AN: I'm so sorry for the long wait on this! I'll try to be more timely in my updates, but whatever the case don't worry, I won't abandon a fic. As always, thanks so much for reading and for reviews, I appreciate them all. Enjoy! :)

"He'll be okay, ya know."

The soft voice startled him. Rick had almost forgotten Beth was even there, silently pumping air through the Ambu bag. Carol had offered to take over for her, but the young woman had refused, saying that she'd keep watch over Daryl with Rick tonight. They'd decided that two people would keep vigil at all times, at least until he was breathing on his own, and would periodically trade off on 'breathing duty'. That way if, god forbid, something were to happen there'd be an extra set of hands and they wouldn't have to choose between letting him suffocate until help arrived or dealing with any complications.

Rick peered up at her. The look she pinned him with wasn't one of naivety, and there was fear and concern there, sure, but more than that there was confidence and an assuredness that Rick realized he hadn't felt himself for a long time now.

Rick sighed wearily and buried his face in his hands, muffling his voice. "He's in a coma, Beth. He's on life support for Christ's sake!"

Beth nodded, "Yes. But he's strong. He's a fighter and if anyone can survive this it's Daryl." Her gaze traveled back to the archer's still face and lingered, her features calm and thoughtful.

Rick slid his hands down his face, his eyes and nose peeking out over the tips of fingers still pressed over his mouth, as if to keep all the bubbling emotions, the guilt and fear and stress, from escaping him in the form of a desolate cry. He watched intently for any sign that the hunter was waking. He'd yet to stir, face slack and still, arms limp at his sides. His skin remained nearly translucent and Rick was beginning to wonder if his friend would ever regain any color. Daryl's lips no longer had that deadly tinge of blue marring them. He supposed that was a good sign. At some point Hershel had come to check on his patient and declared that Daryl's pulse was a bit stronger now, a bit steadier. He had stated hopefully that the IV drips must be working. Both lines were still running, though Hershel had turned the drip rates down by a few degrees saying something about not wanting to dilute the blood and defeat the purpose of the 'blood replacement'. Rick couldn't guess what kind of complications could arise from such a thing, nor could he guess how long ago Hershel's visit had been, but he felt sure it'd been hours.

When Beth spoke again her voice was strained, holding tears at bay. "My daddy survived. When you had to cut off his leg. No one expected him to make it. Not even Maggie." She paused a moment, chin quavering then stilling as she reigned in and took control over whatever it was she'd been feeling just then. Her voice was strong and steady as she continued. "I overheard Lori when she told my dad about how you got shot. You were in a coma too. You made it. My dad made it. Daryl will make it. Don't give up on him, Rick." She lifted sad eyes to pierce him with her stare. He could see the fires of love and light, of faith and conviction burning in their depths, beneath the sorrow. "You can't give up on him."

It was darker in this part of the prison, but it didn't take long for his hunters' eyes to adjust as he crept along on silent feet through the maze of corridors between cell blocks, the trepidation twisting in his gut increasing with every step he took, with each corner he turned. The doors were shut on each room he passed, and they were all locked when reached for the handles of every one, barring his way. So he continued onward, tirelessly and fearing what he'd find along the way, but feeling there was something there, along the path, waiting.

Eventually, after what felt like hours, the hallway bottomed out forcing him to choose a new direction. He didn't know which way to turn. He stood there peering right, then left, uncertainly. Inexplicably the uncertainty he felt shook him to the core. Somehow knowing that a misstep would be his undoing and that terrified him more than anything ever had, which was saying a lot considering all the horrors he'd encountered in his life. He looked to the right again and noticed light seeping from underneath one of the closed doors along the hall in that direction. How had he missed that before? Had it been there a moment ago?

Hesitantly, he edged toward the light, taking his time, unsure of what he'd find on the other side of the closed door. He ignored the trembling in his hand as he reached for the doorknob. Turning it slowly, the door swung inward revealing Glenn and Maggie, which relieved and disconcerted him all at once. Familiar faces, yes; but remembering his recent encounters with Beth and Carol had left him wary of what may be in store for him now.

The couple had yet to notice him. They were standing near the wall on the far side of the room facing eachother, staring into one another's eyes; it was clear by their expressions they were sharing some anguish and taking comfort in one another. Daryl felt like he was intruding on a private moment and began to back from the room, but what he saw next froze him in place. He watched as Glenn reached up with his thumb, tenderly wiping a tear from Maggie's cheek, smudging it. Smudging it red.

What in the holy fuck?

