Rick knew going off by himself wasn't the smartest idea. But when he recognized those men from the house, he was grateful Carl and Michonne weren't with him. There was something different about the group now though, something they currently had that they didn't before. Or at least Rick hoped. He hadn't seen all of them previously.

One was sporting the all too familiar vest Rick recognized with the wings on the back, another wielding the Stryker crossbow. And it made his stomach churn at the thought of his friend, his brother, being left to die out there. Or worse. Because there was no way Daryl could have taken the whole lot of them on, alone.

This was where it got tricky though. Rick knew he had to confront them, knew one in their group would remember him from within that house. Knew they would kill him. But he couldn't involve his son and Michonne in this. He couldn't risk it. He also couldn't risk going back for them or leaving this newfound group of marauders. So, naturally, he'd wait until the timing was right. He kept a watchful eye on the gang of men, listened in on what he could, clenched his fists in anger over and over and over.

He didn't make himself known until the sun was long gone, the moon shining above. The cicadas in the night were as loud as ever, the small fire they had going enough light to illuminate all Rick needed. Half of the men were asleep. And with a firm hand on what appeared to be the leader's shoulder, Rick crouched behind him, Colt Python pressed to the man's temple.

"Now I'm only gonna ask once," Rick began, his voice raw with anger. He slightly craned his head to the side, a slight pop giving way as he all but whispered in the man's ear, "Where'd you get the vest and crossbow?"

No matter how threatening Rick tried to portray himself, it seemed futile. The gray haired man just unleashed a chuckle as though Rick was nothing more than a mere joke. Perhaps he was, thinking he could take them.

"Tony, you mind shining a little light on the situation at hand?"

Rick glanced over to the man who got to his feet, bandana wrapped around his head. There was a slow spreading grin as they locked eyes for the second time. "We got him, Joe."

Joe immediately threw his head back, crashing into Rick's face and instantaneously bloodying his nose. Rick kept a hold of his gun as he stumbled back, regretting his crouched position as he landed on his behind, defenseless. The other men were coming to and taking up a position to surround him alongside Joe and Tony.

"Well, I'll be damned. How lucky are we? We've been trying to track you but instead, you come to us." Joe was facing him now, hands in his pockets and a smug grin etched on his face.

Rick got back on his feet and wiped his sleeve across his nose. With five good-sized men surrounding him and no true foolproof plan, he had his arms full.

"Now, what was it you were saying about a vest and crossbow?" Joe inquired, taunting.

Rick raised his revolver but was met with various weapons being raised to meet him in return. He narrowed his eyes at Joe, trying to get a reading, but of course, the man showed nothing. "You know what I said."

"I do." Joe nodded, taking a step back. He pulled his arms behind his back and slightly paced. "But what I don't know is why you'd have any interest in these items. Surely you knew this plan of yours was suicide."

"Maybe he knew him," the one aiming Daryl's crossbow at Rick's back spoke.

Rick's trigger-finger itched at the mentioning of Daryl in past tense. He had little to no hope for anyone making it out of the prison, but that all changed when Michonne found them. And if anyone could make it on their own, it was certainly Daryl. The thought of him meeting his demise through these animals...

"So we're at somewhat of a crossroad here. We have something you want, you have something we want..." Joe shrugged. "...in a sense."

"Where is he?" Rick ground out through gritted teeth.

"Let's just say things didn't quite work out between us."