He came awake in batches. Why exactly he was waking up, he didn't know. Last thing he remembered was staring at Mule as she crouched by the front bumper of the RV. Then he got plunged down the rabbit hole into Bullshitland.

The back of his eyelids got hit by a sudden, blinding flash of light. He tossed an arm across his eyes in an instinctive, protective gesture. Not that it really helped any damn thing. The images that shot across the back of his eyelids were from the most terrible moments of the previous night.

The side of Rick's face getting splashed with blood as that damn bat of Negan's swung to the side after clubbing Abraham on the top of his head.

Glenn looking over at Maggie, his face a gruesome mask of blood and dripping gray matter, one eye nearly popping out from its socket and telling her he'd find her.

Negan grabbing Rick by his collar and dragging him into the RV and off to only God knew where.

And the last, most bitter memory of all from that night: the kid telling Rick to go ahead and saw his damn arm off.

A well of self-hatred, bitter regret, and soul-sucking pain slammed into Daryl with each image and knocked him back into the void he had barely escaped from. He found himself again floating on that dark cloud. This time he embraced it, allowed the cool, calm quiet to settle the nausea in his belly.

He told himself this was where a festering pile of dog shit like him deserved to end up. Physical pain he could handle. The shit his daddy, uncle, and Merle did to him as a kid made him tough. Hell, at five he'd gotten his broken arm set without making a lick of sound. Nothing had prepared him for this ball-busting shit, though.

As he laid there among the giggling assholes with wings, Daryl found himself wondering about whether he had finally been put down for the count. Maybe he had finally got knocked in the head and this was just his body's last attempt to rally back to the fight. It's what I damn sure deserve after what I did to Glenn, he thought a second before searing pain ripped through his skull and brought more images he didn't wanna see.

Negan aiming Lucile, still dripping bloody molasses into Rosita's ashen face.

Rick kneeling in the dirt with his head lowered.

The last image was the one that had his tormentors taunting and jeering the most. Not like he didn't feel like a goddamn lowlife scumball. He let every damn body down. He was why they were in the fix they were in. Had he not let his pride, his ego get in the way, they wouldn't have ended up as Negan's chew toys.

Groaning, Daryl put his hands to his head and prayed for the images, the thoughts, and the pain to stop. Just five minutes, he begged whatever gods might even be listening to losers like him. Just give me five damn minutes of nothing in my head. It didn't seem like all that much to ask for. Not that he deserved mercy. The first part of his prayer was answered as his pain subsided to a low, dull throb. His thoughts stilled. It was just the images that took their sweet ass time in going away. Eventually, though they, too, stopped coming.

He used the quiet to allow his other senses to catch up with his messed-up brain. Sound and smell came as he pushed himself again towards a state of consciousness. Burnt motor oil, gasoline, dirt, and blood teased at his nostrils while the sputter of a V8 in need of some serious engine work assaulted his poor eardrums.

A faint thought about how ironic it was that the car bearing him to hell was a piece of shit floated through his mind. Then the vehicle hit a rut in the road, bouncing him right back into the arms of pain. He bit back a few choice sayings as a slow, steady throbbing started in the back of his fool head. A second later his eyeballs pulsated with it. Then the rest of his worthless hide joined the party.

Most of the pain seemed stuck to his shoulder, chest, neck, and ribs. As Daryl lay there, taking stock of his physical condition and cursing whatever angel kept him from joining Merle in whatever pit of hell he was roasting in, he realized there wasn't a place on his damn hide that didn't hurt. Even his damn eyelashes pulsed with pain. However, it was the bearable kinda pain and not the breath stealing, strength zapping, hallucinating sorta shit he had been having back in that clearing.

Least I ain't seeing or hearing Merle at the moment...

As if he conjured his older brother up from out of thin air, Daryl heard a snort and Merle saying, 'Looks like you done got screwed by the pooch here, son.'

Tell me something I don't already know, jackass.

'Open your eyes and you'll see shit for yourself.'

Even if he could manage to open his eyes, he was sure the only thing he'd see would be Merle sitting back with that shit-eating grin of his stretched wide across his leathery face.

Your ass still ain't real, he told him. Don't care what the hell you say.

'Well, now, son, I guarantee you that I'm still more real than that damn Chupacabra you claim to have seen.'

Daryl merely heaved a sigh.

Ain't got time for your bullshit, Merle.

'Why the hell not?' Merle demanded. 'Since you just laying there like some fancy whore.'

Daryl ignored him. The way he saw it, there'd be plenty of time for them to chew the fat after he got his one-way trip downstairs. He tried to move but felt his shoulder scream in protest. He supposed feeling pain of any kind was a good sign. If Mule was there, she'd tell him how feeling anything was a good sign. Damn woman was full of notions he hadn't cottoned too back when they were traveling together.

