Hey guys :) A horribly long wait for this chapter, I know, and I'm so sorry! Thanks so much for all the review though, I really, really appreciated every one of them.

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Daryl woke up quickly, jolting awake with a gasp.

A hand pressed down on his heaving chest, and he swung his head around blindly, unable to see anything clearly at first. Then sound came back, "…fine. Calm down, man, everything's fine. Just take it easy, and breathe for God's sake."

Shane, his brain supplied, even as he was frowning and doubting himself. That was Shane. He squinted up at him, while the hand was hastily removed from where Shane had been pushing him back down on the bed, and took a ragged breath.

"What—the fuck?" He stammered out, because really, what was he supposed to say when waking up to Shane Wash at his, Daryl's Dixon's, bedside. Daryl was completely disoriented.

The other man only grimaced slightly, "You don't remember?" Daryl raised his eyebrows at this, not knowing what was going on at all. Hadn't he just been speaking to Glenn? Shane hesitated for a moment, before saying, "You passed out. Like, you got out of bed all feverish, man, knocked yourself out cold from doing too much, and then Hershel operated on you. He took out all those infected splinter things, and whatever. I held you down when you woke up."

Daryl let his mouth hang open for a minute, caught completely off guard by the bombshell that had just been dropped on him.

He looked down frantically at himself, realising only then that he was almost flat on his back, and shirtless again. There was a large patch of gauze over his side, bigger than the one that had been there before, and it hurt a hell of a lot more than before.

But on the plus side, it was more of a throbbing pain rather than the sharp and stabbing one that had been there before, and his head didn't feel quite so fuzzy anymore. Daryl lifted his hand without the IV in it to scratch at his head, avoiding the bandage that covered most of his temple, "Yer not bullshitting me?"

"What? No, man, serious. Do you actually not remember anything?" Shane whistled lowly as Daryl shook his head, both men incredulous, "You are one lucky fucker not to remember. I had to hold you down, while you were screaming your head off, and— Fuck."

To be honest, Daryl wasn't that surprised that he didn't remember the incident. If he had really been that out of it, then it was unlikely that he'd remember when he was lucid. And it had happened before. He'd woken up flat on his back in their house sometimes, when he'd been a kid, with blood and bruises everywhere, but no memory. On those occasions, it had been Merle, coming in at two in the afternoon the day after an all-night bender, who told him that he'd gotten beaten or smacked around the previous night.

So Daryl just shrugged, and heaved himself up into a somewhat reclining position while he bit his lip against the pain, and tried to wrap his head around the fact that Hershel had just operated on him for the second fucking time.

Damn, he owed that old man.

Shane watched him, expression wary and slightly sympathetic, as if he wasn't really sure what he was supposed to be doing. Daryl smirked slightly to himself at that, knowing the feeling, and feeling slightly satisfied in the fact that Shane was fucking uncomfortable.

"I, uh, I'm gonna go. Just wanted to make sure you weren't dead or anything. So, uh, yeah, man."

Then he stood up hastily, and hurried over to the door, not looking back once. Daryl listened for a moment, and thought that he heard Shane going into the kitchen, until a few moments later, the front door to the house slammed shut.

Daryl took a minute then, taking comfort the fact that he was all alone, and let himself feel the pain. His ankle was worse than it had been before, probably from him walking on it or some shit, he rationalized, but apart from the increased pain in his side nothing seemed to have changed. Well, his head felt clearer, which he was glad about, but all in all, he still felt like shit.

He shrugged to himself, and yawned slightly. At least he was alive though, he guessed.

Ain't no one could kill him, but him. Except, Merle maybe.

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Rick walked back into camp slowly, having stayed out walking in the woods for an hour or two.

He felt refreshed, and ready to deal with any problems that had gone down since he had been gone. He was ready to deal with Shane, and skirt around Lori for a while longer until he figured out how to make things right with her again.

But Rick was definitely not prepared for his son to run to him at a sprint, and throw his arms around him. Nor was he prepared to look around, and see worried and pinched faces looking back at him.

