Let a Sleeping Dog Lie
Rick's heart stopped the moment Andrea's voice tore across the field. She leapt to her feet from her perch on the RV, leveling the rifle to her shoulder as she went.
"Andrea stop." Dale called. "It's just one Walker; let them take care of it."
The ex-sheriff didn't wait around to hear her furious retort, just snatched his revolver from the table and tore off after Shane and T-dog.
The sun was behind the Walker obscuring Ricks view, making him squint against the harsh rays. Their mad dash had brought them to the tree line, each man slowing as they adjusted their grip on their weapons. T-dog was readying to swing his baseball bat, but paused mid windup, when the Walker stumbled to a halt. Rick squinted harder and was struck with recognition. "Daryl?"
The man just swayed where he stood, seemingly oblivious to the blood that was trailing down his chin to his chest, mingling with the dirt that covered the gnarly scar that was a slash across his ribcage. The same scar that Rick had always been curious about but never asked after. He had seen it only once, before the man had finished buttoning his shirt, leaving Rick to wonder if he had only imagined it.
"Daryl?" Rick tried again, hand twitching around the stock of his revolver. He tried to find the man's eyes but they were lost against the glaring sun.
The man's lips parted and words drawled slowly out of him. "You just gonna stand there, or are you actually gonna shoot me?"
A quick sigh came from T-dog, letting the tight tension that they were all feeling out into the open. T-dog stepped forward, hand reaching out, just as Shane started to…
The gunshot struck Rick's ears after Daryl had collapsed to the ground, blood flying from his head.
"NO!" The four men lunged forward, falling upon the Dixon like a pack of frenzied nurses. Ricks hand pressed against his temple, hot blood pooling in his palm.
"Shane!" The voice that issued from Grime's throat was high, terrified, just like when Carl was shot, just like the time he thought he had lost his son.
His oldest friend dropped down beside him, wrapping his arm around Daryl's torso, "Come on Rick, We need to get him to Herschel."
They pulled the Dixon up, wrapping his arms around their shoulder, and their own around his waist.
They drug him toward the farm house, hardly slowing when curses started pouring from Dixon's lips, alerting them to whenever the man drifted to and from consciousness. "I didn't mean it." He groaned once.
Herschel met them five steps from the farm house porch, lips pressed in a tight line as his eyes scoured the group before him.
"Is he bit?
Shane snarled," I don't know!"
Herschel pointed to the bloody mass of cloth at Dixon's side. "If he's bit, he's not coming inside."
Rick readjusted his grip, pulling the man's snugger across his shoulders. "He's unconscious, we can't ask him."
"Then take his clothes off, find out before he bleeds out."
Shane's eyebrows bent into a firm line, a deep crease developing between them. He and Rick eased Daryl to the ground, motioning for Glenn to help prop him up as Rick went to work, buttons flying as they separated from the thread. His knuckles brushed the scar as he pulled fast the first few buttons. He tried not to think of it, but it got harder, with every popped button exposed skin ravaged by old wounds. Shane helped pull the shirt off over the man's limp arms, when Rick passed it off to him. Eyes falling on the rough hole punched through Dixon's side.
"It's not a bite." Rick said.
But god, there were so many scars.
-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-
Daryl came to the moment Herschel stuck a needle through his flesh. Rick watched as the man grit his teeth and crushed his eyelids together against the pain but he didn't make a sound.
"Daryl." Ricks voice was quiet, soft, and different from his hands which pressed firm against the man's shoulder and hip, keeping his still as the veterinarian worked.
The man's jaws snapped open, along with his eyes. "Get off me Grimes."
"I need him to keep you still." Hershel's slow voice cut in.
"I ain't a pussy," Daryl snapped, "Don't need him…" But he drifted out of consciousness, then back into it a moment later. Rick removed his hands when he saw the Dixon's lips pull back in the start of a snarl. He took a miniscule step back.
"Can you tell me what happened?" Rick tried to distract him.
The man blinked his eyes unfocused but his voice was sure when he replied, though the words came slowly. "Saw the girls doll…from the ravine. It was just on the edge of the river. Moved on following the water, went down away but the horse spooked, saw something, snake maybe, could a been anything. Fell…"
"Off the horse?" Rick asked quietly, sinking down into the chair beside the bed.
