Ambush was probably not the correct word to use, but we stopped paying any attention and got fucked was much worse. Either way, the Walkers were close - and there were so many, far more than Daryl could count at a glance, a proper hoard advancing through the trees, gurgling and hissing and reaching out for them with cold, dead hands - and they had no time to run. Warren immediately loaded up his bow, firing a shot, felling a Walker that was closing at surprising speed, buying them a second. They couldn't kill them all, but every dead Walker meant they had a few more seconds before they were overwhelmed. Daryl wasn't thinking anymore, simply reacting, adrenaline pumping through his veins making him fast and strong and fearless. He grabbed the buck first, heaving it bodily over the line - it may have been the smell of it that attracted him, he couldn't be sure anymore, but either way leaving it would have been a mistake, because they would never go away - and the wet squelching pop of its stomach bursting as it landed was loud, and the smell of fresh, bleeding organs was enough to attract more, even if the deer wasn't the original cause.
"We need to go!" Daryl snapped, pulling on Warren's jacket even as Warren fired off another arrow, hitting the artery in the neck, blood spraying onto them like a hot, red rain, the Walker unfazed by the blow. "Now!" Daryl pulled, hard, stepping through the barbed wire, shirt and pants catching slightly, only letting go when Warren had his back to the wire. Warren turned to go through himself, one leg between the wires, and fell, dead hands clutching at his pants.
Daryl hadn't heard a scream like that in a long time; a scream full of fear and surprise and something much deeper than the terror of being eaten, something much more frightening than being devoured. Warren kicked out with his foot, dislodging the hands slightly but more hands gripping him, blood now everywhere, teeth reaching for him, mouth so close he could feel the hot breath on his skin through the jeans, and Daryl didn't think when loaded his crossbow, the string beneath his fingers slippery even though it wasn't wet, hard to pull back, his hands shaking, needing to prime the fucking thing faster because the worst was here, it could happen any second and he couldn't fuck this up, and he barely thought when he fired, the bolt hitting the head in a way that it dropped to Warren's leg. But the hands released, and Daryl fell back through the gap, tearing his pants and his shirttails and scratching up his arms, pulling Warren with him, the boy's cold body landing on his own.
The dead didn't follow, couldn't follow, as the wall was well built and they couldn't figure out how to get through where Daryl and Warren did. When they tried to follow, they broke their own heads on the barbs, or caught themselves on the wires and couldn't move. It didn't matter, though - Warren was half out of it, and Daryl had to support him when he stood. Coming down from the adrenaline high had taken its toll, and Warren looked worse than ever. Daryl patted his face, bent to his level, tried to catch his eyes, anything to get a response, and eventually Warren waved him off with a weak gesture. "I'm okay, I'm okay." He murmured.
He didn't need to ask, and he didn't want to, because Warren didn't have a choice. They had to get back to safety before they could do anything, because recovering out in the open was a horrible idea. Daryl still had to support the boy, helping him through the trees, as his ankle was twisted and awkward under him. However, when they got to the doors, Warren bolted, nearly falling down the stairs on his bad ankle as he left Daryl behind at the doors. Daryl hovered a moment, taking a step or two into the bunker and hearing Warren wretch down the stairs, and knowing he didn't need to intrude. When Warren was done, however, the hunter headed down the stairs, seeing Warren coming out of the bathroom at a slow, miserable hobble.
He looked so much worse than he had that morning, his eyes dark, his lips pink and his face pale. He was covered in blood, splattered on his face, across his chest, his ankle so red it was hard to see the color of his pants. His head was dripping sweat, and he was breathing heavily. He leaned heavily on the wall, and Daryl decided he was done hovering with a hearty internal fuck this and approached, pressing his hands to Warren's face. His cheeks were cold, and his forehead was burning. A fever, and a bad one, which meant bad things. Fevers were the body's way of saying something was going very wrong, and a fever this bad meant Warren's body was having issues. Daryl didn't have to think to realize the main fever-inducing trauma out here was getting bitten, and considering what just happened, well. Fuck. Daryl bent down to look Warren in the face, immediately concerned.
"Did you get bit?!" He was urgent, rushed, panicked. This was the worst thing that could happen, worst thing in the world. Warren shook his head, but it was hard to tell if it was a yes, a no, or it was just lolling on his neck. "Did you get bit?!" Daryl asked again, loud, like maybe Warren's head was stuffed with cotton and he couldn't hear the question. No response came for a moment, and Daryl shook Warren's shoulders, so worried now that this one person he came to trust, the one person he'd worked so hard to get to trust him, was dying because of a mistake they made, a mistake he made. Eventually Warren answered, voice quiet and hoarse.
"No, no, I didn't, I'm fine, Daryl, please. I wasn't bit, I wasn't bit." He was begging, almost crying, like he didn't understand what was going on with him, but Daryl wasn't listening. His mind was racing, hands shaking. What did he need to do? He needed to get a doctor, he needed to get someone from his group, because he didn't trust Pete not to hurt the boy more, he needed to get help.