"What happened?" He asked breathlessly, spinning around with Carl still clinging to him, "What's going on, what happened?" Rick starts to look around and count the people he can see, terrified that they've lost someone else, and it will have been all his fault.

Then Shane stalks away from the farmhouse, towards him, and he catches sight of Lori, and the tight feeling returns, and Rick suddenly comes to the conclusion that he's not ready for whatever news Shane is about to tell him. He just wants to go back ten minutes, to when he was walking through the forest, and surrounded by peacefulness.

"It's Daryl," Shane says grimly when he gets close enough, and Rick can almost feel the colour draining out of his face, "His wound got infected, so Hershel had to go back in, get out the splinters. Went in without anaesthesia, cause there weren't no time. He's fine now, though. Woke up a few minutes ago. Seems better."

Rick feels Carl pull away from him as he started walking forward, and he ruffles his son's hair in what he hopes is a comforting gesture as he strides towards Shane, "How did it get infected? What did Hershel say? Is he lucid?"

Shane merely looks at him hard for a moment, before running a hand over his head, and saying, "I think he'll be fine. Doesn't even remember the whole thing. Go in and see for yourself if you're so worried, man, but he seems fine," Then Shane went to walk past him, but paused for a moment, his mouth close enough to Rick's ear for him to speak quietly and no one else to hear, "Enjoy your walk?"

A stab of guilt hits Rick then, and he steps away from Shane, face tight, knowing that his friend had said the words purposefully to make him feel even worse about not being there for Daryl. Though, when Rick took a second to think about how Shane had that information, he frowned. If he hadn't been there, surely someone must have been with Daryl. And the fact that Shane was the one who had all the details and information, was starting to help Rick put everything into place.

But he just couldn't imagine Shane sitting at Daryl's bedside, and not killing the guy.

Shane had never tried to hide the fact that he disliked anyone with a Dixon after their first name, and Rick's conclusion to the current situation was turning out to be more and more out of character for him.

So, with one last confused glance at the retreating back of his former best friend, Rick gave Lori a quick kiss, and told her that he'd be back in a few minutes. She nodded at him, absently pulling away after only a second or two into the kiss, and Rick tried to pretend that he didn't mind.

But he did. He walked towards the house at a fast pace, trying not to think about the fact that his marriage may be failing, right in the middle of the apocalypse.

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Hershel met him in the hallway, literally only a few seconds after Rick had walked through the door.

He looked worn out, drained, and like he was glad to see Rick there. He wasted no time in getting straight to the point, "What happened?"

"He overexerted himself, something about getting a knife," Hershel explained calmly, while Rick resisted the urge to start pacing right in front of him, "Then I discovered that the wound was critically infected, and was forced to operate immediately to remove the splinters of wood that I must have missed last time. Shane assisted, and—"

Rick snapped his head up, "What?"

"I know. There was no time to wait for you, or to get anyone else, and it was either him or Glenn, who was on the ground. He… actually did an okay job. Because we had no anaesthesia, it was Shane's job to, well, hold Daryl down when he woke up during the procedure. Which he did, twice," Rick's eyes were wide, and he felt at a loss as to how to process the information. This didn't sound like the Shane Walsh he knew. "I left him in with Daryl, and Maggie only just informed me moments ago that he left."

They both looked over at the closed door at the same time, before exchanging another glance, and then Rick made the first move. He knocked once on the door quickly, before yanking it open, and striding inside, unsure of what he would find.

To his complete and utter shock, Daryl was awake, looking clear eyed and pissed off as he watched Rick storm into the room. He was even sitting up slightly, though he planted his hands firmly on the mattress when he registered that they were coming in, and forced himself into a more vertical position.

Rick rolled his eyes at this, Daryl's stubbornness always seeming to reach another level.

"What's up with you, Grimes? Ya look like someone jus' kicked ya in th' nuts." Daryl said bluntly, his tone gruff and marginally annoyed.

