Reality Check
Darkness.
Burning.
Pain.
Throbbing.
Breathe. In. Out.
Soft. Warm. Fuzzy.
Stinging. Waking.
Open. Your. Eyes.
Bright. Flinch.
Light. Sun.
Breathe.
Calm.
Heart beats.
Alive.
Rick stirs. His side throbs, his back felt sore. He tries to move. His fingers don't listen as he stretches his hands, feeling the soft cotton underneath him.
Where is he...?
Eyes still blinded by the light try to focus.
Ceiling. Lamp. All is white.
He tries to move his legs. His heart is racing by now. Everything feels warm and soft.
It does not make him feel comfortable.
This doesn't feel right. His brain tries to piece things together. He turns his head.
Fresh flowers beside him. His head hurts. Was he supposed to remember something? He can smell the flowers and it makes his stomach lurch.
His mouth is so dry, his voice won't function.
Throat feels like someone has him force-fed with gritty sand. He tries to say something. But only one croak escapes him. So he doesn't try again.
He lies there for God knows how long, trying to feel his body, trying to tell his limbs apart by commanding his brain over and over to move.
Fuck. He slips away. So tired.
When he wakes next, it's still too bright, but his eyes can focus more easily than before. He feels his arms, his legs. His head. Not spinning like before. But, God it still hurts.
He can see. He lifts his head. Room. White.
Peeping noises next to him. He looks, trying to decipher and finds the source of the noises.
Machines. All attached to him. A screen. His heartbeat is visible.
He jolts when the memory returns like a hot searing iron stabbed into his brain.
Shot. Twice.
Vest caught it. Smile.
Then pain. Blood. Shane.
Shane! There's a lump in his throat. He coughs and his croaky voice tries to say the name. But it only creaks like an old door with rusted hinges.
What happened?
No. Shane is dead. Blood. Knife. Darkened bloodshot eyes. Sick. Shane sick?
No...dead.
Rick stirs and flinches, when the movement finally wakes his sore side. He tries to feel for the gunshot.
His fingers prod his side until they find the bandage. He sighs and let's his head fall back. He is alive. In the hospital. Shane was with him. The blood on his hands, he remembers it clearly now.
His vision blurres suddenly and he sees moonlit field.
Night. Cold. Grass. Shane. Dead.
And it comes crashing down. Like an airplane falling from the sky and crashing into trees and going up in flames. A huge fireball ignites his memories.
Fire. And so many dead people.
The barn burns.
And Shane is dead.
LORI!
Ricks head jerks forward and and half of his is body up with it. The room comes into focus. For a split second his head is clear. He takes in his surroundings.
Where is he?
His eyes scan the room in shock. He got shot and is in the hospital. Whatever bad dreams he had, it is over. All is good. He is alive. Everyone is alive.
Then he notices the sleeping form opposite him, curled up what looks uncomfortable, in a chair. He sees the hair. And a police jacket draped over her.
Lori is alive.
His head gives him another white flash and he cringes and has to lean back.
In his head an echo is crying. A baby. Loud. So loud.
Make it stop. It hurts. Where is she? Lori!
He clutches his head. Stop, please. He yelps and jolts up again, head down almost touching his knees.
And he knows he fell on his knees then lied down and sobbed and screamed at the stained concrete. Walls surround him. And pain. His heart was broken.
Where? Who? What?
Rick lets out a mute gasp. His voice doesn't function under the immense strain. The pressure in his chest and his throat is too much.
Too tight. His chest is too tight for his convulsing heart. His silent sob is nothing but a low croaky grunt in the back of his throat.
He knows he needs to breath.
Breath, buddy.
Darkness. Everything spins like he sits in a carousel. What is happening again? And then he's out like a light.
This times he slips slowly from darkness into consciousness. Softly. Like waking up on a lazy Sunday.
His body feels more like his this time. His mind seems clear. And he can almost trace his thoughts. But he is tired.
So very tired.
Voices. Whispers. Soft.
Shane and Lori. Oh God. He had missed both of these voices.
He cracks an eye open. Slowly. But the light seems more gentle to him.
No harsh blinding pain in his eyes.
He sees Shane. And his heart thuds. From pain? From happiness? Fear? And something else that stirs darkly under the surface of his unconsciousness. It creeps up on him like a wounded animal at the rim of his mind.
