Them finding Carl had been, to Daryl, both an angel, and a devil. He’d had to explain to the kid how Rick had been hurt like that, so badly, so brutally; and he’d had to have taken the kid’s anger, too.
In honesty, Daryl was still sore on that.
He’d never anticipated Carl could have wounded him so harshly with words as he did. Daryl’s complete inability to have done anything to stop them sooner was the source of irritation, all round; and his guilt, was, unfathomable.
Since the event, Daryl had done everything he could to make life easier and better for Rick; starting with the walking stick. Fashioned from a branch he’d taken from a tree in the forest, he’d filed it down and made it sturdy for Rick to use; though he’d not seen him actually use it yet. He’d helped Rick move around as much as he, himself, could; he’d gathered supplies from far and wide; hunted day and night for painkillers and bandages; and nothing, nothing at all, was enough.
It wasn’t like Daryl knew anything at all about how to handle these situations. He’d always been somewhat removed and unemotional when it came to injury. But it was a different page with Rick. Hell, it was a different book. A different story.
And some nights, he’d find himself wandering seemingly without aim to the room he’d cleared out for Rick; and just; lying there. Sometimes on the floor. Sometimes on the bed next to him. Sometimes, he’d even catch a wink of sleep.
Daryl liked to think it was because he had nothing better to do.
When in actual fact; it was the best thing he could do with his time, anyway.
Maybe it made the guilt feel a little less poisonous when he’d leave in the morning, to find yet more supplies.
When he came to Rick’s room today, he’d brought him something to eat. Just a can of near boiling baked beans from his fire outside and a spoon, which he put on the bedside table. He caught a glimpse of the man, gazing into the mirror. He felt yet another familiar pang of misery.
“—Rick? You okay?”
It was rare that Rick would leave his room. He didn’t want to show his face, he didn’t want both Daryl and his son to see how ruined he truly was. He stayed in the bedroom for days on end, only really going downstairs when he was either forced to or had to.
It was unlikely that he was forced to move.
Daryl was just as ruined as Rick was, he’d been able to tell when they’d spoken about what had happened during Rick’s healing process. They never really spoke about it, but when they did, he could see that the hunter hated himself for not being able to do anything, for not getting there faster.
The healing process would never be over, not for his legs anyway. He was crippled and he would be for the rest of his days, those days were always numbered. If someone charged into their ‘home’, he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it, the former officer was officially useless. He wasn’t going to be saving anyone, he wouldn’t even be able to save his own son anymore. He wasn’t their leader, he was just someone they risked their lives for every day.
When Hershel had lost his leg, Rick hadn’t known what to do for him, how to take care of him. He’d been like Daryl in that situation. This was somewhat different; Hershel found a prosthetic leg, was able to move again. Rick was unlikely to be able to regain full control of his legs.
Though through everything, he had Daryl. The man he could now call his dearest friend, the man that had not only saved his life but saved him from himself. He didn’t leave, he didn’t run away. He stayed and he comforted the officer as best as he could.
The shell of a man stared into the mirror, knowing he would have to use the walking stick at some point.
He didn’t want to do it, he didn’t want to prove that he was actually weak and useless.
He’d heard Daryl enter the room a while back but hadn’t bothered to say anything or turn around to face the hunter. He couldn’t, he knew that if he let go of the sink, he would fall onto the floor again. He lowered his head, taking deep, steady breaths as he noticed his knuckles turning white from how tight his grip was on the cool metal sink.
❝ Fine. Not really in the mood to stand around and chat today. ❞ He’d grown to be bitter, harsh with his words.
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