His lip is split open.
Not in one spot like he caught a punch, but in a series of small breaks in the skin. It's from the way he's been chewing on it out in the cool air. She watches him, his bottom lip almost always in his mouth, no matter what he's doing, pulling off bits of chapped skin with his teeth. He never even opened the tube of chapstick she found for him. She catches the red tint of his lips in the flickering light of their small fire.
They've been staying in a tent again for the last four nights. He still stays next to her all night, if he's on watch, which is most of the time, he silently begs her with a short glance not to leave his side in the dark. Knowing where she is, being able to reach out and physically feel her keeps the panic pushed down to an almost tolerable level. He's been functioning on small catnaps just before dawn and every bit of him shows it. The bags are back under his eyes, the blue of them is overshadowed with shades of purple and yellow. His words have grown impossibly shorter and so has his temper. The looks he gives her in their fabric bunk are more frantic and closed off than they ever were in their sturdy walled room. When he leaves their tent he's back to that person he was that first winter on the road, closed off, quiet, determined. He focus is purely on their safety and survival.
Beth is having a hard time approaching him about it. It's never been easy to bring him out of his shell around the rest of the group. It's even harder now that there are some new people and they're never really out of earshot. She's afraid of him taking her concern for him as her seeing weakness, when really, she knows he's doing more than he can to be strong for their patchwork quilt of a family. It's hard not having those quiet moments tucked into their bed together and she can feel the stress rolling off of him and piling onto her.
They're in the tent together, she as comfortable as she can get on their bedroll and Daryl is sitting beside her, doing his best to look calm. She hears him grunt as his teeth click together and reopen one of the cuts on his lip. The next thing she knows her thumb is resting there on the edge of his mouth, pulling his lip away from his teeth.
"You gotta stop that." Beth lets her fingertips stroke his cheek to combat the sternness of her voice.
He freezes at the contact and then drops his chin. His mouth is still a little open and he lets his lips close around her thumb.
Beth can see how much the small bit of intimacy impacts him. Daryl's shoulders relax and aside from the quick glances he gives her, his eyes drop closed. She keeps gently rubbing his cheek and leaves her thumb resting between his teeth.
"You really need sleep, Daryl." Her voice is soft, concerned. He hears it loud in his ears and wonders how she's always right.
"Got watch in an hour." He turns his head from her worried look, away from her soft touch.
"Rick's taking it."
The look he gives her is harsh and accusing. "Don't do that."
"What Daryl? Let you sleep for more than an hour at time?" She sighs, "Everyone's alright, we have enough people on watch."
"Like at the farm?" His words are clipped. "Like at the prison? The funeral home? The house?"
"Daryl…"
He lets out a breath and immediately looks defeated. "I can't keep doing this. Settling in and then losin' everything. We were safe, home…"
"We all thought that." Beth moves his hair from his eyes, "I think… the only home we get now is each other."