DISCLAIMER: I do not own AMC's and Robert Kirkman's "The Walking Dead" or any of its characters/places. There may be a few OCs at a later time and those will be mine.

WARNINGS: Rated T for language, violence, and gore. Comic spoilers later on but you'll be warned about those specifically before they happen.

A/N: Yeah so funny story...I almost accidentally deleted this tonight. That would suck.

Every second that Daryl was ill for ate away at the prison like rust on an old car. They knew Daryl would need a long time to recover but deep down they were all hoping he'd just get up and go after some squirrels. He was their strong one, the one that never went down, and that scared them.

Hershel banished everyone but Rick, Carol, and Maggie from the cell as Daryl rested. Rick had finally allowed Hershel to examine his side once he was confident that Daryl was somewhat stabilized. It didn't surprise him that Martinez had given him three broken ribs that he felt every time he took a breath. He just hoped that Daryl had been able to return the favor and made that asshole suffer before he died. It wasn't much to think of, but Rick couldn't help but replay the fight. If Daryl hadn't been there, he'd been handed over to the Governor. He'd never receive a fast death by the hands of that man.

It had been a long time since Rick had anyone that he could fully trust with having his back. If anything, he thought it'd be him and Shane together at the end of it all. But some evil had taken hold of Shane and there was nothing to be gained from saying 'if things had been different…' Daryl was everything that Shane should have been. A partner, a friend, and a brother. There were others in the group, Glenn, Tyreese, maybe Michonne that he trusted but it wasn't the same. Daryl had been a loose cannon that had somehow been contained and now protected the group. How many times had they pointed some sort of weapon at the other's head? Hell, within the first five minutes of knowing each other Daryl had pulled a knife on him.

Rick snickered at the memory. He wasn't such a crazy redneck anymore.

"What's so funny?" asked Carol quietly.

"Just remembering that time at the quarry…fighting with him…" Rick said as he nodded towards Daryl.

"You're talking about him like he's dead," scolded Carol. "You should at least be giving him a chance."

Rick ran his fingers through his hair in thought.

What were they going to do if Daryl did die? Who would…who would make sure he didn't turn? Would they do it right in the cell with everyone from Woodbury around? Or would it be better to take Daryl outside and give him a few last moments not caged in the prison he hated so much? Did they have to shoot him? His gun destroyed Bill's head. Doing that to Daryl…it didn't seem right. A knife would be less jarring and clean, but more personal and he would have to do it. Rick decided if it came to it, and they were certain Daryl wasn't going to make it, they'd take him out into the woods just before he died. They'd set him down under a nice tree to give him a good few last breaths of fresh air. Let him hear the birds sing one last time, feel the cool breeze against his face, the soft dirt under his hands. Only the ones he was comfortable with would be there—no one from Woodbury; he'd hate them all watching him. They'd all say whatever words they wanted to, if they could find the words to say. Then Rick would….he'd send Daryl to be with Merle.

Those two Dixons would give heaven hell.

Rick only wished that he knew where Merle's body was so he could lay Daryl with him. Those two had been through so much in life together it felt wrong that they should be separated in death. And that was what Daryl had ever wanted: To be with his brother. There was that blood—that bond, and it couldn't be broken even if Merle was trash. There was no mistaking Merle cared for Daryl and he was probably the only person Merle actually loved. They needed to be together. If anything, they could bury Daryl outside the fence near the woods. He'd be near enough to them there. They'd stand an arrow in the ground to mark his place. Rick would keep the crossbow—maybe not ever use it, but it'd keep Daryl close. It would be like he was still there watching over them.

It wasn't fair. Daryl was their guardian angel and angels aren't supposed to die.

Rick's throat developed a large lump that he couldn't swallow down. No matter what happened, Daryl was eventually going to die. They were just delaying the inevitable with keeping him alive now, maybe making his suffering worse later on. He'd been lucky at the farm—too lucky—and he was always going out hunting alone and accidents did happen. They'd never be able to track him down. At best they'd find his walker body clinging to the prison fence one day and at least then know his fate. Maybe it would be better if they….

