Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

Authors Note #1: This is my fill response to an unbelievably cute prompt posted on LJ at the TWD_Kink Meme community:"Glenn/Daryl - Hypothermia: Something happens to Glenn and he needs to warm up RIGHT now. Daryl is pretty sure the world hates him. Anon's choice as to details, etc, etc! Run with it!" *Rated for: adult language, adult situations, light slash, and adorableness.

The Problem with Fruit Baskets

He'd always been pathetic when it came to the weather. In fall when people wore wind breakers and light scarves, he wore a goose down winter jacket complete with the parka hood and ear flaps. He hated fall. He hated winter. And he sure as hell hated the cold. It was like comparing a tomato to a parsnip. They just didn't fit together, not on any level.

It was a sentiment much disparaged on by his mother. "Eh, still too skinny, Yeon-in," She would mutter affectionately, ruffling his hair and stealing his hat as he took his seat at the dinner table. Still muttering on in a barely audible mish-mash of English and Korean as she despaired about 'young men and their inability to properly look after themselves' as she strode off down the hall. Spatula banging against the oven in a flurry of rhythmic taps before she reappeared with a platter piled high with his favorites, Tangpyeongchae and Kongguksu. Absolutely refusing to let him leave until she had sent him on his way with at least three or four containers stuffed to the brim with leftovers.

His Uhm-ma had always been of the opinion that no man, grown up or otherwise, should have to survive his own cooking. …God, he missed her.

So perhaps that was the reason why he didn't remember the walkers. Or the dying autumn leaves and blazing colors that had whirled around him. Caught in a sudden gust of wind the moment before the world had flipped on its head. - He didn't even fully remember the moment when that bruising shoulder had dug deep into his gut. Forcing the air from his lungs in a percussive rush as Daryl had launched himself at him. Slide tackling him out of the way a mere moment before the snapping jaws of a walker nearly ham-stringed him from behind.

But what he did remember was the water. The cold... The frigid, sub zero chill. It wasn't even a sensation; it was more like a state of being, a place that you suddenly just found yourself existing in without warning. In fact, it was so cold that for a long moment his body refused to categorize it. He just couldn't. It was too much.

…Heck, it was so cold that somewhere along the line he'd forgotten how to breathe.

His limbs went numb; blood winding down into a slow, pulsing thrum as the rushing crimson crawling just underneath his skin grew sluggish and thick. He could practically feel his cells freeze-drying on the spot, overwhelmed by the frigid burn that was steadily spreading across every inch of him, leaving only a worrisome, muted numbness its wake.

Well that couldn't be good...

He kicked his legs, tippy-toes only just scoring across the murky river bottom. He couldn't find a foot hold. Panic rose. What was he supposed to do again? Oh god. He didn't know what he was supposed to do. - He remembered only a few half muddled snatches from a guest seminar he had attended in his junior year of college. …Something about human biology and the cardio vascular system?

Shit!

He kicked to the surface at long last, inhaling half a lungful of water as he struggled to breathe. But he only got a few seconds of air before the powerful current took him under again. Vision tunneling until all he could see was the murky underside of the churning, opaque water. And the barely discernible ghosts of a few moss covered branches creaking in the powerful current. - His arms windmilled. He couldn't see which way was up. He kicked but didn't break the surface. He couldn't-...

…Though he could have sworn, just before the water roared over his head, swallowing him down with barely a froth rimmed ripple, that someone was hollering his name. The crisp syllables catching strangely against the growing roar before he lost the voice amidst the echoing thrum of his own panic stricken heart beat.

But then Daryl's hand was suddenly closing around his collar, deep voice snarling in his ear just before the water surrounding them pitched off into a vicious, rock-strewn rapid. Because just before he was sucked under, a strong, sopping wet arm clamped around his waist. Fishing him out of the main current and tossing him down into the driftwood and pebbles that lined the rivers edge like some sort of ill tempered Grizzly bear smacking fish from the shallows.

He was still spitting up water when the older man loomed over top him. Looking just about as cold and as dripping wet as he felt as the hunter knelt down and pounded a flat-edged palm against the small of his back. The sudden ferocity of the action making him promptly throw-up an unexpectedly large gut full of water that he didn't even know he had in him.

Bastard.

He could only vaguely make out the sound of the man talking. Repeating his name over and over again until it slurred in his ears like the chorus of some half forgotten song. He could only shudder into the pebbles. Choking on a harsh, liquidity sounding murmur of thanks as he let his head slip down into the cool granite and sharp shale, as he gagged up another lungful of water.

