Disclaimer: I don't own Daryl Dixon….I do own Fin….maybe AMC will make a trade?! Hmmm….

Notes: Another Fin Chapter! I will be giving you guys up to chapter three this weekend, one for Friday, sat, and sun…this is technically Sundays chapter but I'll be writing all day (I hope!) and tomorrow so it's easier for me to give it to you now! This way you can enjoy it and then go crazy for more! Lol

I will try to hold to the same updates schedule as OU as long as I can keep writing (the toddler monster must cooperate!) and I stay far enough ahead of you guys to get stuff to my awesome beta in time… Look for updates on Spaghetti Tuesdays (you know, every Wednesday *Hershel! Sob*) and Sundays because that's Walking Dead Day!

Yay! xD

Thank you for the reviews, fave/follows! You guys make me feel awesome!

Chapter Two

"I'm just saying that I think you should just get a sub tomorrow, stay home. You said most of the other teachers called out."

"I can't stay home Phil, what about the kids?"

I catch Tobin's eye over the table top. Make my eyes dramatically wide while he snickers; we both try to hide our grins behind forkfuls of food.

"Our top story tonight, more disturbing reports of violent attacks coming in from several major cities across the country.—"

Tobin waves his fork in the air in front of him; he talks with his hands just like Phil, they're the same height now, share the same dark hair and brown eyes, the polar opposite of Mom's pale complexion and freckles her dark auburn locks.

"Mom, Come on, it's second grade; they'll be fine with a sub for a day. It's not like one day without the prefect lesson plan is going to keep them out of college." I hide my smile at Tobin's retort behind my glass of milk, only our mother could be so dramatic about missing one day of second grade.

"Well, I'm not gonna lie; I had a sub two days in a row in second grade and it was real touch and go for a few minutes." My mother cuts her eyes at Phil while the three of us laugh completely ignoring her scathing look.

We laugh harder when half chewed peas fall out of Tobin's mouth back onto his plate.

"Tobin, for goodness sake! Close your mouth when you chew, and that's enough of that from both of you; Phil you too. Don't give me that look. You'd think I raised a complete hooligan. I shudder to think what your manners will be like after you spend freshman year at State."

The only sound for a few minutes is the silverware scraping over dishes. Tobin's milk glass thunks against the table top almost sloshing onto the wood he's distracted staring over his shoulder at the TV again. I'm still shocked Phil left it on during family time.

Mom continues talking across the table from Phil; her back firmly to the screen; she doesn't like the violence they glorify. "Besides, I don't even think they can get a sub they had to put half of Mrs. Robert's class into mine already too many people have called out…"

"Authorities have asked us to remind you if you see anyone acting suspicious or if you suspect that someone maybe under the influence of these new mystery drugs do not approach them; you're urged to call 9-1-1 immediately and report it—"

"How about you Seraphim?" Phil draws my attention from the screen he's watching me face all serious again; Tobin coined it his 'Preacher Face' when we were kids. "I don't like the idea of you up at the hospital tomorrow night alone."

"Phil come on; I'm not alone. The hospital is fully staffed even at night, and it's my first month of residency they kind of frown on calling out even if you're dying; bottom of the totem pole and all that. I was lucky to get something this close to home. I almost ended up in Kentucky."

"Rumors about a new street drug being to blame are running rampant in Atlanta with no official word yet—"

"Yeah, alright well how about you stay here for the next few days at least; I know it's another twenty minutes driving and you complain about sleep as it is but you don't have to stay at your apartment; be nice to have you home again."

It's more like thirty but I nod anyway picking up my glass while my mom shoves more peas onto my plate.

"More eating, less talking. It's Tobin's night to help me with the dishes."

Tobin doesn't answer her. When I raise my eyes again he's staring at the television in the other room just like Phil. Their faces drawn tight with nearly identical expressions of worry at the images from halfway around the world flashing across the screen.

I open my eyes blink the sleepy haze out of them, temporarily blinded by the light hitting my eyes.

I turn my head and just continue to lie perfectly still otherwise; staring at the thick strip of sunlight that's peeking around the drawn blinds painting the ceiling over my head and part of the wall beside me with a sweep of overly bright white.

