"Be Careful Making Wishes in the Dark" [title taken from the song "Light 'em Up" - also known as "My Songs Know What You Did in the Dark" by Fall Out Boys]

Part 1 of 2

A/N: this is my 2nd "Walking Dead" fanfiction, and my first time writing Rick's POV. Takes place directly after Season 2's finale, before Season 3, and I please review at the end of this chapter to tell me how I did, how you felt, what you liked/disliked. I don't think I was too OOC because remember how broken and desperate Rick sounded at the end of the 2nd Season finale? That's what I'm feeding off of for this story. So, hope you enjoy. :)

"This isn't a democracy anymore."

One month later, and the words were still fresh in his mind, reverberating through his thoughts at night, screaming at him every time he looked at Lori or Carl or Carol or one of the others. There were no more votes, no more nights spent feasting with no one on guard. Literally, no more democracy. And yet the people of his rag-tag group still followed him; even when they were freezing, even when they were starving.

Even on the nights he was 75% sure he was going insane.

During the daytime, it was fine. He could focus on keeping his people together, alive. However, at night, while everyone was sleeping with one eye open, he could hear Shane's dead voice whispering in his ear, telling him he didn't have what it took to be leader. To be a husband to Lori, a father to Carl and his unborn child. Sometimes, he could even see his former partner lurking in the woods, or walking across an empty field, or staring at him through a broken window. It was at those times that Rick Grimes feared his own mind more than the walkers.

So that was why whenever Glenn asked if he needed help on a run, he'd say no. It was why whenever Hershel asked if he could be of assistance to him, he would always reply with a negative. And why whenever Daryl tried to be of aid, offering to be the former deputy's backup, Rick would tell him to stay with the others. Wouldn't let none of them get too close. And the archer Dixon would stare at him with a pointed look, as if he could see right through Grimes's steel façade, as if he could see that Rick just didn't think he could handle a new wingman, a new partner, a replacement-Shane. It was too risky in the leader's eye, too hurtful, too… everything. No, Rick told himself. He didn't need one of those, because he was determined that they never separate again. And except for the occasional runs where Rick went off alone to scout ahead or pick up a thing or two for the others, they indeed never left each other's sight.

But it was costing them. Even he could see it, though he didn't want to. Seldom runs took away most of their opportunities to find food, and there wasn't a single one of that didn't have their bones showing somewhere, now that they'd been going four weeks on the run, after the farm. Frost covered the ground now, and each house they stayed in had less and less provisions.

Their latest shelter was a gas station, minus the gas, with a small convenience store that looked as if it had been looted ten times over. Two Twinkies proved to be lunch; they would've kept to the road looking for more if the snow hadn't started to fall. It continued falling until dawn, when Rick awoke to spot a single figure standing near the doorway, pulling on a jacket and then a vest adorned with familiar white wings.

"Daryl?" He stood up, tiptoed around a slumbering Lori and T-Dog, and grabbed the hunter before he could open the door. "Where do you think you're going?"

Daryl Dixon met his gaze steadily as he shouldered his crossbow. "Gotta get us some food. There's a patch of woods nearby; gonna hunt, be back in a few hours."

Daryl wanted to leave the safety of the group and go off on his own. Alarm bells ringing in his head, Rick's grip tightened on the younger man's wrist, noting how Dixon tensed under the contact. But he didn't care at the comment. "I'm not sure that's the best idea," he stated, cocking his head, trying to look as persuasive as possible. "We'll be moving out soon. We can restock our supplies then." Together.

"No guarantee we'll find anythin'."

"No guarantee you'll catch anything either. And it's better than you goin' out there alone. Just hang tight; we'll be alright."

Daryl nodded his head towards Lori, pulling out his trump card. "Woman needs meat – real meat. Ain't gonna find that in no pussy's pantry."

He tried not to let it show how true the younger man's words were. "…even so… you shouldn't go out alone."

"I ain't gonna."