The other man shook his head slightly, dirty locks flopping heavily on his forehead. "Down the ravine. " He grimaced when another stitch was made. "One of the bolts ended up in my side. Tried climbing out, but I fell again, Walker was gnawing my boot…had to pull it out. Merle…" He paused then grimaced, face flushing slightly. "Made it out after, came back to the farm house…"
His eyes sprung open and he flailed angrily, grunting when Hershel jerked back to avoid his limbs, pulling the thread along with him. "Who the fuck shot me!"
Rick jerked back avoiding Dixon's swinging leg, then stepped forward, hand coming down to stop the man. Ignoring as he made to flinch away. "It don't matter who shot you. You're safe now, that's all that matters."
"Fuck you Grimes. Is that what you told Merle when you cuffed him to the roof?"
"Daryl."
"Shut up!"
Herschel put a hand on Daryl's shoulder. "Son I need you to stay still, I need to sew this up before you lose more blood. Rick I'm going to ask you to leave for a few minutes. Go get a map so he can show you where he found the girls doll."
Daryl let out a prolonged sigh when Rick removed his hands and moved towards the door, watching them both with probing eyes.
The Vet finished stitching the hole on his back when the Sherriff returned, map in hand. The vet started on the second, letting out a few choice words. "We're going running out of antibiotics the way you people get hurt."
"Then keep them, I don't need it." Daryl snapped.
"Son you need them more than Carl, who knows what was on that arrow."
Rick unrolled the map before they could delve farther into a yelling match. "Daryl, show me where you were."
The man's eyes flicked up at him in a glare, but his finger snaked out and made a circle around one of the grids. "Found the doll round here." His finger tapped near the river, a few miles up from the waterfall.
"That cuts the search area down by half."
Daryl just grunted and closed his eyes against the pain of another stitch.
"You did right by that little girl." Rick rolled the map, waiting for a response that didn't come. His hand came down upon the other man's shoulder, before he drifted out the room.
-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-
Daryl refused the painkillers Hershel offered, pulling the sheet up around his shoulder when the man had finished wrapping bandages around his torso. He didn't need them anyway, the way his head felt heavy under the wrappings. He assumed it was just the concussion, but his eyelids slowly slipped down, and they didn't come back up.
It was the creak of the door that woke him. His eyes flashed open when it was followed by soft footsteps, nearing the bed until they paused. Something clinked against the table.
"How're you feeling?" Carol asked her voice calm, mothering.
He flinched at the sound, yanking the sheets up high over his wound, hiding his weakness. His shoulders curled towards his ears, and he adjusted uneasily. "Been better."
"I brought you dinner." Which explained the noise, he looked at her over his shoulder, awkwardly, the fiddled some more with the sheets.
He jerked when she moved towards him and kissed his temple in a fast sweep, her hand rested momentarily on his ribcage, she moved away just as fast, the action smooth, unburdened. He gave her the eye and the look on her face told him she knew. She knew because he wasn't the first one to be hurt by the people who were supposed to love him.
Her eyes were soft when she told him. "You need to know something; you did more for my little girl today, than her own daddy did in his whole life.
"I didn't do anything Rick or Shane wouldn't have done."
"I know," She replied, eyes glancing down. "You're every bit as good as them."
She left the room, closing the door gently behind her.
Daryl sat watching the closed door, eyebrows bent, mouth tight, expecting her to come in and retract her statement when she realized that she didn't mean it. The clock slowly ticked from the bedside table, Carol didn't return.
He slowly eased himself up against the bed's headboard, leaning most of his weight on his uninjured side, making him angle awkwardly away from the food tray. There was a glass filled with red liquid, probably some sort of fruit punch. Daryl never liked the stuff, it was too sweet, and it turned your teeth red, a color they shouldn't be unless they were covered in blood. He never like that too much either. The taste of his own blood.
There was a small portion of meet on the plate, a dull listlessness pink, which spoke of some type of canned ham. A few vegetables, also pale. Watery cauliflower. There was a roll however, tanned brown like one of his high school flings. He picked it up, ripped a corner and smeared it though the butter pat that rest beside the ham on the plate. He popped it in his mouth, chewed, swallowed…
His stomach revolted before it even passed throat. He hacked it back up, eyes flashing black; He spat it out onto the plate, leaning back into the pillows, then down onto his side as nausea took over. He pulled the sheets up over his head and hid from the world.
