AN: I am sooooo sorry how long it's been since I've updated. I promise it won't take me a year to update again. Again really sorry about that, thanks everyone who's stuck with this, and I hope you all can continue to enjoy. :)

Five days. It'd been five days since Rick and the others had rushed Daryl back from that ill-fated run and the man had yet to stir. He'd improved, sure. Stabilizing enough that he was now down to one IV and breathing on his own. The concussion was still a factor, but seemed to be healing. Slowly, but healing all the same. Daryl's pupils weren't as mismatched as at the beginning of it all, although they still weren't even either.

Hershel was optimistic, saying that these were good signs and Daryl's battered body just needed time. But everyone, Hershel included, was still fretting over their unconscious hunter. Five days was a long time to remain unconscious. And even with the improvements, such as they were, there was still plenty to be concerned over.

Infection for one. They'd run out of antibiotics within the first two days. So far the wound in his chest appeared to be healing well, no signs of infection or other complications, but that didn't mean it'd stay that way. Everyone had stuck close these past five days, petrified of Daryl taking a bad turn and not wanting to leave him, but Rick was adamant that they get more medication. Just in case. Not to mention the inevitable need in the future. Plans had been organized for a group to go out in about an hour.

Aside from the threat of infection, there could be internal bleeding just lying in wait to reveal itself, whether in the chest wound or head wound, or god forbid, both. His lungs could give out again, or the blood loss could prove to be too much. He might just never wake up. He could just slip away from them in his sleep and that'd be that. He'd be gone. Either they'd catch it in time and make sure he didn't come back, or he'd turn before they realized what'd happened to him. They'd taken precautions. Daryl's left arm lay limply next to his head, secured to the bed with handcuffs. No one wanted to admit what it meant. That the chances Daryl would make it were steadily falling with each moment that ticked by and he didn't wake. Telling themselves and each other it was just to be on the safe side.

Michonne sat on a chair next to Daryl's sickbed waiting for Carol to come relieve her, watching the mid-morning sun streaming through the bars on the windows playing across his closed lids, casting shadows over his wan complexion whenever a stray cloud would drift lazily through the sky. What would otherwise be a peaceful morning was blanketed with the tense atmosphere that'd been haunting them all these past few days. The stress and worry for Daryl taking a heavy toll on the group.

Michonne hadn't had much chance to get to know the man, but she respected him. Could see he was an honorable man, a strong man, a survivor. She felt he was someone she could befriend, providing he made it through this. Seeing him so weakened and still was so at odds from the little she'd learned about him; and though she barely knew him, she still felt concern for him, a pain gripping her heart at seeing him this way when she allowed the feeling to slip through.

They'd transferred Daryl onto a bed in one of the cells once Hershel deemed him stabile enough to be moved. Supposedly to give the man privacy. Michonne didn't really see how that mattered much at the moment, seeing as he was out cold. She surmised it was out of respect for Daryl more than anything else, although it also seemed pretty clear to her that he didn't care much for the idea of residing in a cell. It hadn't escaped her notice that Daryl had made his own setup on the perch, but it'd be far from realistic to attempt lugging him upstairs, nor to expect Hershel to climb them all day long when trying to check on his patient. So a cell it was.

A quiet shuffling in the doorway alerted Michonne to Carol's presence, signaling it was almost time to head out. Rather than acknowledging the other woman, she kept her eyes on the injured man, willing him to wake up before she left for the run, even if just for a minute. It'd give her some hope that he'd make it. But he remained as still as ever, she'd have to go out with nothing but uncertainty.

"Any change?" Carol asked softly from the entryway, peering in at Daryl with worried eyes.

Michonne shook her head wordlessly, causing Carol to sigh and step a little further into the cell. "They'll be leaving soon. You sure you're up to it? You've been with him half the night."

She finally glanced up at the other woman from her seat before looking back to Daryl and getting to her feet.

"I'm sure." She stated simply. It was no different than taking second watch then continuing on with the day. Besides, this was important. This group was important. She may not have been with them long, but these were good people and she counted herself incredibly fortunate to have obtained a spot in their ranks. Already, she was rapidly coming to the stark realization that she'd do anything for them. Her gaze lingered sadly on the wounded man before turning and walking away, hoping against hope this wouldn't be the last time she saw him.

Daryl looked up only to startle. Somehow he'd managed to get himself back to C block, though he had no idea how. He could have been walking through the tombs for decades, or mere moments, he honestly couldn't say and it felt like it could be either. Or neither. He was hopelessly confused. At least he wasn't lost anymore.

Unable to help himself, his eyes were instantly drawn to the spot on the floor where Carol had been futilely sopping up that pool of blood earlier. There was no evidence anything was ever amiss, so either it'd finally been cleaned or he was officially losing it. Whatever the case, he was glad it was gone. He didn't think he could handle more bleeding floors just now.

Yeah, he'd have to err on the side of him losing it.

Feeling foolish for it, but powerless to do otherwise, he began to creep warily through the block, almost afraid of what he might find. Turned out it was for good reason.

"Well, well, well baby brother! You sure stepped in it good this time, didn't you?"

Daryl felt himself freeze in place, eyes going wide, breath catching in his throat. His stomach curdled in horror. His pounding heart had finally mostly calmed, easing the ache in his chest a bit, now it skyrocketed again bringing the pain back with it tenfold. It was stupid, he was being a pussy. But he was terrified.

Merle was dead.

"What's the matter with you Daryleena?" Merle was getting pissed now. "What, your britches get too big to talk to ole Merle?"

Merle was talking to him.

"Daryl!"

His chest really hurt.

"Quit being a goddamn pussy, and get over here boy!"

Steeling himself, he finally turned. And sure enough, there was Merle, grinning at him from inside a closed cell.