For a meeting allegedly about the initiation of three newcomers to their little circle of allies, Daryl found himself the unwilling recipient of an uncomfortable degree of attention, and all of it made no damn sense. There was Rick's odd shoulder pat once they'd reached the others, Glenn's even-wider-eyed-than-usual stare just afterwards, Lori's less-disgusted-than-normal glance at him before narrowing her eyes in distrust at the newcomers. Perhaps most satisfactory was Shane's annoyed grimace, cast Daryl's direction without so much as an explanation. (Not that any such explanation was needed; that expression was the only part of the whole thing that actually made any sense.)

There was sure as shit no reason for Herschel to look over at him, bushy eyebrows raised nearer to his hairline and one hand already holding the unfortunately familiar doctor's bag. And, really, a Dixon wouldn't be a Dixon without putting up at least a bit of a fight. "Leave it, Doc. 'M fine."

"Your shirt says otherwise, Mr. Dixon."

The only good side to the twilight zone he found himself in was that at least Herschel's use of old-fashioned Southern grace had included Daryl (Dixon, of all people) even before the rest of the group decided to throw out both their sense and their usual personalities in favor of… well. In favor of whatever the hell had Andrea giving him an oddly approving nod as she patrolled the rear of their little gathering, gun in hand.

He was just about to reject Herschel's offer - insistence? - of medical aid when Carol decided to show up, her daughter tucked close against her side and that indomitable steel less hidden than usual. "Sophia said you were hurt. Wouldn't do for that to get worse."

"'S just a popped stitch. It c'n wait."

Whatever Daryl had expected to follow his statement - some pushback from Carol, perhaps, or an annoyed-yet-civil rebuke from Herschel - it wasn't the sudden vigor in Sophia's eyes as she stepped forward, one hand still tangled in her mother's shirt as she pointed at the still-bright stain of his shirt. "You're bleeding. Momma always says to fix it if you're hurt 'cause if you don't you can get sick and that's bad."

Which… just… What the hell was going on that some damn kid was trying to lecture him about his safety, as if that actually mattered at all. "'S fine."

"Momma always comes with me to the doctor and sometimes she holds my hand when it hurts. If I'm scared. I could come too." She didn't state it as a question, but as a comment… an offer. A thing to be considered and decided on. And then, as if it were the easiest, most natural gesture in the world, she reached her hand out further, grip closing gently around his.

It was his immediate instinct to flinch, to jerk away because there's a little girl touching him and what the hell is going on, doesn't she know he's a damn Dixon and might as well be TNT with the damage he'd probably end up doing to her if she wasn't careful, but he managed to stop himself from more than just a twitch. She didn't need any sudden moments, not with the way she already looked skittish just from speaking, much less skin contact. "Nah, Soph. I'm good. 'Sides, we've gotta talk 'bout them folks we found out there. Ain't got time for this-' He gestured vaguely towards his side. "-til after. A'ight?"

She nodded grimly, and he couldn't quite wrap his head around the fact that she was treating some stupid popped stitch with such solemnity. "Okay. You swear?"

Slightly dumbfounded, he nodded. "Yeah. Sure."

Without missing a beat, she pumped his hand once, a vague facsimile of shaking hands. "Good."

Daryl had about two seconds to wrap his head around Sophia staring at him with unbelievable insistence and Carol mouthing something that looked like thank you but absolutely couldn't be that (because that wouldn't make any damn sense) under her breath before the entire group just kind of condensed. He wasn't surprised when Rick was the one to start the conversation, gruff and official like the sheriff he used to be. "Why don't y'all tell us a bit about yourselves?"

Wes' open mouth was promptly stilled by Deanna's snort and subsequent, "Feels like a damn game show-"

The younger sister elbowed her sharply in the ribs. "Shut up, idiot."

She didn't. "Ooh, or a dating profile. Hi, I'm Deanna, and I like hunting, motorcycles, and long walks in the woods? Like that's gonna say anything whatsoever."

Daryl's snort was covered up by Andrea's slightly louder snort and by Wes' interrupting. "Well. So, yes, you've met Deanna… My daughter tends to be a tad irreverent, to say the least. I'm Wes, and it's a pleasure to meet you, even if these circumstances are a bit… peculiar." A shrug, accompanied by a vaguely friendly, vaguely chagrined smirk. "And then Benny, my other daughter."