Daryl's heart started beating wildly again, throbbing painfully against his ribs. She was crying blood! Why the fuck was she crying blood? And why wasn't Glenn losing his mind over it? He took a single halting step into the room, blinded with alarm.

"Maggie, are you ok?" The question tumbled out rife with distress. "What happened?"

Their bodies tensed as their heads whipped toward him, hands reaching for weapons before aborting the action when they saw it was just him. But as their eyes latched onto him, he knew instantly that neither he, nor his questions, were welcome here.

"What happened?" Maggie's eyes flashed furiously, but there was something else behind it… grief maybe? She strode over to him with measured steps as she spoke, getting right in his face, making Daryl wish he'd left the couple to it rather than sticking his nose in their business.

"You promised you'd fight, that's what happened!" Daryl honestly didn't know what she was going on about. Hadn't he always fought hard alongside the rest of them, keeping the group safe? He couldn't formulate a response, only stare back at her in surprised confusion as her eyes scanned his face searchingly, looking for something. What, he didn't know. Whatever it was he didn't think she'd found it. Bright green eyes filmed over with red, then spilled over and down her cheeks. She turned her back to him.

"Why are you here, Daryl?" Her voice was quieter now. Weary. "You shouldn't be here. Just… just go back." Glenn wrapped his arms around his wife as she cried quietly into his shoulder. Daryl was staring at them, at a loss for… well anything, when Glenn met his gaze over Maggie's head.

"She's right man." And somehow Glenn managed to sound assertive and compassionate, wounded and indignant all in one shot. He led Maggie to the door, walking away from Daryl just as everyone else he'd encountered that day had walked away from him. Glenn paused once they'd reached the threshold, but didn't face him.

"Just go back." Then they were gone, disappearing into the shadows outside the door, and Daryl was left dumfounded and alone in the little room. Glenn had said that last so casually, as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

Just go back.

But it wasn't.

It wasn't simple at all. Daryl was just beginning to understand how absolutely far from simple it really was. Beth had told him to go back. Carol too. Now Glenn and Maggie had voiced their opinions on the subject well. And yet he couldn't. How could he? Go back where? Outside? Leave the prison entirely? What were they even talking about? But it didn't much matter anyway, because anytime he even entertained the idea of obeying their pleas he was already moving deeper into the prison on legs seemingly with a mind of their own, and now he currently found himself heading into the Tombs.

The further he went, the more doubt crept into his mind telling him he was making a big mistake, he should heed his family's warnings; his stomach twisting and clenching with the uncertainty of it all, making him nauseous. But he didn't turn around. Couldn't. It was almost as if something was calling him, urging him onward to find out where the road led, whether to his own peril or not. Whatever the case may be, he had to know, needed to see this through.

The labyrinth of corridors was pitch black, he couldn't even make out the outline of his fingers when he held them directly in front of his face, and he'd entered this place completely unprepared. No lantern, no flashlight, not even a lighter or lousy book of matches. So he stumbled along blindly, fingertips skimming rough and cracking concrete walls damp with mildew and smelling of rot. He lost count of the doorways he'd felt his way past, of the staggering number of twists and turns he'd made, and a new sensation of anxiety was beginning to build borne of the knowledge that he was more and more certain that his chances of finding his way back were growing slimmer with each step.

When he came to yet another juncture in the path, he let out a frustrated growl. He was so disoriented, and it was so dark. Going forward was becoming an exercise in futility and going back was no longer an option. It was a tough pill to swallow, but he was lost. The thought made him inexplicably angry. Daryl Dixon did not get lost. Ok, maybe that once in the forest as a child, but who's counting? Anger dissipated into despair. He could just give up. Sit down right here and let whatever planned to catch up with him make its way to this spot. Whether it came in the form of the group coming to the rescue, walkers coming to feast or nature to run its course. Whatever. Let it come. He really was tired now that he thought about it. And his chest still hurt, which was strange. His heart rate had finally calmed down. Well… mostly. He was still tense and anxious, but his pulse was thrumming in a steady and only slightly elevated beat, giving his chest no right to be throbbing the way it was.

Absently his hand kneaded at the ache, like he could simply massage the pain away, and contemplated just what in the fuck he was doing. He was about to just give up. All his instincts balked and screamed in refusal when he let himself think about what he was preparing to do. He couldn't give up! That's not who he was. He'd never given up before, not through any of the shit he'd been through. The beatings, group homes when the state felt like interfering in his home life, Merle never being there when he needed him most… and then the world had really gone and taken a shit, dead rising up and world-without-rule-of-law becoming a pressing reality. And he was about to throw in the towel because he'd gone and gotten lost inside a dark building? Because he was feeling a bit fatigued and his chest hurt? Because some of the only people he'd ever cared anything for aside from his brother had said some strange things, behaved a bit oddly?

