They're on the way back, it's all over. Last walkers dispatched, last villains dealt with. Everyone's safe, for now. As usual Rick and Daryl are the last ones to leave. They get into the only remaining car together. Not even bringing up the rear, now, everyone else's vehicles have long since disappeared over the horizon. It's dark, and they're both tired.
Actually, tired is what they were three days ago. They're exhausted. Daryl doesn't think either of them has had more than four hours' sleep in total since it all began, back at the safe zone. When was that, a week ago, more? He honestly can't remember.
They're quiet, there's really nothing to say at the moment. What's done is done, and they'll be picking over the events for weeks to come, back home, with those who weren't even there.
Back home, is that what it is now? Daryl guesses it is, cos why'd they risk everything for some random place they don't plan to stay at for long, right? He's still not sure what he thinks of that, but he's been unsure about it ever since they got to Alexandria, and his overtired brain is hardly gonna come up with a decision on that question now, so why even think about it?
He looks over at Rick instead. For his lover's sake he'll be glad to get back to what's currently their home, their bed, even if for nothing else. Rick looks exhausted, even worse than Daryl feels. Some anxiety builds in the pit of his stomach suddenly. Is Rick still enough in control to drive? Maybe they should take turns, or hole up somewhere for the night. It's not far, but that's hardly the point.
Daryl glances down. Neither of them has bothered with the seatbelt. He wonders vaguely when they fell out of that ingrained habit. Really not far now, maybe just over a mile. They're just cresting a hill Daryl recognizes as one of the last before Alexandria comes into view…
"Rick!"
There it is, in the middle of the road, as if it came out of nowhere. Daryl has time to wonder how it even got here, he's sure they picked these woods clean weeks ago. It's the wrong season, too. There, in their headlights, stands a deer. Might has well be the chupacabra, Daryl's surprise, his fear, wouldn't be any greater.
Later, Daryl can't decide whether this would have gone differently had they been less tired. Or had it been daylight. Or had it been him driving. Or…
But he knows it's pointless, wondering. It is what it is, nothing can change it later. And nothing can change it now. It's a deer, in the middle of the road, and Rick swerves to avoid it, cursing. They don't even hit the thing – as far as Daryl knows it's still out there, alive and well – and if that swerve was all there was to it they would have been a bit rattled but fine, all four wheels safely on the road.
Of course that's not all there is to it. One of the car's front tires, as far as they can piece it together later, has been nicked by a stray bullet during that last altercation, and from the swerving's added pressure it blows up. As much as Rick tries to keep the car on the road, it's no use. Their momentum carries them into the ditch and from there, suddenly, the ground seems to fall away, and then they're falling, sickeningly fast.
Daryl doesn't realize until later that they tip over, that the sick spinning feeling means they come to land upside down. For now all he knows is that the world gives an almighty lurch, that he's thrown around the car, that something stabs him sharply through the top of the head, that he knows nothing.