A/N: Alright folks, so firstly... I apologize this chapter is very rough, kind of blocky and awkward. But I'm tired, I've had a long day, a splitting headache, and a raging ear infection to boot, so... Yeah, it was either this, or nothing. Figured y'all would at least appreciate the attempt, right? lol. But that being said, I'm not sure when the next chapter will be... I'll try and work on it tomorrow if I'm feeling any better, but don't get your hopes up. Anyways, as always, thank you for reading, special thanks for reviewing, and enjoy. : )
"How old were ya when ya first started usin'?"
The question drifted across a fog of pain, and Jesse forced her eyes open to look up at him. They were moving through the woods, him carrying her, retracing their steps back to the farmhouse.
"The hell's it matter?" She slurred, her tongue feeling like a brick in her mouth, burrowing her head further against his chest. In a dim, distance way, she knew she must've lost quite a bit of blood if she was actually allowing herself to be carried. Knew she should probably be worried if she was actually allowing herself to take comfort from Daryl.
" 'Cause I don't like how pale ya lookin'. So start talkin'."
Jesse scoffed weakly, wanting nothing more than to just close her eyes, and sleep, curled up as she was against Daryl's muscular chest, his arms wrapped around her protectively, that perfect smell of him – wait a minute.
She shook her head, trying to clear it. Wow, she must've been worse off than she thought.
"I uh... First time was... jus' some pot. Was 'bout... seven, maybe?"
Daryl knew he probably could've picked an easier topic for conversation, but at the moment, he really couldn't think of anything else to ask.
"Seven, huh? Didn't know they was sellin' Mary Jane at the candy store," He grunted, not entirely comfortable with the way she was burrowing her head against his chest.
"Funny," She mumbled, her voice barely audible or understandable. "One of my foster brothers... Tol' me... makes it easier. Numb, ya know?"
"Gee, sounds like a real responsible older brother," Daryl snorted, feeling his arms start to burn with the exertion of carrying her.
"He was... tryin' ta help. Take some a the... the pain."
"Ya were seven; still a baby. The hell kinda pain ya have? Somebody push ya on the playground?" He asked, unable to keep the sarcastic tone out of his voice.
"Fuck you," Came the weary reply. "Ya don't know... shit."
"Whatever. When ya get in ta the heavier shit?"
"Why?" There was a flash of anger in the midget's voice, even though it sounded like she was struggling just to stay awake. "Wanna... put me down... some more?"
"Look, I'm jus' tryin' ta keep ya awake; ya got somethin' you'd rather talk 'bout, go for it. But I ain't havin' ya pass out on me," He snapped. "So keep talkin'."
There was a few seconds of silence, and he started to worry she'd passed out again, when she finally turned her head, and opened her eyes, a small smile on her face.
"Ya know... for an asshole... ya kinda... kinda cute."
Daryl rolled his eyes. "Now I know ya in shock, shorty."
"What the hell happened?"
Daryl was panting heavily as he gratefully passed the midget off to T-Dog. "Fell through a floorboard. Cut her leg up pretty bad. Think she's in shock. Passed out 'bout fifteen minutes ago."
"Take her in to Hershel," Rick ordered the black man, who hurriedly complied. But when Daryl moved to follow them, having regained his breath, Rick grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back.
"Did you find Sophia?"
Daryl made no attempt to hide his scorn, glaring as he said, "Oh yeah. Found her, decided ta leave her out there an' jus' not tell anybody. Ya best remove that hand, or I'll do it for ya."
Rick pulled his hand away sharply. "Sorry."
"No ya ain't," Daryl snorted, before turning and stalking back towards the house. He was so wound up, that when he felt another hand tugging at his sleeve, he spun around, fist drawn back, fully ready to knock the offending party the fuck out.
And then he seen Carol.
"Uh... Sorry," He mumbled, embarrassment coursing through him as he quickly lowered his fist. "Thought ya was Rick."
Carol gave him a sad, understanding smile. "I was just wondering if Jesse was going to be okay."
"She'll be fine. She's a tough kid. Hard part's gonna be keepin' her in bed 'til her leg heals," He said with a grunt, already envisioning the argument that would come when the midget regained consciousness.
"I... Well, that is to say... I mean..." Carol took a deep breath, and stopped, chewing on her bottom lip.
"Spit it out, woman, I ain't got all day. Gotta check on Shorty, an' get back out there," He said gruffly, folding his arms over his chest.
"I just wanted to say thank you. For everything you two are doing. I..." She chuckled a little bit, letting her head fall. "Well, to say I 'appreciate' it is the understatement of the year."
Daryl hesitated, unsure of what to say, when he heard raised voices in the house. Not giving the older woman a second glance, he bolted up the porch, throwing the door open, and up the stairs, following the noise.
"What the hell is goin' on?" He barked as he entered one of the upstairs bedrooms, seeing T-Dog and Hershel holding the girl down on the bed. The midget was kicking and cussing, her eyes nearly rolled up in the back of her head.
"I've got to get her pants off to sew up those cuts!" Hershel ground out, struggling to keep hold of Jesse's flailing legs.
Daryl inwardly groaned as he moved towards the bed, kneeling by the side, and grabbing one of her hands.
"Hey! Shorty! Relax; the doc's jus' gotta sew ya up. Ain't gonna hurt ya none," He said quietly.
"Get the fuck off a me! Don't ya fuckin' touch me!"
"Young man, I've got to stop this bleeding," The doc said firmly. "As it is, she's lost too much blood."
"Ya don't have anything to knock her out?" T-Dog asked, grunting in pain as Jesse's small hand collided with his jaw.
Daryl looked at Hershel hopefully, feeling his heart sink when the doctor shook his head. He took a deep breath, hesitated for a moment...
And then let his closed fist connect with her temple.