In the End (Daryl Dixon x Reader)

•Chapter 7•

Your POV

I leaned back in my chair as Hershel checked Carl's blood pressure. Rick was getting more blood drawn, which was impressive that he even had any left to give.

"Pressure's stable," Hershel said.

"Lori needs to be here," Rick spoke, "She doesn't even know what's going on. I've gotta go find her, bring her back."

"You can't do that," Hershel told him.

"She's his mother. She needs to know what's happened. Her son's lying here shot."

"And he's going to need more blood," I told Rick, "Me and you—neither of us can leave. We can't go more than 50 feet from this bed."

Rick stood up, wobbling from the amount of blood he had just lost. Shane put a hand on his shoulder for balance, "I'm alright. I'm alright," Rick assured him, walking out of the room.

"I got him," Shane replied.

I leaned back in the rocking chair, rocking slowly. I took my bag out of the holster and leaned it against the wall. The adrenaline was wearing off and it hit me like a ton of bricks. I was still covered in Carl's blood, which was now dry and tacky on my skin and clothes.

"Tired?" Hershel asked.

I nodded slowly and sighed, "Yeah. Let's just say it's been a long few days."

Deciding that I couldn't sit there any longer or I'd fall asleep, I got up and walked over to Carl, grabbed the blood pressure cuff, and wrapped it around his arm. I measured his blood pressure and hummed, my brows furrowing slightly. It was dropping, not rapidly, but enough to be noticeable.

I deflated the cuff and moved the blanket off of him, seeing that his abdomen was slightly distended. "Well..." I sighed, "This isn't good."

Hershel came over, noticing his distended abdomen as well. "Hus pressure's dropping too, isn't it?"

"Yeah," I nodded. "We've gotta go tell Rick his options. Carl's gonna need surgery to get these out, and I'm doubting you the necessary equipment."

"You'd be right about that."

"Great," I mumbled, making my way toward the door. They all got up as soon as we opened the door.

"He's out of danger for the moment," Hershel told them, "But we need to remove those remaining fragments."

"How? You saw how he was," Rick replied.

"I know," I replied, "And that was the shallowest one. I need to go deeper to get the others. There's more."

"Tell me," Rick insisted.

"His abdomen is distended, his pressure's dropping, which means there's internal bleeding. A fragment must have nicked one of the blood vessels. We have to open him up, find the bleeder, and stitch it. And he can't move while I'm in there—I mean, at all. If he reacts the same as before, I'll sever an artery and he'll be dead in minutes," I told Rick, who nodded along.

"To even try this, we have to put him under," Hershel continued, "But if I do, he won't be able to breathe on his own. Same bad results."

"What'll it take?" Rick asked.

Otis stepped forward, "You need a respirator. What else?"

"The tube that goes with it, extra surgical supplies, drapes, sutures," Hershel listed off.

"If you had all that, you could save him?" Rick asked.

I sighed, "If we had all that, we could try."

"The nearest hospital went up in flames a month ago," Otis said before having a moment of realization, "The high school."