"I just want to lie down a bit, I've felt this bad since this morning, lemme just sleep it off." Warren put his hands on Daryl's arms, steadying himself as well as attempting to comfort the other, trying a smile and failing it. He was obviously miserable, and swaying dangerously like he could just topple any second. Daryl didn't have a whole lot of time.
"You go lie down." Daryl nodded, leading Warren down the hall, supporting him softly. "I'm gonna get you help."
"I don't need help." Warren murmured, too unaware to really argue but protesting weakly none the less. Daryl helped him lay down, covered him up - he'd heard something about smothering a fever, starving a cold, and figured keeping Warren warm was a good idea, at least - and as soon as Warren was stable without him, he ran. It didn't matter his clean clothes were covered in thick, dark blood, or that he was winded, or that he hadn't eaten all day. None of it mattered, because Warren had a fever. As far as Daryl knew, Warren could have been bitten and hadn't realized it because of the adrenaline, and could be turning as they spoke. Or he could be dying from something else, and that was just as bad.
Daryl had known loss, of course, and this wasn't new. But he hadn't known loss like this. He hadn't worked towards someone before, worked towards friendship in this way before and then had it so carelessly ripped from him, so callously taken away before, and it scared him. He didn't know what Warren meant to him, he had no idea, because he hadn't thought it over, but he knew he didn't want the boy dead, not when it was on him. Not like this.
Alexandria's gate opened easily at his touch, and he slammed it behind him. Luckily for him, Rick was out patrolling and saw him immediately, trotting over quickly, immediately ready for just about anything, because Daryl was a mess. He was covered in blood, dripping the thick, dark goop onto the pavement, and he was sweating, and he looked scared. Rick started to speak as he rushed over, like he thought Daryl may be hurt, but Daryl spoke first.
"Warren's ain't doin' too good." Daryl didn't need to elaborate on the situation - Rick could read as much from the other's face. He looked like a frightened dog, eyes wide, breathing heavily, shoulders tucked like he may need to run again. He bounced on his feet, even as Rick ducked back into the compound, shouting, loud, calling for medical help, and it was Maggie who eventually came running. She didn't need any other explanation - the group all knew Daryl was visiting some kid in the woods, and they all had the same motherly titter when they talked about it, about how Daryl might have a boyfriend by week's end with how this was going - and was faster than Rick, fast because she knew what was at stake. She had been with her father, and she wasn't a doctor but she was good with what she needed, and she knew better than to make anyone wait. Daryl didn't hesitate, and the two of them nearly left Rick behind in their haste to get to the compound.
When they arrived, the doors were ajar, and Daryl skidded to a stop. His heart was racing in his chest as he toed the door open, knife at the ready. Today couldn't get any worse, honestly - he hurt a friend, because he was firmly in the belief that he could have helped Warren much sooner, he went for help and when he comes back, something' already broken in and eaten his friend, what could be worse - but he pressed forward. He wasn't thinking, only charging forward, and proceeded to topple bodily down the stairs because the intruder was a cat and it's common knowledge cats really like murdering people on stairs. The cat hopped up and out, leaving out the door he got in, and Daryl swore loudly after it, hopping to his feet quickly and holding the shoulder he was sure would be bruised by day's end.
Maggie rushed past, because the layout of the bunker was such that there was literally one room Warren could be in, and Daryl followed right behind. Warren was curled up on the bed, miserable, clutching at his chest, blood staining the sheets where his clothes were in contact with them. "I think he might've got bit." Daryl murmured, softly, trying not to scare Warren even though the boy probably couldn't have processed language right then, as he was fading in and out of consciousness. "Check his ankle. He's got a fever."
Maggie nodded, stripping the blanket up from the side to get to Warren's feet, and it was obvious which ankle to check. Luckily, the skin was clean beneath it, scratched slightly but otherwise unharmed, and Daryl heaved out a sigh at the sight. "His ankles look fine." Maggie pulled the sheets back down, pressing a hand to Warren's forehead. "But you're right, he's got a fever, and it's bad. He's probably got an infection with this kinda fever, cause colds aren't usually like this. We gotta take him back to Alexandria." Maggie insisted. She looked back when she heard Rick enter the room, his presence wary.
This was the first time he'd seen Daryl's new friend in person, and while Maggie had clicked into a professional mode, Rick had not, and this kid made him nervous. He stepped up to the head of the bed, squatting beside it and putting a gentle hand on Warren's shoulder, shaking him. Warren sort of came to, opening his eyes and seeing Rick for the first time. He jumped, trying to pull back, and Rick hushed him. "It's okay." Rick murmured. "My name's Rick Grimes. I'm Daryl's friend." At his name, Daryl stepped up behind Rick, and the hunter's presence calmed Warren somewhat. "I need to ask you a few questions, and then we can get you the help you need. They won't be too hard."
