Daryl didn't know what he was doing. Sure, he wanted the kid to survive. He wasn't nearly as close to the Grimes brat as Shane was, and he wasn't obligated to go out of guilt like Otis was, but he still felt a certain pull to do what he could. Besides, Glenn had the same blood type as the kid and T-dog wasn't going anywhere with that arm of his. He'd really been the only other option, unless they wanted to let Andrea tag along, and he didn't think their already somber morale could take that kind of drag.

So he'd gone along. But when he'd hopped in the car with Shane and Otis, he somehow hadn't been expecting this. The place was riddled with walkers. Rife with them. They were shambling along behind the fence in an endless sea of shifting bodies. They were walking in and out of building, popping out form behind cars and buildings in a twisted game of hide-and-seek. The whole situation made his stomach twist in fear, but -

But he'd always been good at hide-and-seek.

He swallowed down the fear and recalled the quiet resolve in Sophia's eyes as she'd said goodbye to them. "You're gonna find the stuff for Carl," she'd said to him, plain as could be. "Just like you'll find my mom."

Except they didn't even know for sure that the stuff would be here, and Daryl was having trouble believing in it with the same certainty he believed he'd find Carol. Hell, even that certainty was starting to fade. But this was something Sophia seemed to actually believe, so he figured he could allow a bit of hope to aide him. After all, there was a chance the girl actually knew what she was talking about. He didn't know where he got that idea, but it stuck and he let it. He'd always been good at imagining things, after all.

Shane's low whistle brought him back to Earth. "Where we goin', old man?" he asked in a hard voice, and Daryl wasn't scared of Shane, but he sure was glad not to be on the pointy end of all that anger.

"That trailer," Otis said in a shaky voice, pointing out a dinky little building just on the other side of the fence. It didn't look like it would be too hard to get to, but Daryl wasn't looking forward to trying to get back out. There was no sneaky way of waltzing in there. The walkers would surround them before they even hit the door, and then it wouldn't matter whether or not the needed supplies were inside: They'd be stuck.

"How are we gonna do this?" Shane demanded, agitation clear in his voice. Daryl ignored the part of him that bristled at the tone and tried to think of a solution. Sometimes it was easier to keep Shane happy than to fight for his own pride.

"Could pull a Rick," Daryl suggested dryly. At Shane's sharp look, he hurried to explain himself. "Not that. We could set off a car alarm at the other end of this place. Walkers will go that way and we can dash in real quick like. Hopefully they'll be far enough that we can get back out again without too much trouble."

"Good enough. Let's do it," Shane said at once, bursting out of the car and slashing at an oncoming walker with his knife. It was a vicious wound, but not one meant to kill - One made out of a desire to hurt things. Daryl knew Shane was spitting mad. He just hoped the man would remember Daryl hadn't been the one to shoot Carl.

Daryl followed him out, keeping his crossbow at the ready and his knife within easy reach. Otis made to follow, too, but Shane shot him a quelling look that had the man hastening to get back in the Cherokee. Daryl approved of the decision. The old man wouldn't be any help until they got into the trailer, and there was no point in risking him when they needed him to identify the supplies for Carl.

"How we gonna get him over the fence, man?" Shane muttered under his breath, his eyes skating around the darkening parking lot with trained precision.

"I'unno," he shot back, irritation winning out over his desire to stay out of Shane's crosshairs. "S'your party, remember?"

His sarcasm didn't go unnoticed. "Hey!" Shane snapped, baring his teeth in threat. "You better be taking this seriously. Carl's -" He swallowed hard and surged forward, heading toward an expensive-looking car. He seemed to have put the argument out of mind, because when he glanced back at Daryl, his eyes were full of question and readiness. Daryl nodded and braced himself. The crash of Shane breaking in the window still made him flinch, and the car alarm that blared right after was even worse. He hated loud noises - they went against his nature. It was why his preferred weapon was a crossbow.

"C'mon," Shane urged, slapping Daryl's shoulder as he rushed past. There wasn't much he could do beside follow after the man, considering the amount of walkers that were headed their way. He still wished he could start hollering at Shane for just touching him like that, but he knew Shane to be a tactile person. Lord knew he saw him cuddle up to Rick often enough.

But he stopped thinking about it after that. Sometimes, it was just too confusing to try and make sense of the Rick, Shane, and Lori thing. After all, he'd come to know Lori as Shane's woman. It seemed unnatural to see her with someone else, but Rick was her husband, and he supposed that made it okay. But then it wasn't okay, because she'd cheated on him. Cheated on both of them? He couldn't picture that. Lori wasn't his favorite person, but he liked her, and liked to picture her as he had when he'd first met her, doe-eyed and unblemished.

