Sitting on the ground beneath the tree Daryl can feel the breeze whipping up around him, blowing the branches as fall begins to dig in its heels and creep around the corner. His side is still tender, this is one of the first days that he can actually sit up without grimacing in pain but at least his head isn't aching anymore. The bandages annoy him but he's suffered through being wrapped in them so many times throughout his life that he knows it's better to leave them be. But the one on his hairline itches something awful.
"Don't scratch it."
Looking over his shoulder a little too quickly makes him wince as his stitches pull, withdrawing his traitorous fingers from where they picked at the dressing. Carl trudges over to him, that smile on his face and despite the injuries that the kid had been through he's still happy as can be. Daryl's never been too good with kids, so when Carl slumps down to the grass beside him he's not exactly sure where to start. Fortunately Carl has no such issue.
"Hershel says I'm not allowed to scratch mine, so you can't be allowed to scratch yours. Something about dirt and infections." He shrugs, picking at the grass around them and letting it fall to the floor between them.
Daryl watches as the kid seems more than comfortable with the silence that drifts between them, not uncomfortable at all or questioning what to say. He himself is picking at his arrows, seeing if they're straight, debating if his crossbow needs to be cleaned again and trying to find anything to keep his hands and mind focussed off the kid watching him like a hawk. In the end it tips past annoying and he has to ask, "What d'ya want?"
Carl shrugs, eyes turning down to watch as his fingers pluck at the grass before reaching up to take the oversized sheriff's hat off of his head. The kid tosses his head back a little, reaching up to run his fingers through his hat hair before grinning at Daryl, holding out the hat. "Here."
Sticking the arrow into the ground he takes the hat, gripping the rim and resting it upon his knee before looking to Carl questioningly. The kid is grinning like a loon, and he even nods once as if Daryl's going to understand whatever the hell is going on in his head. "What do I want with your old man's hat?" He finally asks, gesturing to the item.
Carl rolls his eyes, giving him that look that all kids have when you can't read their mind. As if you're stupid for not getting it. "It's for you."
He blinks at that, glancing down at the hat before back up to Carl. "What?"
"You got shot." Carl explains, clearly exasperated when Daryl looks back to him blankly. The kid sighs and carries on with his explanation in the kind of voice school teachers used to use when they thought he was slow. "My dad got shot first, then when I did he said I got to wear the hat. Now you got shot, so it's your turn to wear the hat, it's only fair." He gestures to said hat as if it should all make sense.
Grinning a little at the kid's thought process he fidgets with the hat, sliding the brim through his fingers and turning the hat in his grip. "I don't think your dad meant for his hat to be passed round like that. Think you'd better keep it." Daryl holds out the hat to him, offering it back happily, knowing that the hat was more than just a hat to Rick.
"Can't, the rules of the hat means whoever got shot last gets the hat." Carl sure is a stubborn little shit, with his arms folded across his chest and a nod and smug smile as if he knows he's in the right.
"The rules of the hat?" He knows the world have gone crazy right now, but this was crossing the line.
"Yeah and you can't break the rules Daryl, so you got to wear it." The kid is grinning, a small laugh in his voice as he shoves the hat back towards Daryl.
Fine, two could play at this game. If he was going to convince the kid it seemed he was going to have to think like a kid. Pushing the hat back towards it's owner he shakes his head, tutting a little. "Well you clearly don't know all the rules of the hat. You and your dad got shot, a bullet penetrated your body, you had proper impact and injury. I just got grazed, nothing but a scratch really, something like that don't warrant the hat."
"You sure?" Carl fidgets with the brim of the hat, thinking through Daryl's line of reasoning. "It still knocked you out, it must count somehow." Damn the kid is determined, but Daryl can see how much he wants the hat and how it would break Rick's heart to see anyone else wearing it.
Shrugging he leans back against the tree, taking back up his arrow, interest in taking the hat abandoned. "Nah pretty sure the hat is only for those that took a whole bullet. You keep it till I take a one and pull through, then I'll wear it." Reaching out his free hand he takes the hat from Carl's hands, settling it on the boy's head before flicking the rim so it tilts back.
"Okay." Carl nods, adjusting the brim of the hat to keep the sun from his eyes as he stands up, dusting off the seat of his pants and smiling down to Daryl. "I'm glad you're feeling better Daryl."
"Me too kid." As Carl begins walking off back to the camp he gets an idea and calls after him. "Hey Carl?" When the kid turns to look at him he gestures to his still bandaged side playfully. "You think you can find a hat for getting hit by an arrow?"