Cursing himself for being a dipshit, he abruptly turned to the branch on the left and began heading down it. One direction was as good as any, right? Then all at once he plowed into something solid. Immediately it grabbed him with bruising strength, a hand on either bicep. It all happened so suddenly, he was completely caught off guard, his arms pinned to his sides and he just knew he was totally fucked. He didn't mean to, but he was so startled he couldn't hold it back and let out a terrified scream – an action that horrified him in its own special way.

It took him several beats to process, but instead of the gnashing teeth and gurgling growls he'd been expecting, he was being shaken and yelled at. When Rick's voice finally filtered through the panicked jumble that had briefly traded places with his mind, he nearly sagged in relief.

"Jesus Christ, Rick! You scared the shit out of me!" He'd meant to sound pissed, but the hoarseness in his voice ruined the effect. Not that it really mattered anyway, because either Rick didn't hear or simply chose to ignore him as he continued to rant like a madman.

"It's just so much, and now… this? God, how did it come to this? I've tried, Daryl. I have! You know it! Why are you here? You shouldn't be here?"

As Rick kept on Daryl noticed that the immediate area around them was illuminated by a lantern Rick must have set at their feet. Had that been on before? It couldn't have been. It'd been so dark when he'd run into Rick. But then, how was it on now? Rick was still tightly gripping his arms, he couldn't have lit the damn thing, but there it was shining away all the same. But all of a sudden the how's and why's of that lantern's light went screaming from Daryl's mind, along with any residual relief he'd felt at encountering his friend. When he looked up again from his scrutiny of their surroundings he got his first good look at his brother-in-arms, and what he saw made his insides curdle.

He'd seen Rick covered in blood before, hell nobody in the group was a stranger to having gore painted on them like a part of their daily garb – maybe less so now that they had made the prison their home than when they were on the road – but this… this was fucking insane.

Daryl could feel his eyes widening, his jaw hitting the floor – in shock or horror, who knew? take your pick – as he took in Rick's countenance. The man was literally dripping in the stuff, like he'd gone for a swim in it. But more than that, something wasn't right with its movement. The droplets were slithering over his skin like snakes, beading up and rolling around like living things, lengthening and receding, defying all logic, flowing in ways that just weren't possible, up, down, around. It was like he was made of blood. Like he was the blood.

"… happen? Oh god, it's my fault!" Rick was shaking him harder now. "Daryl! Are you even listening to me?" And no, he hadn't been listening. He'd been too busy trying not to have a stroke over what he was seeing. Rick didn't bother waiting for an answer, and frantically kept on, voice tinged with desperation and despair. "You should never have come here. I'm so sorry, Daryl. If… if I could take it back, then… It's all wrong. Don't you see, Daryl? You have to go back. Go back! GO BACK!"

With that Rick finally let go and shoved him away before storming off, leaving Daryl standing there, rattled and alone, for the fourth time since this whole nightmare had begun. He looked down and sucked in what was supposed to be a calming breath, but it turned into a gasp when he say the bloody handprints covering his bare arms, the one directly above his heart and he could feel it burning painfully, saw that it'd actually singed a hand-shaped hole in the material and was surprised that anything could still be shocking after everything else he'd seen that day. But damn it all if that hadn't taken the wind right out of his sails.

Dizzy, he leaned against the wall. He felt so lost and confused. What the hell was he supposed to do? What did all this even mean? And all the crazy shit? What in the fuck was he supposed to do with that? He decided not to think about things like endless potato flakes and slithering blood for the time being, he couldn't handle it right now. He'd focus on other things.

His friends, his family, kept telling him to go back, and fuck maybe he should listen. Rick had left the lantern so he had a light now, he could find his way back now that he could see. He could do that much. He reached for the lantern, but just as his fingers curled around the cool metal of the handle the light went out.

"No! Son of a bitch, no!" He tried to get it working again, but it was useless. It was battery operated and no amount of swearing or fiddling was going to breathe life back into the damn thing. With a frustrated yell he hurled it into the wall shattering it into pieces.

Chest heaving in angry pants, he stared down at the mess, not that he could see it, not in this inky darkness. When he'd calmed down enough, he slowly spun a full 360 degrees trying to suss out which way to go, coming up blank.

Damn it! What the fuck was wrong with him? Directions shouldn't be this hard for him, he'd always had an internal compass and clearly it'd been blown to shit. He felt ready to rip his hair out, but that'd get him nowhere so instead he just picked a direction at random and started walking.