-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-
The Grimes group looked up when Carol reentered the room sans one tray of food.
"How is he?" Dale's voice floated through the kitchen, from his spot near the sink, drying towel in hand. He was next to Andrea who was mindlessly scrubbing the dirty dishes like they had done something to personally piss her off.
"He's fine…" She sighed as she sank down beside Lori, who was organizing the dried dinner ware back into the cupboards. Carol lowered her voice, though it did her little good, the group would still be able to hear, hopefully the others were polite enough to pretend not to hear. "My being there worried him."
Andrea froze and Lori's mouth turned down. "Why would it worry him?"
The older woman's eyes went hard and her lips made a hard line. "When I was a young girl, I had a good friend who had abusive parents. Whenever she was sick, or after she took a beating, she'd come hide at my house until it passed. I don't think Daryl had that luxury."
Lori let out a drawn sigh, rubbing at her temples. "You think we should talk to him?"
Carol opened her mouth to answer but Dale drifted into the conversation, with the same quiet ease he did everything else. "He may be hurt, but it's still Daryl. He's probably not going to want to talk about anything. God knows we've tried."
"You say it like he's just a dog licking his wounds." Carol frowned, arms pulling tight across her chest, in an awkward sibilance of a hug.
Dale turned to her, wiping a dish dry. "I don't mean it like that, it's just…Daryl…he's never been the easiest to work with."
Carols frown deepened and she stood. "He may surprise you."
She went to check on him a few minutes past nine, slipping into his borrowed room after a quiet knock on the door, having waited a few seconds for a reply that never came. The room was dark, even with the light that poured in from the hallway. "Darly?" She asked quietly.
No answer, asleep then.
She eased over to him, repeating his name in a firmer tone, not wanting to spook him if he suddenly woke up. She shouldn't have bothered; the man stayed firmly asleep, breathing deep but ragged. She touched his shoulder gently, and he flinched against the contact, torso curling, knees pulling up, becoming smaller. Because being smaller made it harder for you to be noticed, and when you weren't noticed no one paid you any attention, especially when that attention brought things you wanted to avoid.
"Oh Daryl." She sighed, hand pressing down against fever soaked skin. She waited for a moment, then gathered the food tray and took it away, frowning when she found the food disturbed, but uneaten.
-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-
The hunter woke slowly feeling like he fucking got trampled by something big and mean. Not to mention his side itched something fierce, like that one time Merle shoved him down a hill and he ended up in a mass of poison ivy. He worried at it, scratching at the bandages, despite the pain it caused.
He dug his nails into it, the itching pain getting worse and worse, along with the pounding in his head. Something shattered on the lower level, causing Daryl to wrench around, gasping. It was followed by a quiet uproar, as whoever dropped the thing made apologies and bustled about cleaning the mess. He forced his hand away from the wrappings, trying to ignore the rust and red colored spots that soaked the once white cloth.
Huffing, he swiped a wrist across his eyes, hating the way it came away greasy and dirt roughened. You sure are fucked now Dixon.
Slowly he forced himself up, swinging his legs off the edge of the bed, catching sight of purple hued bruises that ran around his entire body. All of them angry and a few swollen, with others circled by the green yellow of healing sores.
He grabbed at the bed post when he fell forward, knees bucking. He swore darkly, trying to catch his balance, ended up half stumbling across the room, before he managed to catch himself against the wall. "FUCK!" He snarled slamming his fist against the drywall.
He felt cold and too hot all at once. He wrapped his arms around himself, looking for his shirt. Thanking god they left his pants on, one less thing to worry about. With no shirt in sight he eased his way across the room to the dresser and pulled open the top drawer.
No luck.
It was stuffed with socks ranging from girly to girlier. "Ain't a fuckin woman." He grumbled sliding the drawer shut. He made his way back to the bed, pulling the sheet off it. Drawing it round his shoulders he felt childish but hardly cared. Then pulling open the door he slowly trudged down the hallway.
Daryl was satisfied to find he was on the first floor, doubting he could have made it down a flight of stairs the way he was weaving drunker than his old man when he walked, despite his best efforts to stay in a straight line.
Lori looked up when he stumbled past Carl's room, hardly sparing a glance at the open door. Despite his lack of interest in it, she rushed to her feet the moment he came into view, his name whipping out of her mouth like a cry of pain after a bee sting. "Daryl! You shouldn't be up."