Suddenly, the archer was throwing Rick's brown denim jacket at him, along with his pistol and holster. "You can't track or hunt shit," the dark blonde said simply. " 'bout time ya learned."

"Wait, Daryl…"

But Daryl was already outside, marching towards the woods, obviously expecting Rick to follow.

"Daryl! Wait!" He trotted after him, fumbling with his holster with only one arm in his jacket. He caught up to him, panting, barely noticing the dark pink hue of the sky or the inch-deep snow laden with scattered walker tracks. "We shouldn't be out here. If the others wake up and find us gone…"

"Took care o' that a'ready," Daryl replied, not bothering to look at the other man, just keeping his eyes on the thickening forest they were in. "Left a note. Said we'd been huntin' and we'd be back in a few hours. They'll be fine. 'Sides, I also told Glenn last night that you and I was goin' out anyhow."

He stared at him with a frown, but didn't answer. They were already on their way, and leaving Daryl out here alone wasn't an option. He had seen how being in such a tight-knit group was grating on the redneck's nerves, making him more skittish and uncomfortable than usual… and a few hours couldn't prove a tragedy, could it? So Rick followed the hunter, albeit grudgingly, deeper in the woods. He couldn't help but notice how quiet it was, almost to the point of being eerie. Whenever they had gone looking for Sophia together, he and Shane had always poked fun at each other, remembered the old times. And even when they had started arguing, at least it hadn't been stone cold quiet as it was now.

Stop it, he berated himself eventually. Stop comparin' things. He glanced at Daryl, who was focusing on a nearly invisible set of rabbit tracks they had started following. There's no point to it. Daryl ain't Shane. Shane is dead.

I killed him, and Carl dropped him.

Shane Walsh had been his best friend, his partner on the force.

Daryl Dixon was some reclusive, hotheaded redneck whom he probably wouldn't have hesitated to lock up if the world hadn't gone to shit.

And why was he still comparing?

However, before he dropped the thoughts immediately, one particular trait of Daryl's he'd just noticed stuck out: the reclusive part of him. Rick pondered it a moment before confronting the puzzle out loud. "So, I thought you did all this better on your own," he said slowly. "Wanna tell me why ya brought me out here this time? I'm probably scarin' all the game away."

A grunt. "Probably. Like I said, ya can't hunt or track shit." He turned, and cocked an eyebrow, looking at where the other man had veered off the trail several feet. "Emphasis on 'track' shit."

Rick moved back into the proper position, directly behind Daryl, but didn't keep moving forward. He held the other man's gaze. "Seriously, Daryl. What's this about?"

The blonde immediately turned away, going back to studying the ground while shrugging one shoulder. "I dunno. Seems like ya could use a gettin' away, 's all."

"I appreciate that, but I can't protect the group if I'm out here hunting… excuse me, trying to hunt… bunnies."

"Yer providin' fer yer family – seems like a justifiable reason."

"Yeah, well that's just it. We don't know if it's justifiable; because even if we catch a bear, if anything happens to the group while we're out here, that cancel's out all the other factors."

Daryl just started walking again. "If ya say so."

Something about the tone those words held seemed off. Frown deepening, Rick stayed standing where he was and stuck his hands into his pants pockets, licking his lips. "You wanna say something to me, Daryl?"

He'd asked the archer something similar not long after Merle Dixon had been lost in Atlanta; and then, Daryl had leapt at the opportunity to speak his mind.* Now, while he seemed more hesitant, was no different. "Just think ya should give 'em all a longer leash," he said, turning to face Rick.

He'd expected as much. T-Dog and Glenn had made little remarks on the topic a few days ago as well. "I'm keeping them alive. You can't blame me wrong for that."

"Nah. Yer keepin' 'em breathin'… but takin' orders, marchin' along like their dead… that ain't livin'. There's a difference."

"How can you say that?"

"They ain't your soldiers, Rick."