He sees Shane draping his jacket over Lori's sleeping form. His fingers slowly, lovingly touching her head. He removes the loose strands of her hair. Such an intimate gesture.
An Lori suddenly looks up at Shane.
Rick feels it like a heated flare in his insides. It burns. It burns his flesh until it reeks. It hurts.
His stomach coils in bitterness. He can taste it on the tip of his tongue.
What they did to him? Both of them. Did he not save them? Did he not tried his darnedest to keep them safe?
He did not deserve to be treated like dead and gone. He was here. The whole fucking time. Why could they not just shut up and believe in him? Trust him?
He closes his eyes and tries to calm his sudden rage. Wherever this just came from, it has to stay away.
And it does. Surprisingly, it does.
And when he reopens his eyes, both of them still don't see it.
They look at each other. Shane holds her hand. Telling her something. But he can't hear. And he doesn't want to.
She smiles. Lovingly. He had forgotten how that looks. And Shane smiles too.
It hit's him like a freight train, the realization crashes his thoughts into the walls of his aching skull.
They found each other. Again, it whispers in the back of his head.
And no matter what. They would always find each other. Turn or no turn.
Rick puzzles a this. Turn?
What turn?
Shane and Lori leave. He lies there, eyes closed. He won't look at them. He is too tired to care.
In this moment he knows. Turn or no turn. He doesn't love her. No, he isn't in love anymore.
His head hurts. Aching like a scraping knife in his frontal area. And there is throbbing pain in the back of his head.
Think! Turn? What turn?
Don't know. But they are safe. With each other. Let them...have..each other.
They are safe. That is all that matters. No hurt. No guilt. We live. We are alive.
No. Shane is turning. Lori will turn. But Carl was there.
Am I turning?
You, know, don't you. Everyone will turn.
The walkers. A faceless, but soothing deep voice whispers.
Rick sighs roughly and frustrated. He is going crazy. Must have had some weird dreams.
NO!
Remember.
Suddenly he is up and off the bed, but falls down almost immediately.
It feels like a deja vu. He is on his stomach trying to stand up. On his knees, he rips the drains and whatnot away. The beeping tells him he did so successfully.
His knees hold him. His legs protest angrily against the forced movement. But his arms support him. His breath comes out laboured. He tries to fight the panic bubbling up like a mentos in a coke bottle.
Get up! Get out! Run! A ringing sound, loud like church bells makes him shudder.
Cosy in there?
Rick jerks, as the cocky voice echoes through his head.
The beeping of the machine turns to the sound of a car alarm.
Many different faces appear before his inner eye. He should know them. All of them. He saved them. They saved him.
The camp is full of people. And among them he sees his son and Lori. And Shane.
We are alive.
I found them.
We survive.
He sits back on his heels, panting heavily. He stares up at the ceiling.
He rubs over his face.
No, this is all wrong!
This is not how it's supposed to be!
Where is everyone? Don't leave me alone! I don't belong here!
I want to go home!
Rick sobs into lonely silence of the room again. But this time for real. A he tries to bite back the wail, but it escapes him in short hiccups. Tears form...
Home is...
Tears fall...
The prison!
He needs to go to the prison! They are waiting for him. Where everyone is dead...
No, not everyone! His heart is racing.
Now, he can see them clearly. The envisioned faces pour in on him. Coming down on him like a cataclysm. His face is a rainstorm. His thoughts loom like heavy dark clouds. It's beating down on him.
And every heartbeat has a different name.
His fists are clenching and unclenching, while his brain reconnects the threads of his sole existence.
He reels backwards under the emotional pressure.
He is staring at the door, while he tracks his memories.
His house. Morgan.
The camp. Carl. Glenn. Carol. Dale. Andrea. Amy. Jacqui. Jim.
The farm. Hershel. Maggie. Beth.
The prison. Oscar. Tyreese. Sasha. Michonne.
Rick freezes. A baby cries. So many dead. Cries. Loud. So loud. It drowns every other sound. The little girl cries. And he cries. And he can't hold her. He can't hold his son. He can't hold anyone.
He tries to crawl off the bed and stumbles, then falls on all fours.
The voices of the dying. The fear. The shame. Judith.
Don't worry. She is safe. We protect her. We survive. It's either us or them.