Like chirping about how my ass wasn't dead because I hadn't finished whatever bullshit the guy upstairs needed me to do.

He bit back a groan as the vehicle bounced over another batch of uneven road. An almost desperate wish to suddenly feel her cool hand brush back the hair sticking to his clammy flesh rose in him but he slapped it back with a curse. He didn't have any right to comfort. Not after what he did. And her mule-headed ass is where it belongs, he thought, grimacing as a jolt of white-hot pain shot through his shoulder and down across his chest and abdominal region. She'll take care of Rick and the others.

As he should have done.

Daryl swallowed the guilt that surged into his mouth and cautiously opened his eyes. He regretted the decision immediately. The world flying by the window on his left caused his belly to roll over. For a moment he thought he was gonna puke. He bore down, shoved the nausea back and tried to sit up but found he was being held in place by satin-smooth tentacles that tightened about him the more he moved. Or maybe, he reasoned as agony shot across his chest, and along his arm, it is just my damn body refusing to obey my brain's command to sit the hell up.

He must have made some sorta sound because a hand gloved in black leather was set upon his shoulder and a voice smooth as molasses was telling him, "we'll be at the Sanctuary in a few minutes."

His first thought after hearing that was: who's this asshole? It was quickly followed by, and what's this Sanctuary he talking 'bout? Something told him it wasn't wherever Mule and her kids were staying. A primal part of him warned him this Sanctuary was someplace he didn't wanna end up.

And this guy could be one of Negan's bitch buddies.

"Who'n hell are you?"

He had spoken the words. He could feel them on his lips still. Yet nothing echoed in the silent can that suggested he made a lick of sound. He cleared his throat, moistened his lips and went to try again but a sigh broke the quiet and muzzled him before his mouth could go into rapid-fire mode.

"Look, man, I know you gotta have a shit ton of questions," he heard him - he assumed it was a him anyway - say over the whine and snarl of the engine. "And I promise I'll do my best to answer every one of 'em once we get to the Sanctuary."

Daryl ignored the blinding pain any slight bit of movement caused and twisted his head around so he could stare at the figure seated in the driver's seat. A frown pulled at his brow and increased the throbbing going on behind his eyeballs. He ignored his physical bullshit and took stock of the prick he figured was the one who clubbed him over the head.

The red hood the asshole had pulled up over his or her head hid their face completely from view. He couldn't see if the guy was young, old, or even a dude for that matter. Could be a real masculine chick, he decided as he tried to angle his head in a way that would allow him to look in the rearview mirror. He couldn't see shit from his prone position and his body was warning him 'bout the price he'd pay if'n he tried to sit up.

"Who'n the hell are you?" He managed around the sawdust filling his throat and mouth. "And where the hell is this Sanctuary you taking me?"

The leather-wearing sumbitch turned his head just enough that Daryl could see the outline of the red half-mask that covered the upper part of his face. Could the prick be a friend of Mule's? Or an enemy? he wondered. How many of these mask wearing folk are out there? Mule and maybe Batman - who he still doubted existed - was more than enough for him. Ain't liking how she gotta put that mask on and fight these shits...

A cursory glance around the back of the vehicle revealed a brown quiver with some fancy black arrows in it, a far more flashy recurve bow than what Mule used, and some hunting knives and other thingamabobs that reminded him of some of the fancy ass shit he'd seen in that small armory she had back in her house in Georgia.

"You can call me Roy," his kidnapper said. "Or Harper."

The name tickled a memory buried deep beneath all the other crap he had festering inside his head. Mule talked 'bout some kid she took in for a time. Showed me a picture of some dark-haired fella in a red jacket. Called him Harper. Could this be his ass? He couldn't say for sure. Not without seeing the sumbitch in a better light, without his mask and hood. And without my damn head throbbing like a bad tooth.

He opted to go the direct route and ask him.

"You know Mule?"

"Mule?" That hooded head shook back and forth slowly. "Sorry, but I don't know anybody named Mule. Why?"

Well, there goes that, Daryl thought. "Just askin'."

"Are you by chance referring to Raya?" his kidnapper asked. "She's the only person I know who is as stubborn and temperamental as a mule."

He grunted as they hit another bump in the road. "Yeah, that's Mule."

"Then, yes, I do know a Mule. Only, I call her Raya."

"Yeah?" He rasped as he tried to push himself into a seated position. "Well, how you think she gonna like your cracking me over the head and dragging my ass off to wherever this Sanctuary is?"

"She's not gonna be very happy with me," Roy admitted as he swerved to miss a pothole. Daryl got tossed against the side of the SUV and felt pain radiate out from the hole in his right shoulder. He swallowed some choice words as Roy uttered a terse, "Sorry! Got some undead crowding the access road I use to get in and outta the Sanctuary."