My head still aches, yesterday's migraine a lingering low dull throb still sitting just behind my eyes, radiating back under my hair to press against the base of my skull right over my spine. My empty stomach turns with a touch of nausea.

I'll have to find food for the first time in months. My new reality presses around me inescapable and harsh.

I sit up slowly, turn my head swiping at my eyes staring at Carl still hooked up to the monitors beeping softly in the room.

A quick glance at my watch tells me it's well passed noon. I slept for several hours, but I still feel exhausted. Maybe that's normal after everything that's happened in the last twenty-four hours. I was up half the night I remind myself, that's a good reason to be tired still; never mind what went down yesterday. I don't even know what effect doing something like that might have on me normally, seeing as I've never done it before.

I move to the mattress's edge sliding my legs out from under the scratchy sheets and padding barefoot across the cool floor to check Carl's IV lines.

His pressure is good, stable; but the bite on his neck and side and leg… one I didn't even see until last night when I got him here are all turning red at the edges. Not a good sign.

I have to do something or the infection will spread despite the antibiotics flowing through his bloodstream thanks to the IV fluid and hospital supplies. I pull up a chair and sit down heavily staring off into space chewing my thumbnail before realizing who that particular nervous tick reminds me of and quickly dropping my hand to my lap.

I cleaned his bites with both surgical scrub and hydrogen peroxide the night before; not the wound on his neck; it's far too deep for that; but the other two. It doesn't seem to have made a difference though. All three edges are raw and angry in the morning light.

I glance at my watch we're going on roughly 20 hours since Carl was bitten.

I have to think of something new to try before the fever starts.

I grunt with the effort it takes to lift the heavy bulky machine I need, why it's not located within working distance of a red outlet connected to the emergency power generator I have no idea. I consider that a serious engineering fail on the part of whoever designed this lab.

I curse when it almost slips from my fingers before I've got its bottom half propped at least partially on the countertop. I finally feel it connect and shove it back across the solid surface breathing hard. I pause for a moment shaking my hands out before plugging it in.

Now the less fun part.

Drawing blood.

I sit down on the rolling stool next to the countertop where I already laid out the things I'm going to need, no sense in trying to open them with one hand in a moment. And I'm not sticking my foot, that just freaks me out for some reason.

I prop my elbow up on the counter use my teeth to tighten the rubber strip over my bicep and pick up the needle. I stare at my own arm for a second face twisted up while I try to decide which vein to try for, backwards no less, and in my own arm…

It takes me two tries, gritting my teeth the whole time before I find the vein, watch the blood flow into the first tube filling it. I have to fiddle with the plastic cap for a few moments trying to disconnect the tube without moving the needle in my arm; the whole experience is making me a little light headed. I haven't eaten in over 24 hours now, which can't be helping.

I slow breathe my way through the next four vials before filling a donation bag as well, if I can't come up with any other ideas and I get truly desperate I might try that.

God knows if the virus doesn't kill him though my blood might.

I pull the needle from my arm and sit with my forehead pressed against the cool countertop surface breathing my way through a wave of nausea. Okay, I definitely need to find something to eat.

When the spinning has slowed to a slight disorientation when I turn my head I figure it's safe to stand; very slowly. I brace myself against the counter while I press a Hello Kitty band aid over the cotton ball covering the needle hole just inside of my elbow; because Hello Kitty makes everything better.

Obviously.

That and I wasn't about to walk around with a Jonas Brothers band aid. I don't care if the world already ended.

I put the vials into the centrifuge and close the lid, turning it on. Then I pop the bag of my blood into the mini-fridge I plugged into a red emergency outlet previously.

And now I need to find food before I check on Carl again.

There's a vending machine just outside the lab, down the hall stuck back in a little alcove by the non-functioning elevator doors. I passed it earlier sweeping the hallways, it looked fully stocked at a glance; with any luck some of it is still edible. Especially seeing as I'm going on almost thirty hours without food now and I'll no doubt be up half the night in the lab. With Carl in the shape he's currently in I can't exactly make a supply run; he could die before I make it back.

I pick up a chair from the nurse's station around the corner it's the padded seat and back square wooden frame kind that usually belongs in a patient's room. I carry it down the hall with me until I'm standing about five feet from the vending machine.