A small white box. Li'l Ass-Kicker.
Who...? What...? What?
This is too much. He can't go on. How many? Dead? Alive?
The memories turn so ugly, Rick falters for a second. Giving in on the dreadful feeling, he tries to catch his panicked breathing. They were scattered in all directions. Never had he been so afraid to loose them all.
Miles and Miles to go without blinking. Tara. Abe. Eugene. Rosita.
No home. But they all called out to him and he to them. And everyone answered.
In the darkness they met again. And they fought. Fought for their future. Like it has always been.
His family was reunited.
Alexandria. Aaron. Deanna. Gabriel. Jesse. Sam. Spencer. Denise.
Rick rather more feels it than be able to picture it. The lurking fear. The lurking madness. Alexandria burns. And with it his hopes.
Rick sits still on the floor. Unable to move. It crashes down on him and he can't stop it even he tries.
All this... This? It was enough agony to last for three lifetimes. But it wasn't real, was it?
The cold hard floor reminded him, that he sat here and nothing had changed.
No...
Everything has changed. Welcome to the new world. Were new rules dictate the your existence.
Think, Rick. I want you to think. Think about what happened. Think about what could happen.
The dark, melodic voice let's his blood run cold. A shiver creeps up his spine. With this voice, that mocks him so happily while the blurry face shows a toothy grin and then tells him what true horror really looks like.
It looks at him like a predator circling it's prey, very aware of the fact that this time there is no escaping. He takes his sweet time. And all he can do is to sit still and see his worst fear unfold.
Rick's ears fill with a squelching sound. Like someone squashing grapes into wine.
Red. So much red. Rick cries silent tears, when the bat comes close to him and blood is chucked onto his face.
Oh, God. Oh, God. Abe...
I will shut that shit down. The dark voice threatens.
Rick heaves and is on all fours again, he retches dryly. So fast. First they are there. Then they aren't.
He hears the blubber in Glenn's voice. But sounds like from underwater, it chokes.
Maggie.
And then all is gone. He is back home in Alexandria. But the fear sticks to him like a thick layer of acidic glue. He can't wash it off. He tried. Rubbing his skin raw. He can't shake it off. He can't sleep.
Rick crawls to the wall and sits against it. He had to calm down. None of this is true. This is a perfectly normal hospital room. On a perfectly normal day. Get real.
I'm trying!
He presses on finger against his the flesh of his teeth. And the crescent fingernail presses into his flesh above his canine until he tastes the blood.
He world comes back into focus as he counts the seconds. The pain helps to fight the panic head on.
He shakes his head and swallows the blood and saliva that had gathered in his mouth and wipes his finger on his boxers.
Good. No more crazy thoughts. But he still doesn't feel like moving. Just sit and breath.
Walkers? Really? Dead people moving around? Only to be killed with with a knife driven into their heads?
He scoffs at himself. That is some serious shit. Must have dreamt it all in his sleep. But why did it feel so...
Filthy, disease-bearing, motherless, poxy bastard!
…..real? As if it was the most normal thing to do? To go and kill these things? Just like that?
Come on people. What the hell? Gotta be the brain. Don't y'all know nothin'?
Ridiculous. That's alright. Calm down. Just tell yourself where you are. And who you are. I'm Rick Grimes...
Rick Grimes? Ya got somethin' you wanna tell me?
He isn't calm. He can't be calm with this voice in his head, that clearly isn't his own.
He flinches visibly at the voice. He starts shaking. He remembers how even he had trouble to adjust to it. His ears simply refuses to translate that thick accent and the mumble into something coherent for a moment.
But he remembers leaves rustling and the anticipation of what comes at them. Only to be met with the most snotty and defiant look ever. He remembers the stupor he was in. The scene was almost comical if it wasn't for the dead walker and the half eaten deer on the ground.
Crossbow. Filthy. Dark blonde fuzzy hair. Bare arms. Narrow blue eyes that gave him a quick once over. And Rick just stood there and stared at the man.
Daryl.
And a desperation washes over him. One he had never felt in his entire life. Fear and desperation that fisted into his entire being. Not even when he was shot and lay on the ground trying to breath through the pain in his side had he felt so hopeless.
Was he real? Did they really meet?
He whispers the name. It rolls easily of his tongue like so many times before.
