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dickfics69 · 2 years

Text

Emotional Motion Sickness (A Rickyl FICLET) | Chapter 1

AO3

Summary: Daryl gets sick before a supply run, and denies it vehemently. He is a big tantrum baby. Rick is constantly worried and drama ensures.

Chapter 1 Summary: Daryl wakes up with a cold and resolves to be a dick about it.

AU: This fic has some timeline and plot-point changes. They are still in the prison and the second Governor fight never happened. He died in the first one and the last few months have been them adjusting to all the new Woodbury inhabitants. Rick and Lori broke up when Shane was killed, but Rick still lost his mind when she died. Daryl and Rick have just recently gotten together. Farmer Rick era is lot shorter than in the show. An original character is introduced for plot furthering purposes.

Content warning: adult language, sickfic, mess, snot, bodily functions, hurt/comfort, vivid nightmares, adult content, 18+ for eventual smut (still deciding hehe), original characte

Word count: 1.5k+

My personal Daryl playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2PrdzgwtCiUgwDLLBy5C4g?si=c83773b44c964bb1

TY to @dumbslxtclub for being my editor

Chapter 1: We're gonna need a bigger bed

Daryl’s sleep was restless, interrupted – punctuated with a deep-set tickle in his nose, a dull headache and feverish mind. A mind filled with prickly nightmares of his friends and family being devoured by the undead. More than once during the night, Daryl awoke in a fright only to be comforted by Rick’s steady breathing underneath his head, and his strong deputy arm sleepily caressing the small of the hunter’s scarred back. He looped his left arm under Rick’s torso, snuggling in tight, preparing to be a slave to sleep for what felt like the fiftieth time that night. Just as he was about to drift away, a sharp tickle entered Daryl’s nose. Whipping his arm out from underneath his sleeping love, he aggressively rubbed the itchy side of his nose with his spare thumb, propping himself up on his elbow and away from Rick so as not to wake him.

“Heh..heh…hah-” The tickle grew and Daryl brought up his whole palm to attack the burning itch that settled in his left nostril. ‘Jeeeeesus fuck! Just go away,’ he thought as the flat of his hand aggressively scrubbed at the side of his face and nose.

It didn’t work.

“Heeh Ngxxtsh, NnnGggt, GTsh, AAtchNGXshuUU.” Liquid poured through Daryl’s finger and thumb that plugged his nose closed, as he attempted to stifle the fire that rippled through his sinuses.

Content with his semi-silent sneeze attack, Daryl wiped the snot that coated his hand on the flimsy prison sheets with frustrated disgust. Ugh, fuck this.

Tentatively, he lays back down on Rick’s chest, checking his leader's face all the while to make sure he didn’t wake while he dealt with his nose. Wrapping himself up in the prison bedding and nestling into the Deputy’s warmth, Daryl waited for sleep to take him yet again as he listened to the fall rain beat down on the windows and the drips of water percussing the floors of the cell block. The cold weather had snuck up on the group gradually and then all at once, the gray skies and constant frigid rain dampening the spirits of the prison inhabitants. The hunter was used to the swift changes of the elements though, and continued his day to day activities; quality time with Rick in the watchtower, going out hunting, the watchtower with Rick, going on supply runs, more sex in the watchtower with Rick. Daryl was always wandering back into the prison drenched to the bone with a head of sopping wet hair that he made no real attempt to keep dry. So, logically it made sense that he would come down with something eventually, but still. It’s just allergies, I don’t get sick.

Sleep. Sleep came- sleep came eventually in congested, mouth breathing waves of sickness and anxiety and denial. Not. Sick.

-----

Daryl’s legs didn’t work anymore – a gunshot. Fuck. He could still move though, could still crawl on his arms like those walkers who lost their legs through the fray and sat in the ground snarling at the heartbeats that ran by them. I. Am. Not. Dead. Yet.

Carl, Michonne, Judith… Rick, where the FUCK was Rick? Accepting his fate, Daryl propped himself against the mid-century weatherboard of his lov- best friend’s old house.

“Fuck, Daryl!” Rick ran up to the hunter, propped against the side of his old house and dragged his head into the leader's lap.

“I ain’t dead yet, - just a bullet - I’m fine,” Daryl insisted, but Rick’s tears ran with crimson blood as Michonne and Carl came tumbling in slow motion towards him, Judith crawling behind.

“What do we do?”

“I love him.”

“Can’t help this dad.”

“It’s the end.”

“The bow… get the…bow.”

“We need it.”

