It was probably the first time they'd seen someone stumble in wounded. The residents of Alexandria sort of gathered, hovering at the sidelines like vultures on a kill, jittery and fluttery and not ever really still. Daryl huffed at them, half-limping onward towards their specified housing units. He wasn't hurt that bad, not really. Yeah, there was a tiny drip-drip-drip behind him, and he did still have the arrow in his side, but it only hurt when he leaned on it, and he was only holding it so the arrow didn't bounce around too much.
"Daryl!" Rick was first on the scene, actually heading up to Daryl instead of hovering. "What happened?" He took the crossbow, unloading the weight from Daryl's shoulder, and Daryl grunted a thanks.
"Some fuckin' kid in the woods stabbed me." Daryl replied, stopping when Rick stepped in front of him. They eyed each other for a hot moment, Rick on guard behind his eyes. "Just one kid. Think he lives out there or somthin', I dunno. M'Fine." Daryl shouldered his way forward, the words washing a calm over Rick. They both knew what Rick was scared of, and they both knew Daryl wouldn't lie if that was actually a problem. "Just gotta get the arrow out."
"We'll take you to Pete, he'll have the supplies." Rick put a hand on Daryl's back, leading him, and Daryl followed, the hand somewhat comforting. He gestured to a resident, who ran ahead, full tilt, towards the Pete's house, while they headed in a different direction - a blue and white towering house with a porch and some plastic drapes to keep the hot, humid air out.
"I'm gonna go back out there once he's done." Daryl lifted the red bow, showing it off slightly. "Kid dropped his bow; figure the best way t'catch him is t'lure him back out with it." Daryl nodded, letting Rick lead as they made their way up the steps to the infirmary Alexandria had set up. It had been a house, once, just like the rest of the buildings, but they'd decked it out to be sterile. Daryl touched one of the plastic tarps, watching it flutter, leaving a small bloody print behind.
"Let's get the arrow out first, and then we can talk about the kid." Rick chided, leading Daryl inside. Pete had been already been alerted, and was on the way, so Rick barged right in, leading Daryl down a long hall to a bedroom, where an old table sat, covered in a sheet. "I don't want you racing off alone to find him, he has already proven he's dangerous." He guided Daryl to the table, and helped him hop up on it.
"He ain't dangerous." Daryl replied, peeling off his vest from his shoulders and gently off the arrow. His shirt was thin, and ripped underneath the vest wide enough where it wouldn't catch, so he ripped the shirt off too. "Look, that ain't even that deep. He got scared. I cornered him, s'all." Daryl looked Rick in the face, and god, Rick was so serious about safety that he didn't realize how much he was over-reacting. "He ain't dangerous." He was serious, up in Rick's face, steeled against the protective - if slightly crazed - return stare. "Lemme go out 'n try 'n talk to 'um. More then me'll scare 'um. He'll bolt."
"Alright." Rick conceded, slightly bent so he was looking up at Daryl. It was a very classic Rick move, which he used on Carl a lot. He looked less ruling like that, less intimidating. Daryl studied the movement, the sort of curious look, the bobbing of Rick's head - luring this kid in would be delicate, and studying the best talker in their troop was probably the best way of ensuring he wouldn't get stabbed again. "But if anything else happens, anything at all, that's it."
"Nothin' gonna happen." Daryl grumbled, turning his attention to his injury. The arrow was fully embedded, the head totally gone in the depths of his abdomen, but it wasn't serious. He gave it a push with his thumb, and the shaft wiggled, but the head wouldn't budge. He tugged, and it resisted, pain shooting up his side. "Fuck." He hissed.
"Kid got you good?" Pete said, stepping into the room. He wasn't wearing any scrubs or hospital gear, just his nice shirt and nice khakis. He was probably the least doctory looking doctor Daryl had ever encountered. And he had a lot of doctors visits in his day. Too many. But he had gloves, which was something Daryl hadn't seen anyone with in a long time.
"A little. Fucker hit hard, though." Daryl chuckled, putting a hand on Rick's shoulder. Rick took the cue and left, passing the shoulder pat to Pete on the way out. A sort of trusting mistrust, if you will.
"Well, it shouldn't take too long to get it out. Lie down, and I'll see if I can find something to numb the area."
~o~o~
It took a half hour and fifteen stitches to get Daryl out of the infirmary door. The arrowhead, which Daryl had spent much of the stitching part staring at, was a flat, pointed head. His arrows had a rounded tip, to puncture, which was classic for a crossbow and made mostly for target practice and small game. These had a flat face, and points facing backwards as well, like the classic description of arrows. But they didn't look modern, which were usually sleek and missing the unnecessary internal areas, for a lighter, faster arrow. These were fully casted, steel, and they were sharp. Daryl pressed the edge to his thumb and it immediately drew blood.
He could give the kid that - if nothing else, he kept his arrows sharp enough to pierce anything.
The daylight was starting to wane when he left, arrow and bow in one hand, crossbow over the other shoulder. The anesthetic - it was actually Novocain, which was made for oral use, but worked very well to make his side feel nothing at all - wouldn't wear off for a few hours, and Daryl wasn't worried about the forest at night. Honestly, he was much safer cloaked in the darkness.