"Daryl..." Rick recognizes his voice. Gruff and deep and...sad.
And he can't be helped when his mind starts to reel.
From Daryl jumping at him and vice versa. And then, because this was not who he wants to be, he tries to right his wrong. Because when Daryl's voice sounded like he was on the verge of tears, and it makes Rick's heart clench.
With the end of the world this man, who clearly cared deeply for his brother didn't deserve to loose him over Rick's heat-of-the-moment decision. And T-Dogs clumsiness.
We don't kill the living.
Loosing someone to a walker was one thing. But loosing someone because of the stupid act of people? No, he would do right by him. He would go and bring his brother back.
Daryl, despite his dismissive attitude, seemed suddenly so lost. And the way that Daryl's voice broke when when says to get Merle back. Because this man seemed more like a lost child than anything else in this moment.
And that was all Rick needed as justification to help the man.
And Daryl has his trust time and time again. Without him, Rick would have died. Several times.
Rick's heart is beating out of tune at the moment, where they sit with Glenn and T-Dog and plan on how to get the bag of guns back.
Daryl asks him what the Asian boy did before. And at his answer, when they both look at each other half amused half surprised. That was it. It clicks. It is almost audible in Rick's mind.
They fell in place, like two pieces of a puzzle. That amused look and raised eyebrow they shared made his heart flutter. Daryl was not at all what he seemed. That much Rick has seen. Even when he lunged at Jim with the pickaxe.
Even when Rick raises his gun., he knew, Daryl only wants them safe. All of them.
His search for Sophia proved just how much Daryl knew what is right and wrong. The way, he tries to help Carol in his Daryl-way. He is a good man under that thick layer of southern gruffness and blood and dirt.
And over time they form this bond of leader and second in command. It quickly becomes like second nature to them to be able to guess by one look what the other thought. Where Rick went, Daryl was right behind him, securing his back all the time.
Whatever decision to be made. He is there to help. To even carry Rick's weight a few steps along the way. His fingers brush Rick's when he plucks the gun from his hand. Rick let's him. He is tired. And Daryl knows, when he points it at Dale's dying form.
Sorry, brother.
On the end of the world, Daryl finds purpose. And Rick finds Daryl. And he was peeling away layer by layer, until he could catch glimpses of his true, shy, protective and brave self.
Rick never even once holds it against Daryl, that he attacks him over the news of his brother's whereabouts. In retrospect, he is sure he would have shot that person right in the face. He never thought he had it in him, but sadly or luckily he has it.
Both of them are capable of doing drastic things and could go a great length to to protect their chosen family and face whatever or whoever dares to cross them.
You with me? - Hell yeah.
Those five words sum it up all right. At first.
Rick did not know where it came from. It crept up at him with predatory ease until it had his heart right in it's crushing hold. And this thing would be damned if it would ever let go of it again.
From the deepest pits of his still mending heart, it came crawling and gnawing it's way into his stitched up heart and left a path open for Daryl's unwavering, stoic, trustworthy persona.
Rick could never pay the man back. He saved him. He saved Judith. And Rick loves him for it.
Not like he had loved Lori. With that calm warm glow, that settled in him whenever he had watched her. She was the mother to his children and they had spend the better part of half their lives with each other. But love got comfortable until it was too lazy. And it burned out. And the ashes left them with bitter taste to the end. But he still loved her. Only not like that.
Now he knew why. He became aware of it. The singing heat that fizzled at the ends of his frayed heart. It was not the soothing warm glow of a settled love. It was the hot savage passion, that was going rampant in every fiber of his being.
It was an unrestrained fiery blaze. A furnace underneath his skin and a fever that got in his head and burned his heart until it was coal and embers that never quite went out in the storm that their journey was.
On the contrary. The travel through this heavy storm that hit him up front only flared it up brighter and brighter.
A perfect storm to incite the feeling until it burned deep into his core and left a gaping charred hole.
Because he never tells Daryl. He never will. The unrelenting trust of the blue eyed hunter with the heavy lids and the dry humor, the companionship they share that compared to nothing. Rick cAn't bring himself to destroy what they already have.
What Rick would fear the most, was the rejection of a man he trusted with his life. He does not know if he is brave enough to show his weak heart to the hunter.
You're family, too.