"Where's your head?" Shane asked, getting in his face once more. This time, it's with more frustration and concern than anger, so Daryl lets it slide and tries to focus on the situation. He lets Shane's question go decidedly unanswered.

"What's the plan?" he asked the other two, surveying the now mostly-clear green of the high school. Most of the walkers were piled against the fence near the shrieking car.

"The plan is to run like hell," Shane huffed, sizing up the fence. Abruptly, he turned to face Otis. "You okay to make it over, old man?" he asked harshly. Otis drew himself up and approached the fence with determination in his eyes.

"Cover me?" he asked.

"You got it."

He heaved himself over, attracting the attention of a handful of walkers that Daryl and Shane picked off, true to their word. Shane was up and over as soon as Otis's feet hit the ground, and then it was Daryl's turn to secure his crossbow and scramble to the other side. Shane clapped his shoulder again and kept his hold so he could pull the other man down behind a car, ignoring it when Daryl jerked away from his hand.

"Quit it," he muttered, peeking over the hood of the car. The walkers were still distracted, for the most part.

"Good to go?" Shane asked him, ignoring his comment. He was going a lot of ignoring. Daryl decided to follow his example and focused on the task at hand. He gave a tight nod. One by one, the three ducked between cars and debris, heading toward the medical trailer as expediently as possible. They were almost there when a walker stumbled out from behind the trailer, and then another and another until there was a whole pack of them. Most were headed toward the car alarm, but Daryl was sure that first one had seen Otis dart into the building. It certainly saw him when he made a break for it, knowing it would only be a matter of seconds before there was something standing between him and that door. So he ran, and he made it inside seconds before the first walker slammed into the door. He found himself feeling grateful it opened outward and then immediately wondered whether or not he'd be able to push it open again.

It didn't matter. Soon enough, the walkers would break the flimsy thing down.

"We gotta hurry," he called to the wheezing old man, taking a stand near the door and making sure his crossbow was ready to fire. He'd only be able to get one shot in before he had to switch to his knife and fight in close quarters. He was going to make it count.

"I can't carry all this by myself," the man said anxiously. "What happened to Shane?"

Daryl didn't answer. He hesitated for a moment, watching the first splinter appear near the top hinge of the door.

"Daryl?"

He swallowed down the fear and turned to the other man, taking the equipment from his hands and shoving it into a nearby bag. He resisted the urge to check the door again and helped to gather the remaining items on the list.

"Got everything?" he snapped, shouldering the bag and drawing his knife. Beside him, Otis nodded, hitching his own bag higher on his shoulder. "Good."

Daryl turned and shoved open a window that looked out behind the trailer. He fired a bolt into the nearest walker's skull before vaulting out the window and landing silently on the pavement below. The area behind the trailer was relatively clear, but he took down the four walkers that were still hanging around and kept an eye on a group that was further off but making their way toward him.

"Hurry up," he snapped, collecting his bolt and then swearing when he realized it was broken. He threw it to the ground in disgust and pulled out a fresh one to knock, only to be interrupted by Otis's untimely reunion with the pavement. Daryl swore again when the man it the ground with a sickening crunch and hurried forward to help him to his feet. "What broke?" he demanded, anxiety working his voice into a grating snarl.

"Ankle," the man gasped, clutching at his leg.

The man would not make it out. Daryl knew that even as he drew the man's arm around his shoulder and tried his best to high-tail them out of there. As soon as the rounded the corner and made it to the front of the building, Daryl knew they were done for. Other walkers had come to see why their fellows were piled against the trailer, and they were all staring at him, now. He tried to hurry Otis past them, as they hadn't quiet gotten between him and the fence, but he knew it was futile. The only way he'd make it was fighting, and he couldn't fight with the old man weighing him down.

When the first walker reached them, Daryl ducked out from under Otis's arm to draw his knife and stab it in the eye. When the second came, he stopped trying to help the man back to his feet so that he could shove it away and stomp on its head. When the third came, he tried not to slip on the crushed remains of skull and brain as he surged forward to end it's non-life.

The fourth, fifth, and sixth all came at the same time. The seventh was just after them, but headed for Otis instead of Daryl.

"Don't be an idiot, Dixon!"

Daryl's head snapped toward the fence, where Shane was scrambling back over, taking down walkers and coming toward him. He had to turn away to take down more walkers before Shane reached him, and when he caught sight of the man again, he was tearing the bag out of Otis's grasp. Daryl fought his way back toward them and was caught off guard when Shane rushed past him again, very much alone.