He regarded her like a rutting deer sizing up another opponent, questioning if it was an argument worth getting into. Apparently it was. "Still haven't found Sofia." He was adamant.
The brunette moved towards him, hands up, appeasing. "Rick and Shane are handling it. You need to get back to bed. You're hurt."
He let out a snort of dissent. "'m fine."
Her hand pressed against his arm, fingers closing around the thick muscle. "Please Daryl," She took a step forward, forcing him back knowing he'd want to keep his own window of personal space. He hardly realized how she was playing the game, or he would have made a stand just to oppose her.
He struggled against her when she started to pull him back down the hall, other hand pushing firmly against his back.
Little good it did him after the woman got it into her mind what she wanted to do. There never was any stopping them after that. His Ma had been the same way, a drinker like his father, and irritable to boot, nigh unstoppable when she got something into her head. She was like Daryl that way…She was like Daryl a lot of ways, at least from what he'd heard.
Merle had always told him he took after their Ma too much, it wasn't manly, he had insisted when he was fifteen and Daryl a decade younger. The younger boy just shrugged, not like he knew her anyway, not after she had runoff when he was barely walking.
Lori shoved him through the door to his borrowed bed with strength that was unfounded in such thin arms. She muttered the entire time she forced him onto the bed, half snarled the second, and outright snapped the third. "Stay there!"
He froze, foot half off the side of the bed, neck craned round to watch her with cautious eyes. "Daryl," Why was it they always said his name before talking to him? Did they not think he was paying attention? "Daryl, just stay in bed. You're not well enough to be running around yet. It's a miracle you even made it back in the first place. Just do yourself a favor, even if it's just this once. Stay in bed. Heal up. You'll be more use to Sophia then, than you are now."
She gave him a firm stare until he eased himself onto his uninjured side, facing way from her, back tingling as he felt her eyes on him, going over his the old scars the crossed his shoulders and traveled down his spine. Because he knew she must be looking at them, had to be judging him, had to be making assumptions. He craned his neck around to stare her down, and their eyes met. She bent to pick up the sheet that had fallen to the floor in their readjustment dance, and took hold of it by the corners. She swung her arms up and let it unfurl, just like Daryl remembered his grandmother doing when she made up beds. The cotton floated down gently over him, and Lori gave it a few tugs into place. "Just stay here. I'll bring you some food and have Herschel stop in."
She turned and left before he could complain.
As it was, Herschel arrived before the food did. Shirtsleeves stained with motor grease, but he pushed them up to his elbows before checking Daryl bandages and shining a flashlight in his eye.
"The concussions going to be slow to clear." Was all he said, before rewrapping the bandages that encircled his head and abdomen.
Lori returned a few minutes after the old man left, tray in hands. She didn't bother knocking, just pushed the door open, walked around the length of the bed and set the tray down beside him. She checked herself when her hands jumped to help him up, pulling away to let him readjust himself, the majority of his weight resting on his right forearm.
"I hope you don't mind," She said, "That I scrambled them. I remember you prefer them runny." She meant the eggs, which sat a chunked yellow pile on his plate, he squinted a bit, and wondering if that was cheese he saw mixed in with them.
"Didn't expect you to remember." He grunted, picking at them with a fork which rested in his left hand, making the whole maneuver even more awkward than it already was. She watched him struggle with half lidded eyes.
"This isn't the first group of people I've even had to deal with. You should have seen our family's Thanksgiving."
She stopped when he didn't respond, just eyed her with a sour face. "I put a few ibuprofen on the tray should help you're fever go down."
Fever. He watched over his shoulder as she walked away. When could he have a fever when he felt so cold?
Merle was standing by the side of the bed when Daryl woke, thumbs hooked into his pockets, mouth swelling as he gnawed on a wad of chewing tobacco. The older man spat a stream which spattered across the floor. "Well look here little brother, ain't you just snug as a bug."
"Shut up Merle." Daryl groaned, arm reaching up to cover his eyes. "You ain't real. Just shut up."
"I ain't real little bro?" The older man crowded into his space, arms coming down to rest beside him on the bed, hands seeming unnaturally large with fingers splayed. "Is that what you want to tell yourself? That I ain't real? I'm as real as it gets little bitch. Or are them scars telling you something different?"
Daryl snarled and swung at him, arm passing this his elder brother's torso. "You ain't fuckin' real! Leave me alone."