It almost crushes Rick. Almost.
But than again, if this was closest they would get, so be it. He would endure the pain lifetime after lifetime again. Knowing that Daryl was with him was enough.
You're my brother.
The lie came easily, because of that. He was stronger than that. His unrelenting strife to keep everyone safe was everything he needs to drive him. To bite the man and tear his throat apart. It is that easy.
Sometimes he can hear the sound of his sanity snap like a tight rubber-band. And sometimes he let's it.
Rick does not know how long he sits there. Crying over the man he knows he has lost. Or over the fact, that was never real to begin with.
A man that always had followed others in the shadows, but in the end found himself. He establishes his own code and idea of honor and selflessness, much to Rick's contentment. He grows so much that he even has it in him to change his brother for the better. And in return, his brother loves him like Daryl has always wanted him too. Without selfishness.
And in honoring the sacrifice, he fights for them and for himself. Harder than before. Daryl changes more and more to the person he wants to be. Because he knew, if his brother could change in the end, he too can find the strength to freely decide his own purpose.
Merle gives his life. And if one thought it would break Daryl, they know nothing of the kind, but fierce heart that beats under the ratty vest with that haunting design of angel wings on the back.
Daryl found Daryl. And Rick knew all too well, that he would give a rats ass about anyone who tries to rip away his freedom of choice and to not acknowledge his own value.
It is all too real. The pain in his chest. The way his fingers would know how the wings on Daryl's vest feel. Rick curls his fingers as to remember it.
It is like swimming back to the surface after a deep and breathless dive. And with each push closer to the light, he remembers something else.
This was absolutely not like he usually works, when trying to remember a dream. So much vivid details, that his brain processes at a lightning speed.
This is more like two separate Ricks melting together. Merging their minds. He just knows it. He knows. He loves. He feels. Real.
His chest heaves under another heavy sob and he briefly wonders, why he still is alone. No nurse to check on him. But maybe because, he is not supposed to wake up just yet. His side is still sore, he can tell it is healing, but not quite there yet.
He wipes at his face with both backs of his hand. No one should see him like this. Not even Shane or Lori. But he needs to stand. Now.
He needs to get away. With all this knowledge. He needs to look.
With his hands flat on the wall he wills his shaky legs to carry his full weight. And using the wall for leverage he slowly stumbles forward to the door next to his bed. His knees buckle, but grabs the handle, pushing it down in the process.
The bathroom. It's as good as anything else. He hauls himself up, on hand on the handle, the other holding onto the frame. He manages to step inside, quite out of breath and is greeted with his mirrored image.
Not quite how he remembers it. His hand carefully inspect his hair and scalp. Someone found the time to trim his hair. And suddenly he hates it. He hates how his beard is missing.
Daryl had always made a bit fun of it. Cheeky and soemtimes subtle enough to be ignored. But Rick revels in the thoughts at how comfortable enough the hunter is around him to joke and even give one him on of his rare wry smiles.
Rick squeezes his eyes shut. And Daryl's face appears. It is so haunting. The smile. How he compares Rick to a wookie. How Rick mildly mocks him, because in five years all Daryl manages to grow was a few scruffy hairs on his chin and even fewer on his cheeks.
This hurts. Rick turn the water on and splashes it all over his face and leans against the mirror. Panting. God, it hurts so much.
Daryl commenting on his bad taste of music, but tolerates it nonetheless with a mere roll of his eyes.
Daryl giving Judith her formula with the brightest grin ever, which has all hearts melt away on the spot.
Daryl unnecessarily and inconveniently wrecking a vending machine with a truck, because someone asked him to look for some stupid soft drinks.
Daryl feeding Rick chocolates, because he he just knew of the secret craving for this particular sort.
Daryl letting always Rick drive, because he knows how fidgety and uncomfortable he gets in the passenger seat.
And with that Rick's strength is back. He wipes the last droplets from his eyes and brows and exhales roughly.
Then turns and makes quickly for the door.
Outside he scans the corridor and just walks in the direction his insides tell him to. He trusts his senses on this.
He needs to get out of here. No one really pays attention to him. The thin hospital tightly clutched to his body he gets faster. And he feels pure relief as his feet manage to carry him quicker by the seconds.
His enthusiasm is running high as he reaches the first door in no time. On and on. He doesn't look back. He only concentrates on getting out of here.
