Daryl's eyes flew open to Carol's alarmed face hovering inches above his own. She was saying something, but he couldn't be bothered to know what, as he was too busy choking, the metallic taste of blood still a thick coating on his tongue. Someone was pounding on his back as his lungs struggled to intake a breath. He couldn't fathom how Carol was there, or who could be beating on his back in an attempt to dislodge the remaining droplets of blood threatening to drown him.
His airways finally clear, he swung his gaze around, blearily and disoriented, landing on Carol once again. She was babbling, it didn't matter what, it all registered as nonsense to his fever-addled brain. All he knew was she was here, in front of him, alive. And he couldn't understand how that was possible. She was dead. And so was he. He'd held her in his arms as she took her last breath, then he'd been robbed of life by that disturbingly freakish rainstorm and flash flood. He shuddered at the images flashing through his mind.
Her hands were on either side of his face now, her lips moving quickly, and the expression she wore bordered on something like panic. Locking eyes with her, he noted tears beginning to pool in them.
"Are we dead?" He finally managed to rasp.
At that, the tears overflowed and began running the length of her face. Had he not needed an answer so badly, he'd feel bad for even asking. "What? No, we're not, Daryl. You're okay. You're gonna be okay."
He wasn't sure what she was going on about, telling him he was 'okay', but she claimed they were alive. Even so he was unsure. The weight of what he'd just experienced pressed down on him, threatening to crush him, and the confusion of Carol sitting before him looking upset, near hysterics really, but otherwise fine baffled him. He didn't dare hope.
"You're alive?" He whispered hoarsely, partly because his throat was killing him, and partly because he was terrified.
"Of course I am, you silly man." Carol stroked damp strands of hair from his brow lovingly. "Why would you think otherwise?"
Daryl just shook his head in place of an answer, slowly looking around the room. He was in bed in his motel room. His shirt was missing, water covering his chest; that's when he noticed the cup sitting on the nightstand next to Carol. Realization was gradually dawning on him. It was all a dream. A horrible, horrible dream. He hadn't been choking on blood at all, it was water. He'd choked on water. It'd felt so real. Hell, it'd tasted it real.
Attempting to banish the vestiges of the nightmare trying to cling to the edges of his mind, he focused on what Carol was doing in his room to begin with. Why did she look so upset? Well, other than him freaking her out by asking if they were dead. He was about to ask her, when a harsh bout of coughs ripped through him, setting his chest and throat on fire.
"Shh, shh. Settle down, it's alright." Rick muttered uselessly, lifting him a bit more so he was sitting just a little higher, his back reclining against his chest. Rick's arms wrapped around him, holding him steady.
Oh, so that'd been Rick beating on him before. He'd have to thank him for that, and the surely accompanying bruises; if he could ever stop coughing, that is. When the coughs finally abated he collapsed back into Rick, allowing the other man to support him, his head lolled back onto his friend's shoulder. He lay there panting and exhausted. God, he felt terrible. He ached all over right down to the bone, his head throbbed with an intensity he'd only ever experienced with the worst of the concussions he'd endured in his life and it was absolutely freezing in this room. To top it all off was the unbelievable weakness. It was taking tremendous effort just to keep his eyes open, never mind trying to move his arms or lift his head. What the hell was wrong with him? He'd never felt so vulnerable. So helpless. Not even the countless times his dad had laid into him so badly he couldn't even drag his ass to school for days just to get away from the bastard, or when he'd landed himself in the hospital for a good month after crashing his motorcycle. That had only been partly his fault. He'd been pissed off and riding around like a reckless jackass. Maybe if he'd been paying more attention he'd had have seen that drunk driver before they slammed right into him. Then again, maybe not.
He watched through heavy lids as Carol began mopping the spilled water coating his skin with a hand towel. Once she finished, she picked the cup up offering it to him.
