"I'm going to need you to stay out here," Dr. Edwards, as Daryl learned was the man's name on the mad dash to the makeshift operating room, informed him.

"Why the fuck would I do that, huh?" Daryl stepped forward, inches away from the doctor's face.
"It's a small room. I have an assistant in there already, and I'll need as much space as I can get. So, unless you have medical training I insist you stay out here!"

Daryl bit back his rage, gritting his teeth as he spoke to the other man. "You better do everythin' you can to save her, damn it, or you'll be the one needin' a doctor, got that?" The threat worked, as Dr. Edwards swallowed nervously and nodded before quickly disappearing into the room.

Daryl leaned against the wall and slid down it, wiping the damn tears from his eyes. He wouldn't cry over this. She was still alive, and as long as she was, he'd be okay.

The stupid clock on the wall ticked relentlessly. Out of all the things that Daryl missed before the whole apocalypse shit went down, the constant tick of a clock wasn't one of them. Once Carol told him that she missed all the background noise, but he sure as hell didn't. The quiet gave him time to think, but the god awful tick of the wall clock drove him nearly insane.

"Somebody shut that damn clock up," he growled, standing once again. Tyreese and Sasha stared as he began pacing, but Rick and Carol knew him well enough to give him some sort of privacy. "How long has it been anyway? Shouldn't that doctor have some info for us by now?" He bit down roughly on his thumbnail, drawing a bit of blood.

A car pulled up and they all froze. They didn't need another threat, another thing to worry about – not right now. Rick jumped up and drew his weapon again, flexing his jaw as he walked toward the commotion. Sasha followed suit, with Tyreese reluctantly following her. Noah sat with his head cradled in his hands on the floor, showing the utter despair the boy felt. Daryl knew exactly what he was feeling, and thought he might go say something. Something about how this wasn't Noah's fault, it was his own because she was taken here when she depended on him. It was his fault that she was in this situation, but Daryl wasn't any good with words, especially when those words exposed his feelings, so he stayed quiet. The boy could work it out on his own eventually.

Carol was back in a wheelchair. The staff had offered one, and although she refused, Daryl had all but forced her into it. She was hurt too, damnit, and he wasn't going to lose her again either. Not to this hell hole.

Rick and the others cautiously moved outside, taking some of the police force with them. You could tell it was a desperate situation if Rick Grimes was trusting these people he barely knew. Daryl fought the urge to go with them, to kick whosever's ass dared to disrupt Beth's healing, whoever threatened his group's safety, but he knew he wouldn't be able to walk away from the small hallway until he knew that she was all right.

"She'll be okay," Carol softly called, and Daryl looked away from the door in surprise. He didn't say anything, but Carol had known him long enough to understand the subtle doubt in his features. "You said it yourself, she's tough. She can save herself. She'll get through this." He nodded and trained his eyes back on the door as Dr. Edwards made his way out.

Daryl swallowed a gasp when he saw all the blood on the man's hands, coat, and shirt. He crossed the hallway into two steps. "Yeah?"

The doctor looked down at his blood-covered hands. "I was able to stop the bleeding, but she lost a lot of blood beforehand. She'll need a tr—"
"BETH!" a woman's voice shouted and Daryl's head instantly snapped toward the sound. It was Maggie tearing down the hallway. He couldn't even begin to guess how she was here. "BETH!" she shouted again. Dr. Edwards' eyes glanced at Maggie, obviously disrupted by the commotion, but darted back to Daryl again.

"She needs a transfusion and quickly. The less time wasted the better. The blood storage is in the basement, and it's overrun by rotters, so I'm going to need a blood sample from everyone to find a potential match."

"Daryl! Daryl!" Maggie called him as she sprinted. "Where's Beth? Is she okay? Rick said she was shot and-"
"What blood type is she?" His question caught her off guard and she stopped suddenly, trying desperately to recall the information.

"A Positive…I think? Why? What's going on?"
"She needs a transfusion, and quickly," Dr. Edwards informed.

"Take it from me." Maggie outstretched her arm. "She's my sister. Don't siblings have the same blood types?"
"That's not necessarily true, although we should test you first."

Carol's weak voice spoke up, "I have A Positive blood. Take it from me."
Daryl felt instant anxiety. As much as he wanted Beth fixed, Carol was far too weak to be offering any of her blood. He couldn't pick between the two of them; he wouldn't. He cursed himself for never finding out his own blood type, but he was damn sure that he'd be right after Maggie finding it out.

"Carol," Dr. Edwards began. "You're far too weak to be giving any blood. You need it all."
"You don't have to do that," Rick responded, leading the rest with him. Everyone was here now: Michonne, Carl, Father Gabriel, and Lil' Asskicker, Glenn, Abraham, Rosita, Tara, and Eugene. Good the larger the pool, the more likely it was that someone would match. "I have O Negative Blood. Isn't it universal or somethin' like that?"

Dr. Edwards motioned for Rick to follow him into the room. "Roll up your sleeve. I have the equipment in here."

You guys are seriously the best. I can't believe the response that this story has gotten. I've decided to continue it, but I'm still trying to hammer out the details. If you have anything you want to see, let me know. There is one thing I want to add to the story, but I feel like it's kind of hit or miss, so I'm also very nervous. (I want to ask how you'd feel, but I don't want to give away a potential plotline, do you see my problem?) So, I've gotta get that sorted, but with classes being finished soon, the story should hopefully get my full attention then. (Hopefully because when school lets up, work picks up. A vicious cycle.)

Anyway… Welcome to the bubble of denial, my friends! Grab a glass a moonshine and kick back in a coffin. It's all good here!