Merle laughed, throaty and dry." Whatever you say man, whatever you say." His finger tapped down against his brother's chest, cold and insubstantial. The scar on his chest stung and burned when the apparition's finger pressed down. "Just remember, I'm as real as this is."
Daryl growled, legs churning as he leapt out of bed, side burning.
Merle's apparition flicked away, leaning against the wall, smirk firmly in place. "Just remember little brother; I made you everything you are."
"Daryl?" Carol poked her head inside the doorway, a tray of food in her hands.
He swung around to face her, eyes wide, expression drawn and pale. His teeth flashed in a snarl, more like a wild animal that she had ever seen him. "Leave!" He roared.
The tray crashed to the ground as she turned and fled.
Lori stuck her head out the door of Carl's room, just in time to see the woman rushing nearer. "Carol?" She grabbed at the woman's arm, pulling her to a stop. "What's wrong?"
The grey haired woman just shook her head, lips pressed tight.
Pulling her into a hug, Lori's hands ran up and down Carols back. "Shh, it's ok."
Her eyes fell onto the spilled food and broken china outside Daryl's room and anger swelled inside her.
Rick, Shane, Glenn and Andrea returned from searching for Sophia empty handed. Their countenances drawn and eyes dull.
Lori met them by the RV. "Rick," her voice was harsh as she grabbed him by the arm and drew him away. "You need to talk to Daryl."
"Why?" The sheriff's head jerked up, worry sparking in his eyes. "What's wrong with him?"
"He yelled at Carol."
Rick paused, turning it over in his head. It wasn't unusual for Daryl to make a fuss over things. Being ornery was the way he got things done, at least, when he was dealing with people. All the same though, he had never seen any of that anger directed at a woman before. That in itself seemed off.
"Alright." Sweeping off his hat he ran a hand through his hair. "I'll go talk to him; don't know what good it'll do."
Lori pressed a quick kiss to his mouth. "Chew him out for me."
Rick didn't expect to discover Daryl hunched over on his bed when he entered the room. He found the man's inactivity odd, never having seen him stay still for longer than a few moments whenever they settled down after a day of travel. He supposed it was because Daryl spent so much of his time on hunts frozen, waiting for the prey to walk close enough to get off a shot. The man must have had to burn off all that collected energy at other times.
"Grimes." The redneck surprised Rick by speaking first, twisting his neck around so he could see the sheriff without turning his body. He looked oddly pale in the dim light, eyes glazed and dull, feverish.
The dark haired man stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "I heard you yelled at Carol."
It was odd to see the man try and disappear within himself, shoulders curling, as if he were expecting a sudden pain. "Didn't mean to."
"No I'm sure you didn't, but you still did it, want to tell me why?" Grimes shook his head at the absurdity of the situation. Here he was treating a grown man like his son, rubbing his nose in his actions like a bad dog. And it seemed like Daryl was going to let him get away with it.
Blue eyes flicked down, taking in wrinkled bed sheets, then head flicking to watch a corner of the room, which was manly hidden in shadow. For a moment, he didn't reply, just sat, mouth twitching as if holding an internal conversation.
"Fuck off Grimes." Daryl finally turned to him and regarded him bitterly. "You can't play this shit with me." He seemed to grow with each word that poured from his mouth. Shoulder uncurling, arms tensing. "I ain't your fucking bitch." He muttered.
"What?" Rick was severely confused. He strode forward, standing at the front of the bed, making it easier to profile the other man, figure out where he was coming from.
"Don't you fucking get it Grimes? I want you to go away."
Rick held up his hands. "No. Not till you tell me what's wrong."
Daryl stared at him. "I should kill you for what you did to Merle."
It was less of an evasion than the fact Daryl's mind couldn't seem to focus on one topic for long. Rick could only imagine the frustration the man's mother must have felt when the man had fallen sick as a boy.
Rick just stared back, blank faced and nonchalant. "Yah you probably should. But if you really meant to wouldn't you have done it by now?"
That seemed to throw him for a loop. The hunter's eyebrows knit together, actions stilling before they picked up again, just as restless as before, fiddling with the sheets, looking back into that corner, lips moving silently, talking to it.
"Daryl?" Rick grabbed his arm, experiencing a flash of heat before the other man yanked away, turning back to glare and snarl at the Sherriff.
