His hands were blue.

Blood covered most of Glenn's face and his head was limp, his chin resting on the top of his chest. He was bruised and, from what Daryl could see, missing a tooth, and his arms were bound so tightly to the arms of the chair that the blood flow to them had been cut.

Daryl's stomach dropped as he literally leapt into the room, his weapon forgotten as he knelt beside the chair and pressed a finger to the pale, blood-soaked throat.

A second later, he sighed in relief; he was still alive.

Determination rose where the terror inside him had quelled as he slashed through the duct tape, and strength he forgot he possessed overcame him when Glenn slumped from the chair into his arms. They were going to make it, that much Daryl was certain of, but a shaky mutter of reassurance escaped his lips all the same.

"Like hell we're going to lose you too."