You wish that'd gone differently. You don't like being the bad cop, the one who frightens people. But you've learned to be hard. Hurt them first, ask questions later. You don't have to like it. Just do it, and keep your family safe. You wouldn't have hurt Aaron, not really, but it's good that Glenn stepped up. Now they can remain wary of you, wonder what you're willing to do.
Now all you want it sleep, but it's not to be, not yet. Something else needs your attention first. He needs you…
You glance at the group where they are settling down for the night. You carry on further into the gloomy warehouse, to where you can make out an indistinct shadow against the far wall. Why does he keep doing this, retreat from everyone? You suppress your irritation. You know why he does it. He's hurting, now he's also sick, and like a wounded animal he seeks solitude, peace to lick his wounds. That that's not really helping is a different matter, and not one so easily solved.
At least he's stayed indoors. When you and the others finally found the rest he was out there, shivering. Clearly he'd waited for you, but he was so reluctant to follow you inside you were immediately suspicious that something else was going on.
You crouch down on the floor next to him. He's not looking at you, just stares blankly ahead. You glance sideways, at his pale face, his taut features. Close to you can see a thin sheen of sweat glisten on his forehead, like he's running a temperature. You can tell he's still shivering, too, even though it's not cold in the warehouse. He's cradling his injured arm against his chest. Looks like it hurts him quite a bit now. But that's not all of it, is it?
You don't want to get his back up again, but there's no real choice, you need a few questions answered or you can't help.
"I know something's not right, Daryl. I'm tired, I don't want to have to work so hard and wrestle it from you. Can you just tell me what it is?"
He flinches, like you lashed out at him. You feel sorry for the effect your words have, but it's the truth. You're too exhausted to play games.
He doesn't answer, not right away. He leans his head back, rests it against the wall. Closes his eyes. You think you can see tears glisten against his lashes. Then the hand of his uninjured arm comes up and presses down on his stomach. You see his throat move as he dry swallows, trying to breathe through this. And you suddenly know what it is.
"You feel sick?"
He nods, head still against the wall, eyes stay closed. The anxiety in the pit of your stomach intensifies. He cradles the hurt arm closer, hisses. You knew this would happen, the cut's gotten infected.
"We need to get you some antibiotics, and pronto."
"They have some, in the RV. That's what made m'sick. Couldn' keep 'em down…"
"You need to take some more, then. Eat something with them, too. I'll talk to Aaron."
You start getting up.
"Rick…"
You stop halfway. He looks at you now, properly for the first time in ages. His eyes are full of pain, and it's not just the arm, or the nausea.
"'m sorry. I keep messing stuff up… I'm trying… but it's so hard…"
You reach out without thinking, touch his face lightly with the tips of your fingers.
"It's not you, Daryl. I'm the one who needs to be sorry. This is on me, I keep messing things up…"
He looks like he wants to shake his head, but you don't let him. You hold his face, until he looks at you again.
"We'll work this out, promise. Just hang tight. We're almost safe, we'll figure it out together, alright?"
You wait for his reluctant nod. He looks away again then, and you turn, walk back towards the others.
You just hope you're right with that promise.