Beth hurriedly looped Daryl's right arm over her shoulder while Maggie continued to whine next to them. She all but dragged Daryl into the house, trying not to jostle him too much since she didn't know the extent of his injuries. Daryl groaned as Beth gently placed him on the couch and removed the crossbow from his grip and squirrels from his belt.

While Beth ran around gathering up water, towels, and their backpack full of medicine and first aid supplies, Maggie sat at Daryl's feet, looking up at him with sad, questioning eyes. It seemed she could sense the gravity of the situation and was as concerned about her savior as Beth was.

Daryl groaned again as Beth crouched next to him and began removing his shirt. Focusing on nothing but his injuries, Beth made quick work of removing the fabric and assessing the damage. There appeared to be a long laceration across his left pectoral muscle, spanning from the base of the shoulder to just above the nipple. There were also a few scratches littering the right side of his neck and face. Praying to her God almighty that the scratches were not caused by walkers, she set to work on the gash.

Daryl's silence was beginning to worry her as she cleaned and surveyed the wound. Wanting to break said silence, she informed in, "This is going to need stitches," in a light voice. He just grunted. "It's gonna hurt, but probably not as much as that did," she gestured to the gash. "I don't have anything to give you for it, though."

He grunted again. "S'fine. Jus' do it."

Concern laced her eyes as she pursed her lips and threaded the needle. She didn't want to cause him any more pain, but she couldn't leave the wound open and let it get infected. Reassured by his slight nod when she looked at him, she began stitching, just the way her daddy had taught her, from the middle, out, then criss-crossing back to the other end, and meeting back in the middle.

In her focus, she hadn't noticed the way Daryl's hooded eyes were trained on the tip of her tongue that was poking out between her teeth in concentration, nor the way his fingers gripped the arm of the couch, not when she pushed the needle through, but every time her fingers brushed his skin.

Once she was finished, she tied and cut the thread and began cleaning the scratches on his neck and face, finally getting close enough to notice that they were in fact not made from fingers, but from what appeared to be branches or thorns, since they were thin and irritated. And some weren't even scratches at all; some were scars, obviously very old, and very shallow.

She ran her fingers over them very lightly, glancing up at Daryl through her eyelashes. His eyes were closed and he seemed to be leaning into her touch.

She'd never seen Daryl this vulnerable, and it broke her heart. Whoever had inflicted these scars had left behind internal scars, too. No wonder Daryl was always so guarded around them all at the prison, never taking his shirt off or letting anyone get close enough to break down his walls. She couldn't imagine the scars that must litter his back. Maybe one day he would trust her enough to show them to her and open up about them, but today she would not push it.

She pressed a light kiss to his cheek before standing and beginning to clean up. Before leaving the room, she whispered, "Get some rest, we can talk about what happened tomorrow. Just reassure me: you didn't get bit or scratched by a walker, right?"

He shook his head in confirmation and proceeded to fall asleep almost immediately.

While Beth stood at the kitchen window, watching the sun sinking into the sky, she felt a tear roll down her cheek.


I'm still reeling from the death of Allison on Teen Wolf last night! Reviews will make me feel better :)