His lungs heaved, forcibly expelling a thin, acidic dribble of river water and bile as thick, muscle-bound arms curled around his shivering shoulders. - Giving him something to hold onto as Daryl let him work through the worst of the heart-wracking spasms. Far too grateful for the support to think twice about it as he buried his face into the curve of the man's chest and tried to remember how to breathe.

And he couldn't help but consider the fact, mulling it over almost off-handedly as Daryl practically dragged him back to the little hunting cabin they'd cleared only minutes before they'd been surprised by that small pack of Walkers. Too busy shivering and concentrating on trying to stay standing to realize that in order to walk one had to actually move their god damned legs, that there really was a whole lot of overly familiar manhandling going on today.

Because really, who knew that a simple hunting trip could go so fucking wrong?

The sound of his chattering teeth nearly overshot that of the door slamming behind him. Unable to stop himself as the sound began echoing into the forced stillness with a hollow, and almost high pitched tone as the man dumped him on top of the rather moldy looking couch. - He watched the older man with worrisome disinterest as his vision shuddered. Gaze going soft lidded and hazy as he followed Daryl's progress around the room. Taking in the man's hurried, but practiced movements as he shored up the doors and covered the windows with the tacky, seventy-era blinds so they wouldn't be noticed by any geeks.

But decorator's nightmare or not, as far as he was concerned this was the god damned Four Seasons.

Daryl appeared back in his line of sight so suddenly that he simply blinked up at him. River water still streaming down his face as the man yanked him upright again. Holding him steady as his knees nearly buckled in surprise, the room spinning on it's axis for a long moment before he realized he'd entirely missed what the man had said.

"Wha..?" He slurred, voice pitching just a mite too high as he shivered in place. Trying to sink further into the man's hold, desperate for the stinging, impossible warmth he could sense just underneath the man's skin.

"I said strip, com'on." The man growled, already following his own advice as the man's hands arrowed down the line of buttons on his filthy shirt. Naked down to the waist before he could even so much finish taking his next breath.

"Glenn, com'on. Gotta get ya' warm." The man repeated, words filtering down from somewhere far above his head. Voice sounding distant and soft as the importance lingering in the backdrop of the man's tone failed to permeate any farther then the outside of his ears.

Because he wasn't really listening anymore, mind getting muddled up somewhere in between differentiating the word from the consonants. Brain stuttering over a distinction he had the sneaking suspicion had never been so hard to determine as it was now.

Something was wrong… His brain was-... He was halfway through fumbling with his jean zipper before the man was up in his face again. Lips arching downward in a worried frown as predatory eyes took in the length of him.

"Oh for fucks sakes!" The man barked, huffing out a frustrated sigh as he batted his hands away, going down on his knees in front of him as he began stripping him efficiently. His movements quick but thorough as the younger Dixon made short work of his sopping jeans and navy sweater, peeling off his t-shirt like an afterthought as he let the clothing stay where they fell, shucked off and dripping into the warped wooden floor boards without even so much as a second thought.

And despite it all, he couldn't help but think that if he wasn't absolutely positive that he would never regain feeling in all his extremities, this probably would have been rather arousing. -…Thank god he couldn't spare the blood flow for anything more then half hearted flush, or else Daryl would have probably burst a blood vessel.

"And don't get any funny ideas either." Daryl suddenly added, voice filtering up from somewhere between his navel and right hip. Clearly gnawing on the inside of his cheek as the man's fingers flipped open the top button of his jeans, undoing the zipper with the crook of his knuckle even as he wrestled the thick, uncooperative fabric down the length of his sodden thighs.

He just blinked at that. Letting the words percolate in his brain for a long moment before realization slowly dawned.

And if he could have figured out how to make his lungs work he might have laughed at that …Ideas? His balls had probably shriveled up so small he might as well have rewound past puberty.

…Dumbass.

A/N: Please let me know what you think? Or indeed if I should continue? Reviews and constructive critiquing are love!

Glossary:

- "Yeon-in": is the Koreans word for: "Sweetheart".

- "Tangpyeongchae": is a Korean dish made with Nokdumuk (a bean starch jelly) and vegetables.

- "Kongguksu": is a Korean dish made up of a cold noodle dish with a broth made from ground soy beans.

- "Uhm-ma": is the Korean word for: "Mom" (the informal term).

"Drown in a cold vat of whiskey? Death, where is thy sting?" -W. C. Fields