"Hi." She smiled, but it was smaller than the other two, more subdued.

Rick nodded, but it was Shane who spoke. "The hell happened to y'all out there?"

For a second, something flickered in Deanna's eyes, a familiar flash of darkness beneath the smirk on her face, but then it faded. Damn Georgia cops were worse than he was at tact. Maybe he was going soft, but something about that look - about the memory of the thug, his gun tangled in red hair, his hand dropping lower - made it pretty damn apparent that she wouldn't want to talk about it, and definitely wouldn't want to talk about it in front of a group of strangers. Daryl couldn't help trying to break in. "Don't be a prick. Ain't gotta do that now."

"Shut up, Dixon. This ain't your business. I asked them a question."

Unsurprisingly, Deanna was first to speak. "That's not fair. And it's none of your damn bus-"

"Deanna." Wes' voice was calm, quiet, almost unbothered with how little it varied from his usual way of speaking. "They don't know us. It's only fair for them to ask." Even as he spoke, he stayed stock still, expression blank as he looked out at the crowd. "It's every man for himself out there-"

Deanna apparently couldn't - or chose not to - stay silent past that point. "Or for whichever walker out there gets 'em first-"

"And…" Wes' glare was withering enough that his daughter fell silent. "-those men knew it. They stumbled across our tent, and… well. Suffice to say, we're greatly indebted to Daryl for his assistance." And, okay, yeah, it was good that they finally started talking, started sharing information, but did they have to say something so blatantly false and simultaneously stick him back in the spotlight? Words weren't his thing, but he was actually almost glad when Wes kept going. "They raided the camp."

"And?"

The hell did they even teach these cops in training? Sure as shit not diplomacy. "That ain't enough?"

Shane whirled, expression blazing with enough force that Daryl couldn't help wondering what broke in the man's head while he was gone, even as he spat out, "Dixon, this ain't your place, so shut the hell up." And then he was looking at the trio again. "Go on." Wes went to speak; Shane interjected. "Deanna. Why don't you tell us a bit more?"

Surprisingly, Deanna wasn't the first to speak. Even more surprisingly, Benny was. "Leave her alone, you asshol-"

And then Deanna was speaking, whacking her sister lightly on the head. "Language. You don't say shit like that."

The minutes immediately thereafter were marked by crossed arms, a pout from Benny, and a huffed-out, "Hypocrite."

Familial unpleasantries - or pleasantries, since it was never clear with siblings - handled, Shane promptly found himself bearing the brunt of green-eyed fury, Deanna staring at him with enough ire that Daryl almost expected him to burst into flame. (Unfortunately, he didn't.) She passed her hand through her hair viciously, locks flipping backwards without regard for the tangles it yanked out. "Yeah, I'll tell you. I think it's pretty obvious, though, except, perhaps, if you're a dumbass cop who treats a brain as an optional organ."

"Now, list-"

"No. You asked me for a damn play-by-play, and you're gonna sit there and listen 'til I'm done. I've got a bit of a habit of not listening to assholes who wanna take advantage of their own power." A glare, and, if Daryl hadn't already been glad he wasn't Deputy Sheriff Shane freaking Walsh, he absolutely was then. "We had some shit. They wanted it. And that's the thing about resources; they belong to whoever can keep 'em. So yeah: food, supplies… people. They wanted it all, and they tried to take it."

"A-"

"But here's the thing. We're really, really good at protecting what matters to us. Just 'cause some dick thinks he's hot stuff 'cause he's got a gun - or a badge - doesn't mean jack." She paused, attention no longer fixed solely on Shane, expression darting around to look at everyone involved. "We played your game. We jumped through your hoop. You got anything else to say, you can say it politely or you can not say it at all."

The last word hadn't even died away before she was walking away, her father and sister still hovering awkwardly in front of the crowd. It was Benny who quirked a small smile, one shoulder lifting in a half-shrug. "That's my sister."

The dumbstruck expression on Shane's face was actively enjoyable. "So I've gathered."