Disclaimer: The Walking Dead and any related characters are property of AMC, Robert Kirkman, etc. I am not profiting in any way from this work of fiction.
Carol felt like a child again. The bee had stung her and her first reaction had been to yell, not a wise decision out in the woods where walkers could be unpredictable.
Daryl lowered his crossbow and gave her a look; Carol knew that look meant to be quiet, what the hell are you yelling about, don't go making us walker bait.
Her eyes filled with tears and she let out a slew of curses.
Carol hated bee stings. She was lucky enough to learn that she was mildly allergic when she was around seven years old and got stung on the cheek, which made her face swell like Quasimodo and caused everyone on the playground to laugh at her before someone eventually figured it was necessary to get help.
"What the hell is wrong with ya?" He looked uncomfortable, probably from her language. She rarely cursed, and discouraged everyone in the prison from doing so as well – there were children present, they didn't need to hear those things.
She wrinkled her nose and used her hand to wipe the tears from her face. "I got stung by a damn bee." To illustrate her point, she held her arm out to him and pointed at the welt that was beginning to form. "It hurts like hell." The tears kept coming, no matter how hard she tried to stop them. It made her feel weak. After all of the things she had been through, a bee sting was making her weep like a four year old with a skinned knee.
"Quit the waterworks, woman. Just a damn sting." He grabbed the offered arm and looked at the small wound. He let go and pulled his wallet of his back pocket. He fished out his useless drivers license and used it to pop the bee's stinger out of her skin. He put the card and wallet back, then dug into his bag and pulled out a pouch of chewing tobacco. "This is the gross part." He took a wad from the pouch and shoved it into his mouth. He chewed on the wad for a bit, then pulled the soggy and sticky mess onto her arm. "Don't move." The rag in his back pocket served as a makeshift bandage, holding the tobacco in place.
Once the pain dissipated, Carol spoke. "Thanks, Daryl."
"Lucky I grabbed this shit on the last run," he commented, shoving the tobacco back into his rucksack. "I'd have to tan ya ass if I had to use the last of my cigarettes." He threw his bag over his shoulder again. Daryl was clearly ready to move.
"Maybe I'll get stung again so you have to," she replied with a smirk.
Daryl turned as red as the rag tied around her arm. "Stop..."