“We shouldn’t”

“Maybe just a taste?”

He couldn’t place where or who the voices were coming from, but before he knew it, Daryl’s auditory functions were infiltrated by hissing and gurgling.

Looking up from his hand folded around Rick’s, he saw the emptiness, the lifelessness and the hunger behind the eyes of all of those whom he loved so dearly.

He knew what was coming and yet he looked out beyond Michonne, beyond Carl, towards Judith. His Judith. Hoping, praying, begging¸ that she would crawl into his lap the way she always would when she was scared. But as he looked towards her, Daryl caught the eyes of a creature not known to him anymore, something they all feared but never voiced.

His shoulders dipped, accepting his fate. He felt the pressure in his skull and chest as his once best friends engulfed his body, gaining fuel for the new world of the undead.

Pain. Pain. Pressure. Burning. Can’t. Fucking. Breath. I’m gone. I’m dead.

------

“Huh…EESh..Uu!, heh…huh..hu’ESSHH’u…huhsnkxnt..uhhhhh.” Daryl sneezed himself awake, barely whipping his hand up in time to catch the last itchy sneeze.. Ugh. Rick’s half asleep body jolted slightly at the sheer force of the outburst. Ngg, sorry love.

Snot bled out of his nostrils onto Rick’s clean, dark green Henley. Fuck, more washing. You don’t deserve this comfort.

As the early morning light painted the cramped prison cell, Daryl brought his hand up in a feeble attempt to wipe the mess that he created on his partner's shirt. Suddenly remembering his dream, Daryl whipped his heavy head up to look at his love’s face, which was stretching with early morning sleepiness.

“Mmnh…good morning snuffles,” Rick said with a yawn and an outward stretch of his limbs, leaving Daryl feeling surprisingly cold and alone with the brief absence of muscular arms around him. ‘It’s okay, Rick is alive, he’s alive, Daryl. You’re alive. It was a dream, you idiot. And also, you ain’t sick.’

As Rick reshuffled to bring him into a closer embrace at his armpit, Daryl quickly snorted back the liquid that was threatening to escape his nostril once again, to avoid suspicion, to avoid the attention. The disgust that was thrust upon him whenever he was ill as a child came flooding back to his attention, threatening to flood his eyes with tears. Fuck you, dad.

Not wanting to talk, not wanting to share the details of his dreams, Daryl just wrapped his arms around Rick again, but not before giving his nose a quick scrub, trying to evade the rest of the early morning tickle that had made a home in his sinuses. To no avail.

“Hh..hieehShUUu! Ng’nxxgt..guh.” The sneezes that he so longingly tried to suppress snuck up on Daryl like a walker in a river, effectively turning Rick into his own personal snot rag and further forcing himself to admit the inevitable. I’m fucking sick, but ain’t no way they gonna know that.

”Bless you!” Rick cooed, running a hand through Daryl’s shaggy locks, “You were snuffling and snoring all night, you coming down with something?” Rick’s concern was genuine but Daryl only knew how to be a dick about this sort of thing.

“’Mmmb..fin…hehf…fiiin..heh..h…fheh..HAH’EESCHshu…Hu’ESCht..h’nnggxt..ugh.” As Daryl attempted to say the simple phrase ‘I’m fine’, he managed to capture the last volley of sneezes in a cupped palm around his dripping, yet completely blocked up nose.

Sniffling back a line of snot, he relaxed back into Rick’s embrace and mentally begged that he would just leave it alone and just let them hold each other like every drizzly fall morning before Judith woke up. Judith-

“You’re really catching something, aren’t ya?” Rick sounded a lot more awake and a lot more concerned. He brought a hand up to check Daryl’s forehead, but the hunter simply flinched away and grunted in defence, pushing aside his traumatic dream from the night prior.

“Mb’fine!” He retorted through gritted teeth, willing himself not to launch into a coughing fit and destroy the mask he’d so expertly established.

“Alright. If you say so.” The leader responded by patting down the stray hairs from his partner’s feverish head. “If you’d like to clean up your snot trails on my shirt though, that’d be ace.” Rick half laughed, hoping for more than a grunt back from the older man.

Of course, Rick knew better. He knew he knew better, trying to get a reasonable response from Daryl when he was like this. But it was always the same, whether his stomach hurt, whether ragweed was in bloom, whether he’d impaled himself on his own arrow and been shot by a friend, Rick tried to make him smile, to ease his suffering, to be there, just to alleviate his pain a tiny bit.