"Yeah, Roy, how 'bout you tell me 'bout this Sanctuary you taking my ass too?"

Roy swerved again but Daryl was able to grab hold of the back of the seat before he got tossed to the other side of the vehicle.

"You already know the answer to that, man."

Yeah, he had a feeling he was gonna end up in hell sooner rather than later. Just didn't know that the devil is that leather jacket wearing, bat wielding asshole.

"So, you taking my ass to that ball bat wielding prick."

"Look, it's not like I relish taking you to Negan. The truth is..." Roy trailed off into a sigh. "Truth is, I don't have any other choice about where to take you. The only place that is safe is the Sanctuary."

"And how you figure that?" He grunted as they hit another rut. "Huh? In case you ain't been paying a lick of attention to the shit that just went down, Negan has me and my friends at his damn mercy."

"I know he does." His soft words were followed by a long, drawn-out sigh. "And trust me, he is going to relish trying to break you." Daryl heard the groaning of leather over the whine of the brakes. "I was actually surprised when he didn't order you taken as a captive. His other way of punishing those who cross him is turning people into his henchmen and using them against their former friends and communities."

"Yeah?" Daryl swallowed a curse as he pushed himself into a seated position. "Well, I ain't gonna be his bitch. He can kiss my ass 'bout that."

"Remember that when he's doing everything he can to break you." Roy parked the vehicle between some trees. "And know that no matter what he does to you? What Slade Wilson would do to you is much, much worse."

That name set off alarm bells inside Daryl's head. Ones that were even louder than the ones already ringing like Christmas bells. He'd heard that name before. But where? And by who? He was about to ask him who the sumbitch was when Roy turned in his seat to look at Daryl. His eyes, behind that reddish mask, burned with an anger that he understood all too well.

"Negan," he said in all seriousness now, "just wants you to provide for him. Slade Wilson on the other hand? He wants to use you to get at her."

"Her?" Suspicion thickened his voice. "You mean Mule?"

"Yes."

The flood of anger that filled him at some prick wantin' to use him to get at Mule chased away any lingering pain and emotional bullshit he was feeling.

"Why he wanna use me to get at Mule?" The edges of his vision blurred as he pushed himself upright, but he slapped the fog back and demanded, "What's his beef with her?"

"I shouldn't..." Roy began but Daryl cut him off before he could spew whatever bullshit about to leave his mouth.

"Why the hell he wanna use me to get at Mule?" He repeated, more firmly this time. "Hell's he want with her?"

"Well, he's…" Roy paused, considering his words carefully. "Dammit, he's Rose's biological father."

"He's the stalker sumbitch Mule moved to Georgia to get the hell away from?"

"Yes."

"And he wants my ass to do what? Get his daughter for him?" He sniffed, once. "Ain't gonna happen."

"He wants to force Raya into trading Rose for you."

"Yeah, well, that shit ain't gonna happen either." He fixed Roy with a look that burned with the fire in his belly. "You hear me? Sumbitch ain't gonna use me to force Mule into giving up her kid."

He'd put his own ass down before he'd let that shit happen.

"Do you understand why I had to bring you to the Sanctuary now?" Exhaustion and frustration coated every syllable that tripped off Roy's tongue. "Do you see why I have to give you over to a man who is going to physically and psychologically torture you every moment that he can?"

"Why it gotta be Negan's damn Sanctuary is what I wanna know?" He stared Roy dead in the eye, demanding an explanation and darin' him to lie to him all at the same time. "Why can't it be wherever the hell Mule is?"

Roy hesitated for a moment. Then he cleared his throat and said simply, honestly, "Because I know that as long as Negan has you as his pet, Slade can't get his hands on you. And so long as Slade can't get his hands on you..."

"Mule can't trade Rose for my worthless ass," Daryl finished for him, nodding slightly. "Yeah, I got it."

"Do you?" Roy's face shined with intensity and regret now. "Because she's not going too. In fact, she's likely to kick my ass from here to Gotham when she finds out what I've done."

Daryl grunted. "Did what you gotta."

"She won't see it like that," Roy admitted, grimacing. "She doesn't see that you're her kryptonite. You, your leader and his boy are what Slade can use to bring her to her knees."

"I ain't-" he began.

"You're everything," Roy finished for him. "You might not see it… but it's true. You're family. And she will tear the world itself apart to get to you. To any of you. I've seen her do it before."

"Yeah, well, ain't gonna happen," he muttered as he lowered his head. He told himself it wasn't that he was uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation. Hell, he knew how pissy she could get when one of her own was in danger. It was that he didn't deserve that kinda loyalty. "I'll make damn sure she minds herself."