"Help!" Otis called weakly. He was already bitten.

"Run, Daryl!" Shane shouted, already back at the fence.

"Don't leave me here! Help!"

"Don't do this, man! Run!"

Daryl ran. He blocked out Otis's screams and ran toward the fence, walkers at his heels the entire time. When he reached it, he hauled himself up without thought or care for the man behind him, his need to survive too strong to overcome. He swung his leg over the fence to the other side. The safe side.

Thirty-eight walkers hit the fence behind him.

Daryl hit the ground.

"Get up!" Shane snarled, pulling him to his feet and dragging him toward the Cherokee. "They're comin', man! They're tearing it down!"

Daryl knew it. He could hear the squeal of metal against metal and the enraged snarls of the walkers. He didn't look back. He simply ran, ignoring the sharp pain in his side and allowing Shane to shove him into the Jeep. He squeezed his eyes shut when Shane finally got into the driver's side, breathing a sigh of relief when he peeled out and sped into the night.

"You okay, bud?" Shane asked in a hard voice, shooting him a glance. "I see blood. What happened?"

Daryl looked down to confirm his suspicions. The bolt he'd meant to load into his crossbow was now protruding from his side. He'd fallen on it when the fence went down and it hurt like hell, but he didn't think it was too bad of an injury.

"Just a flesh wound," Daryl muttered, trying to decide whether or not to pull the thing out. He couldn't leave it in there forever, of course. "Not bit," he added, sensing Shane's anxiety. The man visibly relaxed, but when he glanced over, his eyes went wide.

"Jesus, Daryl! You've got an arrow stickin' out'a ya!" he exclaimed, slamming on the breaks and making to reach for the wound. Daryl drew away, growling under his breath.

"Quit that!" he snapped, batting Shane's hands away. "Leave it be. Deal with it once we get the stuff to the kid."

"You gotta get Hershel to check that out, man," Shane said darkly, putting the Cherokee back in drive and lurching down the road again. "Can't lose anyone else right now. 'Specially not our able-bodied men."

"Who'd feed ya?" Daryl muttered, too quietly for Shane to catch. He stared out the window and tried to pretend he wasn't in pain. He wanted to ask Shane whether he thought it would be a good idea to try and take the bolt out, but he was afraid of the answer. Besides, he didn't need advice from that idiot. So he left the bolt in until Shane turned down the dirt road that led up to the farm. He could see Lori waiting anxiously on the porch and suddenly decided he'd rather these people not see him with such a stupid injury.

Daryl took a deep breath and yanked the bolt out, just barely able to conceal his yelp. Shane still looked at him when he gasped, though.

"Are you -"

"M'fine," Daryl snapped, pressing his hands down on the wound. "Not so bad as it looks. Leave me be."

"I swear, if you go and die on us, redneck..."

"Not gonna die."

"Better not," he said severely.

Daryl wondered at the logic of his threat but soon decided it didn't matter, as he would not be dying anytime soon. "I'll take care of it. Had worse."

Shane nodded sharply and parked behind the RV. He got out first, taking both bags with him, and absorbed the majority of the group's attention. When he got out, no one said much to him but a few harried 'thank you's. Daryl was glad they were all focused on Carl and seemed to take the blood coating his side as normal residue from a walker fight. He slipped away from the house, leaving Shane behind to answer any questions, and stalked toward the RV. Andrea, T-Dog, Glenn, and Dale looked up at him when he threw open the flimsy metal door.

He really didn't want to deal with this right now.

"How'd it go?" Andrea demanded at once. Daryl gave a noncommittal grunt - he knew his voice would crack if he tried to speak - and shuffled to the back, where he kept his tent stowed during travel. It took some digging, but he heaved it out from under the bed and, ignoring the sharp twinge in his side, turned to leave. He was displeased but not entirely surprised to see Andrea blocking his path, staring at him with an almost accusing look in her eyes.

"Did you get the stuff?" she persisted, standing in the hall and folding her arms over her chest. Daryl didn't understand why she had that severe look on her face. She was glaring at him, like she knew. But she didn't know. She was just glaring at him, and that pissed him off. He really didn't like her.

"Get out of my way," he snapped, baring his teeth at the woman and then feeling silly for doing so. Still, the gesture was not lost on her, and the harpy backed down with one last withering glare.

"You don't have to be such and ass," she hissed as he pushed by her. "There's a kid dying, you know."

He did know. He'd just sacrificed a man for that kid.