Rick raised himself from the floor and moved to stand next to Daryl. He pushed the blankets away to expose Daryl's chest. Rick had to remind himself that he was just sleeping. Daryl's color hadn't improved and Hershel said it'd take several days to do so. Rick tried to ignore the scars he saw but it just reiterated his point that Daryl had already been through so much. The man probably never had an easy day in his life.

Rick closed his eyes as he placed his hand over Daryl's heart. He had to be sure it was still beating, and it was. Their guardian angel lived.

"Rick?" asked Carol after intently watching the sheriff stand over Daryl for longer than she felt comfortable with. "Is something wrong?"

Rick looked at Carol through misted eyes. He withdrew his hand from Daryl and replaced the blanket over him. "I, I need…" he started to say then left the rest hanging in the air. He walked between Maggie and Hershel at the entrance of the cell and over to the stairs. He climbed silently, even his heavy boots making less sound than usual. He arrived at the second level of cells and walked into the only unoccupied one—Daryl's cell. Someone, probably Glenn, had placed Daryl's crossbow on his cot. Someone else, Beth or perhaps Sasha, had cleaned and dried Daryl's clothes and left them folded next to the bow. It was like they were waiting for him to come back.

The bed creaked as Rick sat down. He sighed as he thought of the day he'd brought the new crossbow back from Morgan's armory. Daryl had tried his hardest to remain emotionless when he accepted the weapon. He had said his old one was getting too worn and this one would be more powerful. Then he turned and ducked his head before anyone could see him smile.

Rick leaned back against the wall to make himself more comfortable. One of his hands just barely slipped under Daryl's pillow and his fingertips brushed against cool metal. Frowning slightly, Rick lifted the pillow. Underneath was Merle's knife. So Daryl had been back to give Merle some type of burial. Rick almost wished Daryl had asked him to go with him. He could have helped with the task and properly thanked Merle for his sacrifice.

Rick heard footsteps approach and he set the pillow back down over the knife. He looked up to see Carl hovering on the outside of the cell. Behind him, day was beginning to break through the windows. "Sorry Daryl got hurt," mumbled the boy.

"Yes," began Rick, "he'd appreciate your concern. It was-"

"It was your fault," blurted Carl. "You know that right? Everything that has happened to us has been because of you and what you won't do. Why won't you just kill the Governor? You keep letting him get away and he'll just keep coming back."

Rick mentally tried to deflect the low blow but it still hit near its intended mark. "Carl, you weren't there, you wouldn't understand what it was like. You don't know how to deal with these things."

"Obviously neither do you," shot Carl. "Maybe Daryl should die for you to get the point."

Within a heartbeat, Rick was on his feet; the sudden movement causing his ribs to groan in agony. "Carl you can't..." Rick paused to grab his breath, "you can't want that."

Carl shook his head and looked at his boots. "I didn't say I wanted him to die. I said he should die: Whatever it takes for you to understand the Governor can't live."

"This isn't up for discussion," said Rick closing in on his son.

"Whatever," said Carl as he turned to leave. He looked at his father once more but couldn't hold the sheriff's intense gaze. Rick watched Carl trot down the stairs and listened to his steps as he left the cell block.

It was too much.

Rick sank into Daryl's bed and covered his eyes with his arm. He had a rebelling son. A best friend that was dying or had come close to dying. General discord in the prison. More mouths to feed from Woodbury. Walkers to kill. And an extremely dangerous man running loose that wanted nothing more than to kill everyone in the prison. Why couldn't they have one good day? Why was that too much to ask for?

A/N: Thank you again for all the the reviews I've gotten so far. I really try to listen to what you say and recommend. Therefore, if you see something wrong or that isn't working, please let me know. Likewise if there's something you want more of, you can suggest that too. There are also a lot of readers lurking in the shadows and I want to hear from you! Don't make me introduce the world's most annoying Mary Sue. I'll do it! I will! (Not really-but you get the idea).