But Daryl was a stubborn prick, even with the love of his life, he was one determined arsehole.

Drawing his hand from underneath Rick’s waist, Daryl pointedly flipped his partner off, “’Mb fucking finde Grimbes you fuckind’ mother fucker!” Yeah, that shut him up.

Before Rick had a chance to add a word in, Daryl sat himself up quickly. Too quickly for his congested head, but not quickly enough to absolve the concerned blue eyes boring into the back of his head.

“Daryl, please- “

“Gotta piss.” He interjected, wiping his nose hard with the breadth of his palm.

It wasn’t a complete lie though- sex with Deputy Rick Grimes tended to have all kinds of consequences below the belt buckle. Not that I’d ever complain about that, Daryl mused before climbing over Rick’s body. Standing vaguely upright, he snorted back some more congestion, chewed anxiously on the side of his thumb and stared down at his partner who wore an unreadable expression that Daryl guessed was not unlike his own. Some tense silence followed, and Daryl gripped the edge of the top bunk to steady himself.

“We need a fucking bigger bed.” Daryl punctuated the morning's tension out of the blue as he stormed out of the cell, the hanging blanket flapping deliberately behind him.

He wasn’t gone two seconds before he re-entered the cell, nose full of congestion and head filled with cotton wool.

“Just be ready for the rund, mb’kay?” He ordered, receiving a nod with the same unreadable expression as before, and then he left to take his piss for good.

Being sick on a rainy supply run? Shitty. Being sick on a rainy supply run with a quiet but concerned boyfriend? Shittier. Being sick on a rainy supply run with a boyfriend and his thirteen year old son? The shittiest. Being miserably sick in the rain with an over concerned boyfriend, his chatty son, and some annoying knife throwing Australian chick? Terrible, frustrating, uncomfortable and downright humiliating .

Buckle up Dixon, get your acting hat on, because the next few days are going to be miserable.

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dickfics69 · 2 years

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Emotional Motion Sickness | Part 2

AO3

Rick x Daryl

Summary: Daryl gets sick before a supply run, and denies it vehemently. He is a big tantrum baby. Rick is constantly worried and drama ensures.

Chapter 2 Summary: The cold morning wears on and Daryl gets sicker and more irritable, lashing out at those who are trying to help him. He is fragile and does not believe he deserves any sort of comfort.

Content warning: adult language, sickfic, mess, snot, bodily functions, hurt/comfort, vivid nightmares, adult content, 18+ for eventual smut (still deciding hehe), original character

Word count: 2.9k+

My Personal Daryl Dixon playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2PrdzgwtCiUgwDLLBy5C4g?si=c83773b44c964bb1

As always ty to @dumbslxtclub for editing and hyping me up

pls enjoy and feel free to leave comments :)

Chapter 2: Daryl is Daryl

Daryl stood motionless under the stream of icy shower water, willing himself to wake up from whatever nightmare he was about to enter. He couldn’t remember how long he’d been in there, but he knew he needed to get out before the freezing water rendered him as good as dead. The only semblance of warmth Daryl could feel was the hot trail of sticky liquid that flowed from his nostrils without inhibition.

With a wrist pressed hard against his nose, he sniffled back hard, hoping to quash the intense tickle that seemed to only get worse as the morning trudged on.

“Fu..huh…ck…HAH’EESCHshuU…Heh..h’AATChoO…Fuhc’heh’eeEITChuuU…

hih’EtSSCht…Nnng '' The sneezes ripped out of Daryl with full abandon, bending him at the waist and scraping his throat in their natural glory. Launching into a coughing fit, he braced the walls of the shower for support as he surrendered to the mercy of his lungs..

When he had recovered enough to open his eyes he was rudely greeted with a wave of intense dizziness and specks of black invading his vision. He shut off the water and snorted loudly, attempting feebly to clear the congestion that had become a permanent feature in his nose. Jesus it’d be nice to breathe again.

Wrapping a small towel around his waist, Daryl was wracked with a deep shiver that set a chill deep in his bones, he knew would not go away.

He shook his mess of chocolate brown hair out like a wet dog and looked down at the pile of black clothes that he haphazardly grabbed from his old room at the top of the cell block. His faded jeans with one too many blood stains, one of Rick’s soft undershirts that he had stolen because it smelt like him, and the oversized sweatshirt Carol had found and gifted to him last winter.

