A/N: Welcome to part two!Hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters; I am merely borrowing them and will return them when I'm done.
A Better Tomorrow
"Now's not the time to be worryin' about his modesty, Carol," Hershel chastised her gently. They hadn't even gotten around to undressing him yet and he could tell she was hesitating. "Get his shirt off and I'll work on his pants," he offered, placing a hand under the running shower water to check the temperature. Daryl was barely coherent, drifting in and out of consciousness on the stretcher.
Carol glanced at Hershel and nodded but that didn't stop her from draping a towel over Daryl's lap as the old veterinarian tugged his jeans down. Carol unbuttoned his shirt and Hershel helped Daryl lean forward so she could get it over his shoulders and down his arms. Once he was free of clothing they pushed the stretcher under water. Daryl gasped and lurched as the lukewarm water hit his skin; it felt ice cold to his fevered flesh.
"The hell?" The shock seemed to bring him back to some lucidity.
"We're trying to cool you down, the fever's getting too high," Carol placed a hand on his shoulder to get him to lie back under the water. She used her other hand to wet a washcloth and ran it down his arm and leg while Hershel did the same on his left side, reaching the areas the shower stream wasn't hitting directly.
Upon noticing his state of undress Daryl got really uncomfortable but he was thankful one of them had thought to save a shred of his dignity with the towel over his lap. Once he had been sufficiently cooled, Hershel shut off the water and Carol handed Daryl a dry towel before leaving to retrieve some new clothes.
When they got him redressed and back to his cell, Carol made quick work of stripping and remaking the bed. She saw him flush and knew he remembered getting sick but she just gave him a gentle smile before helping him back into bed.
Daryl had to admit he did feel a little better after that shower. He could still feel pressure in his chest and he was still really weak but he didn't feel like he was boiling from the inside out anymore.
Hershel gave him some more elderberry tea in the hopes of keeping the fever down before he and Carol left him to rest. The afternoon passed uneventfully, Daryl managed to get decent sleep and eat some more soup that Carol brought down for him but it was still getting harder to breath and coughing kept his throat raw.
As long as the fever stayed down, Hershel and Carol were hopeful that the sickness would remain stable until Rick and his group could return with meds.
-TWD-
It was a beautiful early fall day in the mountains of northern Georgia. The leaves were starting to turn, a cool breeze swam through the trees, warm sunlight filtered through the canopy above him. Daryl crept silently through the forest, crossbow at the ready, and eyes on his prey. He'd been tracking it for days, a large ten-point buck. Merle and him were gonna eat good tonight.
With a soft 'thunk' he released a bolt and the buck scrambled away but it was too late, the arrow had struck his heart. Daryl patiently followed the trail of blood; he frowned when he noticed it got thick and black the closer he got to the dying animal. By the time he caught up to it, the deer was dead; Daryl pulled his knife to drain and gut it.
"What the fuck?" He nearly gagged when he cut it open. It smelled of rotten meat, already half decayed as if the buck had been dead awhile. Daryl had no clue what was happening and quickly hiked his way back to the camp site for Merle.
"Merle?" he called before the sickening stench of burning flesh hit his nose.
Daryl walked into the clearing, he could hear sizzling coming from the frying pan over the fire. What the hell was his brother cooking? When he approached he recoiled in horror at the sight of his brother's sawed off hand in the pan, a bloody saw on the ground next to the pit. Both the sight and smell was too much; Daryl found himself heaving up breakfast. That's when he noticed it. Blood.
A trail of it leading from the fire to their tent. He approached slowly, cautiously, a forgotten memory buzzing in the back of his head; Daryl knew what he would find in that tent. Still didn't prepare him to see it a second time.
Merle was dead, gunshot wound to the chest. But cold blue eyes were staring at him and Merle growled, stumbling towards his younger brother. Daryl's chest and throat tightened in pain. No. Please no. He couldn't do this again. He turned and he ran.
How long he ran, Daryl didn't know. But he slowed down when the mountain forest became more level and swampy. It was sticky and humid and smelled of rot. This place was familiar too.
A sharp scream caught his attention and he took off running again, the name of who it was already on his lips.
"Sophia!"
His chest burned for oxygen but he couldn't stop. He had to find her before it was too late. Her cries got louder and finally he spotted the girl. For a split second he was overjoyed, she was still alive. Their eyes met and she stopped, face going blank. A sharp pain in his side brought him to his knees. Daryl looked down to find an arrow sticking through him but he had to ignore it, he had to get to Sophia. He looked up and his heart stopped. A walker was right behind her and she still wasn't moving, just staring at him.
