AN: Once again, I'd just like to thank everyone for reading and reviewing. It's awesome that you all are enjoying this! I hope this chapter is another hit. :)

Panic gripped him, strangled him, paralyzed him. Daryl lay before him, bleeding everywhere, dazed and confused, struggling to breath; all the while, Maggie knelt there muttering an endless litany, 'It's okay, it's okay. It's gonna be just fine,' and petting his face soothingly. Daryl allowed her to do this, which was alarming in itself, making no protests to the intimate touch. In fact, he didn't even seem to be aware it was happening. Rick felt like he was in a dream, mouth gone dry leaving his tongue feeling like a swollen and foreign thing, blood roaring in his ears rendering all other sound dull and distant, body swimming in water thick as molasses making his movements slow and arduous. This couldn't be happening. But this was happening. Daryl was literally dying right before his eyes, and he was just staring like an idiot. He had to do something.

Daryl's abrupt and weak attempt to sit shook Rick from his impotent stupor. He almost let out a hysterical laugh at that, only barely managing to tamp it down. Daryl always seemed to be finding some way to kick Rick's ass into gear, even half-dead and bleeding on the ground. And just like that, the urge for laughter morphed into the urge for tears. With some effort, he held those back too.

"Hey, it's okay, man. Just lie still." Rick said as calmly as he could, placing a gentle yet firm hand on Daryl's shoulder, easily holding him in place. In his peripheral vision he noticed Glenn cautiously shining his flashlight into the gaping maw that once was the doorway to the store, but paid him no mind.

"Whaaa?" Daryl slurred, trying to lift his head to get a look at himself. Assess the damage. The situation. Anything. The confusion in Daryl's eyes tore at Rick. He clearly had no idea what was going on. Rick wasn't even sure he was feeling the pain yet, to which Rick could only attribute to shock; he wanted to count that as a blessing, but found it only increased the dread crawling like spiders in his gut.

"No! Just stay still." Rick commanded putting just a touch more pressure on the shoulder he held and moving so he bodily blocked Daryl's view; Maggie's hand on his forehead assisted in keeping him from seeing. He didn't need to see that. Not yet. He'd know soon enough as it is. Right now they had to focus on stabilizing him as best they could, keeping him calm, not causing him to panic at the sight of fucking door sticking out of his torso.

As Daryl's lids fluttered shut, Rick brushed Maggie's hands silently asking her to back away for a moment, which she did. He placed his hands on either side of Daryl's face, trying to both ground him and gain his attention.

"Daryl." His eyes opened, but began lolling about lazily. "Daryl." Rick said again, gently tapping his cheek, the disoriented gaze staggered to a stop on Rick's anxious one.

"Think…," Daryl paused and gasped, screwing his eyes shut and heaving a pained breath through clenched teeth, "…think something's wrong with me, Rick."

Rick tried to keep all trace of fear from his voice, not sure how well he succeeded. "I'm not gonna lie to you. You're hurt. Bad. But you're gonna be okay. We've got you, we're gonna get you back to Hershel, and he'll fix you right up. I just need you to keep still, keep calm. You with me, Daryl?"

Daryl looked at him through glazed eyes. "Yeah," it came out a shaky whisper.

"Rick." Glenn's voice was strained as he crouched down next to the others, he nervously looked Daryl over and fiddled with the shotgun, muzzle pointed harmlessly toward the ground, before turning his eyes back to their de-facto leader.

"Whoever did this knew what they were doing. I think they're long gone… but the whole place is booby trapped! Why would someone do something like this?" He looked back down at Daryl with an expression that did nothing to conceal his fear for the injured man.

Thankfully, Daryl's eyes had slipped closed again so he didn't notice.

Rick sent Glenn a meaningful glare, 'Keep your shit together! Daryl needs us right now.'

Aloud he said, "Doesn't much matter why. What matters is they did, and we need to get Daryl back to the prison. Now."

Maggie and Glenn both nodded in the affirmative.

"I'll grab the kit." Maggie stated, referring to the small canvas bag containing a few first aid supplies, currently stored in the console of the truck, and scurried off.

Rick began carefully prodding the back of Daryl's head to be sure there was no brain leaking through, or anything else equally horrible, eliciting a moan. When he found what felt like a nearly a two-inch long gash Daryl's breath stuttered and his left leg kicked out feebly – which Glenn immediately grabbed, stilling it and patting it reassuringly, telling Daryl everything's okay – but he's otherwise unresponsive, eyes remaining closed, and all at once Rick's terrified he's already slipping away.

He glanced back down at Daryl's face, finding it completely devoid of color now, save for the thin stream of blood running from the corner of his mouth, trickling down his jaw and dripping onto the pavement. The red seemed to stand out so brightly against the pallid skin. Daryl's breathing was shallow and unsteady, hitching in his chest. Oh, and the icing on the cake, there was still that hunk of wood making itself an unwelcome guest, almost dead center in Daryl's body, a couple of inches below and to the right of his solar plexus. There's no way internal organs hadn't been compromised this time. Not like the time he fell down that ravine back on the farm. No, luck wouldn't shine on them forever would it?