"Merle says I should kill you." Daryl rose to his feet, one hand unconsciously making its way to cover his injured side.
Rick backed away, hands up and placating. "What you do mean 'Merle says?' "
Frustration colored his actions, unoccupied hand sweeping in a fast arch to point at the empty corner. "You fucking blind! He's right here, Grimes! He's in this fucking room."
"Daryl." Again with his name. Didn't these people ever stop! Daryl this Daryl that. Why don't they just wipe their own fucking ass for once? "He's not here. It's just you and me. We haven't seen Merle in a month, you know this."
"Damn it Grimes Don't lie to me!" His breath came out in laborious heaves. "Don't you fucking lie to me."
"I'm not lying to you Daryl. I promise I'm not lying to you. I need you to calm down, you aren't feeling well, just calm down for me and I'll have Herschel come look at you ok. Just relax." Grime's words poured out like cold molasses; his hands remained high, palms flat and up. A sign of surrender.
Time creaked by painfully slow, both of them standing frozen, waiting for the other to give in. Silence reigned for what could have been five minutes before Daryl legs decided to give the heave ho, knees buckling as he took a dive for the floor, barely managing to catch himself on the mattress. His glare turned doleful, but his mouth remained a firm frown.
Rick realized it was as good as a surrender as Daryl was going to give him tonight and he opened the door to call in Herschel.
He grasped the older man's forearm as he passed a silent plea for help, which the man did not acknowledge.
He watched as Herschel worked in silence, directing Daryl with a few well-placed presses and a calm sincerity in his words that only came from working with spooked animals. Rick watched as he forced a small army of pills down the man's throat, then as quietly as he came he left, dragging Rick in his wake.
When the door was firmly closed behind them and they had traveled halfway down the hall Rick raised the question that had been bothering him for the past half hour. "What wrong with him?"
Herschel let out a dry laugh. "You mean besides the obvious?"
Ricks glare held no room for nonsense.
"The man's running a high fever on top of a concussion, what I can only assume are cracked ribs, and an arrow wound which is starting to get infected despite the antibiotics and my best care."
"Can you fix it?"
"I've been trying Rick. There are some things that take more than mid-strength antibiotics to heal, and whether or not he recovers is going to be up to him. He's go to rest, and he needs to keep on the pill regimen, otherwise that wound is going to fester and you'll have one less person in your group no matter what I do."
The sigh released painfully from Ricks mouth. "Ok Herschel, thank you."
"You can thank me when those sleeping pills start working, Rick. You've got about fifteen minutes to get him to eat something before he crashes." The old man turned and walked away.
-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-
Pulling open one's eyes after being drugged with a heavy sedative was not a new experience for Daryl. Merle and his Pa had made sure of that. However it was the first time he had woken with the drug induced heaviness and he hadn't been expecting it. Pushing himself up with a growl, he couldn't shove off the molasses like drag forced upon his body.
"That son of a bitch." He sniped, pushing himself to his feet, ignoring the pain that sparked in his side. He stumbled around the bed, grabbing a T-shirt that someone had left for him atop the dresser. He pulled it on, yanking it down, ignoring the way it hung too loosely around his waist, obviously bought for a man a good bit larger than he. Eyes scouring the room for his crossbow feeling a flash of anger when he didn't see it, though he supposed Herschel wouldn't let it in his house being a fucking pacifist like he was.
He slid his feet into this boots, not bothering to lace them up, just shoved the ends under the tongue. He stumbled out the room, quietly as he could in heavy soled boots.
The sun glared brightly from its high spot in the sky, prompting sweat to spring from Daryl's forehead when he stepped outside. He paused just outside the doorway, ears pricking as he heard a crack and a grunt. Someone must be chopping firewood. He'd have to avoid their sight. The hunter squinted toward the small circle of tents, trying to find any other hanger a rounder's that he'd have to avoid. The whole mess was oddly empty, his eyes only landing on Carol, where she stood back turned, scrubbing at some laundry.
Daryl moved silently though the long grass, easily maneuvering past Glenn who was intent upon chopping wood. Carol would give him more trouble though, seeing as she kept turning back toward the camper when she hung the wash.