"An't nobody gonna die," he snarled. He was facing her again without memory of turning around, his hands balled so tightly that his nails were digging into his palms. "Nobody is gonna die!" he repeated. "The hell is wrong with you people? Just wishin' everythin' dead like we ain't already the last people around. Jesus. Sick, the lot'a ya."

He paused, catching up with his temper and reigning it in. "Am I the only one zen around here?"

Nobody answered, and Daryl scoffed at their shocked expressions, pretending he didn't feel silly for using that word. Zen. He wasn't some kind of hippy. Uncomfortable with all the eyes on him, Daryl shuffled away, wishing his side didn't hurt so much that he couldn't storm off the way he'd've liked. But they still let him go without another word, and that soothed his chagrin somewhat. Even if he knew they're start muttering about him the second he was out of hearing range. The thought made Daryl do some muttering himself, mostly about Andrea's stupidity and that old man's meddlesome ways. He muttered about T-Dog a little bit, too. He still hadn't forgiven the man for losing his brother.

He decided Glenn didn't need to be mutter about at the moment.

"You're hurt."

Daryl squinted at the girl who'd just stepped in front of him. What was she doing out here alone in the dark? He almost asked her if her momma knew she was out here, but stopped himself at the last second, remembering that she was lost.

"Wha'ch'ya doin' out here, kid?" he snapped, brushing past her and moving toward the little grove of shady tree in front of Hershel's house, where some of the others had set up their tents.

"Lookin' for you," she replied in an easy voice. "You're bleeding a lot."

He tried to think of something to say to that. It ended up being hard to concentrate with the pain in his side and his mind on the tent. It wasn't like any tent he'd ever had before, and the poles and notches were all pretty confusing, especially to his pain-hazed mind. But he still started setting it up, struggling a bit to move his left arm because it pulled so harshly at his wound.

"Maybe you should get that looked at before you try putting up a tent," Sophia suggested. She sounded worried.

"Maybe you should shut up and mind your own damn business."

She didn't flinch.

"Do you want some help?" she asked after a moment.

"Don't need any help, ya stupid brat. Go find someone else to piss off."

She didn't, though. She stayed and watched him struggle with the poles, and though Daryl made a point of not looking at her, he knew she was staring at him with her watery blue eyes. He imagined that they probably glowed in the night and then tried to remember whether or not he'd looked in her eyes when he'd found her in that tree. It'd been dark, and surely, if they glowed, he'd've seen it then, right?

But he wasn't sure he'd looked too closely at her eyes. They'd been unsettling to him, even then. They probably hadn't glowed, though. He was just being stupid. The girl tended to make him think things like that, though. Stupid things. Stupid girl.

"What do you want, girl?" he gasped, turning to face her and trying to pretend the pain wasn't making his vision blurry.

She didn't answer him, and he finally looked into her eyes. They weren't glowing. The moonlight made them look darker than he remembered.

"Just a scratch," he muttered, turning back to his tent. "Be just fine, girl. Don't worry."

"Are you sure I can't help?"

He thought about snapping at her again. Apparently, he thought about it too long, because she moved forward before he'd decided how to answer, and when she started putting the tent together on the other side, he decided to let her. He ignored the fumbling motions of her hands and the way her face was screwed up in confusion. What did it matter if she didn't know how to put it up? He didn't know any better. They'd figure it out.

Or she would. Because a few minutes later, all he could do was squeeze his eyes shut and try to breath even.

"Mister Dixon?"

Her voice came from the end of a long tunnel, and he wasn't going to pass out because just look what'd happened last time. He tried to open his eyes, tried to answer her with a strangled "whaaaa...?" And he could feel her hands on his side, and he tried to bat her away but it was almost like someone was holding down his arms, or perhaps he just didn't have arms, and the thought made him laugh but it came out as a choke.

"There's a hole in your side," she said quietly. He knew that. "It's bleeding a lot." Her tone suggested she wasn't pleased about it.

"Leave it alone," he slurred, finally managing to push her hands away. "Don' getch'er hands dirty."

She was pushing him. He forced his eyes open and struggled against her, but she was persistent. Maybe he could've resisted her, but at the moment, he just lost sight of the point. Sophia didn't want to hurt him. Her pushing might be annoying as hell, but what was she gonna do to him? He let her, and when the backs of his knees hit something solid, he fell into the lawn chair with a gasp of pain.

"Stay here," she said in a voice that was shaky but also strangely firm. "And don't die or anything, okay?"

"M'fine. Quite fussin' at me," he snapped.

"Please?"

