He lays the bat into the man so many times he almost forgets what he’s doing. All Daryl registers is the red. How it’s… everywhere. Whatever he’s beating slowly stops looking like a human when the skull spits; which, if Daryl hadn’t have gotten there in time, might have been Rick; and that only makes him more furious.
A low, feral growl is already built in his chest, and with every hit, it intensifies; until he is roaring as he pummels the man to nothing but a bleeding mass of flesh and bone.
A triumphant and ungodly yell finalizes it all as he finishes the beating. The bat is dropped from his hands. It rolls away.
Daryl takes all of a few more moments to come back to reality; and when he does; he turns.
There, in a river of red, lays an agonized body. His skin is covered in cracks of red and blossoming purple, brown, and blue bruises; and he isn’t moving.
It’s Rick.
True to his wolf demeanor, he whines; as if in pain himself; as his world begins to tear at it’s seams.
Daryl almost staggers to his side, dropping to his knees and beginning to shake. “——Rick? R-Rick?!” he begs; checking his pulse and, mercifully, finding it still beating. “Stay with me.” A crack to his voice is a testament to his trauma.
He has no idea what to do.
With each hit with the bat, Rick winces even though it’s not actually hitting him. He can still feel the pain, knows the thug is feeling the exact same pain he felt. If not, worse. If Daryl hadn’t come in time, Rick would have been the pool of blood and bones on the floor. Daryl wouldn’t of been able to recognise him. He turned slightly, able to watch Daryl beat the man until he was no longer the man he had been.
“Stop-” he speaks quietly this time, wincing at the pain it causes his throat. There’s nothing he can say to stop him, he’s too lost in the moment. He’s already butchered him. Rick goes limp, his body slowly shutting down - a late reaction to the beating.
He can feel the hunter by his side, can hear his voice, but he is unable to say anything. Was he paralysed? Would he be able to communicate again?
He wanted to reach out, he wanted to let Daryl know that it was okay, but he couldn’t force himself to. He was frozen.
Somehow, he woke from it, moments later. He glanced around, realising he could move his upper body again, could move his mouth.
However, he couldn’t move his legs, his toes.
For the first time in a long time, he cries. The look of a broken man upon his face. He knows Daryl doesn’t know what to do, how to act. Rick doesn’t even know what to do himself. Was this is it? Was everything they had fought hard for over? Was this the end of it?
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