"NO!" he screamed but it was too late. The walker sank its teeth into her shoulder and Sophia screamed again. Daryl stumbled towards her drawing his crossbow and killing the walker. By the time he got to her Sophia was already on the ground, skin going cold and black blood pouring from her shoulder. He scooped her up into his arms, holding her close and Sophia wrapped her arms around his neck.
"No, no, no, no, no . . ." he moaned, "I's sposed ta get ya back to your mama." He rocked her gently for a few moments, lamenting his second failure to save her.
Her grip got tighter and her fingers were digging into his skin, hands wrapping around his neck. She had a superhuman grip and he couldn't breathe, couldn't pry her fingers away. The burning in his chest got worse as he was starved for oxygen and he was burning up. Sophia had him on his back, undead eyes boring into his as she slowly choked him to death while he thrashed and kicked desperately-
Carol was frantically trying to wake him as he fought, thrashing weakly and moaning her daughter's name. Daryl had taken a severe downturn that night, his fever had risen again and clearly he was having more nightmares. He was choking and coughing, pink foam spilling from his mouth.
"HERSHEL!" She yelled, hoping he'd hear her; she couldn't bring herself to leave Daryl. She pulled him onto his side to keep him from drowning on his own bodily fluids.
Finally his eyes opened but he continued to cough and heave, trying desperately to get air. She patted his back, hoping it would help clear his airway. Within a few minutes his coughing fit subsided for the time being. Daryl's eyes cleared and he was panting heavily from exertion. He was shivering and she could see the panic in his eyes from his nightmare. Carol brushed his bangs away from his forehead and smiled gently but she couldn't erase the worry from her features. Minutes later Hershel shuffled into the cell looking to her for answers.
"His coughing's worse – he's bringing up blood now."
Hershel nodded and pulled a stethoscope from around his neck to listen to Daryl's lungs. Carol helped him sit up as Hershel examined him, asking him to take deep breaths and listening.
"It sounds like you've got fluid both in and around your lungs," Hershel said once his exam was complete.
"What's that mean, Doc?" Daryl asked, voice hoarse.
"Well, there's not a whole lot we can do for what's in your lungs – that's treated with oxygen and medication we don't have. But if we can get what's around your lungs we might relieve some of the pressure and give you more time."
"How?" Carol asked.
"We go in through the back with a flexible catheter, drain it from there. I checked the infirmary here and it does have what we need as far as supplies but I'm afraid we don't have anything to numb the area," Hershel responded, giving Daryl a long look.
"Figures," Daryl sighed, nodding at the older man, giving his consent. Hershel nodded and left to retrieve the supplies. "Ya don' gotta stay for this," he said quietly, glancing at Carol. She'd seen too much already.
"Do you want me to go?" She asked. Carol was there for the long haul but if he didn't want her there, she would respect that. Daryl was silent for a long time and Carol figured that was his answer. Disheartened, she turned to leave but instantly felt his warm hand around her wrist.
"No," his voice was even quieter. He was worried for her safety but he wanted her there. Needed her there. She'd held his hand through it this far and he needed that support. Carol smiled softly and sat down next to him until Hershel returned.
-TWD-
They had him shirtless and sitting up with a pillow clutched to his chest, leaning over a tray table. Carol sat in front of him and Hershel was behind him preparing what he needed. Daryl was just trying to keep his breathing level and praying he didn't start coughing. He shuddered when Hershel placed his fingers on his back, counting the ribs until he found the right spot in the middle of his back, a few inches left of the spine. Hershel picked up a lance, preparing to break skin.
"First I'm going to make a small cut before inserting the-"
"Cut the play by play doc an' jus' do it," Daryl interrupted. He had no desire to know the specifics, feeling it would be enough.
Hershel nodded and placed the lance at the correct spot before pressing it into the skin, making a tiny puncture wound. Carol noticed Daryl's face barely flinched but she could see his shoulders getting tense in anticipation and placed her hand over one of his. His eyes met hers briefly before they snapped shut again when Hershel began to gently press a thin, flexible white tube into his back, the catheter.
Daryl could feel the catheter sliding through every millimeter of flesh and he'd give anything for the procedure to be over. The deeper it went the more his face twisted in pain; eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched. His hands were shaking in an effort to keep the rest of himself still, fingers digging into the tabletop and knuckles going white. He kept his breathing shallow in an effort to move as little as possible.
