The days blurred together. Daryl never asked how long he'd been unconscious, and how long it took him to be well enough to even get out of bed. After the first few hazy days on pain meds during which he'd been asleep more than awake he couldn't find back into a normal sleep and wake cycle.

At first, when Hershel started weaning him off the morphine he couldn't sleep at all and just lay on his bunk for hours, sometimes listening to the voices outside his cell, his group going about their normal business. He felt numb most of the time, but occasionally, and without warning, a rage like he'd never felt in his life descended on him and he wanted to scream and tear into things and people. But he didn't.

He was still too weak to even stand up unaided, and anyway the effort seemed too great. Instead he turned over to the wall and pressed the knuckles of his balled fists into the wall, scraping them up and down until they bled. The first time he'd done that Rick had berated him for what felt like hours when he'd noticed, but Daryl had ignored him. He kept doing it whenever the violent emotions came back to the surface.

Rick was with him as much as he could. He hardly left his side until the round the clock pain meds were no longer needed. He told Daryl that he'd suffered a bad concussion, possibly even a cracked skull when he'd been caught in the blast. They had no way of checking him over properly, so they didn't know for sure.

"It flung you about ten yards, and you hit your head so hard. I thought you were dead for sure." Daryl just wished he were.

Between the concussion and his inability to see Daryl's sense of balance was shot and he couldn't take a single step without staggering and falling over. Rick was there to hold him and support him, but even sitting up on the side of the bed was initially nearly impossible. As soon as he was upright the world would start spinning and Daryl felt like he was falling. It made him nauseous and he'd break out in a cold sweat every time they tried it, so for several days he stayed almost completely horizontal

Rick took over total responsibility for his care. In the first few days some of the others had looked in, but Daryl found it very taxing to tolerate more than one person at a time. It disoriented him to hear them talking so close and not being able to see where everyone was. The echoy acoustic of the prison didn't help.

Once, when Hershel had come to examine him early on, Maggie had come to check something with her dad, and Daryl couldn't bear their talking over by the door. He tried to hide his discomfort. He knew they didn't mean to make him feel bad, but he couldn't stop his breathing from speeding up and his hands from shaking. Suddenly Rick, who had been nearby as usual, had sat down and taken his shaking hands in his.

"What is it?"

Daryl had shaken his head, pulled away from Rick and turned to the wall, but Rick must have guessed and gotten up to usher the others out. They hadn't talked about it again but from then on it was only Rick, and very occasionally Hershel, who came to his cell.

Daryl needed help with everything in those early days. Rick took care of his needs without question or reservation. Daryl was both grateful and ashamed for being helpless. Initially, because he was so weak and afraid, staying in the cell all the time didn't seem so bad. When he finally started feeling better Daryl had an inkling that that would soon change, but for the time being the smallness of the space helped him to sometimes keep the fear at bay.

The times Daryl felt best were when he lay in Rick's arms at night. Then he could almost forget what had happened. He knew it was night when Rick came to lie down with him and went to sleep himself. Rick mostly didn't tell him what time of day it was, or even usually what meal he was bringing Daryl, and Daryl felt stupid for asking so he just accepted it.

They generally didn't talk much. Daryl had learned to be in tune with Rick's emotions before the accident and he didn't actually need to see him for that. He could tell that Rick's sadness was almost as great as his own, and while he understood why that was he didn't like it. He didn't need to feel any more guilty for keeping Rick away from his usual duties and responsibilities, and the other man's emotions only made him more disgusted with himself. But he knew what ungrateful thoughts these were and kept them to himself.

-.-

"The bandages should come off today."

Daryl's heart started hammering at these words. He'd been dreading this moment, and wishing it to come quickly almost as much. He knew hope was foolish, but wasn't it human to cling to every tiny shred of it?

Hershel had changed the bandages a couple of times, impressing upon Daryl not to try and open his eyes because the wounds were still so fresh. The first time had hurt like a bitch and Daryl had had no thought to spare for anything but the pain and had willed himself not to faint by concentrating hard on Rick who'd held him steady on the side of the bed. The second time Hershel had been very quick and Daryl hadn't had time to contemplate disobeying the recommendation.

Now Daryl felt the mattress descending next to him as Rick sat down. He felt a hand on his back, rubbing gentle circles. As usual Rick seemed to know some of what was going through Daryl's mind.

"Shall we do it now?"

Rick's voice was very close to his ear, and Daryl could imagine easily what he looked like just then. Eyes on him like he'd never look away again, concern and love warring with each other. His heart was heavy when he realized that soon he'd no longer be able to conjure up these images.

Daryl nodded. Better over with it than dragging it out. He could feel Hershel step closer, and when he started undoing the knots on the bandage Rick put both his arms around Daryl tightly. He brought his hands up and gripped hard at Rick's arm encircling his chest.

The pressure on his face lessened as the bandage fell away. The skin all around the eyes still felt raw and sore, and for the first time Daryl wondered what he himself would look like from now on. He didn't suppose it mattered very much.

And then Hershel stepped back. Daryl could feel the slightly cool air of his cell against skin that had been covered for a long time. He brought one hand up to his face and placed it first against his cheek, then carefully explored the region that had suffered most damage.

