Note: My friend and I decided to collaborate and make a Caryl story. Hope you enjoy! She writes in the POV of Daryl, nothing written as Daryl is mine. It's all hers. :3
Disclaimer; We don't own The Walking Dead, nor do we make money off of this.
"Fuckin' horse." The hunter mumbled under his breath as he trudged along the path back towards the barn, a hand resting over the wound created by the arrow in his side to hold the tied sleeve there while he let his other arm dangle at his side uselessly. In his free hand he held his buck knife, ready to swing at any stray walkers that may cross his path. In this world you could never let your guard down, no matter how hurt or exhausted you may be from exertion and dehydration. At this point along the way he was practically walker bait. It took everything in him to continue dragging his ass all the way back toward the opening of the georgian woods and step out into the blazing sun that caused him to squint and curl his lips as he let his eyes observe the scene of the farm before him. The farm seemed to be miles ahead and this thought only dragged a grunt from past the Dixon's lips.
Daryl continued to fumble forwards, head inclined toward the grass he trudged over as he approached the farm. It didn't take long for anyone to notice his presence though and he peered up through thick lashes as he heard running foot steps approach him. The exhausted hunter came to a hault, his shoulders hunched, his head and side throbbing and his throat scratching from lack of water, to lift his head and look over the bunch before him, noticing them lowering their weapons just as he breathed out a few words. His eyes on Rick as he spoke, directing it towards him, since the ex sherif was in fact pointing a gun at his head. "That's the third time yer pointin' that thing at my head. Ya gonna pull the trigger or what?" Not much else was said after that, seeing as how he had been knocked on his ass by the force of a grazing bullet. That only added onto the pounding in his head. Everything after being hauled up from the ground became fuzzy, "I was only kidding.." He slurred as he lost consciousness.
When he came back to awareness he vaugely remembered Patricia's voice and when they had noticed him stirring she had handed him something to hold against the shallow wound on the side of his temple as Hershel worked on sewing up the wound in his side. While the man worked, Daryl listened to the interaction between Hershel and Rick, whom sat in a chair on the other side of the bed. While Daryl endured the uncomfortable feeling of the pinch and pull of the thread and needle, he answered questions and explained to them the extent of his search for Sophia. After a little while of answering and explaining while being patched up, he was told to rest and was given something for the pain; which he reluctantly took.
The hunter faded in and out and for every time he faded he awoke with a bothersome thought that plagued him. First it was about Sophia and the fact that he was rendered useless momentarily, even if he wouldn't admit it. Then there was the halucination of his older brother taunting him. The very halucination that almost got him killed by those stray walkers. Something that did indeed scare him and he'd never admit that to himself either. He was a Dixon and Dixon's weren't scared of shit. That was why his pa and Merle treated him the way they did when he was a kid. Daryl was considered a pussy in their eyes and he assumed he'd always be that same kid in Merle's eyes. These thoughts plagued him and only caused his temple to ache more, bringing a sigh past his lips as he settled into the pillows and blankets upon the mattress, which he gladly let swallow him and pull him back down into a light state of sleep.
The next time he awoke he wasn't sure what had roused him, but he rubbed his eyes and leaned further into the pillow with a deep sigh, a sigh of comfort. Shit, even though he wanted to be back in his tent in his own solitude where no one could just waltz in and disturb him, he hated to admit that leaving this bed didn't even cross his mind at this point. This was the most comfortable he had been since the CDC. As Daryl let the comfort consume him, he trailed his fingers over the soft fabric of the blanket he kept draped over half of himself as he let his mind wander. Daryl never did this, so why was he doing it now? What the hell did that geezer give to him to take? All he knew was that he felt blissfully comfortable and a bit more rested and less in pain. As he let his mind wander he listened to the sounds of the other's going about their business in the house, listening to the familiar foot steps of Rick, T-Dog, Glenn and another pair, since he was still memorizing the way some of them walked. As silly as it sounded, these were the kind of things he did. Helpful in his own eyes. While he listened he shifted slightly, carefully and when he brought his hand up to rest under his cheek on the pillow did he finally realize he felt clean, like he had bathed. Now it dawned on him; Who the fuck saw him in an indecent state?