He hid behind one of the tents, waiting until Carol had turned away to make a dash for the RV, pulling the door open and dipping inside. He paused in the stairway, hand on the door handle, hearing nothing besides his own ragged breathing. He crept inside, scouring the interior for this crossbow, finally finding it tucked in the closet, beside the rest of the guns the group had been forced to hide away. Bending down he couldn't help but groan as his fingers clasped around the last arrow to his name, the same one that had pierced his side.
He pulled back the crossbows string with a muffled curse, wincing as the motion pulled at the stitches in his side and the scab that had formed between them. He knocked the arrow and slid the bow over his shoulder before exiting the vehicle. Forgetting himself as he allowed the door to slam shut behind him. Carol jerked like a frightened doe, eyes wide and rimmed in white.
"Daryl?" Even her voice was like a deer, quivering in anticipation.
He couldn't help the flush that spread over his face, eyes cutting down. His hand closed around the excess fabric of shirt. "The others out looking fer Sophia?"
She snapped out the shirt in hand. "No they're having gun practice."
Daryl snorted easing the grasp he had on his shirt. "Course they are."
She clipped it to a laundry line and turned toward him hands on hip, losing all semblance of a deer as she seemed to grow with mothering qualms. "What are you doing out of bed?"
He shook his head, stepping away. "I need to find Sophia."
Her hand flew to her face, a quiet sigh slipping through her fingers. "Daryl…"
Shaking his head, he moved away, stumbling slightly over the uneven camp ground ,avoiding Carol's outstretched hand and her insistent call. He made it across the field but stopped when he reached the tree line to do up his bootlaces. He glanced over his shoulder, and saw Carol watching him, Glenn at her side. The woman's arms gesturing frantically in his direction. Best be getting along then.
He stood, readjusting his crossbow and set out into the forest.
It was slow going, retracing his footsteps through the woods. He knew he wouldn't be able to make it past the ridge without a horse before it turned dark, especially with the way his breath left him in heaves and gasps, and his side pulsed darkly with every step.
It didn't stop him from walking done one of the paths he had traveled days ago, planning on retracting his steps until he found somewhere new.
He was surprised when he found himself back at the old farmhouse. The windows dark, curtains still pulled closed. He made a circuit around the house, noting that the back door had swung shut in the time he had been away.. He swung his crossbow down from his shoulder; unoccupied hand closing around the doorknob, turning it slowly easing his was quietly into the kitchen. He paused, leaving the door open; to allow for a quick escape should it prove necessary. His eyes cut around the room, noting the slight shifting of debris in the trashcan, and the half closed cupboard.
He kicked the pantry door, springing away as it swung open. Finding it empty once again, he paused a moment, before ducking inside, hand falling upon the soft fabric. It was warm.
A breath hissed through his teeth as he straightened quickly. "Sophia?" The word left his lips before he could check the volume. A startled bump resounded from upstairs, followed by a muffled whimper, which was feminine in tone.
Heart beating fast in his chest, Daryl crept slowly up the stairs, readjusting his sweaty grip on crossbow.
"Sophia?" He called softly. Stopping before he was fully upstairs, back resting on the stairwell.
The scuffle came again, from the room on his left. He eased himself fully into the hallway. Calling out again as his hand reached for the door knob.
Suddenly he was on the ground, a heavy weight upon his back, an arm pressing against his neck, forcing his cheek hard against the scuffed wood floors.
He struggled even as swears poured from his lips, adrenaline running high as spots of black appeared in his vision.
"Well look here little brother."
Daryl wheezed, "Merle?", and then winced as a finger brushed heavily over the scabbed gunshot wound.
"What happened here? You're precious little group aren't taking care of you? Should have expected that now shouldn't you ya little prick?" Hot air brushed against his ear, and the weight against his neck relinquished as Merle removed his weight, straddling the younger man's torso. "They ain't blood like me and you."
"Get off me." Daryl shoved Merle off and stumbled to his feet. Turning to face his brother as the other man straightened, eyes narrowing as he looked Merle over. He was thinner than before, bloodshot eyes rimmed by dark shadows, he was missing his hand.
A slight nod of the head downward, toward the missing appendage, "So it was yours then," It was less of a question than an assurance that he had gone after him.
Merle snorted in disdain. "No thanks to that bastard Sheriff." He brushed at his shoulder with his good hand the movement betraying the gun that was stuck in the waist band of his pants. "Made that whole group his bitch within five minutes of meeting 'em." A skeptical glare was sent in Daryl's direction. "You his bitch now too boy?"
