That’s whats the most painful thing about this is. He’s a totem of strength. The picture of power and will. He is someone to depend on, someone to place trust in; someone to call a friend, a comrade, an ally, a brother; and the most painful thing is;
that applies to them both.
But for Daryl; Rick is not the sun. Rick is not the sky or the ocean. He is the moon. He is the one to be there, in the darkest of times; he is there to guide; the one all who are lost, look to; all who need guidance, cry with; the one to cast light; even when everything is so cold and quiet and empty and black.
For Daryl, Rick is the only light, among endless o b l i v i o n .
And here he lies. He is tarnished. His skin does not shine with light he does not see; but, instead, is marred by blood, by laceration, by flowering bruise and broken bone. His grace; it does not shine.
And it’s Daryl’s fault.
He hasn’t allowed tears to fall since Merle. Now, it seems; he can’t stop them. They roll down his dirty cheekbones, they glitter with his hopelessness. Inability to control anything seems to be plaguing him today.
He takes Rick’s hand. Hell, he rests his head against it, as his chest wheezes with quiet, defeated sobs.
“—I’m sorry,” he finds himself, half gasping from despairing lips; a whimper from a dog. “I’m s-sorry, Rick, I— I dun’- know— what— ta do.”
And there he remains; for until Rick falls asleep. He doesn’t let go of his hand, the entire time; he doesn’t leave his side, the entire time; and the tears stop falling, only when he stops thinking.
He knows he has to get the crossbow. He knows he has to board the place up. Make a safe haven for Rick to lick his wounds and heal. And one look to him gives him the drive to do it. He musters whatever courage is left; even if it’s barely even there. He gets up.
The man that had once been so strong was falling apart at the seams. Was no longer the man he had been moments before he’d had the life beaten out of him. It was strange how in such little time, someone could fully lose who they had once been. If Rick were to look in a mirror, if he could even get to one, he wouldn’t recognise the man that stared back at him.
The light that had been there, the light that had shone so bright was now gone. It had been dying down for some time now, ever since Shane died, but now it was fully gone - they had beaten the last bit of light out of him. Had stolen it from him much like they had done with his hope, his faith, his ability to survive, his will and his strength. They’d taken every last bit of Rick Grimes.
This world had destroyed him.
Oh, how it had enjoyed doing so. There were times when he’d wondered if it would have been any better for anyone if he hadn’t woken up from his coma. Right now, he was wishing he could go back to that state, that he wouldn’t have to face another day like this.
Rick can still feel them beating him. He can still hear them laughing at his misery.
As he hears Daryl whimper and cry, he realises he is not the only one that has been affected by it, that he’s not the only one that can’t seem to find any form of light anymore.
He closes his eyes, stops staring at the ceiling above - but all he can see is the bat, all he can see is the pool of his own blood he laid in.
When he feels the hunter’s face against his hand, when his hand rests in his, he calms down slightly. There’s the comfort he needs, there’s the spark that keeps him going. If anything, he is glad that it is Daryl that remains beside him, that carried him out of there, that kept him alive.
Rick doesn’t say anything, he knows there is nothing that can be done. That this is how it is going to be from now on. That unlike his beating from the Governor, he would not be recovering from this.
Rick gently squeezes his hand, his way of allowing the hunter to know that he knows. That he is ready for the battle they will be facing. Then he falls into oblivion, his hand doesn’t fall from Daryl’s until he stands. For a while, Rick is at peace, he is in bliss.
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