"You think that's how I see them?" He marched over to the archer, glowering in disbelief. Daryl didn't move, just flinched ever so slightly. Rick fought to lock eye contact. "As soldiers? Those people are my family. I killed my best friend, my brother, to keep them safe. Alive. You disagree on how I protect Carol and Beth and Hershel and all the others? And you? How I keep you alive? Do you have a problem with this, Daryl."

The redneck stared steadily back, and didn't answer.

I killed my brother for you people, to keep you all safe, and this is how you feel about it? "This ain't a democracy anymore, Daryl. That way before, it nearly got us all killed. It did, some of us. I can't let that happen again." He turned around. "C'mon, we need to get back to the others, and we'll go looking for food together."

He didn't even notice Daryl wasn't following until he heard, "So yer just gonna pull a Shane on us, like a damn Nazi."

"No more living next to a barn full of things that are trying to kill us! No more looking for a little girl whose GONE!"

That's not me. That's not me. Ears burning, pulse pounding, Rick spun around and dared to slam his palm against the shoulder in front of him, sending the younger man stumbling backwards. He'd tried being calm, he'd shoved away his fear and his grief, but nobody just wanted to listen. "That what you think this is?" he spat. "A concentration camp? A dictatorship? You think I enjoy having the responsibility of keeping all of you alive, when you all want to just think for yourselves? Do you think I have too much power here? How about this, how about you lead, Daryl? You think you could handle that? You couldn't even handle looking for a little girl on a farm!"

He hadn't meant to say those last words out loud. He hadn't meant to say any of it. He'd crossed a line, and both men knew it immediately. Daryl's eyes hardened, the blue turning to ice, and at that instant the younger hunter was in his face, growling. Furious.

"Y' know what, Grimes?! Ya sit up on yer high horse, yeah, like a damn Nazi! An' ya seem ta think that I's all 'bout you 'n yer fuckin' presidential duties! All ya can think 'bout is tryin' ta find some sort of safe lil' paradise that doesn't exist!"

"You can't say that…"

"Like hell I can't! World's gone ta shit, Grimes, an' there ain't gonna be no government camp with soup n' beds for 's all! Gotta get yer head in the game!"

"Don't you tell me that I don't…"

The walker came out of nowhere, stumbling out of the brush, lunging at them. Rick danced out of the way immediately, pistol getting ripped from the holster just as Daryl's knife found it's way into the creature's skull. Just as it fell, another two took its place. And then over a dozen more all came around the bend, on the trail they had been following; one walker clutching a rabbit's decapitated head in its hand.

Rick felt his gut churn and pulse rate skyrocket; just as it had when he'd encountered his first herd on the highway out of Atlanta. "Christ."

Nobody needed to yell "Run!" The instinct was already drilled into both men's souls. Rick popped one clown with his Python before he instinctively grabbed Daryl's arm and started dragging the younger man back the way they had come, his mind screaming to keep them both alive. Because they couldn't lose anyone else. Not after the farm, after Sophia and Dale. Eventually, the hunter ripped himself away from Rick's steel grip and pulled out his knife, stabbing any walkers that got too close. Rick felt him pull away but object this time, knowing Daryl was close, focusing on the fact that he had to get to away so he could live and protect Carl and his pregnant wife. "We can't lead them back to the others!" he hollered as soon as he realized it. Without another word, he changed course, taking a sharp right and nearly colliding with several walkers before he blazed a new path away from the gas station containing his family. The new direction had him barreling through the thick of the forest, and he noticed barely several animal carcasses nearby, but his heart slowed a bit knowing that for now, he was protecting his wife and children. Protecting them sufficiently, effectively, with only himself at risk.

Not like Shane, he told himself. I'm not him. I'm not him.

He'd just run into a tiny clearing, with an old cabin visible up ahead, when he heard the cry behind him. It was pained, panicked; and suddenly his heart was racing again as he spun around in time to see his archer partner crash to the ground as five walkers descended upon his fallen, vulnerable form.

"DARYL!"

* reference to my other fanfiction "no such thing as decent", starring Rick, Daryl, and Dale.