He did this once. Why not do it again?
He is on high alert and still utterly elated as he finds a door that looks like an emergency exit. The last meters are panting and dashes.
His fingers grip the cold metal. Suddenly he hit with sunlight. His eyes shoot up to see a clear blue sky. He runs down the stairs.
He is oblivious to anything. No dead bodies cover the yard. He sees the ambulances neatly lined up.
And he feels a pang of utter disappointment.
How is he supposed to find Daryl. But his sense of directing won't leave him. He just needs to go forward.
Yes.
And maybe has snapped again, but from this point on, he does not care.
The alarm of the door, he just stepped through is echoing around the perimeter. To Rick it is just the sound of another bell or car alarm. He does not even turn.
He stands there in his flimsy hospital gown, his eyes scanning for the huge gate. He sees it.
But before he can move, hands grab at him from behind. They hold on tightly, no matter how much he flails his arms and screams to let him go.
Three nurses have a hold on him. And in his weakened state he can't shake them off.
Please, just let me go. I need to find them. Him. My family. No...let me...
He breaks down and sobs heavily. His desperate attempts to free himself turn into panting and heaving chest that is wrecked by more sobs.
They try to soothe him. His is on his knees, head hangs low. Tears falling on the concrete. They sit with him. But they don't loose there tight grip on his arms.
They tell him to stand up and go back inside. Tell him his family is in there too.
That is a lie. His family is somewhere out there. They are waiting for him!
Rick summons up whatever desperate strength is left in his weakened limbs and rips himself from their grasp. Through his tear-stained vision he can't see and is met with an hard obstacle in his path. He bumps into it and ricochets back uncontrollably.
He lands on his butt rather ungracious. And as he looks up he wipes his eyes. And his blurry vision clears.
His tired eyes focus in on the shadow that looms over him. His breath hitches in his throat.
Blue eyes squint at him from above. The look is half amused, half shocked.
"You okay?" It is his voice. Low and slightly hoarse. It sends a jolt through Rick's aching body.
Rick gasps like fish on dry land at the question. His eyes scan the man as his brain tries to process this.
Blue uniform. A name batch. Rick is in shock.
Maintenance. D. Dixon.
What the hell?
"Daryl?" He whispers, eyes wide.
"Yeah..." He responds, but seems fairly surprised.
"Do we know each other?" Rick asks hoarsely. He has to ask. He can't do anything about it. His voice has a mind of his own.
Daryl just offers a strong hand asks him again. "You okay, pal? I saw how they brought you in that day. Looked pretty fucked up to me. Where you think you going like that?"
Rick nods, still eyeing him suspiciously. What? They have met before? He sees that they are actually at the emergency entrance. He saw him? Did he see him as well?
"I..." But he does not know what to say.
"Well, better get back to that bed of yours. You ain't looking so hot."
Rick is too dumbfounded too fight. Daryl is here and his inner voices scream a t him.
He has him back. And he has no doubt, they will be back to their usual. The delusional site of Rick's brain tells him so. He believes it right away.
And Daryl looks so clean. And his hair is not long and unkempt and greasy. It is just past his ears on the side. Rick can see his eyes clearly, because the bangs are cut short to fall onto his forehead. He can see the pale blue of his eyes. And the peek-a-boo ears. It almost makes him smile.
His heart jumps when he takes the offered hand. A fuzzy sensation builds up in the pit of his stomach and spirals out of control at the way how his hands feels.
So warm and strong. Just the way he remembers it.Relief washes over him like warm summer rain.
Rick involuntarily grins and nods. And to his surprise he is met with a cheeky smile in return and a hesitant soft pat on his upper arm. Rick has to summon all of his strength to net lean into the touch. Utter bliss.
But just when Rick wants to ask him, what exactly Daryl is doing here, the nurses are back to take him inside. He missed his chance to escape. But he does not want to anymore.
Daryl was here. Enough, his heart sighs. That is enough for him to know.
Though he still does not know what is going on. But what is left of his common sense tells him to face one thing at a time. Time. He has it. No one is coming after them. No walkers. No crazy people. No saviours.
No Negan.
And soon he finds himself on his bed again, but that's okay. A nurse reattaches all these things and machines back to him and that is alright too.
