"You're family, too." His voice was small when he spoke, but the small, genuine smile that his words elicited from Rick made up for any awkwardness on his part. Daryl allowed himself to smile as well, satisfied with the knowledge that, while it certainly wouldn't be easy when they had the Governor and walkers to deal with, he would be with Rick for every step of his recovery process.

That's what family does.