"I ain't nobodies bitch," Daryl snarled, fingers curling. "The fuck do you keep sayin' that for…" Air pushed through his teeth in a sharp hiss.
Merle's smile turning sharp as he eyed Daryl in a predatory fashion. "Then why are you still with him, boy?"
Daryl's eyes cut down to where his crossbow lay on the ground, one of Merle's feet pressed against the handle ,then snapped back to Merle's face, his lips pulling back in a snarl. "Not like you left me any choice."
Merle was on him before he could blink, fist slamming into his torn temple, even as the stump of an arm shoved him to the wall. "You little fuck!"
Daryl kicked back even as sunspots sparked in his sight, his stance wavering slightly as he swung out at his brother, taking as many hits as he landed. He tripped over the stock of his crossbow, sending it spiraling back toward the door.
Blood was streaming from his gunshot wound and his knuckles stung something fierce. "Go fuck yourself."
Merle laughed harshly, just like old times, back when he was short on drugs. "Why'd I do that when I've got that little girl of theirs? She's a sweet little piece, didn't even make a sound the first time I had her suck me off."
"You FUCK!" Daryl swung at him with renewed vigor, something twisting with sick joy in his stomach with each landed hit.
Merle kicked out his knee, revolver suddenly in hand making a sweeping arch towards Daryl's head. The younger man jerked back, but not fast enough to avoid the whole blow, catching the metal barrel and his brother's fingers instead.
He fell back towards the door, knuckles stinging as they knocked against the metal stock of his bow. His fingers closed around the stock, whipping the weapon forward just as Merle pulled the trigger. The bullet clipped his arm just as he released the bolt.
It flew lower than expected, crashing through Merle's throat instead of his forehead. But he dropped all the same. Mouth gaping fishlike, as blood pooled around the wound, dripping down the arrows fletching. The older man wasn't dead yet, but he wasn't going anywhere either. Daryl snatched up the fallen gun, clicking the safety on before sticking it in the back of his waistband.
He lurched to his feet, right hand closing around the wound on his left arm. Blood trickled between his fingers. "Sophia?" Daryl's voice was harsh with pain.
There was a shuffling in the leftward room. He swung the bow over his right shoulder as he walked for the door, pushing it open even as he half collapsed against the door jamb.
The little girl sat huddled in the corner, blanket wrapped around her entire body, face half hidden in its folds.
"Sophia." His voice was weak with relief, and he couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face. His hand dropped from his shoulder and he stretched it out to her, forgetting that his palm was stained with blood.
She eyed him with warily for a good minute before she rose to her feet. Padding silently over to him and taking his hand.
He pulled the girl closer hardly blinking as his eyes skimmed over her body, checking for wounds, luckily finding nothing besides dirt and the scraggily look of starvation.
Sophia's fingers wrapped in the loose fabric of his shirt, and she watched him stone-faced when he pressed his hand back against the wound, ignoring the raw rush of pain.
"There are bandages in the bathroom." Her voice was quiet but sure, and she tugged his shirt to prompt him onward before disappearing into the connected room and returning to him with package in hand before he even made it onto the tiled floor.
She didn't move from his side after that, just clung like a tick to his shirt, forcing him to awkwardly maneuver around her as he wrapped the wound.
"I'll get you back to your mama." He promised when he finished tucking the loose end of the white cloth into the layered wraps.
Her face remained as blank as her eyes as she shrugged. "Ok." He pulled the crossbow from his shoulder and motioned for her to climb on his back. Her arms wrapping tight around his neck, clasped hands pressing against the dip in his collar bone. He stood bow in hand, and took her from the room.
He froze when he saw Merle surrounded by a lake of his own blood. Daryl had forgotten about him in his rush to get the girl and was suddenly struck sick by the actions he had taken. Bile rose in his throat but he swallowed it down. Stepping forward as Sophia's arms tightened around his shoulders and her face pressed against his neck. He could feel her teeth as she smiled.
He couldn't help but grimace as he bent to pluck his last arrow from his brothers dripping neck, wiping it on the dead man's filthy shirt.
"I'm glad you killed him." Sophia whispered into Daryl's ear as he carried her down the stairs.
Her knees tightening around his side, making him wince as her leg rubbed against his wound. A final reminder of the last time he saw his brother whole, even if it was only in his own mind.
"Yeah, I am too."