"Who was that outside?" He manages to ask her groggily.
The nurse smiles at him. "Oh. That was Daryl Dixon. Head of the Hospital maintenance team."
Rick nods slowly, mostly to himself. "Seems nice."
"He is. He looks all serious and gruff. But everyone knows he is a big softie."
Rick smiles at this and his eyes flutter close.
If Daryl was here, so was everyone else. He is sure of that. And when the painkillers kick in a few minutes later he sees all of them before his inner eye. He is content.
We are alive. And so is the world.
Something clatters and suddenly Rick is wide awake. He stills and listens, but is met with silence.
"Sorry." He hears a voice mutter. He jerks his body up and his look is one of utter astonishment when he is met with the image of his son.
The eyepatch catches him off guard for a split second, but soon he relaxes.
What the hell is happening?
He rubs his sleepy eyes, hoping to appear not suspicious to Carl. But inwardly he is screaming. Yelling at the world to just bring him back to the hospital. "It's okay. " He tells his son with a controlled calm voice.
Go away, he pleads in his head. Carl grabs whatever he was looking for off the living room floor and eyes him warily. But Rick is oblivious to it.
Rick puzzles for moment. But he soon remembers why they sleep here. He had them huddled together here after the shock of Negan's visit. And because there was almost no furniture left. No mattress to sleep on either.
He feels like he woke up from a good dream to his personal hell. Ripped out of bliss and heaven to the cold hard realization that this was his reallife.
Wasn't it?
Oh God. He suddenly wished to be back at he hospital so much. What the hell was wrong with him?
Here he was, but then again he could still smell the hospital room he was in. He felt the stings of the cannula on his hand and his arm.
But mostly he clearly remembered Daryl's touch. How his hand hand felt in Rick's. And the spot where had patted him still seemed to tingle.
Rick sighs in defeat and rubs his palms over his eyes. "Where's Daryl...?" He asked with a croaky voice not completely devoid of sleep.
But even in his exhausted mind he registers his mistake.
Michonne comes in and stands next to Carl. She probably heard his stupid question.
"He's weird again." Carl mumbles at her. And both of them give him a strange look between pity and disturbance.
Again. Yeah, he gets it. He is weird. He is so out of the frame, he doesn't even know where it is.
He should know, and of course he does. He sees it in their faces. He is not here.
"Maybe you should rest some more." Michonne says with a smile that is supposed to comfort him.
Well, it doesn't. No, it makes him angry at her. At himself.
What is happening to him? This is like the prison all over...
He thoroughly needs to get his act together. They depend on him.
He knows what happened the day before. How Negan humiliated them all. Him in front of everyone. How he treated Daryl like nothing more but a slave. And to his surprise, he just seemed so broken.
He squeezes his eyes shut. A white hot hate arises for what that butcher has done to his hunter. His face was so bruised, that even the slightest mimic must hurt like hell.
Rick knew, that Negan made sure he would inflict the most wounds where Rick could see him. Split lips, blue eyes. Both of them. Bruises on his cheeks down to his neck.
And Daryl seemed as submissive as never before. That defying look in his blue eyes has died down.
Rick feels pathetic at this. And at the lump that forms in his throat. Why can't he just stop crying. IS this really who he wants to be? A pansy that does nothing but say yes and nod.
He looks up at his son and the female warrior he admires so much. Both of them did not cringe in fear before Negan.
He slowly nods at Carl. "I'm alright. I'm alright." Carl gives him one more deep stare that holds none of the admiration he once held for his dad and Rick can understand. Carl had the guts to stand up to Negan's man. He has seen worst and isn't afraid of anything anymore. Rick is proud of his son, but also terrified of what he can become.
His son leaves without a word and Rick's shoulders slump down in shame. Then he feels a light touch on his arm, Michonne kneels in front of him.
She had stood with him and fought with him, not as long as Daryl but just as fierce and unforgiving.
She was a force of nature and also someone who would never give up.
In this moment Rick wishes he could return the look of love he receives. That he could be the man she deserves. But he isn't. Never will. His heart was stolen by the hunter. Silently, like a thief in the night. Before he knew it, all he thinks about is Daryl.
"Rick. I'm sorry."
She apologizes for what it's worth. Rick ducks away from her touch.
