A reasonable amount of time passed and there was still no sign of Daryl. Maggie began to chew on her lip. She knew she shouldn't have let him wander off on his own whether he truly had to take a piss or not. What if he passed out somewhere or he went off to try and hide from everyone where he couldn't be found? What if he did get worse and no one was around to help him?

Maggie cursed under her breath and left D Block. She had to go find him. She knew she had probably humiliated him by rubbing his back while he threw up but she was just trying to help. When she rounded the next corner, she felt a wave of relief wash over her. Daryl was sitting against the wall with his back propped up against it and his knees pulled to his chest. He had his head resting on his knees turned away from her.

"Daryl?" Maggie wasn't sure if he was conscious or not but he slowly raised his head and turned to look at her. She forced a smile, "How was the piss?"

Daryl only rolled his eyes and rest his head back down on his knees.

"Look, I know you're trying to run away from me right now but it's not going to work. Just come back to the cellblock and get some rest. I'm just trying to help you," Maggie explained.

Daryl stared down at the floor for a moment before giving her a slight nod. He ignored Maggie's hand as he got back to his feet, clutching his stomach.

"Still nauseated?" Maggie kept a watchful eye on him. He was being far too stubborn for her liking but what could she do? It was Daryl. She just had to work past it.

Daryl provided her with another nod as he rubbed his eye. "Stomach's killin' me…"

Maggie frowned, "Tell me what I can do to help, Daryl."

"Nothin'," Daryl retorted.

Once Daryl started to head back towards the cellblock, Maggie noticed he was walking much slower than before. It was then that she realized maybe he was trying to distance himself from everyone again but maybe where she had found him was as far as he could get. She stayed close to his side and matched his pace in case he started to collapse, trying not to be too insulting with the close proximity and staring.

But Daryl practically came to a complete stop before he started to collapse without warning.

"Daryl—" Maggie did the first thing that came to her mind, and that was to grab him the best she could and keep him from at least smacking his head into something. She was able to use the wall for a bit of leverage as she kept one arm around his waist while she grabbed his left arm and threw it around the back of her neck. When she said she'd help and keep an eye on Daryl, she never would have thought she'd be trying to support his unconscious body.

Maggie grabbed his wrist and found his pulse. It was anything but slow, and with her body now pressed against his to keep him on his feet, she could feel the heat radiating off of him. It was too bad dumping him into a tub of ice was out of the question. A washcloth could only do so much and she could only give him ibuprofen every six hours.

Just when she thought she'd have to somehow drag him back to the cellblock, he was already coming back around. Daryl got his feet back under him and leaned against the wall to get his balance.

"Hey, welcome back." Maggie pulled his arm off of the back of her neck but stayed close. Daryl rubbed his head before glancing over at her. "You passed out."

"Yeah, guess I've been doing that lately…" Daryl mumbled. Maggie was shocked he didn't try to deny it.

"You've got to take it easy, Daryl. No more funny business and trying to run off by yourself. You need to rest and get your fever down." She wasn't sure how he was even standing let alone walking around. He had to be beyond miserable. But apparently his stubbornness was motivating him.

Daryl only nodded.


Daryl got back to the cellblock with Maggie's assistance, no longer having any willpower to even try and fight her. At this point he wasn't even sure he could have made it back on his own anyway. Maggie was right. Daryl had used pissing as an excuse to try and get away from everyone. He just wanted to be left alone.

Maggie helped ease him back down onto the mattress on the floor. Daryl hadn't realized he was spacing out with his gaze locked on the floor until he saw that Maggie was still right by his side. Had she said something to him or was she just staring? Jesus, he needed to pull himself together…

Instead of asking questions and letting on that he didn't hear what she said—if she said anything at all—Daryl just nodded. He managed to lie back down on his side and braced his arm under his head as though it were a pillow.

He wasn't sure what he did to deserve all of this shit, or how he became this sick, but he was about ready to just break down and cry. He could feel bile rise up in the back of his throat, making him shudder, swallowing it back down. It felt like his mind just kept repeating history over and over like he could see it all before his eyes. Fucking childhood memories were resurfacing. There were flashes of Merle ranging from then up until returning to the prison with him. Then Merle as a walker. Putting him down.

Daryl shut his eyes and buried his face in his hands breathing deeply. He felt as if he were somewhere on the verge of hyperventilating, vomiting, or breaking down into a fucking mess because this was starting to become too much. He needed to get up and moving if only to distract his mind for a couple hours. But since he couldn't do that, he couldn't get away from everyone. And since he couldn't get away from everyone, he couldn't do any of those three things in hopes of relieving anything at this point.

He swore he could almost hear Merle's voice calling out to him, telling him to man up.

His stomach clenched as he gripped his hair and tried to breathe steadily out of his nose. Fuck illnesses. Fuck this barren wasteland of a world. Fuck Woodbury, the Governor, death.

Fuck everything.

That was the last conscious thought that passed Daryl's mind before everything seemed to fade away.


Maggie was on her knees next to Daryl watching his every move and repeating his name but she never got a reaction from him. Not unless she considered the slight whimper he made as his way of responding. His shifting around came to a stop shortly after that in which she tried jostling his shoulder to elicit a response, and thus still receiving nothing.

No matter how much she wanted to wake her father she knew there was nothing he'd be able to do. Daryl was most likely trapped somewhere in his feverish mind and sleep had hopefully, finally, hit him. She frowned at what appeared to be Daryl's worsening condition as she grabbed the washcloth, dipped it back into the water, and placed it on his forehead the best she could. All she could do was hope and pray that he would be okay and that he'd come through this.

And Maggie resumed her seated position with her back against the wall as she kept an eye on Daryl all throughout the night until the sun made its reappearance, letting her know that it was a new day. She had kept rewetting the washcloth and placing it back on Daryl's forehead while checking his pulse throughout the night. She knew she should have kept up with the ibuprofen but she had no way of keeping track of time since the batteries in any watches that were left had gone dead months ago. She was also too nervous to try and shove the pills down his throat with him being unconscious, assuming she would just get him to take some whenever he awoke.

Maggie got back on her feet once she heard the clacking of her father's crutches, his figure popping out of the cell and headed over towards her with a weary smile. She briefly filled him in on everything that had happened and mentioned anything that seemed unusual. She was expecting him to start asking questions, to ask her to elaborate but he didn't. Instead he only provided her with a nod and a sorrowful glance over at Daryl's still unconscious form.