AN: I'm so sorry it took me this long to get this out, but here it finally is! I promise not to take so long again, and I hope that you all can continue to enjoy it. Thanks for sticking with me! :)
"What are you talking about, Shane?" Rick had a hint of exasperation in his voice. "People are still going to get sick. The world ending didn't change that, besides he didn't get bit." Shane remained unconvinced, "I know all that, Rick, but I'm telling you, he ain't acting right! He's over there with a raging fever and talking nonsense. The man's delusional!"
"Fevers do that, Shane!" Andrea informed him. "Jesus, haven't you ever had a fever? Instead of making ridiculous claims, why don't you go see if you can find some Tylenol or something?"
The effort Shane took to keep his voice down was clearly evident. "Ridiculous! Look, maybe I am wrong, but maybe I ain't! And I'll tell ya, I don't want to be right, but just cause I don't want it doesn't mean it shouldn't be looked into. Sweeping shit under the rug is what gets people killed!"
Rick put his stump on Shane's chest in a calming gesture, "Settle down, man. All we're saying is there's no need to jump to conclusions. Of course we'll keep an eye on him, I need to go check on him anyway." As he headed over to the sick man, he tossed over his shoulder, "Maybe you could go find some medicine for him, if his fever's that high, we need to bring it down." Wordlessly, Shane made his way into the gas station to do just that.
Andrea stood from the table. "I'm going to check on Glenn, too. I'm glad you're ok, Daryl."
"Yeah." Daryl quietly answered her retreating back. He wouldn't really call how he was feeling 'ok' . Actually he felt like a great, big, steaming pile of shit. Not that he'd own up to it of course; and he was sure he'd be ok, but at the moment he was weak and nauseous, dizzy with a splitting headache, and tired, so tired. He could go to sleep right were he sat, the padding of the booth was much more comfortable than it had any right to be. He let himself relax into it a little more, about to close his eyes, when he realized Carol was watching him.
"Ain't you gonna go check on Glenn?" he asked.
Carol looked a little sheepish, "Well, actually, I still need to put a new bandage on your wound," she held up a fresh piece of white gauze. "I guess I got distracted, sorry."
"S'alright." Not like he would have noticed anyway.
Carol inspected the rough stitch work before taping the fresh bandage onto his neck. "It seems to be doing alright, but you're probably going to have a nasty scar. Sorry."
To avoid turning his head, Daryl rolled his gaze over to her, a questioning look on his face. "What do you have to be sorry for?"
Carol refused to meet his eyes, opting instead to look down at the table. "Well, I had to stitch you up. It's not very pretty."
"You did?" Daryl asked surprised.
Thinking he was upset, Carol began to quickly explain. "The bleeding wouldn't stop, you needed stitches. Shane asked if anybody could sew..."
Rather than let her continue, Daryl cut her off. "It don't matter if it ain't pretty." He shut his eyes again, nearly nodding off the moment lid met lid. "Thanks." He barely registered Carol saying 'your welcome' before he dropped off.
Glenn felt miserable. Was it only this morning that it was just a general feeling of malaise? Now he felt like he was dying. The temperature of the room seemed to be oscillating between desert and arctic climates every five minutes, his head pounding so hard he wouldn't be surprised if he ended up with a hairline fracture in his skull, and he was seriously regretting the two bites of lunch he'd so foolishly taken; every cough threatened send that, and everything he'd ever eaten in his life before it, spewing forth.
As it was, every cough was producing varying amounts of blood, a prospect which alarmed him greatly. And he couldn't seem to stop coughing for more than a few minutes. By now, his concentration was next to nothing; the moments he wasn't consumed by the haze of fever growing rare, but not impeding his ability to contemplate (or more accurately, agonize) over his condition during the times of lucidity. What in the hell was wrong with him? How was it that he was suddenly this sick?
Just as he was on the verge of a panic attack, his imagination running wild, Rick appeared with Andrea.
"Hey, Glenn." Rick greeted, kneeling down next to the ill man. "I hear you're not doing so well." Glenn just stared in silence, a shivering mass huddled deep in an ugly, olive green blanket; he didn't feel up to expending energy to confirm the obvious.
"Can you tell me what your symptoms are?" Rick asked.
Not really. Glenn thought dismally. He was becoming short of breath and didn't really want to waste it talking, but he opened his mouth to answer anyway. "I have a..." he was cut of by an especially violent coughing fit, more blood than ever coming up this time. Choking, yet still coughing, and trying vainly to catch his breath he clumsily rolled to his side hoping gravity would help him out.
"Sit him up! Sit him up!" Andrea's frantic voice pierced through the fog of his mind. Hands grabbing and pulling him, the movements causing explosions of agony across his body, and for naught too; the pain just increased due to the others panicked movements to help him, and the relief of taking a deep breath continued to elude him. He could hear his name being called as if from a great distance, but had no strength to answer. Darkness was closing in, oppressive and demanding, and swallowing him whole.
Rick and Andrea watched in horror as Glenn's eyes rolled back in his head, his eyes slipping shut, the gasping breaths ceased and his body went unnaturally still. Aside from his chin, which was covered in blood and dripping all across his shirt front, his face was morbidly pale.
Rick stared in shock, this wasn't happening. It couldn't be. He was terrified to check, but had to. Slowly, and doing a sad job of concealing a slight tremble, he reached out with his left hand pressing his fingers against the pulse point of Glenn's neck. Nothing. No pulse. He was dead.