"Think you can manage a sip or two? Maybe even take these pills?" She was holding what Daryl recognized as Extra Strength Tylenol out along with the water. Daryl found the idea of swallowing anything at all unpleasant. But the look in her eye, the one begging him to take it, telling him he needed this medicine, made him resolve himself to do what needed to be done.
"Sure." He groaned noncommittally. Without having to be asked, she brought the pills up to his mouth, following them with the cup. If he hadn't felt like such a steaming pile of shit, the fact that he needed help on such a level would have bothered him a whole lot more. The pills scraped their way down his throat, leaving it raw and tender, but the water soothed the sensation slightly. Small comfort.
Once the medication was down, Rick scooted out from behind him and gently lowered him down onto the pillow so he was lying flat. Even though Rick took it slow, the drop in altitude made his head swim. He shut his eyes against it.
"The fuck happened to me?" His voice sounded paper thin. He really hated that.
"You're sick, Daryl." He opened his eyes back up, seeing an array of emotions swirling in Rick's. Worry, anxiety, relief, hope, dread. Daryl didn't know what to make of it all. "You had us all pretty concerned there. You've been out for six days. I can't tell you how good it is to see you awake."
"What?" He was astonished. "Six days! Just what the hell is wrong with me?" He was shouting now. Well, what could pass for shouting in his condition. It came out as more of a harsh whisper.
"Daryl, calm down! You still have a fever, and you only just woke up." Carol produced a damp cloth, seemingly from nowhere, at least in Daryl's perspective, and began mopping his brow with it. She sent a glare Rick's way, making it very clear she felt that now was not the time to be revealing such things. She was right. And really, Rick should have known better by now, which he did, just had a lapse in judgment. Rick clamped his mouth shut, looking sheepish.
"Hershel says you have the flu." Carol told him in answer to his earlier question as she moved the rag down to bathe his neck. He actually laughed at that, which quickly turned into another coughing fit.
"What on earth could possibly be funny about that?" The sternness in her voice was at odds with the nervous look she was unable to hide from him.
"You're fucking with me right? No way the damn flu put me out for six days." He was incredulous. This was ridiculous. There was shit that needed getting done, the others were going to starve on his account; he couldn't allow himself to be down for the count for so long like this. Over something as pathetic as the flu! For fuck's sake!
"No, I'm not fucking with you!" Daryl was taken aback by Carol's tone. She almost seemed… angry. "Just because it's the flu doesn't mean it can be taken lightly, Daryl. Your health is important; you can't just dismiss and disregard it!" The irritation in her eyes morphed into tears threatening to overflow. "Make no mistake, whatever strain you got is serious."
He didn't know what to say. Carol's outburst caught him off guard. Sure they were friends, he'd come to consider the whole group as some sort of pseudo family by this point, but for her to be so… invested. In him. He hadn't expected it. Although, he shouldn't be so surprised, he supposed. After all, she'd been pretty upset with him when he wanted to go out searching for Sophia so soon after his injury all those weeks ago. Of course, he couldn't ignore the fact that Rick was standing right there looking for all the world as though he was single-handedly responsible for Daryl falling ill to begin with, and thus, doubly responsible for ensuring he recovered. Christ, if Rick wasn't invested too.
Hell, he didn't have the energy for this right now. Sighing, he closed his eyes. "Sorry." God, he was so tired. Seemed absurd after six days' rest, but there it was all the same. "I ain't dismissing shit… just… surprised me. That's all."
Rick's hand was a heavy weight on his shoulder, giving him a reassuring pat before disappearing again. "It's okay, Daryl. We've all just been worried about you. It's been a long week. Things were real touch-and-go there for a while."
Daryl opted not to answer, the need for sleep quickly pulling him back under. The damp cloth was on his forehead again, its coolness a welcome respite to the torrid atmosphere of the room. Strange. Earlier it'd been like an arctic wonderland in here.
"Get some rest." Carol's soft voice drifted to him, sounding farther away than it rightly should. But he didn't question that or her command, he simply complied.