Daryl dried and dressed, still unable to shake the chill that had made an unwelcome residence in the hunter’s sick body. He hoped that his leather vest would be the answer to keeping his body warm today. Not that he knew where it was. ‘Probably screwed up in a pile of Rick’s things’ he mused, picturing his bearded partner repeatedly tearing it off his body in hot fits of passion. A tiny smile crept into the corners of Daryl’s mouth, as his steadfast resolve softened slightly.

Lifting his head, Daryl caught a glimpse of his reflection in a distant, broken mirror. He walked up to the grimy basin to study his face a bit more closely. Regarding his own reflection was an activity Daryl seldom took part in, but he had to know what he was dealing with today.

Chewing briefly on the side of his thumb, he looked up and was taken aback by the sickly image before him. If he wasn’t breathing and continually fighting the urge to sneeze, he could’ve sworn that he’d died and turned into a walker. His skin was pale and clammy, the only colour coming from a feverish hue in his cheeks and the pink around his chapped, irritated nostrils. Daryl’s normally icy blue eyes were lost within the tired purple bags that sat beneath them, looking like he’d gone several rounds with the butt of a revolver. His damp hair stuck to his forehead, and a thin trickle of mucus was beginning to settle on his upper lip.

Growling to himself, Daryl picked up the rag in front of him and blew, and blew, and blew his nose hard. He was disgusted with just how quickly he filled up the fabric and how little relief it actually granted him.

The blowing disturbed the weak equilibrium his nose had established in the brief time he was out of the shower. His angry sinuses sought their revenge with an intense burning that no amount of sniffling, wiggling or rubbing could suppress. A slave to his body, Daryl had no choice but to grip the basin tight and strap in for the ride.

“heh…h’ATSCH uU… h’EITCHEW… Hh’EsTCHUU… Hh’GstcHh, GstcHh, h’EITch …heh…heh…HAH’EESCHshuU!” He collapsed to the floor with the sheer intensity of the attack. He sat pitifully against the concrete wall, welcoming the cool touch on his over exerted body.

Breathing hard and shallow, the hunter tried to remember the last time he’d ever felt so goddamned awful, but came up short. Tears pricked the corners of Daryl’s tired eyes, but whether it was from the sneezing or the anxiety that had risen up in his throat, he was unsure. Letting his cantankerous guard down for a second, Daryl allowed himself a moment of longing. He so longed to be held in the arms of his love, having his head stroked and being told that ‘everything would be alright’- a newfound luxury he vowed never to take for granted. He longed for warmth, for rest, for sleep, for vapour rub and hot tea. He longed to cry.

But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. The fall of The Governor, while decreasing the immediate threat, had brought more challenges with the residents from Woodbury joining ranks with those at the prison. More hands to help, but more mouths to feed. The demand for supplies seemed to have tripled overnight, putting immense pressure on Rick and the council. There were too many people relying on Daryl and he refused to be a burden to anyone, especially his love.

‘Pull yourself together Dixon, it’s just a fucking cold.’

Mental pep talk done, Daryl dragged himself up from the floor, splashed his face with cold water, snorted and headed for the door.

Stopping in his tracks, he heard the unmistakable voices of his best friend and boyfriend talking rather loudly down the end of the cell block. Now, eavesdropping wasn’t usually on the list of Daryl’s preferred past times, but today he granted himself the exception.

Opening the bathroom door a crack, Daryl committed to some solid mouth breathing and listened pointedly.

“I’m just asking you to talk to him-” Rick’s voice echoed through the draughty tomb. “He was sniffling and sneezing all night and I just don’t think he’ll make it through the next couple of days.”

“Do you two ever talk to each other in the watchtower or?” Carol laughed heartily. ‘Jesus, of course we do.’

“J…Jesus of course we do!” Rick’s spreading blush was almost audible as the two men shared the same thought. “Com’on this is serious Carol! I don’t know what to do, he’s just so damn stubborn. You’re his best friend, how do I deal with him?”

‘Deal with me?’ A ripple of pain burst through Daryl’s chest. He wrapped his arms around himself in order not to shake the door open with emotion.

“I know, I know Rick.” Carol comforted, “The thing is, Daryl is Daryl, and sometimes you gotta wait a long time for a personal victory.” She hesitated for a moment before continuing.“May I give you some advice?”

“Yes, anything, please,” Rick practically begged, which left Daryl feeling immensely worse, if that was even possible.

“Avoid smothering, give him space, and please try not to say anything stupid.”

They kept talking but Daryl’s heart burned. ‘So much for not bein’ a burden, idiot’. He was hurt and angry but leaned into the rage as he pondered his next move. Two options presented themselves- wait until they were gone and leave the bathroom with a skerrick of dignity, or or, bust into their conversation for a thinly veiled upper hand? Logically, he knew what to do, but hell! Daryl was Daryl right?