"Whatever you do, don't scratch," came Hershel's voice. "There's still a lot of healing to do, and you'll easily hurt yourself."

Like that mattered. But Daryl didn't say anything. He could feel scabs and scars but it didn't seem as bad as he had expected. His eyes were closed, and for now he decided to leave them that way. They felt like they were stuck shut, anyway.

As if reading his mind Hershel added, "You'll find it hard to open your eyes right now. I suggest we let everything settle for another day or so and then I'll clean away the lymph and blood."

"Doesn't really matter either way, does it?" Daryl's voice was gruffer than he had intended, but he didn't apologize. He turned to Rick. "Can I lie down now?"

Rick got up, and Daryl lay back on the bed and turned around to face the wall. He was close to tears again, but just now he didn't want anyone else to see.

-.-

Time kept ticking, Daryl kept breathing, nothing much changed. The pain mostly disappeared, and when Hershel came back to clean his face the next day Daryl didn't protest. The old man was gentle and took his time, but it was still uncomfortable. The warm water made the skin burn again and tears mixed in with the wound secretions without Daryl being able to stop them.

There was a small moment of almost joy. When he opened his eyes properly for the first time Daryl realized that the constant darkness around him was replaced with a hazy not-quite gray. Hershel must have noticed something because Daryl heard him step closer.

"Can you see anything?"

Daryl hesitated. Was it even worth sharing? But he thought, why not. "It's less dark, somehow…"

"Wait." He could hear the old man turn away and then come closer again. "How's this?"

A slightly lighter gray seemed to appear. "It's a bit lighter again, yeah. But that's it, I can't see what y're holding…"

"Well, it's something, right?" Rick's voice sounded both anxious and hopeful.

Daryl shrugged. He supposed it was, but what use it could ever be he had no idea.

-.-

"Come on, just for a little while. The others are all anxious to see you…"

Rick's voice trailed off. Maybe he thought again that he'd said something bad. Daryl didn't much care. He hated how Rick was walking on egg shells around him, never anything but careful, and anxious not to say things like "see".

Daryl wished he wouldn't do that. He hadn't suddenly gone soft in the head and forgotten that everyone else could still see. He didn't mind words being said. Words were just that, they could have meaning or not, like seeing had no meaning for him now. No, what he minded was Rick pussyfooting around him, and yet at the same time trying to make him do things he just couldn't.

"Not yet Rick, please…"

"Just thirty minutes. You've been in here over a week, you need to get up, move around. Come on, do it for me."

Daryl couldn't argue with that, he just couldn't. Rick had done so much for him, and he couldn't refuse to do something in return. And this shouldn't be so hard, it was just sitting with the group. Hardly two dozen steps out there to the tables. The fear was threatening to overwhelm him, but he swallowed it down. What could happen, after all?

"All right."

"You'll see, it'll be fine."

Rick came to his side and helped him up. Daryl was steadier on his feet now, his head felt much clearer. He'd sat at the table in the cell a few times over the last couple of days and it felt more ok every time. But everything in him was fighting now against the urge to crawl back onto his bed and hide under the covers as they slowly stepped over to the cell entrance and out past the sheet covering it.

Daryl grabbed Rick's hand tightly, focusing on Rick's arm around his waist, not letting the panic overwhelm him. The sounds and smells out here were newly unfamiliar and even though Daryl remembered what it all looked like he couldn't orientate himself now. He thought he could feel people close by, but none of them spoke which made him even more uneasy. Suddenly Rick's arm vanished.

"I am just moving this out of the way…" Rick's voice seemed far away and Daryl stood rooted to the spot, fighting the urge to panic. And suddenly, there was a huge crash. Daryl jumped, trying to locate the source of the noise, spinning on the spot. He felt dizzy, his knees were threatening to give way.

Before he could collapse Rick caught him and held him. Daryl clutched the front of Rick's shirt, whimpering and hating himself for his weakness. He leaned into Rick's chest and Rick's hand came up to stroke his hair.

"Shh, it's ok. That was just a plate that fell off the table. It's all right, no need to panic."

Usually Rick's voice was soothing on Daryl's rattled nerves, but right this moment he only felt anger.

"Take me back, now."

"But you said you'd sit…"

"Take. Me. Back."

The last came out through gritted teeth, and the impossibility of this situation once again hit home like a punch to the gut. All Daryl wanted was to get away from Rick, but he needed him, depended on him. He would never again get away from anyone. The thought made him shake so hard Rick was struggling to keep him upright. At least that seemed to convince the other man that he wasn't ready after all.

They were back in the cell within a minute. Once sure he could find his way Daryl broke free and, supporting himself along the bunk bed, made his way back onto his mattress. He stretched out, still shaking and breathing hard.

"Look, Daryl…"

But Daryl turned away.

"Leave me alone."

He could feel Rick come closer and half turned back. "Just leave me for now, ok?"

He hadn't raised his voice but Rick must have gotten the message and walked out of the cell. Daryl turned back to the wall, feeling more numb than angry. He tried not to think of anything and finally fell asleep.