AN: Once again I just want to thank everyone who's reading this story, and for the fav's, follows and reviews. You are all so awesome! :) I also want to apologize for the wait on this chapter, I'd intended to get it out quicker then this, but... clearly that didn't happen! lol So I thank you all for sticking with me on this.

Also, I realized I never did put a disclaimer on this. I don't own anything TWD or otherwise.

Enjoy!

On his crutches Hershel was slower than the others. Rick would have kept pace with the gurney so he could keep Daryl in his sights, but Hershel had taken this opportunity to learn about the circumstances that had created a patient for him.

"What on earth happened out there, Rick?" Hershel's eyes were sad yet resolute. Rick had no doubt the man plodding along beside him was where his daughters' mettle came from.

Rick heaved a great sigh, feeling his bruised ribs twinge painfully at the deep intake of air. Not that it mattered. He'd gotten off easy. So had Glenn and Maggie. They were probably a bit bruised and he'd vaguely registered a small cut on Maggie's forehead. But Daryl…

If only Rick had scouted the place better, he could have prevented all this. He probably never should have brought them there to begin with. He'd lost Shane to madness borne of desperation and a growing inability to be a team player. He couldn't lose Daryl too. Not like this. Not to his own stupidity. Guilt flowed through his veins like a poison, drowning him, burning him, crushing him.

"Rick?" Hershel nearly paused in the midst of swinging himself along on his crutches, to better address the distraught man, then clearly thought better of it and continued down the corridor to C block where Daryl waited, clinging to life; tethered to this world by a hairsbreadth and some plastic tubing breathing for him as he could not.

When Rick finally found his voice, it came out strained. "The place was rigged with explosives. Daryl took point, and the brunt of the blast. Glenn said there were more bombs inside, just waiting to be triggered. Why would someone do something like that?" He found himself echo Glenn's words from earlier; shook his head, scolded himself remembering what he'd said when asked the very same question. Now was not the time to get hung up on the how's and why's.

Knowing Rick didn't expect an answer Hershel nodded and carried on with questions of his own. "What can you tell me about the head wound?"

"Well he's definitely got a concussion; left eye's mostly pupil, the right looks normal. There's a gash on the back of his head, I didn't see it, but it felt about two inches long or so. He'll need stiches. That bled a lot too." Recounting the days' events and Daryl's injuries was making the knot in Rick's stomach coil even tighter. What looked bleak before seemed to become even bleaker upon closer inspection.

Hershel made no reply. They'd finally reached C block and he left Rick standing in the doorway, watching the scene unfold. Herschel shuffled forward in a hurry to where their family was gathered around Daryl. They'd locked the wheels on his bed right there in the middle of the holding area, Rick was glad to see. Moving him to a cell would pose problems. Hershel wouldn't have enough room to work and moving Daryl any more than necessary was beyond foolish. The Woodbury survivors had taken D block for themselves, so there was no worry of too many prying eyes, just their core group. Even Michonne was there, pouring steaming water from a large metal pot into and assortment of containers. Rick remembered with a pang that she and Daryl had plans to search for signs of the Governor again tomorrow. That wouldn't be happening now.

Carol was rushing about preparing medical instruments with Maggie's help, while Glenn was tearing a sheet into strips. Beth sat on a stool next to Daryl's head intently watching the shallow rise and fall of his chest as she rhythmically squeezed the Ambu Bag, only pausing at regular intervals to slide two fingers over his carotid artery, checking his pulse. Hershel scrubbed up quickly before seating himself on a second stool someone had thoughtfully placed for him at Daryl's right side, handing his crutches off to Glenn.

Rick startled when Carl suddenly appeared at his side muttering quietly that he'd left Judith with Karen. He looked down at his son who was staring at Daryl with a stricken look on his face. Right now he appeared every bit the child he rightfully was, Rick found he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Carl look so young. Placing a hand on his son's shoulder he gave a reassuring squeeze. Carl glanced up at his father, expression never changing, then both returned their gazes to where the old vet was checking Daryl's vitals.

"Rick, Glenn." Hershel waited for the two men to come closer before continuing. "I'm going to have to pull this wood out and check for any other debris that may be in the wound. Judging by the placement, I expect his liver's been compromised, so I'll need to check it for injuries as well."

"His liver?" Glenn asked in a thin voice, looking pained himself. "What if it's too bad? Could he lose it? Can a person survive without a liver?"

Hershel regarded his son-in-law with a melancholy compassion. "No son, he can't." When the room seemed to collectively crumble under the weight of those words, he pressed on quickly. "But I don't believe it will come to that. Of course I can't be certain until I see the damage, but the liver is a large organ and considering the diameter of the foreign object, the damage should be minimal. Relatively." The last was stated gravely. He seemed to trail off for a moment, lost in his own thoughts, then shook them off and resumed his explanations of what they may be facing.

"Even if his liver is injured badly enough, I can safely remove a portion of it. In time it'll even regenerate itself, good as new, as though he'd never even lost a part of it. There's some good news." He offered the room a watery smile. His smile faded once again into a businesslike countenance as he nodded to Rick and Glenn. "As I was saying before, I'm going to have to perform invasive surgery on him. For the moment, he's deeply unconscious. I admit, there's a part of me that hopes he'll remain unconscious throughout the procedure, but we have to anticipate he won't and we don't have anything in the way of anesthetic. I'll need the two of you ready to keep him still."

There was no need to verbalize their agreement to the task. Rick would do anything for Daryl; for any member of their family actually, and so would Glenn. They each placed themselves at the injured mans' head and foot, respectively.

Carol stood across the table from Hershel, scrubbed up and ready to assist. When asked, she handed him one of the strips of material Glenn had just ripped up. Hershel wound it around the rough wood, to keep his hands sterilized and splinter free.

In that moment right before he gave a mighty pull on it, Rick felt time stop. Everything he saw was crisp and clear. Fear and anxiousness on everyone's faces. Determined concentration on Hershel's. Daryl's pale pale skin. The brilliant red of blood. The tension in the air was so thick he could smell it, he could taste it; bitter and putrid, it coated his nostrils, his tongue, making him queasy. Sound had ceased to exist. Not even the whisper of air from the Ambu bag, or the others' breathing, or hell, even his own breathing.

And then, all at once, Hershel yanked up on the wooden stake, god his best friend had been staked!, and time came rushing back into motion with a burst of sound and confusion. He watched Daryl's body arch up on the table, but the wood didn't come out. Hershel cursed under his breath and yanked again, harder this time. About four inches of wood came out and then it was free, spattering blood. He handed the door fragment to Michonne.

The room fell into chaos.

"Carol. He's bleeding too much! We have to slow it!" Hershel shouted as the two worked furiously to do just that.

"Daddy!" Beth cried. "His pulse is slowing!"

Maggie started sobbing into Glenn's chest.

"Damnit! Get some clamps and sponges in there!" Hershel directed Carol, placing bloody fingers on Daryl's wrist. He didn't seem pleased with what he found and instantly went back to work on trying to stop the bleeding that was swiftly pooling into a veritable lake around the hunter. "We have to stabilize him now! With the placement of his wound I don't want to risk compressions if we can avoid it."

Rick watched on with mounting horror, knowing this was on him and there was nothing he could do to fix it.