I throw the chair into the glass. It slams into the clear solid surface with a loud BANG before falling to the ground missing an armrest now—I stare down at the cracked wooden L shaped arm rest that skittered across the floor when it exploded on impact coming to rest by my boots and burst out laughing at the absurdity of it all.

They always make things like this look so easy in movies. In real life, not so much. In real life vending machines were built to withstand a simple bump…and an act of attempted vandalism.

I wander further down the hall until I find a fire extinguisher. I snap the plastic locking cap with a quick downward pull of my fingers noticing the inspection date on the tag now long overdue.

Good thing the fire marshal isn't around.

I slide it from its frame on the wall. Then I carry it back down the hallway pushing the broken chair aside with my foot so I can stand directly in front of the glass once more.

I have to smash it against the glass several times before it splinters and finally cracks into several large pieces falling out of its frame enough for me to reach my hand inside without risking a nasty cut. I gather the contents inside into the empty pillow case I brought with me when I first threw the chair and head back down the hall with my sack of goodies to check on Carl again.

I dump the items on to the rolling table next to the window; punching a clear plastic straw through one of the tiny juice boxes I stole from the supply room earlier. Since they don't contain much actual juice they take a long time to expire. My blood stream needs the sugar.

I pick through the items I liberated from behind the glass trying to decide what sounds good on an un-godly empty stomach. I don't think I've ever been so hungry in my life; even though I know that can't be true. I had weeks; hell months of living just like this; find-to-find, scavenging for everything: once upon a time this had been my life.

It seems like a lifetime ago now. I guess in a way it kind of is.

I feel like I've lived three separate lives in my one.

There was my life before; everyone had one of those; thought about it from time to time; or tried like hell to never think about it...

There was my life just after it all went to Hell: hungry, alone, running scared at first before finding my way slowly; adapting every lesson my Uncle had drilled into us so that I could survive. I'd been alright when I met Carl on the roadside that cool fall afternoon.

I didn't need them to survive; but something drew me towards them regardless. I spent the first few days after I met them second guessing that decision on the roadway; wondering if I'd lost my damn mind. Taking a chance on them; it was the craziest most dangerous thing I'd done in a long time. Maybe I did it because I was starting to wonder what the point was anymore. Just surviving alone wasn't really living. Not like it used to be. It got incredibly lonely after a while.

Maybe I'd taken on a lot more then I'd originally bargained for. I can't stop the small smile from twisting at my lips as I pick my fingers over the candy bar's Mika would light up seeing. I'd thought it was just Rick and Carl those first few days; Carl reminded me so much of Tobin it made my chest ache just looking at him. And then I thought maybe we'd just add in Daryl and Beth; and I could deal with that.

Beth was sweet and kind, soft in every way. While Daryl gave me a bit more pause; set me off balance. He felt more like a prickly pear; a barely contained ornery wild animal they'd just started to domesticate.

I grin, let my eyes flutter shut for a moment thinking back to the way he bristled every time I got near. I know why now; but back then I'd had no idea; and it had driven me nuts.

God, those first few days alone in the woods… I wasn't positive we weren't going to beat the crap out of each other after one of us said the wrong thing… or just run in the opposite directions screaming maybe; never looking back.

I can still close my eyes and remember with perfect clarity like it was yesterday the terrifying and exhilarating flutter of a hundred butterflies in my stomach every time I'd look up and catch him watching me, see him flush and look away...

But then there was Judith and Michonne and Maggie. There was Glenn and Sasha, Tyreese and Mika and little Molly and finally Carol. And before I knew it I was so tangled up in every part of them that I didn't know how to step back; and with Daryl…God.

I didn't think I wanted to, didn't know how to even try…

Daryl was like the pull of gravity; somehow in those first few days I got hopelessly trapped in his orbit… couldn't wrench myself away.

Every time I thought I had him figured out; felt like I'd solved the mystery that was Daryl Dixon he'd throw me for another loop. Drag me back down all over again; until one day I'd looked around and realized I was so upside down over him I didn't know which way was up anymore.

I lean against the wall my pony tail bumping into the blinds over the window shifting them so sunlight peeks over my shoulder, lights a sliver of the floor with bright yellow before slipping back into place again.