"No gonna die, 'Phia. Jesus."

She stared at him for a few more seconds before turning on her heel and rushing toward the house. Daryl swore under his breath and pressed his hand to the wound again. He should've been doing that already. Why the hell had he tried to set up the tent so soon? Merle was right. Sometimes he was so stupid. Had to be bossed around by a little girl before he realized he was hurting himself. Lord, what would his brother say if he'd seen that?

Daryl tried not to think about it, but Merle's voice rang out clear as day.

Kinda man are ya, baby brother? How'd ya manage to fall on your own arrow? Did I raise up an idiot?

He could see the way his brother would sneer and snarl, but he knew that Merle would've taken care of him, too. That was what brothers did, and Merle might not've been the best of them, but Daryl was used to that. He'd never had the best of anything.

"Daryl?" He grit his teeth at the sound of Shane's voice. He'd had enough of the man for one day. Hell, he'd had enough of everyone for one day. "Hey, y'alright, man? Everything okay?"

Weakly, he raised his middle finger at the maniac. The answering laugh only made his frown deeper.

"Yeah, you're alright," Shane chuckled. "Carl's gonna be okay, too. But let's get that side looked at, huh? Can't let anything bad happen to you."

"Said m'fine," he growled, bristling when he felt Shane moving closer. His eyes flashed open when he realized they were closed. "Leave me be. Just need t'rest."

"Just lemme look at it, man. Can't do any harm, can it?"

"Leave me be," Daryl repeated, meaning the words to come out firm but hearing them more as a pained whine.

"Don't make me get some help and have you held down, Dixon," Shane warned, his voice sharp with impatience and anxiety. Daryl had to remind himself not to poke the bear. He lifted his hand and tried not to growl when Shane moved forward, strange hands pushing and prodding at his hurt side. He could hear the man's exasperated sigh and found himself wanting to expel a similar noise. He knew only bad could come of Shane wanting to see. "Man, you know this'll need stitches," Shane said gently.

Yeah, he knew. He wasn't exactly looking forward to it.

"I told you it was bad," Sophia said, resting her chin on the arm of his chair. She was kneeling beside him, her eyes filled with an odd mixture of sadness and relief. "But you're gonna be okay. Hershel can help you as soon as he's done helping Carl."

Shane chuckled again. "Yeah, you'll be just fine. This ain't life threatening or nothin'. It can wait a little bit while we get Carl patched up," he rambled on. "But man, did you scare us. Came out here with you lookin' whiter'n death. Thought we'd already gone, man."

"M'fine," he said for the millionth time that day. "Jesus. You people are crazy."

Sophia giggled.

"Alright, I'll be back to check on you in a bit. Sit tight, man. Rest a little," Shane said firmly, moving back toward the house. Sophia remained by his side, her chin still resting on the arm of the chair and her eyes still boring into him.

"Quit starin' at me," he said tiredly, shutting his eyes so that he couldn't see whether or not she kept at it. He could still feel her eyes on him, but it might've been his imagination.

"I wish I were like you," she said softly. "I wish I was strong and brave."

Unbidden, Daryl's mouth spat out sleepy words. "Y'are strong and brave. Saved my life, remember?" Her silence was easy enough to read, even with his eyes closed. "Your momma would be proud, wouldn't she? That you went out lookin' for her with a hurt ankle."

"I'm not strong like you," she insisted. "You know everything about the forest and how to survive. I wish I was like that. I wish I could get a big, gaping hole in my side and still think I could put up a tent. I wish I could go out into the forest and not worry I was about to die. I wish I didn't have to be afraid."

He shifted uncomfortably, knowing those ever-present tears would be dripping down her nose by now. He hated it when girls cried. It drove him crazy, and while he'd always have liked to make them stop, he didn't quite know how. He usually ended up making it worse one way or another.

"Why don't you go and find Dale?" he suggested, knowing the older man would be better at calming her down. Daryl might not get along with him, but he was good with people. Good with emotions.

Daryl was not.

But Sophia shook her head - he could feel her cheek brush against his arm - and pressed her hand into his. "No, I wanna stay with you," she insisted. "We're friends, now. I have to make sure you're okay."

"Who said we're friends?" Daryl snapped, pretending he didn't feel a little bit honored by the notion.

"I said we are," she said firmly, reaching for his hand again when he pulled it away. "We're gonna be friends, and you're gonna teach me how to be like you."

"You don't wanna be like me, girl," he grumbled, snatching his hand away once more. "Don't think your momma would appreciate that either."

She didn't have to say it for him to know what she was thinking.