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"You've done more for my little girl than her own daddy ever did his entire life."
"..Didn't do nothin' Rick or Shane wouldn'ta done."
"I know. You're every bit as good at them. Every bit."
That's what she'd told him before she had left him to himself.
Carol had been horrified by the sight of Daryl all mucked up with blood and dirt, caked head to toe in mud and dry leaves. Blood covering his chin and temple, crusted under his fingernails and fresh bruises forming across his pale skin like black ink across paper.
Even once Hershal had stitched the worst of his injuries and cleaned the majority of the filth off Daryl he still looked like a masterpiece of black and blue. Carol had caught a glimpse of scars, old and new, that covered his back and chest as she'd entered his current room with his food. He had clenched the pale blanket to his chest but she still saw.
It pained her to see him like that because he had gone looking for Sophia. And had still brought her little girl's doll back even amidst the shit show he must have endured. One step closer to finding her baby.
"Hey," Carol jumped, cocking her head to see Maggie peeking around the corner of the kitchen entrance. The young woman waved her hand. "I didn't mean to startle you."
Carol sighed, snapped out of her spiraling thoughts. "No, it's ok. Do you need something?" Carol stood up straighter where she'd slumped against the kitchen counter.
Maggie gave her a small smile. "I was goin' to tell you that Daddy sent me to ask if you could freshen Daryl's bandages? He would do it but he's busy with the generator outside. It's been a real pain lately." She fiddled with her tank top's strap.
Carol hummed, "of course. I'll get to it right away."
Maggie nodded, brown locks bobbing with the movement. Carol listened as she exited the house, the old screen door squeaking as she did so.
Carol acquired the medical kit from the kitchen pantry and quietly padded her way up stairs to where Daryl resided for the time being. She reached the old tawny door and knocked twice before entering. The lights were dimmed except for the soft warm glow of the lamp on the bedside table. Carol saw the plate she'd brought him for dinner last night except now it was completely cleaned, the exception being a few spare crumbs.
She hummed, glad that he had taken her advice and eaten. It seemed she were right to assume he'd been starving. Speaking of the man himself, he was passed out in the white sheets, drooling into the pillow. She smiled, he deserved the rest.
But she'd have to wake him in order to tend to his bandages. She'd rather do anything but that, but the wounds he had could easily become infected without proper treatment.
Carol stepped closer to the bed, settling herself on the edge, the mattress dipping slightly under her small body. She gently pressed her palm into his bare shoulder, jostling him just enough for him to wake and not to disturb the stitches on his side.
Daryl groaned into the pillow, shrugging her hand off his shoulder, mumbling something she couldn't quite decipher. She snorted at his stubbornness. Carol leaned forward just enough to be able to call his name, hopefully without startling him.
"Daryl, hey, wake up," she coaxed. Soon enough he scrunched up his nose and his eyes opened to peer over his shoulder at her. His stormy blue eyes were foggy and he made a face at her. "Hey, sleepyhead."
Daryl stared at her for a few moments more before blinking at her like she wasn't real. "Wha'..," his voice was thick with sleep. Carol watched as he furrowed his brows and shut his eyes and she wondered if he had a headache. She figured a bullet to the temple would do that to you.
The bandage wrapped around his head had turned a muted red where he'd been shot. She couldn't see the other bandages but they probably aren't looking too great either.
Carol prodded at his arm, rousing him again and she vaguely remembered Hershal giving Daryl some painkillers. That must be why he was so loopy and out of it. Daryl grumbled and swatted lazily at her hand, trying to brush her off. Carol huffed, he was stubborn as ever.
She needed him to sit up in order to reach all the dirty wraps. She rested her hand on his shoulder blade, ushering him gently to lean forward. Eventually she had gotten him to settle on the edge of the bed with his legs hanging off.
Carol gathered the medical supplies and reached for the bandage around his temple first, gently peeling it off. She couldn't help but grimace at the way the skin had been torn, even cutting through his hairline. Applying some gauze onto a rag, she covered the fresh stitches before getting a new clean bandage to wrap his head.
She glanced worriedly at Daryl's face, trying her damndest not to cause him anymore pain then necessary. His eyes were still glossed over when she finished moving his hair out of the way and securing the wraps.
"How are you feeling?" She prompted, almost smiling at the way he blinked dumbly up at her. He licked his lips before humming in response.
"Like shit," he slurred. Carol couldn't help but but smirk at his thick southern drawl, even more pronounced than usual with the drugs faltering his speech.
"I figured as much," she gestured at the large bandage around his waist. "Can I?"
Daryl turned his head to look at where she was looking, like he couldn't register in his head fast enough to keep up with her. He probably couldn't. Both his hands came up to cover his torso best he could. Carol frowned, "What is it?"
The man's brows tightened into a scowl and his bottom lip jutted out. Carol couldn't believe what she was seeing.
Daryl Dixon was pouting.
Despite the hilarious and admittedly adorable image, Carol knew why he was covering himself. After all, she had seen all the scars littering his body the night before. His shoulders were hunched and he suddenly reminded her of a stray dog, distrusting and wounded.
She slid forward, just close enough so he could move away if he wished. Carol tilted her head towards him, forcing him to make eye contact with her. She held her hand out and touched his bicep, warm to the touch.
"Daryl, let me help you. Please."
His blue eyes widened at the sincerity in her voice. The man peered at the hand holding onto his arm, gentle but firm. Grounding.
Carol held his blue gaze even as he dropped his hands to his lap, fiddling with the hem of his pajama pants. She smiled softly at him, her heart swelling with the fact that he trusted her enough to let her see his scarred skin.
She slowly reached for the material around his waist. Delicately removing it and setting it aside to throw in the bin later. She stood and moved to his left side so she could see the stitching up close so as to not disturb anything and have them tear open. With small precise movements she repeated what she had done with his head. She admired the small freckles that were sprinkled across his skin and the warmth of his thigh against hers while she worked.
She couldn't help but grimace at the impale wound. She lightly circled her gauze-covered fingers around it, careful of the tenderness of the flesh there. She let her nails rub along the small scars that were scattered along the soft skin of his belly. She recognized knife slices and cigarette burns and her heart ached inside her ribs.
She wouldn't dare ask him about them.
Finally the job was done and he was wrapped in clean bandages. Carol humphed with triumph at her accomplishment. Daryl cocked his head at her, tongue just about lolling out of his mouth.
"All done," she announced. He hummed in response, clearly not up to speed with what was going on around him. Carol smiled fondly at him. She stood up and stretched her legs which had gone stiff with time. She leaned around his frame, gathering the off white blanket into her arms. "Let's get you tucked in now."
Daryl huffed at her, "M' ain't a baby." He glared at her through his dark lashes and she couldn't help but chuckle.
"Of course not," she carefully ushered him to lay down on his right side, "but you need to rest after all you've done for my baby."
She fluffed up his pillow and pulled the blanket up to his chest. "Still treat'n me like a kid," he grumbled. "Tuck'n me 'n an' shit."
"Well, everyone deserves a little care every now and then. Even tough guys like you," she replied. She thought he was more than tough though. Clever, brave, sweet, even.
He only hummed in response, falling into unconsciousness as soon as he closed his eyes. She congratulated a job well done as he fell victim to sleep he very much needed. Carol leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek, small stubble rough against her chapped lips.
He certainly deserved more than a little care.