“Sorry I mbissed the dambnd mbother’s club mbeeting!” Daryl’s congested voice echoed through the tomb of the cell block, drawing concerned blue and green eyes to meet the feverish man. “Just leave mbe a ndote next timbe, mbaybe I can joind y’all!” He stormed through the pair, making a pitiful effort to bump into his boyfriend on the way past.

“Daryl, babe -” Rick reached out to grab his partner’s arm, only to be violently shaken off.

“-Dond’t fugcking touch mbe!” he warned with an unintended sickly, feral energy radiating from his eyes. A mini stand off between two lovers and a friend. ‘Welcome to the Daryl Dixon Drama Kingdom’ he mentally decreed before storming off in a delirious, guilt ridden rage. ‘You really are impossible.’

Carol and Rick stood standing in shock, almost unable to process what had just happened. She crossed her arms in frustration and he hung his head in defeat.

“Daryl is Daryl” he echoed, as his boyfriend’s descending footsteps drew to a silent finish.

—

Still reeling from the events of the shower block, Daryl stormed into Rick’s cell to look for his vest; shivering, snorting and sneezing all the while. Rifling through the piles of mixed up clothes he eventually found it tucked under the mattress of the top bunk. He threw it on and stupidly hoped he’d somehow feel better. Instead he sneezed thrice and launched into yet another waist-bending coughing fit. The dry barking was turning into wet hacking, and Daryl desperately tried to deny the sensation of drowning surging through his body.

He contemplated laying down to sleep a while before he had to pack the truck, but Rick could be back at any second, and with the way he’d acted this morning, keeping up appearances was of the utmost importance. So off he went to breakfast.

—

A quick survey of the room and everyone seemed to be chatting amongst themselves, unaware of the events that had plagued Daryl’s morning. Unfortunately there was a seat free next to Carol, and of course she had to look up at him and beckoned him over.

He slipped sheepishly in beside her, hoping that she’d just eat her cereal in silence, but luck was not on Daryl’s side this rainy season.

“Look at your hair! I swear it’s getting darker and longer by the day!” She ran a hand through his ratty layers, purposely feeling for a fever she could already tell was there. Daryl begrudgingly knew this, but welcomed the touch anyway.

“Mbmm.” he wheezed, losing the identity of his voice to the virus that plagued him.

“I could give you a haircut you know, get it out of those pretty eyes.” She cupped his chin, offering a little bit too much comfort, but Daryl didn't recoil.

“Ondly if I get the Carol super special,” he mused, sharing a genuine laugh with his best friend. Looking at each other for a moment, Daryl felt a twang of guilt deepset in his sternum. His war wasn’t with Carol, and it shouldn’t be with Rick but still, he needed to absolve something.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked earnestly.

She smiled fondly, “It’s okay to not be okay,” she whispered, and for a split second, they were the only two people in the entire prison.

*CLANG*

A sad plate of dry toast suddenly landed in front of Daryl, making him jump slightly from the bench. Trailing his tired eyes along the table, blue met blue as Rick placed himself next to the hunter at the table. He wore a mix of anger and disappointment across his face and inhaled sharply through his nose, almost mocking the sick man who could not. .

“Eat.” he spat, turning back to his own plate of food.

“Mb’not hungry,” Daryl mumbled, anxiously biting his fingers again.

“Daryl just-” Rick stopped him himself and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Fine, whatever, I don’t care” the exasperated man relented, heeding the advice of a friend.

‘Petty breeds petty, I guess.’

After a while, the people around him joined in on other conversations. Rick laughed heartily at something Michonne had said, and Carol had turned away to attend to a couple of the smaller girls that had recently joined the group. Daryl was sure he knew their names, but the fog that pressed on his head rendered his neural pathways useless today. He picked a bit at his piece of toast, a knuckle pressed hard against the base of his sensitive nostrils, determined to ward off another attack.

“Someone’s excited to see their Daddy this morning!” The melodic voice of one Beth Greene rose above the others as she walked over and handed baby Judith to Rick. The deputy’s face lit up as his daughter giggled with joy and made attempts to grab at her father’s beard.

The horrific dream that Daryl had pushed into a recess of his mind, crawled out suddenly to slap him in the face, forcing him to close his eyes and shake the traumatic images away once again. She’s alive, Daryl. You haven’t lost her. Opening his eyes, he scooted a little closer to Rick and reached up gingerly to tickle the toddler’s chubby leg.