He smiled slightly, "I'm so sorry, Daryl, that I wasn't here earlier. I should have been, and I'm so sorry that you had to go through what you did, but I'm just so relieved that you're okay. How are you feeling, after the, uh, procedure?"

Daryl shrugged. "Better I guess. I don't remember it anyway, so there ain't no point in rehashin' over what's already happened. No need ta make a fuss or anythin'."

"You have no memory of the last few hours?" Hershel stepped forward at his words, and Rick turned to see the older man looking surprised, "None at all?" Daryl shook his head with a scowl, and chewed absently on his thumb.

"Last thing I remember 's talkin' ta Glenn. But it ain't t'do with the head injury, old man, I see that look in yer eyes," Daryl lifted a hand, and pointed an accusing finger at Hershel, who had stepped forward in alarm, "Sometimes my mind jus' forgets things. S'happened before. Like when my Pa would smack me around when I was a kid. I'd wake up an' not remember anythin'. This is one of those times, I think, so there ain't no reason fer ya ta get all worried or nothin'."

Rick studied Daryl carefully, seeing the hurt and pain that the man was mentally pushing down, and saw the truth in his eyes. As a cop, his mind went into a disapproving mode, and the words child abuse flashed into his head, though Daryl had only mentioned it briefly.

But as a father, he felt fury surge through him, because even though Daryl was a grown man by now, the thought of anyone hitting their child almost made him see red. The thought of him giving Carl a belt with intent and anger made him feel sick.

Hershel though, seemed to accept the information without much argument, but came right up to Daryl's side. "I've just got to check the incision, son," he told an immediately wary Daryl, who grudgingly lifted his hands up from where he had covered the patch of gauze protectively.

"'m not yer son," He mumbled quietly, but there was no malice in his voice, "How long I gotta be in here anyway? In th' house, I mean."

Rick snorted out a laugh, "You miss a cold tent and sleeping on the hard ground?" Daryl only glared at him, not seeming overly angered by his comment though, just slightly weary.

"Well?"

"I would say a few more days at least," Hershel finished his examination of the surgical site, and covered it carefully back up, "Definitely that at a minimum. Your ankle is still swollen and injured, so you aren't going to be able to get far on it anyway, and I want to be extra vigilant with this wound to ensure that it doesn't get infected. No dirty ground for you for a while. Are you that desperate to get out of this house, and back to your tent?"

Daryl glanced over at his crossbow that was leaning against the wall a few feet away, and shrugged, "'m not safe here. All my weapons are in my tent, an' I'm wastin' a whole room in yer house. Surely you'll be glad ta get rid o' me, with all the trouble I've caused ya."

Unable to say anything, he was so stunned; Rick simply looked at Hershel and waited to hear his reaction.

"Don't be ridiculous, son, there isn't anyone waiting to use this room. And I believe that your group have established a twenty four hour watch outside on top of the Winnebago, so my farm is safe. I would be willing be bet that Glenn would bring that knife in that you were arguing about as well, without a second's thought." Daryl seemed confused at the mention of a knife, along with Rick, but then he figured out that the conversation must have happened during Daryl's memory lapse.

"I ain't yer son." Daryl repeated the words, but with no conviction behind them, and scowled slightly in spite of himself. "An' none of that changes the fact that I'm outta here the second that I can. I havta get back out an' look fer Sophia again."

Rick winced slightly at the mention of Sophia, and watched Daryl's frown deepened as he caught sight of the movement. "I was out in the woods today, didn't see a sign of her. I'll get some people together to start the search tomorrow though."

"That's cause you ain't a tracker, you people can't find shit in the woods. I'll find her, once you people let me outta this fuckin' room." Daryl glanced down momentarily at his wrapped up ankle, and bit his lip in pain as he managed to twitch it to one side. "Shit." He muttered to himself.

"I'm serious when I say that if you push yourself too fast, recovery will just take longer," Hershel says slowly, heading towards the door. "I don't want any weight on that ankle for at least three days. We'll let you get some rest now, but keep that in mind. You don't have to be the tough guy on this one."