I guess in truth I've lived four lives, because now here I was; left in a life without him.

I don't know what kind of life this might turn out to be… it's been scarcely more than a day…but it stings, aches and blisters my insides twisting with the pain. This new life doesn't feel like a good one.

I turn my head and stare at Carl's deathly silent form; the only movement the soft rise and fall of his chest; the barely noticeable flicker of his eyes under their lids. He's dreaming again. I hope they're good dreams. And if they're not I can only hope that he won't remember them when he wakes.

I close my eyes lean my head back even though it means I'm bumping the blinds again. The small strip of warm sun over my bare shoulder reminds me of warm fingers making my throat threaten to close off.

I jerk forward away from the window hearing the blinds clink shut behind me while I grab one of the candy bars and unwrap it moving to sit on the chair beside Carl's bed.

I stare at his monitor as I take small bites, chew and swallow mindlessly. Surprised that despite how hungry I've felt the last few hours my stomach churns as the chocolate hits it.

I barely make it up out of the chair and into the bathroom before it comes back up in violent coughing retches that water my eyes and make my nose run. I lean my palms against the toilet seat breathing slowly in through my mouth and out through my nose while my stomach rolls under my ribs.

When it seems whatever fit possessed it has passed I straighten back up, run the tap in the sink and rinse my mouth swishing and spitting several times before turning it off and moving back into the other room. Maybe I'm getting sick.

I frown picking up the half-finished wrapper, turning it over in my hands searching the printed label carefully.

It's expired, but just barely so. That must be it.

I toss the remaining bit into the trashcan with a heavy plunk and drag my fingers through my hair sighing. I don't feel particularly hungry anymore, just tired.

I move toward the bed pull the bandage back on Carl's leg, the wound is even angrier looking then it was just a few short hours ago. I sigh, lean my palms against the bed rail taking slow deep breaths. I've got to do something. Antibiotics aren't working; it's just getting worse.

I frown; find myself clenching my jaw repeatedly chewing on my bottom lip just like I've watched him do too many times. What the Hell. I don't know what else to try.

I leave Carl's room and move back down the hallway through the double doors to the stairwell. I take the stairs one at a time in the dark my hand pressed to the wall as I loop around the U shape to the next landing exiting on the lab floor where I can retrieve the blood I took earlier. I pull it out of the fridge quickly pulling one of the vials out of the centrifuge to run tests on when I get back.

I make it back to Carl's room a little slower a bit more careful on the stairs this time since I'm going up them in the dark and not down.

I stand over his bed holding the blood bag frowning for another few moments trying to decide whether this is truly crazy or not.

They bite me and they die.

I've seen it.

The second they draw my blood they react violently; convulsing and jerking away…that's got to mean something.

I pull the bandage off Carl's leg cursing at the state of his wound in just a few short hours since I cleaned it, biting my lip anxiously before drawing up a syringe full of my blood from the bag and hesitating over the wound in his leg my hand shaking. It's not like I can make his wound that much worse; and I'm not putting it directly into his blood stream…so any reaction should be localized… I close my eyes for a brief second, try to tell myself that this isn't that crazy; it's just like blood spinning to treat an open wound with plasma; except this isn't Carl's blood it's Mine, and it's not plasma it's pure blood. I pause a moment longer and then open them dripping a few bright red drops onto the deep bite into the muscle of his leg.

It reacts immediately.

The blood or something in the bite sizzling and bubbling like I've poured hydrogen peroxide on a dirty wound. I jerk my eyes to the monitor but his vitals don't change; even after nearly five minutes of watching and waiting so I do it again; and wait.

The third time my blood no longer spits and hisses when it comes in contact with the wound. When I press my palm to his calf ready to re-clean and re-wrap it I swear his skin feels cool to the touch again. The heat gone from it completely; and okay that's something it has to be.

I use the rest of the blood on his side and neck the same way constantly checking the monitors when I'm finished sometime later if anything his blood pressure and heart rate are better than they were before.

And now I have a new goal. I move back down the hallway to the lab.

I've got to figure out whatever it is in my blood and exactly how that's killing them.

:: Walking Dead ::