"Just a little bit more," Hershel said, offering what little comfort he could until he'd gone in as far as possible.
Using a syringe, he attached it to the catheter and began to pull the plunger back until the syringe started to fill with a transparent red fluid. Once he got the draining process started, Hershel removed the syringe and replaced it with a tube, letting the fluid drain into a large empty mason jar.
"All we can do now is wait until that jar is full. It probably won't take more than a few minutes," Hershel said, sitting back and cleaning up the used supplies, tossing them into the trash.
Daryl couldn't stop the high-pitched keening sound from escaping his throat, tears of pain pricking his eyes. The catheter was a knife in his back and the minutes felt like days. Every breath was agony. He didn't know how much more he could take between the coughing, nightmares, fever, and now this procedure. He hadn't been reduced to tears of pain in a long time.
Carol's heart ached for him. She squeezed his hand looking up at Hershel who nodded, telling her the jar was nearly full.
"It's almost over, okay?" Carol stroked the top of his hand with her thumb. His eyes opened to look at her, they were shining with pain but he managed a small nod for her.
He let out a small gasp when Hershel began to slowly pull the catheter from his back. The pressure was easing up until Daryl felt he could take a full breath again. Hershel pressed a cotton ball to the small wound and then covered it with a band aid. It still ached and stung but the pain was more manageable now.
Daryl collapsed on the bed, exhausted and still shaking. Carol drew the covers over him while Hershel cleaned up the rest of the supplies and left to retrieve some more elderberry tea for his resurging fever.
Daryl fell asleep right away but Carol didn't leave his cell that night. She knew starting to cough up blood was the turning point for the sickness. Even though she hoped draining some of the fluid would help, she couldn't leave him.
It was still very early in the morning when Daryl's coughing returned. He was heaving, eyes watering, desperately trying to cough up the liquid in his lungs. It was a bloody mess. Daryl's entire torso was on fire, muscles and bones screaming in protest with each painful cough. He was choking, barely able to get enough air, and blood trickled down his chin. His eyes were wild in panic and Carol called for Hershel again.
To her horror, Daryl's eyes rolled to the back of his head and he passed out from lack of oxygen. Panic gripped her and she shook him desperately.
"No, no, no, don't do this!" She moaned. "Please don't go," a sob found it's way out of her throat, "Please don't leave me." Tears streamed down her face as she turned him onto his side to once again keep him from drowning. She loved her entire prison family but Daryl was special. He was her person. And she was his. Carol wasn't ready to let go, she didn't think she'd ever be.
Hershel returned, intubation kit in hand. Carol helped to hold Daryl down and keep his mouth open until the tube was shoved down his throat. Hershel showed her the appropriate sequence for manual breathing before letting her take over. He squeezed her shoulder in a comforting gesture.
"They should be back soon," he said quietly. Carol nodded at him, grateful for his positive perspective.
-TWD-
"C'mon, little brother, time ta git up"
Daryl almost smiled at that familiar voice. But his eyelids were heavy and he was warm and comfortable in the darkness, he didn't want to leave. He started to sink back into it but Merle punched his shoulder.
"Hey! Boy I told ya it's time ta git up. Open them eyes 'fore I pry 'em open," Merle growled but Daryl could hear the smile in his voice.
"Tired, bro," he mumbled, eyes cracking open. Merle was sitting beside him and he was still in the prison cell but it was warmer and lighter somehow.
"Tha's too damn bad. I din' die so you's could check out early, little brother. Git that ass up 'fore I kick it back to the world a' the livin.' Ya ain't done yet," Merle placed his hand over Daryl's arm in a much too gentle gesture. "Go on, git!" He snapped before poking Daryl in the elbow with something sharp-
Daryl's eyes opened and Carol was sitting beside him, hand on his arm as Hershel put in an IV. Looked like the meds had finally arrived. Carol smiled at him, eyes shining with relief to see him awake again. He managed to smile in return, moving his free hand to cover hers.
"Welcome back," she said softly.
-The End-
A/N: I did my own little take on how they handled the flu in its latter stages, trying to make it different instead of repeating the show. That procedure is called pleural effusion and I may have taken some creative liberties for the purposes of this fic. I'm so terrible, I swear. At least I didn't kill him though, right?
Would love to know your thoughts.