But just in case, he told Rick and Carol where the glen was, and if he wasn't back by noon the next day, they should send someone to look for him. They weren't happy he'd said noon, but if he needed to outwait anything in the dark, he probably wasn't going to come wandering in at dawn. That would be stupid, not to wait for full daylight. He didn't tell them he was mostly thinking that if he brought that kid back, sneaking him in at dawn wouldn't do anyone any favors either.
The forest was still around him as the sun faded. A soft rustle here - a bird - a shake of a bush there - a rabbit - but otherwise it was still, settling, sleepy. This was probably the best time for hunting, or for wandering, because nothing small made noise. Deer were nocturnal, and started to come out, and the little things shuffled back to bed, and it was so quiet every rustle was obvious. Daryl had to move slowly, steathily, to avoid startling any small creatures, so he could set his lure undisturbed.
His plan was simple. Find an open spot with little ground vegetation near the glen where he first saw the kid. Prop the bow up high in a tree, and then sit. Specifically, out in the open, so the boy would see him just as he would see the kid. No one would walk into the situation afraid to start with, and that meant no one would bolt, either. The spot was easy to find, and he hoisted the bow and the arrow into a tall tree branch, where the red would stand out like a beacon. Nearby, there was a rock, and he plopped down on it.
And he waited.
It was almost dark entirely, an hour or so later, before he saw anything. He could see it through the bushes, the faintest breath of blue behind the green foliage way off, the rustle of something tall. He could see the boy from a ways off, and almost immediately, the boy saw him. "Hey!" Daryl called, picking up his crossbow and setting it aside, putting his hands in the air. "It's okay! Just wanna talk. For real talk, too."
The boy hesitated, before moving forward steadily. He was only armed with a large kitchen knife, the quiver still on his back. "I brought your bow back. N'your arrow." Daryl gestured to the tree where they hung, just in reach of the boy. "Fucking thing 's sharp as fuck." He smiled, tried to look unthreatening, even sat down on his rock, and eventually the boy shuffled forward and snatched his things like a feral dog snatches food away from a camper.
"You didn't have to bring them back." The boy said, shouldering the bow and quivering the arrow, before sitting down himself. They were a good distance still, and the boy's options for running where many, which made him comfortable.
"Don't want 'um. 'Sides, how're y'gonna trust me if I don't even bring your things back?" Daryl asked. This wasn't that bad, he thought. At least they were talking like civil people and not stabbing each other. "You live out here?"
"Yeah." The boy very obviously didn't want to answer the question. "You?"
"Mm." Daryl shrugged, looking back over his shoulder. "Just holed up in Alexandria for now. Maybe for good. Don't know. Don't wanna know." He looked back, and the boy looked almost livid, fists clenching tightly against his pants. "What?"
"Did they send you to find me?" The boy was shaking, obviously shaking. "Did you tell them about me?"
"Nah, just m'party's leader." Daryl held out a hand, calming, trying to still the very obviously shaken boy before he went off and did something stupid. "We just got t'Alexandria, don't trust 'um. No one sent nobody t'get you." These words helped, and the boy stopped shaking, but stood, starting to pace slightly, back and forth, in a pattern Daryl recognized. Cornered.
"Then why are you here? They don't leave their walls, they don't head this way, they know better." The boy was defensive, snippy. It didn't take a rocket scientist to realize the kid and Alexandria had some kind of dispute, and had settled it in their own fashion, and now Daryl was treading into enemy territory.
"I'm not one of them." Daryl replied, steeled. "Don't like 'um. And they don't like me." It was almost an insult, honestly, to be thought of as one of them. Daryl was very obviously not. Sure, he was trying. He went to dinner with Aaron when he was asked - dinner was great, because he could blatantly ignore any prying by stuffing his face as loudly as possible - and he tried not to act in any way that would frighten the other residents. But he wasn't one of them. He was trying, but he wasn't getting used to the cushy life. "Honestly thinkin' of leaving."
He looked up, and the boy had stopped pacing, and was staring at his shoes. It was like it hurt him, to hear that Daryl was an outsider, too. Not like how Daryl had been guided to being embraced by the community by Aaron, as an outsider, but as though being an outsider pushed people away. Pushed them out to live on their own in the wild. It was silent, heavy, the sun so low dark shadows crept onto the boy's face and pulled out his features. Eventually, the boy looked up, and stepped forward, extending a hand.
"I'm Warren." He said, just distant enough where Daryl would have to move to reach him, just out of hurting range. They weren't there just yet.
"Daryl." And Daryl reached out, and they shook hands, an old custom he'd almost forgotten was a thing people did. No one shook hands anymore, they were too busy holding guns. "It's gettin' dark, you have somewhere you're stayin'? I won't tell nobody."
"Yeah." Warren nodded, stepping back slightly. "I can show you, if you want." He nodded, like he was willing this on himself. "Besides, you'll need a place to sleep. I know they close their doors pretty early." He nodded again, bigger. "And I'd like the company."
"Yeah." Daryl smiled, lifting his crossbow from the ground and shouldering it. "That'd be fun." He liked the idea of spending time away from Alexandria. It felt nice, being out in the forest again. Even if this kid was holed up in a tiny cave, it would be better than trying a bed again. He would never get used to beds. They were too soft, didn't support him enough. He paused, noticing a small wet patch forming on Warren's shirt. It was dark, and it stuck his shirt to his chest awkwardly. "Uh, you got somethin'... " He pointed to the place.
Warren looked down at himself, and pressed two fingers to the spot. They came back a odd, pinkish red. "Fuck."