"No, I am." He says. And he means it. "I had to give them the rifle, you know that. I had to ease things up, because of Carl. I had to make sure they think we have given up and will do whatever they want. But I'm still sorry."
"I know why you did it. It's okay. But we have to fight them. You know it's the right thing to do." She insists, but her voice is still soft.
"But Daryl..." He sighs, almost sobbing. He can't take it. He won't sacrifice this one man for no one. He never would trade his safety for anything in this god damn world.
"I'm not telling you to attack them blindly and right away. We need to prepare. But we need you. You lead us through all of this. You have to lead us into battle against them. We need you."
Rick scoffs at this. "Yeah? Well, look where it has brought us..."
Michonne shakes her head. "Rick, all these people out there. They want to fight. They will, no matter what you do. But without a leader, it won't go well. You are the only one who can do this..."
"It would be like lambs lined up for slaughter. They don't know anything. They will die nonetheless." he spits harshly and in the moment is sorry for it. "Are they prepared for the consequences?"
"They will. Anything is better than living a live under the Saviors and just ask themselves when they will die by them. We will prepare them, they don't want to live in fear. And for now it looks time is on our side. Negan got what he wanted for now. And you know, Rosita and Spencer are already at it to scavenge weapons..."
"Spencer..." He scoffs again at that name.
"I talked to him. He won't fail us again. I made sure. He is an idiot sometimes, but he is willing to help where he can." She informs him in a low voice that conveys the meaning. Spencer won't get away with it again so easily, if he fucks it up again. "They are all up to a fight. They want to protect Alexandria as much you do."
Rick knows she is right. He knows oh so damn well. But he is afraid of loosing any of them. Glenn and Abe were enough. He doesn't want to watch any of the others die. He can't.
But there was no easy way out of this. He is sure there will come a day when they won't have enough to satisfy Negan. And he would be damned to sit by watch all of this over and over again.
This would betray the reason Abe and Glenn died. Their people should not suffer anymore.
No..His people. And the people of Alexandria? Where they not his people too? He forced himself on to them as much as they depended on him, by choice or not. He can't bring himself to let them down after what they had gone through.
That is not the weak he wants to be, to cower in fear. Daryl never did once. And admires him for that.
"We need to get Daryl back first. I won't let him die."
Michonne is with him. Her eyes are determined, burning into his soul. "We will." And it is really all he needs. He won't crack. Not again.
"We can't do anything rash. No big groups out there for scavenging. I'm sure they have eyes and ears everywhere. And training only inside. We don't want to have them spotted. Have Eugene device a plan on how and when and where to make those bullets. I want detailed plans and shifts for whoever is on watch and training and runs. I need to look at it. No one moves without me knowing. We need a second hidden stash for ourselves. We need to work and double up everything, so even if we are forced to give it away we won't be left with nothing. Whatever he wants, he gets so we have him off our backs. We will play along as along as we are not ready."
Michonne all but smiles and nods. This is what she wanted to hear. "Glad you're back."
Rick flinches at this. Is it? Is this real? Or is he still sleeping soundly on his bed in the hospital, where Shane and Lori are happy. Where Carl is still his precious boy with the innocent smile? Where Daryl has a life that belongs to him and him only? Where he seems content with fixing things around the hospital and still be the gruff man, that has a soft heart and helps people?
Rick wishes this to be his reality. But for now, he needs to focus. For them. For this Daryl. He won't abandon him. Ever. He is aware of that pounding heart inside his chest that knows nothing of fear, but only this savage desire.
It was all in his head. And he shuts it out. He focuses on his heartbeat. And we pictures the angel wings in his mind his heart beat is quick and loud. It overpowers the fear. It's reluctantly crawling back like a wounded animal. It snarls and bites back one last time. Rick won't let it have him. Than it disappears in to the shadowed corner of his mind where it belongs.
"Alright." He nods solemnly at Michonne. "Let's get Daryl back."
This world or the next. He is a survivor. For all them. For him.
Rick does not know where he belongs and what is real. Maybe he is as crazy as he can get. But he knows who to trust. And he trusts his friends and family.
Wrong, his friends are his family, just as much as Carl and Judith are.
Is he awake? Is he asleep? He wants to wake up. He wants to dream forever.
But it is not his choice. He can only choose to react. And so he does.
- Fin -