Smiling openly at Hershel's last statement, Rick followed him to the door, keeping his back to Daryl so the other man wouldn't be able to see the grin that had spread across his face. Just as they were opening the door, Daryl's retort came back.

"What ya mean, the fuckin' tough guy? I ain't gon' be a fuckin' pussy like the rest 'a you people!"

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Glenn sat at the kitchen table, playing cards with Maggie, and feeling like he was the worst person in the world.

Every time he closed his eyes, he could feel Daryl's limp body falling against him, and the knowledge that he had failed the man pressing down hard on him, "Go fish," He said numbly to Maggie, who sighed silently, and reached over to pick up a card, slipping her other arm around his torso.

"Daryl's going to be okay, Glenn," She told him for the hundredth time, "You heard my dad, he said that everything went fine, and Daryl's awake and everything. Why don't you just go in and talk to him, I'm sure that you'd both benefit from it."

Another voice chimed in from the doorway, "Yeah, Glenn. Daryl doesn't remember what happened, only talking to you before the incident, and he seems pretty worn out in there. I'm sure that he'd appreciate the company, especially from you." Rick was leaning against the doorframe, watching them, and he looked about as weary as Glenn felt.

Glenn hesitated, looking around for an excuse, "But, um, we're in the middle of a game, and I'm sure that he doesn't really want—"

"Don't you worry about the game," Maggie interrupted him swiftly, throwing her cards down, "I was winning anyway. Now you go in there, and stop moping over what happened. It wasn't your fault. He is going to be fine, and you are going to go and keep his stubborn ass company, because you're one of the only people that he seems to tolerate. You got it?"

He looked over towards Rick, and then back at Maggie, and rolled his eyes at their attempt to bully him into confronting Daryl.

His stifled cry of pain. The way he lurched forward. Hands struggle to catch his falling body, but unprepared for his weight. All his dead weight crashes down. Both fall to the ground. He's not moving.

"Fine."

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He grabbed Daryl's knife that he had gotten hours ago off the table, and made his way down the hall.

Glenn grew more nervous the closer he got to the door.

Finally, he reached it, and opened it cautiously. "Um, Daryl?"

"That you, chinaman?" Glenn stuck his head around the door, knowing that Daryl probably hated him for what he had done, "Well fuckin' come in if yer gonna, ain't no use standin' out there fer half the fuckin' day like a puppet."

He walked into the room, and held up the knife, "I, um, brought you this. And, eh, I'm so sorry about before… it was all my fault, and I'm so sorry and I just—sorry Daryl, oh God, I'm so sorry, I didn't realise until it was too late, and then you were on the ground, and I just—"

Daryl's face screwed up in confusion, and after a moment or two, he held up a hand to stop Glenn, "What the fuck are you talking about, Glenn? The way I heard the story, I was too feverish ta listen otherwise, or somethin' like that, an' Hershel wouldn't have seen that it was infected if that hadn't happened, so 's fine. Now, toss me that knife. I missed that fuckin' thing."

Assuming that he didn't mean to literally throw it, Glenn walked over and handed the knife to Daryl, and was left standing awkwardly beside the bed.

When he was finished turning the weapon over in his hands a few times, and examining it, Daryl rolled his eyes and scoffed at Glenn, "Lighten up, chinaman. I said that I'm fine with whatever went down, so can we jus' forget it? Now, either sit yer ass down, or get out, cause I don't need no one fuckin' hovering over me like some damn fly, y'hear?"

Glenn sank down into the chair behind him, and felt some of the tension slip away.

"So, uh, what's with you and that knife? You're looking pretty attached to it right there."

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Well, I'm about to fall sleep in front of this screen now, so don't hate me if this chapter isn't the best :0 I'll get the next one up on the weekend I think, but would love to hear what you thought of this chapter!

Review…?

Thanks for reading,

ArmedWithMyComputer xx