“Mbornin’ lil’ ass kicker.” His voice, thick with congestion, wavered slightly but the little girl squealed with delight at the presence of her tough tracker man. Daryl adored Judith more than mere thoughts could comprehend. They all did. The possibility that something could ever happen to her constantly weighed heavy on his mind and he really hoped Rick couldn’t sense his vulnerable fear.

He could.

Rick didn’t need to mindread to see the upset behind the eyes of his beloved. For longer than they had even been friendly, Daryl had been plagued by vivid nightmares that rendered him anxious and temporarily catatonic. Rick was grateful that being ‘together’ meant that he could finally offer some comfort when the dreams got really bad, but the pain always lingered. Since birth, Judith and Daryl had been inseparable. He stepped up and became a surrogate father when Rick had lost his mind all those months ago and it melted the Deputy’s heart to see his daughter slowly cracking the tough exterior of a man who was truly pure to the bone. Their bond was a great beacon of light in the dark and dungy prison. But recently, Judith had become the lead protagonist in Daryl’s vicious subconscious and that. Broke. His. Heart.

Rick brought up his hand to tentatively stroke his thumb against another, and breathed out a pent up sigh of relief when Daryl's hand gave a much needed squeeze back. They looked at each other with a keen sense of each other’s mind, and allowed themselves to love and be loved for a moment.

The moment was fleeting though, as Daryl’s nose once again commandeered the man’s body. Eyebrows furrowing, nostrils quivering and eyes glazing over, he twisted his nose in a final spasmodic sniffle before clamping a hand to his face, and launching into a barrage of painfully suppressed sneezes.

“H’nngt, nngt, nngt…ha’kngt…h’nnxxt-tchu…h’Ggst…heh..heeeh…HA’mmmpht!” Daryl forced himself to muffle the last sneeze into his sleeve of his sweatshirt, a mess that was growing in tandem with his humiliation.

“Bless yo-”

“Dond’t.”

For the first time in his life, he longed to be far away in one of his nightmares, surely nothing could be as hellish as this? Snorting back as quietly as possible, Daryl folded the sleeve of his wet jumper into his lap. Fixing his gaze just above the heads of the people in front of him, he separated himself from the concerned eyes that sat either side of him. ‘Ahhh, when will death come?’

Shockingly, nothing happened and no one said anything. His head was pounding like the sputtering engine of his motorcycle, nose leaking like the roof in their penitentiary, and a violent buzzing bounced its way around his sinus cavity like a bee on the first day of spring. Still. He got away with it, giving the man a fighting resolve to get on with the day and hold steadfast with his denial. ‘I ain’t that sick anyways.’-

“-That’s one hell-of-uh cold you got there son!” Herschel Greene had entered the dining room and click-clacked his way over to Daryl on his crutches. ‘Shit’. “If ya got some time this mornin’ I can check you out, give you some relief for that congestion, hm?”

‘Don’t be a dick to Herschel, don't be a dick to Herschel.’

“Ahh, thagnks for th’ offer, but m’finde. I got allergies s’all.” Not a particularly convincing response on Daryl’s part, but with a wave of anxiety washing over him he just needed to get out of there.

“...Okay, sure then.” The vet responded without a lick of belief. - “Oh Rick, I’d move lil’ Judy a bit farther away if I were you, she don’t have that natural immunity yet, and we don’t want her catching whatever nasty bug Mr Dixon has.”

Yep. Yep. That was it. Daryl was humiliated, pained and deliriously febrile. But he didn’t care anymore. Not enough.

“I already goddamnd told you doc, I. Ain’t. Sick!” He shot up from his seated position, stepped over the bench and planted himself intimately close to Herschel’s face. If he didn’t have an audience before, he definitely had a sold out performance now. Someone tried to grab his hand. Carol? Maybe. Possibly Rick, but it didn’t matter.

He tore his gaze from The Vet to the rest of the room, an unhinged growl escaping his throat, not unlike a feral cat.

“Y’know what? Screw you all!” A final fuck you to the peanut gallery that showered him with a mix of shock and concern. He turned and stormed out of the room, forcing himself not to look back, to postpone the guilt that would inevitably hit him sooner or later.

Swinging the door open with haste, he almost bowled an oblivious Sasha down. But he kept walking, heavy boots beating down on the cold concrete floor. He dramatically spat some mucus onto the ground and then turned towards the armoury. It was time to pack the truck and go.

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