When Maggie reappeared and promptly began readying bandages, Rick let out a sigh of relief at having something other than his friend's rapidly deteriorating condition to focus on. He gently lifted Daryl's head, deliberately keeping his body blocking any view Daryl might have of his upper body, so that Maggie could wrap the gauze around his head.

She's quick and efficient in her work and when she's done, she knelt right in the gore to simultaneously cushion Daryl's head and keep the bandages from soaking up the blood that had already drenched the ground. Exchanging a helpless look with Glenn, and offering him a thin, watery smile she turned to Rick. "What do we do now? I don't know if we should take that out."

"No," Rick replied. "We can't. It's the only thing keeping him from bleeding out."

"Well it's not doing a very good job of it." Glenn cringed at the amount of blood staining Daryl's shirt, pooling around him. "I mean look at him! It's got to be hurting him worse; we can't just leave it in!"

Rick bowed his head, scrubbing his face with his hands and forcefully pushed away the despair that was trying to break him. He refused to be defeated by this. To let it defeat Daryl.

"No." He stated with finality. "It's doing enough. There's nothing we can do for it right now. If we take it out, we'll only make it worse."

He raised his head looking at Glenn and Maggie almost pleadingly, his voice increasing in intensity as he spoke, whispering harshly to convey the severity of the situation, but not wanting to outright yell and risk disturbing their fallen member or attract any more outside threats than the blast had already. "We take it out… we miss something – a splinter – and put pressure on it…" his voice lowered even more, like he was trying to keep Daryl from hearing. "We could kill him!"

A few silent seconds drifted by in the aftermath of Rick's speech, each of them staring desolately at their charge and contemplating the consequences if they fucked this up.

Sniffling, Maggie wiped at her eyes, tear tracks staining dirty cheeks. "We've got to get moving," she stated in a thick voice.

Rick moved to slide carefully into Maggie's place at Daryl's head and eased his arms underneath Daryl's shoulders, "Maggie, go open up the truck." In answer she scooped up the medical supplies and raced off.

"Glenn, get his legs. It'd be better if we had a board or something to lay him on…" or a door Rick thought morbidly, "… so just try to keep his torso as straight as you can."

"Right."

Glenn crouched between Daryl's legs and placed his hands underneath his knees rather than trying to lift from the ankles, hoping that would aid them in keeping the man's body from bowing when they lifted.

Looking to eachother, Rick and Glenn began to lift Daryl as one. They'd barely moved him, when Daryl suddenly let out a choked cry, dashing Rick's hopes that he'd stay unconscious at least for the duration of the whole relocation process. Immediately aborting the attempt to move him, they eased him back down.

Rick looked at Daryl alarmed to see he'd paled even more, if that was even possible.

"It's okay," Rick reassured. "We're just moving you to the truck."

Daryl moaned, head rolling drunkenly on his shoulders. "What's wrong wi…?" The words petered out when his eyes landed on the ghastly wound. "Oh."

He sounded nauseous when he said it.

That was all the warning they got before he started heaving, it was enough though, as Rick had already begun rolling him to his left side, Glenn turning his legs to keep his body from twisting. Rick cradled Daryl's head as he was wracked with the merciless convulsions, Glenn supporting the weight of the wood impaling the poor man, keeping it from shifting as much as possible and causing further damage.

He didn't bring up much, just a bit of the mornings' stew and bile, flecks of blood intermingling with it. But mostly it was painful dry heaves. Finally, the vomiting ceased, Daryl slumped bonelessly in their arms, panting with exhaustion, only Rick and Glenn's support keeping him from laying right in the mess.

"…'m I dying?" The words were so quiet and smeared together, Rick could barely understand him. He could see the panic brewing in Daryl's unfocused gaze, unshed tears pooling in his eyes, he wanted more than anything to take his pain away. To fix this.

"No. No, Daryl, you are not dying!" He said with conviction.

Daryl stared up at him with a look of such naked trust, Rick could feel the weight of it in his very soul, and he had no intention to betray that trust.

"Come on let's get you to the truck." Rick and Glenn once again adjusted their grips on Daryl to carry him.

They moved in tandem, doing a decent job of keeping him level, but the movement was too much for Daryl, and despite his efforts he let out an agonized scream, body going rigid then suddenly limp as he passed out again.

Maggie stood at the open door of the truck, watching the scene unfold with a panicked expression. As the men neared, she slid into the cab ready to let Daryl's head rest in her lap and attend to him as best she could during the ride.

With Daryl settled, Glenn and Rick fairly dove into the front seats. Rick floored the pedal, racing back to the prison while trying to keep the truck from bumping around too much and jostling their precious cargo.

The air inside the cab was thick with a tense foreboding. Glancing back in the rearview mirror at his grievously injured friend, Rick stomped on the gas a little harder, willing the speeding truck to move faster. He wouldn't fail Daryl. He. Would. Not.