"Okay." Warren's voice was soft, heavy with sickness. Daryl hovered behind Rick like a worried puppy, because he knew what Rick was going to ask and he wasn't sure if Warren would pass. It was hard to tell what a passing answer was, considering what they had done recently. When Rick started the questions, it was to keep obvious killers out, but now that their group were more or less a bunch of obvious killers, he wasn't sure.
"One, how many walkers have you killed?" Rick was quiet, soft when he asked, and gently shook Warren when he looked like he was drifting away.
"I don't know. A lot." Warren groaned a little. "I thought you said these wouldn't be hard." The admission made Rick chuckle, which was a good sign. Daryl paced into the hall and back again, a little antsy with how long this was taking but glad at least that Warren wasn't bitten. If he was bitten these questions would have had to wait until later if Daryl had to beat Rick upside the head to make it happen.
"Two, how many people have you killed?" Rick shifted forward slightly, closer to the bed.
"One." Warren shook his head, the memory obviously not a pleasant one. "Just one."
"Three, why?"
"He tried to hurt me." Warren replied, softly. "He saw my house when it started, he saw my house on fire, and he followed me here, and he tried to take this place and he wanted to-to hurt me so I-I killed him." Warren coughed, looking up at Rick and then at Daryl, like he wondered if he should have lied and said none at all. But Rick nodded, backing off, letting Daryl take his place at the head of the bed, Daryl's large hand comforting against Warren's shoulder.
"Let's get him back to Alexandria." Rick said, accepting the answers. Daryl was relieved, but hearing the name, Warren flipped, sudden energy in his limbs pushing him back on the bed and away.
"No, no, no, no, no you can't take me back there you can't please!" Warren was babbling wildly, desperately trying to push himself away, near to screaming. Rick pulled Daryl close, because of course the screaming reaction to Alexandria raised a lot of questions and of course he thought Daryl had answers.
"Some of th'residents didn't like 'um." Daryl murmured. "'Pparently they beat 'm up and left 'm outside t'die." He was quiet, because he didn't want Warren to have to relive any of those memories when he was this ill. This was a bad situation, and both Rick and Daryl knew it was, but before they could make a call Maggie offered a possible solution.
"Look, he might just have the shittiest cold in the world and might just need bed rest." She said, sitting down on the bed so she could slip closer to Warren. "If you'll let me look you over, I can see if there is anything infected, cause you might be able to just stay here." She was kind, and Warren eventually nodded, because anything was better than going back. "You boys mind stepping outside? Privacy might be nice for him." Maggie asked, and Rick nodded, pulling Daryl along as they stepped into the hall.
"What happens if he needs to go back?" Rick asked, gruffly, but quiet. Daryl looked towards the bedroom, face steeled. "You know who hurt him?"
"Nah, he doesn't remember." Daryl exhaled, staring at his feet for a moment. "If he's gotta go back, then he's gotta go back, 'n we'll just keep him safe." He nodded, like this was a decent solution. "If anyone hurts him I'm gonna personally shove my boot so far up their ass it comes out their eyes." He was honestly serious, and threatening, and the show of bravado was enough for Rick to know he wouldn't need to put everyone on watching Warren day in and day out.
"Shit." Maggie swore from the bedroom, and Daryl all but threw himself through the doorway. Warren had his shirt up, which Maggie was holding, and the bandages under his shirt were obviously disgusting. They were wet, and sticky, and it was easy to see underneath the skin was swollen and red. "Well, there's your answer." She pulled his shirt down, and he leaned on her gently, too weak to keep himself upright. "We gotta take you back."
Daryl trotted up, sitting next to Warren and taking his weight, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Look, I know you don't wanna go back there 'n I can't blame you, but we ain't got no choice." He said, softly. "But that don't mean they'll hurt you again, got that? Anyone even think 'bout hurtin' you gonna get their dick shoved so far up their own ass they'll spit cum." Daryl was venomous, and serious, but the promise made Warren chuckle. He didn't respond, though he tried, as he was in and out more quickly now, and after a second he sort of just passed out on Daryl's shoulder. If he wasn't breathing, Daryl would have been worried. Quickly, he wrapped his arm around Warren's legs, and picked him up off the bed, cradling Warren's head to his chest so he could navigate the small hallway.
"Right. Maggie, you run ahead and find Pete. I'll stay with Daryl." Rick said, letting Maggie through as she left, her fast, lithe sprint sounding like rain on the stairs as she left. Daryl slipped through the hallway, pausing at the entrance where the boy had dropped his bow.
"Grab his shit." Daryl toed the bow gently, and Rick picked it and the quiver up, slinging it over his back. "Don't want it t'get stolen." He chuckled, shifting the boy in his arms as he climbed the stairs, Rick closing the door behind him.
Well, Daryl told himself, he did it. Warren was going back to Alexandria.
But at what price?